European Reading Challenge #3

I read this travel narrative for the European Reading Challenge 2024

How the ‘Mastiffs’ Went to Iceland - Anthony Trollope

By naval tradition, the collective name of a ship's crew is the plural of the name of the ship. So in the Aubrey-Maturin novels, since Jack's ships were the Surprise and the Sophie, the members of his crew are referred to as Surprises and Sophies. A wealthy patron took 15 of his friends to Iceland in June and July, 1878. The large yacht was called the Mastiff, so the passengers called themselves “Mastiffs.”

The Mastiffs embarked from their wealthy friend’s Wemyss Castle, near Fife, Scotland. Bear in mind at that high latitude in early June, they would be having 20 hours of daylight. Trollope, by the way, was a well-regarded novelist of the time and had written a shelf of travel books.

They first stopped at St. Kilda, an isolated archipelago off the northwest coast of Scotland. Far from the mainland, their small population of about 70 and small production of wool did not necessitate regular contact by boat. So the main purpose of the trip was to drop off tea and sugar, which eased the monotony of the local diet. Trollope wondered if life was sustainable in such a remote place given the population’s dependence on charity. He pointed out that marriageable women far outnumbered eligible men (because men had left for greener pastures) and that infant mortality was high for unknown reasons. In fact, the last remaining inhabited island of Hirta was evacuated in 1930.

Their next stop was a courtesy call to Thorshavn, the capital of the Faroe Island archipelago. The locals had espied the Mastiff coming in so the Mastiffs were greeted by a friendly curious crowd though it was the middle of the night. The Postmaster told Trollope that no true Faroite goes to bed in summer when the sun is up 24 hours a day. But they did have to knock up the Governor so he could pay his respects.

Trollope as travel writer earns my respect because he tells me what I want to know about a place - what it smells like – “Thorshavn lies all around various little nooks of the sea, and has the smell and flavour of the sea which is peculiar to such places. It is very pretty, but its smell and flavour, combining that of many fishes, is one to which the visitor must become accustomed before it will be palatable. There is certainly the ancient and the fish-like smell; - otherwise Thorshavn is delightful."

I’ve approached Tallinn, Helsinki, St. Petersburg, and Kaohsiung on a ferry/cruise ship like the unfortunate Estonia. I’m not good enough a writer to convey the ineffable thrill of entering the port of new city; do it if you can, there’s no rush like it. But Trollope merely recounts coming into Reykjevik with the Mastiffs arguing about the difference between glaciers and fields of snow.

Well, Trollope was 63 years old and had done a great deal of previous travelling. Maybe the thrill of a new place was gone. In Iceland, Trollope liked the locals and enjoyed their culture, being impressed that literacy was the norm. He recounts with male amusement the shopping expeditions of the female Mastiffs.

A crew of affluent people hosted by generous patron, they stayed on the Mastiff, and ate its stores, having only local cuisine in the form of curds, cream, milk, and biscuits and wine. It is not clear if they spend two or three nights on Icelandic soil, when they went on an expedition to the Geysers. In an example of Victorian excess they took sixty-five ponies, two for each of the sixteen Mastiffs and the remainder ridden by guides and servants or laden with food, tents and other belongings.

Throughout the narrative, Trollope’s tone is playful, as the kiddish tone of the title indicates. The oldest member of the party, he feels indulgent about youthful antics and the japes of other Mastiffs. There are allusions and in-jokes that only other Mastiffs will comprehend (this book was privately printed and does not appear in Trollope’s collected works). The tone at the end is melancholy, parting being such sweet sorrow.

One wonders if Tony, at 63 years old and 225 pounds, had an intimation that this was to be his last long journey. Thereafter, he visited only Ireland and the Continent. Trollope died only a couple of years later in 1882, at the age of 67, of a stroke brought on by laughing too hard while being read to by his niece. The offending book was F. Anstey’s Vice Versa, a comic fantasy novel in the body swap genre.

Internet: Libravox and Online Text