An Englishman, a Welshman, an Irishman and a Scotsman are lost in the wilderness.
You know the format. Worthies on a comedy mission setting stereotyped characteristics against one another.
Well, I’m going somewhere else with this. It’s a referendum analogy. Why? Because I’m fed up with the other analogies: divorces, domestic dysfunction and divvying up the CD collection.
So, all four wander on. Mr English, Mog Jenkins, Roddy Claudy and Mack Scottie, have already decided who should lead. Mr English took charge, because he’s tallest and can see further. Self-appointed, maybe, but well-intentioned. The others went along with it for a quiet life. Mr English gets them to share their belongings. He takes the best of their two penknives, gives Scottie the other. He hands Jenkins the cheap pair of binoculars and keeps the high-powered ones for himself, to help his looking. Claudy gets to keep the bowler hat.
They’ve been in the wilderness so long, food and water’s scarce. It’s not looking good. They discuss the way out, argue about which direction. Mr English knows best. He’s got a lot of knowledge and he can stand up on rocks to see into the distance. He leads them down into a gully. Scottie suggests staying on higher ground but isn’t listened to. Jenkins, having once lost a card game with Mr English, nods. Claudy says, let’s get going.
In the end, hungry and dispirited, they descend into a wide ravine, dry, parched and bleak, no horizon. Mr English insists they follow the path. It’s obvious and must lead somewhere. The privations of their journey, endless effort and hardship must be borne to the end. Standing on boulders, staring out for hours wears Mr English down. More and more, he gets the other three to carry him. Often, when he’s asleep from his efforts, they gnaw on carrion, suspiciously thinking there’s less wizened flesh on the bones than last time they ate. Jenkins says, I think Mr English has a nibble when we go looking for more. Claudy shakes his head.
They stumble on. Rubble in the ravine makes walking difficult. The walls are steep and Scottie sees the occasional goat track winding precariously upward. They stop to rest, setting Mr English down, and wait for him to mount a boulder and look. Scottie says, we should head up the ravine walls. We’d maybe see better frae there, maybe find some better carrion to eat.
Mr English leaps up. No, he says, we must keep to this path. I know it will lead us to safety. We must be strong and press on. The others are not convinced but, hungrier than ever they go on. Mr English stumbles. I’m sorry, he says, you’ll have to carry me again. I must preserve my strength for looking. Without my ability to look and my great height we’re doomed.
Days later, bearded and haggard, they sit, slumped together. Mr English says, you see, we support each other, you with your lifting me up and me with my ability to balance on rocks and look. They pass around another hunk of meat and chew it’s stringy dry flesh. Mr English takes an extra bite. He glances at the others in resignation, sighs, …dry flesh is good for long distance vision… and balance.
Later that day, Scottie has a dilemma. He should stick with his friends but he knows they’re going deeper into danger. He faces Mr English, Claudy and Jenkins, it’s nae use, brithers, we’ll have tae try a different way. I reckon up that goat track.
Too steep, too high, too difficult, says Mr English, it’s a foolhardy enterprise. Mr English fixes Scottie with a glare. I’ve done this before. I know we’re going the right way. Claudy says, maybe Mr English knows best, he’s done right by us so far. And he’s been doing all the looking. Jenkins looks at them all, would it work? It’s a stiff climb… all that way…
They stagger on down the now immense canyon, its walls higher than ever, the sky a narrow blue between red rock. There’s a river now, a raging flood on one side of them as they scramble over outcrops above the rapids. They still eat carrion and leaves from scrubby bushes. Despite the twists and turns, Mr English still ascends prominences and stares ahead. They carry him all the time now.
Scottie reaches breaking point. He presents his choice. There’s a way up. I’ve seen animal tracks and I’m going to follow them up. It’s a hard climb but I’m fit. I’m a decent scavenger, I’ll find enough to eat. I ken I can make it.
Mr English is vehement. You’re not capable of it, Scottie. You’ll fall to your death, or die of thirst. Besides, think of Mr Jenkins here, and Mr Claudy. Show some solidarity! They’ve helped you carry me so I could look out for us all. You mustn’t walk away. If you have a duty to any of us, it’s to them!
