Without my meaning to, those words spoke themselves out loud again on the beach in front of all the little people. ‘Fore Street, Mevagissey. Fore Street, Mevagissey.’
I began to cry then, whether in grief or relief or joy I did not know. I do know that many a little hand reached and tried to comfort me, and I remember that brought me such joy and helped drive away my sorrows and in time stopped my tears. I had food, drink, and hundreds of little friends, I thought.
What more could I need? I was safe with these little people, safe at last, and for some reason much loved too. And that meant the world to me, the whole world.
When I think back now, I am amazed at how even on that first day I came to feel so much at home amongst these little people, and how soon any barriers of language and culture, and indeed of size, were broken down. In large part this was due to the old lady, Gran Baruta, clearly the matriarch of these people, like a grandmother to all of them. She was the one who made me feel that I belonged.
I soon learnt that her constant companion was her grandson, Tapit, and that all old people here had just such a young companion at their side. The young looked after the old, and the old looked after the young. I was already beginning to learn that was how it was here, that it was how these little people lived, for one another.
Tapit was amongst the tallest of the little people, but even so I must have been at least twenty times or thirty times the size of him. I towered over him, over Gran Baruta, over everyone and everything – the horses, the boats, the trees, the animals, the fields and the rivers. Everything on this island seemed to be in proportion to the miniscule size of its inhabitants.
Tapit was as welcoming and kind to me as all the others. But I think this was mostly because of his grandmother, Gran Baruta, and her fondness for this mysterious Gulliver – who I was already beginning to suspect must have been here before me. She was the one who had declared me to be ‘Son of Gulliver’. I was an honoured guest to Tapit, and to everyone, because of her, and because of this Gulliver person who was still a mystery to me.
Very quickly, even on that first day, I was becoming accustomed to the size of these little people, but in all the time I was with them, I never got over how wonderful it was for me, for Tiny Omar, to be so huge, to be able to look down at all of them. Yet despite my size, they did not fear me. They knew that I was not a threat to them. Otherwise why did they not all run away in terror at the sight of me? No, they assumed I was gentle, harmless, and as kind as they were. I was sure this might be because of the Gulliver who had come before me – he had obviously been much loved. I was longing to know more about him.
When I stood up again, with all these miniscule people gazing up at me, and wondering open-mouthed at how high I was, I had the first real opportunity to look around, not so much at the little people, now, but at all the country on whose shores I had been washed up, the country I knew must be England.
I climbed to the very top of the dunes, taking the greatest care not to tread on any of the little people, nor on their horses and their carts. From there I could see that there was sea all around me, that I was on a small island, horseshoe-like in shape, with woods and fields and rivers. There were sheep and cows and horses in the fields, and I could see a village where the narrow streets led down to a harbour full of boats. There were sandy beaches, gently shelving dunes, similar to the one I was standing on; and over the sea, in the distance, another island. At the far end of my island, at one end of the horseshoe, I saw a rocky mountain that rose steeply from the plain. I imagined there must be sheer cliffs on the other side. I remembered then that Mother had told me – or perhaps it had been Jimbo in the refugee camp – that England was an island. So that village I could see now, not far away, might be Mevagissey! I was so close!
I was longing to find out, to explore, and would have set off at once, but Gran Baruta and Tapit had other ideas, and were waving at me, beckoning me to come down off the dunes. When I came closer she called up to me, trying to tell me something. I could not understand her. Tapit was lying down on the sand at my feet, clearly acting out for me what she wanted me to do. I had no idea why they wanted me to lie down, but I did it anyway. I lay back on the warm sand and waited for whatever was to happen. I knew these people meant me no harm, and that anyway they were far too small to hurt me. I was quite content to lie there, bask in the sun and close my eyes.
For some while nothing at all seemed to happen. Half asleep by now I lifted my head once or twice to see what was going on. I could see the little people were busy scurrying about, going hither and thither on their horses and carts – more fetching and carrying, I supposed. I could feel some of them walking up and down my legs, then over my chest up to my neck. More fun and games for the children, I thought.
Not a bit of it. They had not come to play. They were pacing purposefully up my arm, down my leg, across my chest from shoulder to shoulder. They were stretching a thin ribbon from my waist to my shoulder, from my ankle to my waist, from my wrist to my shoulder. I was being measured! They were measuring all of me, my head too, and even my feet – and that tickled me. They then made it clear they wanted me to lift my hips so that they could pass a ribbon underneath me and measure my waist.
With the measuring all done, they were suddenly all gone, and I was left alone on the beach with Gran Baruta and Tapit. The old lady came and sat on her rock nearby. From there, with Tapit beside her, she began to talk to me. The more she talked, the more I found I could understand at least something of what she was trying to tell me. When I didn’t understand, when I looked too puzzled, Tapit would act out for me whatever she was trying to say.
