Three years in Tristan da Cunha — A Reader’s Guide
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This was eighty-four years ago. And now the son of that little shipwrecked girl was seriously thinking of going out to minister to the children of her rescuers. Here I may mention that in the whole of their history, from 1816 to 1906, they had had only two clergymen living amongst them.
The first to go out was the Rev. W. F. Taylor, under the S.P.G. in 1851, a young London warehouseman who had not long been ordained. It is related by one of the passengers of the ship in which Mr. Taylor was sailing that the master of the vessel had great difficulty in locating the island, and that for three days they cruised about and saw nothing resembling land. The third day towards evening the skipper gave up the search and headed for the Cape. Mr. Taylor, who was gazing towards the setting sun suddenly saw the Peak of Tristan, which is 7,640 feet high, emerge out of the clouds. It was about ninety miles away. The captain turned back, and his passenger was safely landed. Mr. Taylor stayed there some five years. On his departure he induced about forty-five of the islanders to accompany him to Cape Colony, where they settled down.
The second clergyman, also in connection with the S.P.G., was the Rev. E. H. Dodgson, a brother of "Lewis Carroll." He arrived in December 1880 from St. Helena, and landed in safety, but the ship was driven ashore and he lost nearly all his clothing and books. One of the very few things washed ashore was a small stone font, which, curiously enough, was undamaged.
In December 1884 Mr. Dodgson, who was much out of health, got a passage to the Cape in a man-of-war. It was not his intention to return. But the next year a great calamity befell the Tristanites. Fifteen of their men put off in a new lifeboat to a ship, and were all drowned. Out of a population of ninety-two there were now only four male adults, and one of these was out of his mind and giving a good deal of trouble. Tristan had suddenly become an island of widows and children. When Mr. Dodgson heard of this calamity he at once offered to return. It being thought that the islanders were on the brink of starvation, H.M.S. _Thalia_ was sent to their relief, and Mr. Dodgson sailed in her, reaching Tristan in August 1886. He remained till December 1889, when ill health again obliged him to leave. This time ten of the inhabitants left with him.
To go back to the period when we ourselves began to think of going out. After some months of serious consideration we resolved to make the attempt, and at once began to face the question of how to get there. To get to Tristan da Cunha is no easy matter; it took us nearly five months. There is no regular communication with it, and it has no harbour.
Formerly a man-of-war from the Cape station visited it once a year, but since the South African War this annual visit has been discontinued. Mr. Dodgson advised us to go to St. Helena and there await a whaler. He had found this the best plan. So accordingly we set off from Southampton on November 18, 1905--my husband, our maid and myself, taking with us a year's food supply and a very limited amount of furniture. St. Helena was reached in seventeen days. An interview with the American Consul, who was courtesy itself, convinced us there was no likelihood of getting a passage. The whalers that called there were from New Bedford in America, and none were expected. Our visit, however, was not entirely in vain, because we had the advantage of meeting the Bishop of St. Helena, who showed us much kindness, and of talking over our plans with him. The diocese of St. Helena must be unique. It consists of the three islands, St. Helena, Ascension, and Tristan da Cunha. There is no clergyman on the two last, and only the bishop and three clergymen on St. Helena. No bishop of St. Helena has as yet landed upon Tristan da Cunha.
Katherine Mary Barrow frames her account of Tristan da Cunha as a 'simple and true description of daily life among a very small community cut off from the rest of the world.' The text, drawn from letters to her sister and her journal, avoids literary pretension. Instead, it offers a granular record of domestic and communal activities: making bread before dawn, navigating thick mist on walks, and the arrival of a sea-elephant prompting a collective expedition. The catalog subject 'Tristan da Cunha -- Description and travel' accurately labels the work, but the excerpts reveal that Barrow's focus is less on systematic geography and more on the texture of lived experience—the cold, the mud, the kindness of guides, and the small dramas of island life.
The Texture of Isolation: Weather, Work, and Domestic Routine
The excerpts show that Barrow’s narrative is built around the rhythms of weather and domestic labor. She notes a night 'so cold it kept us all wakeful,' followed by rising at four to make dough. The island’s climate dictates movement: a walk is abandoned because 'a thick mist' obscures the ponds, and the party descends by 'sitting down on the long wet grass to slip down steep pitches.' Barrow’s prose records practical responses—wringing out wet skirts, lighting a paraffin stove, darning a torn skirt for Rebekah. These details ground the reader in the material realities of life on a remote island, where the environment is not a backdrop but an active force shaping every day.
Community and Mutual Support in a Small Society
Barrow’s journal entries reveal a tightly knit community where assistance is constant and reciprocal. Henry Green, their guide, 'constantly made short detours in search of the easiest path' and 'often broke off branches to clear the way.' When Mrs. Green is ill and depressed, she stays with Barrow; Henry brings wood and sends milk twice daily. The islanders respond collectively to events: a sea-elephant sighting sends 'a number of women and children' and armed men to the shore. Barrow records these interactions without sentimentality, letting the actions speak. The catalog subject 'Description and travel' understates the social dimension; the excerpts show that Barrow’s account is as much about human interdependence as about place.
Voice and Perspective: The Author’s Position
Barrow writes from a dual perspective: as an outsider (the missionary’s wife) and as a participant in island life. She notes that Henry Green 'had not thought the Missus would have been able to walk so well,' indicating her own physical adaptation. She also records her role in teaching and domestic work: 'Sophy Rogers said to me as we were going up to the class, We shall miss it when you are gone.' Barrow’s voice is understated, often focusing on others’ actions rather than her own feelings. The text’s origin in letters and a journal shapes its episodic, present-tense quality. The catalog does not capture this personal lens; the excerpts show that the work is a hybrid of travelogue, memoir, and ethnographic observation, filtered through Barrow’s specific position.
Readers approaching Barrow’s account should attend to the small, concrete details that accumulate into a portrait of isolation and resilience. The text rewards those who read for process—how bread is made, how paths are found in mist, how a community mobilizes for a sea-elephant. Barrow’s refusal to generalize or moralize leaves the island’s life to speak for itself. The catalog subject 'Description and travel' is accurate but insufficient; this is a record of how people inhabit a place, not just what that place looks like.
Reading Barrow’s quiet records of wind and routine on Tristan da Cunha, I found myself thinking of the sheer weight of landscape in that other account of patient watching, Unknown Mexico, Volume 1 (of 2) A Record of Five Years' Exploration Among the Tribes of the Western Sierra Madre; In the Tierra Caliente of Tepic and Jalisco; and — Background and Themes. Both authors let the place speak slowly, through days, not chapters.
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