On returning to London, Percy was appointed as an archives clerk (no one gets the sack at the FCO), and allocated a small office in the basement.
As few people at the FCO ever found any reason to visit the basement, Percy flourished. Within weeks he had instigated a new procedure for cataloging statements, speeches, memoranda, and treaties, and within months he could locate any document, however obscure, required by even the most demanding minister. By the end of the year he could offer an opinion on any FCO demand, based on historic precedent, often without having to refer to a file.
No one was surprised when Percy was appointed Senior Archivist after his boss unexpectedly took early retirement. However, Percy still yearned to follow in his father’s footsteps and become our man in some foreign field, to be addressed by all and sundry as “Your Excellency.” Sadly, it was not to be, because Percy was not allowed out of the basement for the next thirty years, and only then when he retired at the age of sixty.
At Percy’s leaving party, held in the India Room of the FCO, the Foreign Secretary described him in his tribute speech as a man with an unrivaled encyclopedic memory who could probably recite every agreement and treaty Britain had ever entered into. This was followed by laughter and loud applause. No one heard Percy mutter under his breath, “Not every one, Minister.”
Six months after his retirement, the name of Percival Arthur Clarence Forsdyke appeared on the New Year’s Honors List. Percy had been awarded the CBE for services to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.
He read the citation without any satisfaction. In fact, he felt he was a failure and had let the family down. After all, his grandfather had been a peer of the realm, his father a Knight Commander of St. Michael and St. George, whereas he ended up a mere Commander of a lower order.
However, Percy had a plan to rectify the situation, and to rectify it quickly.
Once he had left the FCO, Percy did not head straight for the British Library to begin work on his memoirs, as he felt he had achieved nothing worthy of historic record, nor did he retire to his country home to tend his roses, possibly because he didn’t have a country home, or any roses. However, he did heed the Foreign Secretary’s words, and decided to make use of his unrivaled encyclopedic memory.
Deep in the recesses of his remarkable mind, Percy recalled an ancient British law, which had been passed by an Act of Parliament in 1762, during the reign of King George III. It took Percy some considerable time to double-check, in fact, triple-check, that the Act had not been repealed at any time in the past two hundred years. He was delighted to discover that, far from being repealed, it had been enshrined in the Treaty of Versailles in 1919, and again in the Charter of the United Nations in 1945. Clearly neither organization had someone of Percy’s caliber tucked away in its basement. Having read the Act several times, Percy decided to visit the Royal Geographical Society on Kensington Gore, where he spent hours poring over charts that detailed the coastal waters surrounding the British Isles.
After completing his research at the RGS, Percy was satisfied that everything was in place for him to comply with clause 7, addendum 3, of the Territories Settlement Act of 1762.
He returned to his home in Pimlico and locked himself away in his study for three weeks—with only Horatio, his three-legged, one-eyed cat, for company—while he put the final touches to a detailed memorandum that would reveal the real significance of the Territories Settlement Act of 1762, and its relevance for Great Britain in the year 2009.
Once he’d completed his task, he placed the nineteen-page handwritten document, along with a copy of the 1762 Act showing one particular clause highlighted, in a large white envelope, which he addressed to Sir Nigel Henderson KCMG, Permanent Secretary to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, King Charles Street, Whitehall, London SW1A 2AH. He then put the unsealed envelope in the top drawer of his desk, where it would remain for the next three months while he disappeared off the face of the earth. Horatio purred.
On June 22, 2009, Percy took a taxi to Euston station, where he boarded the overnight sleeper for Inverness. His luggage consisted of an overnight bag and his old school trunk, while inside his jacket pocket was a wallet containing two thousand pounds in cash.
On arrival in Inverness, Percy changed platforms and, an hour later, boarded a train that would take him even further north. The five-carriage shuttle stopped at every station on its long and relentless journey up the northeast coast of Scotland, until it finally came to a halt at the remote harbor town of Wick.
When Percy left the station, he commandeered the only taxi, which took him to the only hotel, where he booked into the only available room. After a one-course meal—the menu being fairly limited, and the kitchen staff having all left at nine o’clock—Percy retired to his room and read Robinson Crusoe before falling asleep.
The following morning he rose before the sun, as do most of the natives of the outer reaches of Scotland. He feasted on a large bowl of porridge oats and a pair of kippers that would have graced the Savoy, but rejected an offer of the Scotsman in favor of studying a long list of the items that would have to be acquired before the sun had set that afternoon.
Percy spent the first hour after breakfast walking up and down the high street, trying to identify the shops he would have to patronize if his trunk was to be filled by the time he left the following morning.
The first establishment he entered was MacPherson’s Camping Store. “Everything a hiker needs when trekking in the Highlands” was stenciled boldly on the window. After much bending over, lying down, and crawling in and out, Percy purchased an easy-to-erect, all-weather tent that the proprietor assured him would still be standing after a desert storm or a mountain gale.
By the time Percy had left the store he had filled four large brown carrier bags with his tent, a primus stove, a kettle, a goose-down sleeping bag with an inflatable pillow, a Swiss army knife (he had checked that it had a tin opener), a pair of Wellington boots, a fishing rod, a camera, a compass, and a portable telescope.
