Living on Lundy shifts your sense of geography and creates a new language. In this blog I consider how language and island life reshape our sense of language, geography and place.

I’m quite excited as we have bought tickets to go to see the musical Come from Away. The story is based on a book titled The Day the World Came to Town. The story takes place in the small island community of Gander in Newfoundland. Thousands of airline passengers unexpectedly found themselves stranded there after the events of September 11th. The production we are going to see, features our own (ex) Islander Alice Waterfield in the lead female role. I am sure that her experience of being ‘an Islander’ will result in an outstanding experience.

The title itself comes from a phrase islanders use for visitors — people who have “come from away.” It’s a small piece of language that quietly reflects how island communities see the world.

A Conversation That Made Me Think

Thinking about this phrase reminded me of a recent conversation I had while visiting North Devon.

I mentioned that I was nearing the end of my holiday. I had limited time left “on the mainland.”

The person I was speaking to looked puzzled for a moment. Then they laughed. They had never thought of themselves as living on the mainland.

I have seen the musical before. Alongside living on an island, It has made me realize that, as islanders, we use a different geographical language.

An Island Way of Speaking

Living on Lundy alters the way you talk about the world. Over time your vocabulary shifts, especially when it comes to one simple phrase: the mainland.

On Lundy we use it all the time.

“We’re heading to the mainland tomorrow.”
“The supplies are coming from the mainland.”
“I’m going over to the mainland next week.”

For those of us living here, the meaning is obvious. The mainland lies across the water. It encompasses North Devon and beyond. It is the familiar line of land that sits beyond the horizon of sea and sky.

Seeing the Coast from Lundy

At our regular staff morning meeting on change over days, conversations often turn to who is heading to the mainland. Someone is traveling for a doctor’s appointment, another for a weeks leave. The phrase slips naturally into conversation.

From the Island, the coast of North Devon appears as a faint blue line across the water. Sometimes it is clear in the sunlight and you can recognise locations. Other times, it disappears into mist. On bright days it looks surprisingly close, as though it will only take a short boat trip to reach it. But the sea has a way of reminding you that distance is not measured only in miles. Wind, tide, and weather shape every journey.

Out here in the middle of the Bristol Channel, the larger landmass across the water simply becomes ‘the mainland’.

It is a reminder that geography is not only about maps and scale, but about viewpoint.

One Lundy resident once joked that after living here for a while, “your mental map flips upside down.” What once seemed like the centre of things becomes somewhere you travel out to. The island itself becomes the point of departure.

It’s Not Just Lundy

Language often reflects how people experience the places where they live. On islands the sea forms a natural boundary. The larger land beyond that boundary becomes “the mainland,” regardless of how large the island itself might be. It is less about geography and more about perspective — the viewpoint of those living surrounded by water.

This is one of the gifts of island living. It shifts the way you see the world.

When the Island Becomes the Centre

Maps show Lundy as a small speck of granite sitting just off the coast of Devon. Yet for those who live here it is anything but peripheral. It is the centre of daily life. These are the paths walked in wind and rain. The Jetty is where boats arrive. The cliffs are where the sea is always there.

Thinking back to that moment in North Devon, I now understand why the phrase sounded so strange.

From their perspective they were already standing on the mainland.

Looking Back Across the Water

But from where I usually stand — on a small island surrounded by sea — the world looks slightly different. It reminds me that I am an Islander and the mainland lies over the sea.

If you live somewhere surrounded by water, do the words you use to describe other places start to change too? Or, if you live somewhere remote, do they change as well?

Reference

Sankoff, I., and Hein, D., (2019). Come from away: Welcome to the Rock. USA: Da Capo.