I
look forward to Sundays, the relaxation and reflection, a big family
meal; a sort of regrouping after the corporate life that otherwise
dominates. It's really all about revolution and rebellion against
those that dictate outside that important union we call Home. On
Sundays I like to rewrite history. With those close to me always
willing to listen, accepting my preferred view, I give a wholly
prejudiced version of the life I lead during the week. The boss,
colleagues: my accounts of their actions are all skewed to the way I
wish them to be seen. And not only do my loved ones absorb these
tales without question, no others will actually do for them. My story, it
seems, is also their's. It's a mutiny that produces the bounty of
enhanced self esteem and unity. Sunday is a day when all is made to appear right, and
in this way the bit of land I call Home becomes the most right of all.
And on Sundays there are the papers, which, in line with my own philosophy, as much as anything else, usually focus on family life and the home. There are gardens and beautiful properties to dream about, lifestyle articles and feelgood features to mull over. But this week's Sunday
Times magazine also included a tale of rebellion -
and some rewriting of history - in a piece that followed the last
moments of a film prop, a full size replica of HMS Bounty, lost late in 2012 after being caught by hurricane Sandy. Built in
the 1960s for a Hollywood account of the famous mutiny
(starring Marlon Brando and Trevor Howard) the ship had since been
used as some sort of tourist attraction. Her loss resulted
in the tragic death of two people: the captain and a descendant of Fletcher Christian, the most remembered, and canonized mutineer.
The
film, Mutiny on the Bounty, was pure fiction
in the way it portrayed the ship's captain, William Bligh, and in doing so, capitalised on the myth that Bligh was a
martinet. William Bligh suffered three rebellions in his life: the
now famous Bounty mutiny; Spithead, when a whole fleet revolted; and
an insurrection when he served as governor of New South Wales. Put
into context, mutiny was not uncommon in Bligh's time and considering the attraction of life in the warm Pacific islands
where everything seemed available and in abundance, including women,
it's no wonder many of the Bounty's crew preferred to stay rather
than return to England. In the film's rewritten history, a fictional
Bligh has been created as a cruel and poor commander, and attributed
with an arrogance that precluded proper leadership. His conflict with Christian is made all the more fascinating, and profitable, by antics invented by the cinema.
The
truth is that Bligh, having served with Cook on his expeditions to
the Pacific, understood men and the sea very well. Like Cook he
used a three watch system, unlike many other captains in the Royal
Navy, which gave his men more rest. He even understood the need for
exercise on such a long voyage and ordered the crew to dance. He used corporal punishment sparingly by comparison with many of his contemporaries. Bligh's seamanship and judgement were proven by his navigation of the
Bounty in her attempt to round Cape Horn, through storm force winds,
and finally by his voyage of over 3,000 miles in an open boat after
being removed from Bounty by Christian and his mutineers. Bligh
lost one man on that incredible journey, the result of an attack by
natives. Bligh and his achievements, both
on the Bounty and afterwards in the open boat, are far more
interesting than any American film-maker's portrayal of the mutiny.
History is rewritten time after time but the motive is sometimes more than to simply provide an entertaining story. There's the home audience to consider. American film directors, it would appear, spend a lot of time at home on Sundays. Ever since the
United States won the Second World War single handed the achievements of other nations, and in particular the British, have been ignored. (Recently Hollywood implied to the world it was the US Navy and not the Royal Navy, as history has it, that captured the first German Enigma
machine.) And now they've awarded themselves an Oscar for
the film Argo, a cinematic untruth set in 1979 that claims
that six escaping American hostages were turned away by the British
in Tehran, before seeking refuge with the Canadians. In reality, and
in a story far more exciting than the film tells, British embassy
staff rescued the men, hiding them in several safe houses, until
finally, they managed to leave the country. Once again, truth is far more entertaining than fiction. While the film has
the CIA saving the day, the men were initially rescued by a few
British embassy staff in an orange Austin Maxi motor car.
As an
act of self inflation, on par with Idi Amin declaring himself King of Scotland, the Americans seem to have lost the plot,
literally. In the piece in the Sunday Times magazine, the
one about the replica Bounty, there's a photograph of her sailing under full
canvas. It's a magnificent sight, but maybe one that can only be appreciated at home. The ship, of course, is a fiction: HMS Bounty in all her glory, a Stars and Stripes ensign
fluttering in the breeze.