Mr. MacPherson directed Percy toward the MacPherson General Store on the other side of the road, assuring him that his brother Sandy would be happy to fulfill any other requirements he might still have.
The second Mr. MacPherson supplied Percy with a shovel, a plastic mug, plate, knife, fork and spoon, a dozen boxes of matches (Swan Vesta), a Roberts radio, three dozen Eveready batteries, four dozen candles, and a first-aid kit, which filled three more carrier bags. Once Percy had established that there wasn’t a third MacPherson brother to assist him, he settled for Menzies, where he was able to place several more ticks against items on his long list—a copy of the Radio Times, the Complete Works of Shakespeare (paperback), a day-to-day 2009 diary (half price), and an Ordnance Survey map showing the outlying islands in the North Sea.
Percy took a taxi back to his hotel, accompanied by nine carrier bags, which he dragged in relays up to his room on the second floor. After a light lunch of fish pie and peas, he set off once again for the high street.
He spent most of the afternoon pushing a trolley up and down the aisles of the local supermarket, stocking up with enough provisions to ensure he could survive for ninety days. Once he was back in his hotel room, he sat on the end of the bed and checked his list once again. He still required one essential item; in fact, he couldn’t leave Wick without it.
Although Percy had failed to find what he wanted in any of the shops in town, he had spotted a perfect secondhand example on the roof of the hotel. He approached the proprietor, who was surprised by the guest’s request but, noticing his desperation, drove a hard bargain, insisting on seventy pounds for the family heirloom.
“But it’s old, battered, and torn,” said Percy.
“If it’s nae guid enough fur ye, sur,” said the owner loftily, “ah feel sure y’ll bi able tae find a superior wan in Inverness.” Percy gave in, having discovered the true meaning of the word canny, and handed over seven ten-pound notes. The proprietor promised that he woul
d have it taken down from the roof before Percy left the following morning.
After such an exhausting day, Percy felt he had earned a rest, but he still had one more task to fulfill before he could retire to bed.
At supper in the three-table dining room, the head waiter (the only waiter) told Percy the name of the man who could solve his final problem, and exactly where he would be located at that time of night. After cleaning his teeth (he always cleaned his teeth after a meal), Percy made his way down to the harbor in search of the Fisherman’s Arms. He tapped his jacket pocket to check he hadn’t forgotten his wallet and the all-important map.
When Percy entered the pub he received some curious stares from the locals, who didn’t approve of stray Englishmen invading their territory. He spotted the man he was looking for seated in a far corner, playing dominoes with three younger men, and made his way slowly across the room, every eye following him, until he came to a halt in front of a squat, bearded man dressed in a thick blue sweater and salt-encrusted jeans.
The man looked up and gave the stranger who had dared to interrupt his game an unwelcoming gaze.
“Are you Captain Campbell?” Percy inquired.
“Who wants tae ken?” asked the bearded man suspiciously.
“My name is Forsdyke,” said Percy, and then, to the astonishment of everyone in the pub, delivered a short, well-rehearsed speech at the top of his voice.
When Percy came to the end, the bearded man placed his double four reluctantly back on the table and, in a brogue that Percy could just about decipher, asked, “An wur exactly dae ye expect mi tae tak’ ye?”
Percy opened his map and spread it out on the table, propelling dominoes in every direction. He then placed a finger in the middle of the North Sea. Four pairs of eyes looked down in disbelief. The captain shook his head, repeating the words “Nae possible” several times, until Percy mentioned the figure of five hundred pounds. All four of the men seated round the table suddenly took a far greater interest in the Englishman’s preposterous proposal. Captain Campbell then began a conversation with his colleagues that no one south of Inverness would have been able to follow without a translator. He finally looked up and said, “Ah want a hundred pound up front, noo, an’ the ether four hundred afore ah let ye oan ma boat.”
Percy extracted five twenty-pound notes from his wallet and handed them across to the captain, who smiled for the first time since they’d met. “Bi stannin’ on the dockside ae Bonnie Belle at five tamorra moarnin’,” said Campbell as he distributed the cash among his mates. “Once I have the ether four hundred, I’ll tak’ ye to your island.”
Percy was standing on the quayside long before five the following morning, an overnight bag, his battered old school trunk, and a ten-foot pole at his feet. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, white shirt, his old school tie, and was carrying a rolled umbrella. Standard FCO kit when one is posted to some foreign field. He braced himself against the biting wind as he waited for the captain to appear. He felt both exhilarated and terrified at the same time.
He turned his attention to the little fishing vessel he’d chartered for this expedition, and wondered if it had ever ventured outside territorial waters, let alone into the middle of the North Sea. For a moment he considered returning to his hotel and abandoning the whole exercise, but the vision of his father and grandfather standing on the dock beside him strengthened his resolve.
The captain and his three mates appeared out of the early morning mist at one minute to five. All four of them were dressed in exactly the same clothes they had been wearing the night before, making Percy wonder if they’d come straight from the Fisherman’s Arms. Was it a seafarer’s gait they displayed as they strolled toward him, or had they spent his hundred pounds on what the Scots are most celebrated for?