I think she was trying to tell me how pleased she was I had come, and how like Gulliver I was – not as tall as he was but big enough – and that Gulliver had come to the island a long, long time ago, nearly three hundred years before, that her grandfather as a little boy had known him very well and liked him, how people on the island lived long lives, that she was 145 herself – if I understood the number right – and how Gulliver had taught English to her grandfather and everyone on the island so that now all the people on Lilliput could speak two languages, their own and Gulliver’s language, which was English. Gulliver, she seemed to be telling me, had taught them all so much that they had not known or understood.
I was full of questions. So I tried then, using the little English I knew and some sign language and acting to help me, the question I had been longing most to ask. I held my arms out wide. ‘Is this England? Fore Street? Am I … in England?’
They looked at one another, and then Tapit shook his head, and speaking slowly to help me understand, he said: ‘Here, Son of Gulliver, you are on the island of Lilliput. This is Lilliput. England is far, far away, over the sea.’
He was pointing out to sea, at the horizon, at the sun going down. I understood well enough.
My heart sank. So this was not England, after all. I may have been welcomed like an old friend. These little people may have been the kindest people on Earth. But Mevagissey was not the village I had just seen down by the harbour. Uncle Said was not here. Mother would never be coming here. They were far away over the sea.
I wanted to be alone. I walked away from them along the beach, and lay down on the sand. I closed my eyes to stop my tears coming. But Mother would not leave my mind now.
All I could think of was that one day she would arrive in England and find me not there, not with Uncle Said in his café on Fore Street, Mevagissey. It would break her heart, as it broke mine now, to think that between her and me there was a great wide ocean, full of waves and storms, and that I might never see her again.
I promised myself there and then as I lay on that beach, that some day I would cross the sea despite all the waves and storms, and find her.
A small voice in my left ear was interrupting my story.
‘You haven’t told her about us,’ it said. ‘We were there. It’s our story too, you know.’
Another voice spok
e up, in my right ear this time. ‘And working very hard to feed you, if you want to know, in case you’ve forgotten! All you did was sleep. You kept falling asleep.’
Then in my left ear again. ‘You were snoring too in your sleep, loudly, like thunder.’
‘I’m getting to you,’ I told them. ‘Just be patient. How can you be in the story if I haven’t even met you yet? Now … where was I?’
‘On the beach,’ said J.J., ignoring both of them, and encouraging me to go on. ‘The sun was going down,’ she went on, ‘and I really do want to hear the rest of the story. Tell me, tell me.’
So I told her.
I woke, wondering where I was. It was a while before I could gather my thoughts and my memory to make sense of where I was or what I was seeing. I sat up and looked about me.
The sea shore was crowded with little people, who were sitting there silently watching me wake up. I stretched and yawned and they all found that very funny. The old lady, sitting on her rock, was smiling up at me. The look on her face, and on all their faces, told me something was up.
Now that Gran Baruta saw I was awake, she stood up and, when she did, they all did. There was a buzz of excitement all about me. And then I saw why. They were presenting me with a suit of clothes: a shirt, a waistcoat, a long red coat with silver buttons, britches, a pair of buckled shoes and a three-cornered hat – all of which was very much how Tapit and all the men of Lilliput seemed to dress. It took at least six of these little people to hold up and show me just one of the shoes. The long red coat with the silver buttons took dozens of them. And all were smiling, proud of everything they had made for me.
I could not believe it. In a few hours of one day they had made all these clothes! And for me! I felt so honoured. I wanted to say something, to thank them, but I was deeply moved and could not speak. I was soon sitting there on the beach, the hat on my head, my lap and arms piled high with my new suit of clothes.
Clutching everything to me, I got to my feet. I wanted to try these wonderful clothes on at once, and I could see they were longing for me to do just that. But I didn’t want to change in front of them. Gran Baruta saw at once what I was thinking, why I was hesitating, and began waving her stick at the dunes behind me. I turned and ran up the beach carrying my clothes in a bundle, trying not to drop anything. I disappeared into the dunes, where I speedily transformed myself into a very well-dressed giant, a Lilliputian giant. The clothes all fitted perfectly, the shoes and the hat too.
When I reappeared to them, and stood at the top of the dune, arms raised in the air, they all broke into wild applause. Gran Baruta, I noticed, was overwhelmed at the sight of me. She may have looked stern sometimes, but I liked Gran Baruta. She laughed easily, and she cried easily. She never hid her feelings. As I was to learn, all Lilliputians were like that. They spoke with their hearts.
From that moment on, I was a fugitive no more, a refugee no more, a migrant no more, as I had been in the camp with Mother, as I had been on our long journey to the sea. I belonged somewhere now. I belonged here with these wonderful people, who had welcomed me so warmly. They were my people. My place was with them. Lilliput was my home. I might not be small like them, but I was one of them, and they wanted me to stay, to be one of them. That was why they had welcomed me and fed me, why they had made me my new clothes.
I only wished that Mother was with me, that I didn’t miss her so much. I was happy, but at the same time my heart was heavy with sadness.
Clothes were not all they gave me on that first day. Whilst some of them had been busying themselves cutting and shoemaking and hat-making, others had been creating another surprise for me, and there was just as much excitement about this as there had been about the presentation of the new clothes.
