krisinthefalklands

[krisinthefalklands]

It Begins...

"I've applied for a school in the Falklands", Sara tells me. ".... Huh!? Oh? Right... OK", this comes as a bit of a shock to me, we've previously spoken about the possibility of us returning back up north, where the quality of life is better than where we currently are, just outside of 2023's Worst Place To Live, Luton, and where the cost of living is significantly cheaper, but at the same time, I was also somewhat unsurprised, Sara has always had itchy feet (I'm talking about a desire to travel, not a long undiagnosed skin condition) and was ready for a new school to teach at.

We'd previously visited an island with a small population for her to attend an interview weekend, where partners were also invited, and please, do read the next bit in air-quotes, with as much sarcasm as you can muster, "but partners aren't being interviewed, just invited so they can get a feel for the island", sure Jan... and just days before the 2020 COVID-19 lockdown measures were introduced in the UK, we visited the tiny island of Sark in the Channel Islands.

Not only is Sark a tiny island, it also has a tiny population of about 500 people, where people are outnumbered by the sheep, and the coastline is frequented by funny looking black and white birds (just remember this information for later) as puffins can be spotted on the sheer coastal edges of the island in Spring.

During our time on Sark, when Sara wasn't preparing a lesson to give to her potential future class, we went up and down their bustling high street, avoiding the local traffic of tractors, horse and carts and bicycles...there are no cars allowed on Sark (despite how much my friend Victoria keeps suggesting that if you squint, you could mistake a sports car for a small tractor), not that you would need a car given the size of the island! We also had a lovely curry at the seigneur's home with the other candidates, headteacher of the school and his wife, and a few local residents, including the locum GP, who I may have landed in hot water when I was "absolutely not being interviewed" by the island's vicar and his wife.

The current seigneur of Sark is the delightful Christopher Beaumont, the 23rd person to take up the mantle, a former officer in the British Army, but despite his highfalutin sounding status is down to earth, and happy to chat away with visitors to his beautiful gardens, especially about his newly installed solar panels and electric tractor (the first of it's kind on Sark!)

Sadly, it wasn't to be for our dream of a few quiet years on Sark, and we returned to empty streets, loo roll shortages and queues outside supermarkets, as we took our singular government approved walk of the day. Life moved on, just day after day after sodding day. The more things changed, the more things stayed the same.

There were other attempts to move to Sark, the teacher who did get the job decided it wasn't for them and returned to mainland UK. I guess choosing small island life requires a certain kind of hardiness, pig headedness and a desire to be part of a small community who will know everything about you after a certain amount of time. We have those qualities (we hope), but again, the job was offered to another applicant.

So after a couple of attempts of moving to one small island, and it not being successful, I pessimistically assumed it would be the same here, Sara would go for the interview, impress the panel, but there would just be that one sodding person with a smidge more experience, who would get the job and leave us stuck on rainy Brexit island.

The big day came, Sara set off to London for the interview, you see, whilst for Sark they flew us to Guernsey and then put us on the cute little ferry to the small island, the Falklands is a 16 hour flight across the Atlantic, and a bit far to go for an interview, so the interview panel came to the UK, at Falkland House, the Falkland Islands London address, where you can visit to discuss all manner of things, so long as those questions are about the Falkland Islands. Of course, things didn't go smoothly, as her tube decided to stop in the middle of a tunnel between stations, unable to contact the office to say she was delayed as this was a line that did not yet have 4G signal installed throughout, but she did make her interview in the nick of time, and on exit was told she'd hear back within a week.

At this point my pessimism had kicked in. They had clearly given the job to someone else, and we were doomed for another year in the London commuter belt. Another year of eating fish fingers whilst watching Pointless. Another year of breathing in the polluted air from the main road we lived next to. Another year of...

"ring ring¹"... Sara's phone is ringing, it's a +500 number from The Falkland Islands... I listen in...

"Hi, is that Sara?", asks the caller, she confirms, and the voice on the other end replies, "Sorry about the delay in getting back to you, when we arrived we needed to have a week to rest from the exhaustion of flying and to have a think about the candidates we saw. We were really impressed with your"... I could sense the "but", again, I'm a pessimist by nature... "and we'd like to offer you the position of class teacher at the Infant and Junior School starting in September" - for once, my natural glass half empty, cheery outlook on life, was unfounded.

I went to Tesco to get cake to celebrate the news, although the choices were rubbish and I came back with mini Millionaires Shortbread bites rather than actual cake, but now we had to let it sink in that we were going to have a very big journey ahead of us.

What follows is that journey²...

¹it didn't actually go "ring ring", we're millennials and as such our phones are permanently on mute, and just went "vvvvvvb vvvvvvb" but that would have looked like a cat walked across my keyboard if I'd put that.

²It's worth noting up to now, this has mostly been about Sara's journey, but from hereon this will be a shared journey