Please, read Victoria's memoir while listening to the sound of the ocean that she recorded.

D H Lawrence wrote a short story called “The Man Who Loved Islands” (Lawrence, D H (1932), ‘The Man who Loved Islands', in The Lovely Lady. London: Martin Secker, pp. 205-246). I am The Woman Who Loves Islands. Just like the protagonist in Lawrence’s short story Mr Cathcart, I too was born on an island – but that’s where the similarity ends!

Mr Cathcart craved solitude and in his search for the perfect island, island–hopped a few times ultimately rejecting the presence even of animals on ‘his’ island. Brought up on a beautiful island, I had no experience of solitude and no desire for solitude. One of five children in our family of seven, I was never, ever on my own. As I grew older in my teens, I started to feel trapped and craved life outside the island. I had no idea what my island meant to me then – I just knew that there was a bigger and wider world out there, waiting for me to explore it.

My island

The opportunity to travel arose when I was seventeen years old. Having just lost someone close to me, I met a man. I was completely fascinated by a man who had already travelled the world and who drank for hours with his friends – something I was totally unfamiliar with and that I did not quite understand. When he told me that he had to leave the island, I immediately decided to follow him to his new country. Life at home was no longer the same after the death of my close relative. My idyllic family life was shattered.

So, I packed all my worldly belongings and all my savings and off I went into the unknown. Looking back, I can now see how brave I was to leave my little island as a very young woman and venture into the unknown. I had no idea what to expect but I craved adventure and completely undaunted, I left the security of my family and my little island to pursue a man to a strange country and not once thinking about the possible dangers for a woman travelling alone.

Destination #1

The long–awaited adventure starts! Having only ever once been on a plane to visit my sister, I had no idea how hard getting to the new country was going to be. And for the first time ever, I really was on my own. At the first airport, having recovered my luggage and dragging it towards the next check–in, I soon realised that my ticket was in actual fact a stand–by ticket and my seat was not confirmed, and that there was a strong chance that I and my five suitcases would be left behind.

With the optimism of youth and my strong character quickly emerging, after wandering around this enormous airport and not getting anywhere, I stormed into the “Ufficio Sceriffo” and in my best Italian explained my plight. In typical Italian fashion (no Italian man would ever leave a ‘damsel in distress’), I got instant help and was escorted by a few men who carried my luggage and somehow sorted out my seat on the plane. This was most encouraging and taught me my first lesson–never give up! As a now mature woman, I shudder at the thought of doing this now! Somehow, I don’t think I could be so brave but back then I was a young fearless woman ready to take on any challenge.

My husband-to-be picked me up at the airport and took me to a hotel – the first of many. As we were not married, I could not stay with him. I was made to feel like ‘The Scarlet Woman’ right up until the time that I got married. One week after my arrival, my husband-to-be had to go away for work and I was left all alone in a hotel.

Within a few days, as it was now summer time, the hotel advised me that they no longer had room for me, so I and my five suitcases had to move. I rang a few hotels using a phone box and eventually found another one. The same thing kept happening and I ended up changing hotels about five times. I had no idea how potentially dangerous this could have been for me – a young and very vulnerable female staying in various hotels alone. The loneliness hit me very hard and whilst the beauty of the new country was staggering, I had nobody to share this with. Nobody spoke English in the small town where I was, there were no English books in the shops and TV and radio were all in the language of the country.

Despite my effort to learn the native language through the then very popular Linguaphone course, I could understand some of the language but most certainly could not speak it. Fortunately, I had been introduced to one kind lady whom I was able to contact and she let me sleep on her sofa a couple of times.

So, I waited for my husband-to-be to return and he cabme back to the apartment with me only to inform me that in a few weeks, we would be leaving this country. So back to my own island I went to save more money so that I could afford to rent an apartment. This time I knew what to expect and, on my return, I rented a lovely attic apartment and my partner and I moved in. But soon his work took him away and I was once again alone.

This hit me really hard. I missed my family terribly and I missed my little island and most of all my blue Mediterranean Sea. I dreamt of the huge expanse of blue water and in vain did my partner take me to a city near the coast, so that I could get a glimpse of the sea. This was no Mediterranean Sea, it was grey, rough and stormy and for the first time my beloved sea appeared hostile and symbolised the turbulent emotions within me.

I was most unsettled, alone and still very vulnerable as I continued to wander around all alone in what seemed to me to be such a vast country where I was struggling to fit in.

We went on holidays to other countries, but the void was never filled and I struggled on, always dreaming of the blue water. My lovely landlady meanwhile realised how lonely I was and everyday called up to my apartment and took me with her wherever she was going that day. Very quickly I started to learn the language very well and I became more and more independent. I learnt how to use public transport–marvelling at the way the buses arrived on time and experiencing trains for the first time in my life. And then I became pregnant.

This was a bit of an issue as we were not yet married. I received a most romantic proposal when I told my partner that I was pregnant. His reply was “I suppose we’ll have to get married!” He was of course overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a father despite the fact that he was going through a divorce.

As an unmarried mother, the culture around treated me even more as ‘The Scarlet Woman’. I totally sympathised with Mary and Joseph’s plight as we desperately tried to book in to a hospital where I could receive maternity care and deliver my baby. Ironically, my baby was also due in December and I was starting to imagine myself on a donkey looking for a place where I could give birth!

The bureaucracy and regulations about who could receive care in that country was very difficult for me. I received antenatal check–ups from a very reluctant and unhelpful midwife who, at times, treated me with complete disdain and was even cruel to me. I had no choice but to attend my check–ups but the experience was most unpleasant.

We got married in another country, surrounded by deep snow and blizzards with a very young baby in the back of the car. I continued to yearn for the sea but apart from the occasional holiday to my island it remained very distant yet became more and important as time went by.

After the birth of my second child, I was able to finally be by the sea in another country. So finally, back to an island!

Destination #2

I loved my few years in this other island country! I was finally once again surrounded by the sea and the boats made me feel very much at home. The sea was becoming more and more important to me. I swam when I could and pretended I was swimming back in my own island, even though the temperature was cooler and the sea much colder.

I could now go to a sandy beach – just like I used to on my own island.

The sea brought me so much joy and made me feel so much closer to home. The huge gap and void from first leaving my own island was narrowing quickly. The sea, the wonderful sea was so healing. Over the years the pain of leaving my island and the sea I loved so much was assuaged by my new surroundings.

Destination #3: Northern Ireland

My final move was to Northern Ireland – a move that terrified me as my knowledge of Northern Ireland was of an island besieged by terror, bombs and conflict. I had just had my third child and the thought of going to such a place with three young children filled me with horror.

Nothing could have prepared me for such a wonderful surprise – I was overwhelmed by the friendliness of the people and immediately felt that I had finally come home.

I arrived two days before Christmas, exhausted from the move, journeying by buses, trains and planes during the holiday period and travelling with three young children on my own.

Upon arrival, I got my first taste of Northern Irish hospitality and friendliness. My husband took me to the supermarket where we bumped into some of his colleagues. They immediately came over and made a fuss over the children, buying them each a ‘Christmas Bootie’ that we still have. When I saw the sea in a coastal town a few days later I knew that I was finally home! 

The many waves are like the sentences that form my story. Some of the waves are rough and cruel as they crash against the rocks reminding me of all the challenges that I have had to face. Then there are the lovely, soothing and gentle waves that remind me that even though times can be very tough especially for a woman alone in a different country, there is always the certainty that the sea and life are always changing and each difficult period will change, just like the ever–changing sea.

The Sea–Il Mare–Il Bahar–La Mer