Robinson [antikvár]

Chapter i If you ask me how I remember the island, what it was like to be stranded there by misadventure for nearly three months, I would answer that it was a time and landscape of the mind if I did not have the visible signs to summon its materiality: my journal, the cat, the newspaper cuttings, the curiosity of my friends; and my sisters - how they always 1 look at me, I think, as one returned from the dead. You have read about the incident in the papers, and there were some aerial pictures of the island which, when I saw them later, were difficult to recognize as the scene of all I ^^^going to tell you. Most of all, it is the journal that gives me inybearings. It fetches before me the play of thought and action hidden amongst the recorded facts. Through my journal I nearly came by my death. Three of us were projected from the blazing plane when it crashed on Robinson's island. We were the only survivors ) of twenty-nine souls including the crew, and, as you know, ^ we were presumed lost until we were fotmd two months and 2 twenty-nine days later. I had concussion and a dislocated \ left shoulder. Jimmie Waterford got off with a few cuts and /bruises. Tom Wells had fractured ribs. I made a quick recovery, and had not been ten days on the island when I started my journal in a damp paper exercise book which Robinson gave me for the purpose. I see that I began by writing my name, the place, and the date, as follows: ^ January Marlow, voe./--^^ Robinson b^A". May 20, 1954 My name is January, because I was bom in January. I 7