That same evening, with Gran Baruta and Tapit at my side, we walked right across the island to the farthest end, the mountainous end. Led by and followed by a huge throng of little people, with the children running and skipping ahead of us, we made our way through fields and tracks and came to the village, by the sea, by the harbour. The narrow streets were hardly wide enough for me to pass through. The houses were tiny, the whole place was tiny. No roof was higher than my knee. Then we came down to the harbour. Some of the fishing boats were tied up and others were at anchor out in the bay.
From there I could more clearly see the other island that I had noticed before. I bent down and tapped Gran Baruta on the shoulder and pointed it out.
‘Blufescu,’ she said.
But she told me no more, and nor did Tapit. I could see that neither of them wanted even to look at it. I felt even then that there was something about the island of Blufescu that made them nervous and uncomfortable, something that they did not want me to know about.
Wherever I was led around the island that evening, the people seemed to know I was coming. The welcome they gave me was overwhelming. They were throwing flowers from their windows. They were clapping and cheering me in the streets. It looked as if everyone on the island had turned out to greet me, to watch me go by. Hundreds of them joined the procession, following us through the streets, past the houses around the harbour, a piping band of flutes and drums leading the way now, the children dancing on ahead, doing handstands and somersaults – they were wonderfully agile, these Lilliputian children, everyone an acrobat, it seemed to me.
We soon left the village and the harbour behind us, and followed the path down into a deep valley and along a stream where there were flowers growing everywhere on either side, beautiful flowers, magenta and purple, and orange too – there were marigolds everywhere. I was later to discover that marigolds especially grew in wild abundance all over the island.
Seeing the stream had made me thirsty again. I stopped to drink. The water was clear and sweet and cooling. But by stopping and crouching down to drink, it seemed I had encouraged some of the children to climb up on to me. And this was why, as soon as we were on our way again, I found myself with a dozen or more children clinging on to me, some peeking out of my pockets, others sitting on my shoulders. Lilliputian children, I was already discovering, especially loved to perch on my shoulders, on my hat too! I think they just like to ride as high as possible.
We came up out of the valley and walked through fields of sheep, and I saw beyond them steep hills, a wide plain below, with the high rocky mountain beyond. And then I saw, right up against the rock face under the mountain, the biggest building I had yet encountered on the island. It was made of wood – as were all the other buildings on Lilliput. For them it must have been huge, but for me it was little more than a small hut with a straw roof, and a door that was just about big enough and wide enough for me to crawl in. They were showing it to me with great pride. Evidently this was to be my house. They had made it for me, and like my suit of clothes, they had done it all in one day.
I stood there gazing at it, marvelling at it all. They were waiting for me to go in, waving me forward, welcoming me into my home. Little did they know how much this meant to me, to have a home again.
I had to bend down a bit to go in through the door. Inside, against the far wall, was a bed, my bed. It stretched almost the length of my house, and was wide enough and long enough for me to be able to lie down easily. The ceiling was low, but I could stand upright, just. At one end was a fireplace and beside it a chair made of wood with a back and seat made of woven rushes, and beside that, under the window, a sturdy-looking table. There was a plate, a spoon, a cup all made in wood, and the right size for me. They had thought of everything.
I had supposed that some of the little people, and certainly Gran Baruta, would have followed me into the house. But once I was inside, I found myself all alone. I peered out through the window. They were all gathered outside, in silence. Then out of this silence came a humming, and I saw the children swaying to it and soon they all were, Gran Baruta too, and Tapit. It was a sound that warmed my heart. It was Mother’s lullaby, my song. They were humming our song – my first indication of how quick they
were to learn, these Lilliputians. I knew they wanted me to go out and join them, that they were hoping and expecting I would.
But I was in no hurry. I needed time to gather my thoughts. And anyway, I had to try out everything in the house. I sat in the chair. I stretched out on the straw mattress on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. They had painted a dark blue sky on it, with a yellow crescent moon and there were stars up there too. Lying on my bed I thanked those lucky stars. I thanked God, and I thanked Mother for making me get on that boat. Even if I never got to England, I thought, never got to see her again, this could be my home forever, I would be happy here, and safe.
But then I thought again. Mother would soon be in England, waiting for me in Fore Street, Mevagissey – she might be there already. I told myself I must always try to remember that, and must keep the promise I had made myself. One day I would go there and find her.
They were still humming out there, Mother’s lullaby, the song they had now made their own. After a while, I got up off my bed and went to the door. When I opened it and appeared, they stopped humming, waiting for me to say something. I knew the words in English that I wanted to say to them.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
Later, lying in bed in my very own house, I made Mother another promise: that every night before I went to sleep I would speak to her, talk to her out loud as if she was sitting there on my bed. I told her that first night in my new home all about Lilliput and the kindness of the little people, about Gran Baruta and Tapit, and how good they all had been to me, about my clothes and my house, that I was safe and happy with them, and how I thought they spoke two languages, and one of them was English, which was lucky for me because I knew a little English from my cricket, and from Jimbo and the other aid workers at the camp, enough to say a word or two, and to understand enough.
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