Scottie replies. I just think, if we go on, we’re headin into mair danger. We’ll get to where we’ll hae to climb anyway when there’s nae way past the rapids. We’ll have less strength then. We’ll all end up piles of bones under the cliffs. This way there’s a chance. You could come wi me.
No, says Mr English, we’re better together down here. You’ll die without our support. We’re stronger, don’t you see? You’re too weak and, frankly, you don’t have the sense to make it alone. What do you think, Mr Jenkins? Mr Claudy?
Claudy shrugs. He says to Scottie, I think I’m better with Mr English. I’m for keeping on. Jenkins seems to waver, I know he doesn’t let us get a word in. But he’s got our best interests at heart..
Scottie is exasperated. He says to Mr English, I know you’ll have to walk more now but I’ve got to follow my instinct. To Jenkins and Claudy, he says, don’t let him make you carry him. He can walk fine. And don’t let him eat more than you…
Mr English cries out. Scottie! You’ve always disliked me but I can’t believe you’d make such a stupid choice because of that! Don’t you see, if you climb up there, what’s left of your shoes will disintegrate. Your shirt will fall off. Look. I know these things. You’ll lose your reason. Your eyesight will go. Remember I understand far more about looking than you do. Your muscles will waste away. You won’t have enough breath. Any judgement you have will leave you. You don’t know the risks.
Scottie looks up, I have to believe in myself. This what I though we had to do all along. I know you didn’t agree but we never really talked about it, did we? There’s a different way and I’ve got to take it. Before I’m worn down using what energy I’ve left after carrying you on this hopeless trail.
Mr English sighs. You might think this is right for you. I know you’re wrong. You’ll be back in a day or two. Tail between your legs. If you survive that is. Well, it’ll be too late. We three will have moved on.
Jenkins, bleakly: I’m sorry, Scottie, part of me agrees but I’m sticking with Mr English. We’ll muddle through. Claudy mutters: I thought we were a team…
English: Well said Mr Jenkins, Mr Claudy. To Scottie, I can believe you would abandon me. Your dislike has turned to hatred. It’s not pretty, I tell you! It’s as if you’ve become like those villains and robbers we fought in the old days. Now you’re no better than them. But what I find despicable is the way you’d abandon Claudy and Jenkins, your decent, loyal friends. Shame on you!
Scottie: If I’ve disliked anything, Mr English, it’s your ideas. The way you think you’re right and never talk to the rest of us. The way you expect us to bow to your cleverness, then carry you and give you most of what we have instead of sharing it. And, no, it’s not about abandoning you all. It’s about showing you another way. I wish you’d join me or at least think again.
English: Go then! But don’t expect any help once you do because, if you get into trouble, you’re on your own.
A long time later, Scottie has struggled up the cliffs. His determination drives him. He’s reached a point, not so far from the top, where he can still see English, Jenkins and Claudy. They’ve moved on a little way but he see now they’re arguing. As if the way ahead is uncertain and they can’t agree which way to choose.
He climbs upwards to the edge of the cliff. Over it, he sees he was right: desert with an expanse of scrub, prickly pear and mesquite, and in the distance, low, green hills: food and water, meagre but manageable, on the way to where he can build his strength.
He looks back over the lip of the canyon. Shading his eyes, he sees the three small figures below. Mr Jenkins is standing on the rocky bank, powerless. Claudy is on the water’s edge, reaching out. Mr English is in the water, fallen from his vantage point, floundering, the torrent rushing past him and threatening to sweep him away.
Scottie breaks open a prickly pear fruit, sucks its juice and eats. With his penknife, he trims two sticks from a branch of mesquite. He gathers more fruit, removing the spines He takes off his shirt and ties them in it.
Back over the cliff edge, Mr English and his friends are much as they were: Claudy, helpless on the bank. Mr English in the swirling eddy. Jenkins has moved away and is now starting to climb up the cliff path.
Scottie secures his bundle, loops it in his belt, and starts back down.
Choosing to go his own way hasn’t made him heartless. Making decisions for himself, asserting his independence, never meant walking away when his help was needed.
Refusing to stay with the others, following his own path, didn’t mean abandoning them completely. They were his friends after all. He only wanted to stand with them by choice, as an equal. Having left, and now, carrying sustenance and two decent sticks, he began to go down again.
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