Page 37 of The Other Side

Drum liked him already. He accepted a drink of orange squash even though he’d have liked a glass of wine. But he didn’t want to be accused of drinking on duty, plus he had to drive. After the Motsons, he needed to watch his step. But he did eat. A lot.

“Sonita is late,” Lily said. “Not like her. I’ll give her a call.” A moment later, she put her phone down. “Straight to voicemail. Let’s start. She can catch up.”

“Don’t you think Boyne made Bligh a saint?” Eleanor asked. “Charles Laughton didn’t win an Oscar for being an angel.”

Drum smiled.

“Oh, please, Eleanor, you’re stuck in 1935.” Martha scoffed and poured herself another finger of wine. “Boyne did his homework. Bligh wasn’t a monster. He was a bureaucrat dealing with a crew of immature men who wanted to stay in Tahiti because of…”

She hesitated.

“The sex,” Lily chimed in.

Drum laughed.

“And the scenery,” Eleanor added. “Very pretty place. Not that I’ve been. And speaking of scenery, did you see that Brenda’s daughter is back from her cruise? Separated. Already.”

“No!”

Was that Ruth who spoke, the mutiny momentarily forgotten?

“The one who married the orthodontist?”

“The very one,” Martha whispered.

Drum was lost.

“Back to the book,” Lily said. “John Boyne has chosen to tell it through the eyes of young John Turnham. It gives a completely different vantage point and I liked it. Bligh was strict, yes, but Fletcher Christian was a petulant, spoiled brat.”

Arthur cleared his throat. It was a soft, dry sound that instantly commanded the room. Everyone turned to him.

“Was Christian a saint or sinner? Was Bligh a good man or not? I’m not sure we’ll ever know.” Arthur had a twinkle in his faded blue eyes. “Historically, Boyne leans quite heavily into the revisionist view of Bligh, which is probably closer to the truth than the movies. Bligh didn’t use the cat-o’-nine-tails nearly as much as other captains of his era. His real weapon was his tongue. He was foul-mouthed and cruel. He humiliated Christian daily.”

“Exactly!” Eleanor pointed a manicured finger at Arthur. “He bullied him! Christian was a gentleman.”

“Christian was a weak-willed dandy who couldn’t handle being yelled at,” Martha countered, leaning forward. “Boyne paints him perfectly. He was a man-child who let a few months of easy living in the South Seas ruin his discipline. Frankly, he reminds me of Arthur’s nephew. The one who dropped out of law school to ‘find himself’ in Japan.”

Arthur chuckled, taking a slow sip of his wine. “Fair point, Martha. Though Tommy didn’t seize a naval vessel, he just maxed out his mother’s Visa. But let’s look at what Boyne does with the narrative. By making Turnham so fiercely loyal to Bligh, Boyne forces us to question the classic villain archetype. But he also leaves out some of Bligh’s worst bureaucratic pettiness. You only have to consider the coconuts.”

“The coconuts?” Drum’s first two-word contribution and he couldn’t remember coconuts in the story.

“Bligh accused Christian of stealing his personal coconuts just days before the mutiny,” Arthur explained. “A post-captain in the Royal Navy, screaming at his second-in-command over a fruit.”

“Is a coconut a fruit or a nut?” Monica asked.

Drum had no idea. He helped himself to another flapjack.

“Fruit,” Arthur said in a tone of voice that didn’t brook disagreement. “I’m pretty sure Boyne tones down that specific brand of madness to make Bligh more sympathetic for the sake of his narrative arc.”

“See? He sanitised him,” Eleanor said. “Though I will say, the writing was marvellous. The pacing when they were in that open boat? I couldn’t put it down.”

“We can agree on that,” Martha conceded. “The description of those weeks at sea, forty-seven days in a tiny launch, surviving on a teaspoon of rum and a pinch of stale bread… It makes you realise how brilliant a navigator Bligh actually was. Tyrant or not, the man kept them alive.”

“He was a magnificent seaman and a dreadful manager of men,” Arthur summarised, raising his glass in a mock toast. “A bit like the head of our parish council, don’t you think?”

Martha and Eleanor erupted into laughter.

“Oh, don’t get me started,” Eleanor gasped, wiping her eyes. “Did you hear what he said about Evelyn’s hydrangeas? Mind you, she needs help with that garden.”