The captain gave Percy a mock salute, and thrust out his hand. Percy was about to shake it, when he realized that it was being held palm upward. He handed over four hundred pounds, and Captain Campbell ordered his crew to carry Percy’s luggage on board. Two of the young men were clearly surprised by how heavy the trunk was. Percy followed them up the gangway, clinging onto the pole, which never left his side, even when he joined the captain on the bridge.
The captain studied several oceanographic charts before confirming the exact location at which Percy had asked to be abandoned and then gave the order to cast off. “Ah think it’ll tak’ us at least a day an’ a night afore wi reach oor destination,” said the captain, “so perhaps, laddie, it might bi wise fur ye tae lay doon. The waves cin bi a wee bit choppy wance wi leave the shelter ae the harbor.”
They had only just passed Wick lighthouse when Percy began to appreciate the true meaning of Captain Campbell’s words, and to regret having had a second helping of porridge that morning. He spent most of the day leaning over the railing, depositing what he’d eaten the previous day into the waves. It wasn’t much different during the night, except that it was dark and the crew couldn’t see him. He declined the captain’s offer to join them for a supper of fish stew.
After thirty hours of Percy wishing the ship would sink, or someone would throw him overboard, the first mate pointed through the mist and hollered, “Land ahoy!” But it was some time before the blurred dot on the horizon finally turned into a piece of land that might just have been described by an assiduous cartographer as an island.
Percy wanted to cheer, but his voice became muffled as the little vessel continued to circle the island in a valiant attempt to find a landing place. All they could see ahead of them were treacherous rocks and unassailable cliffs that didn’t require a “no entry” sign to warn them off. Percy sank down onto the deck, feeling that the whole exercise simply mirrored his career and would end in failure. He bowed his head in despair, so didn’t see the captain pointing to a cove that boasted a small beach.
The crew were experienced at landing far more slippery objects than Percy, and an hour later they left him on the beach along with all his worldly goods. His parting words to the skipper as he climbed back into his small dinghy were, “If you return in ninety-one days and take me back to the mainland, I’ll pay you a further thousand pounds.”
He had anticipated the captain’s response, and without waiting to be asked handed over two hundred pounds in cash; but not before he had confirmed the exact date on which the Bonnie Belle was to return.
“If you turn up even one hour before the ninety-first day,” he said without explanation, “you will not be paid another penny.”
Captain Campbell shrugged his shoulders, as he was past trying to understand the eccentric Englishman, but he did manage another salute once he’d pocketed the cash. The crew then rowed him back to his little fishing vessel so they could go about their normal business on the high seas, though not until they were back within the 150-mile legal limit.
Percy placed his feet wide apart and tried to steady himself, but after thirty hours on the Bonnie Belle it felt as if the whole island was swaying from side to side. He didn’t move until his former companions were out of sight.
He then dragged his belongings up the beach onto higher ground before he went in search of a suitable piece of land on which to pitch his tent. The relentless wind and squalls of rain did not assist his progress.
The flattest piece of land Percy came across during his initial recce turned out to be the highest point on the island, while the most sheltered spot was a large cave nestled in a cliff on the west side. It took him the rest of the day to move all his belongings from the beach to his new home.
After devouring a can of baked beans and a carton of long-life milk, he climbed into his sleeping bag and spent his first night on Forsdyke Island. He missed Horatio.
Most people would find trying to survive for three months on a small, uninhabited island in the North Sea somewhat daunting, but having spent thirty years in the basement of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Percy Forsdyke was equal to the task. Moreover, he knew that his father and grandfather would
regard it as nothing more than character building.
Percy spent his first full day on the island unpacking his trunk and making his new home as comfortable as possible. He stacked all the food at the coldest end of the cave and placed his equipment neatly along the sides.
For some weeks Percy had been planning the routine he’d follow on the island. He would begin the day with a bowl of cornflakes, a boiled egg (until he could bear them no more), and a mug of tea while listening to the Today Programme on Radio Four. This would be followed by a session of digging on the highest point of the island, weather permitting. Lunch, usually spam and baked beans, would be followed by a siesta. Not that Percy was avoiding the heat of the sun, you understand; he was just tired. When he woke, Percy would spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the island until he was familiar with every nook and cranny of his kingdom. Once the sun had set, which was very late at that time of year, he would prepare his dinner: more spam and baked beans. It didn’t take long for Percy to regret his lack of culinary imagination.
After listening to the ten o’clock news and reading some Shakespeare by candlelight, he would climb into his sleeping bag and carry out the last ritual of the day, bringing his diary up to date. He would detail everything he’d done that day, as it would be part of the evidence he would eventually present to the Foreign Office.
Percy had selected his ninety days of isolation carefully. He was able to follow the ball-by-ball commentary of all five Test matches against Australia, as well as the seven One Day Internationals. He also enjoyed thirteen plays of the week, and sixty-four episodes of The Archers, but he stopped listening to Gardeners’ Question Time when he realized it didn’t provide many useful tips for someone living on a small island in the North Sea.