Lord of the Flies summer.
 

When I was eleven years old I was killed by a group of boys dancing around a fire at midnight--my final act as Simon in Peter Brook's film Lord of the Flies.

It was one of those extraordinary things that happens to you in life. One day in June 1961 I was looking forward to a summer holiday of who-knows-what. The next day out of the blue I was cast in Lord of the Flies, a film about to be produced on almost no money on a remote Caribbean Island. Three days later I was boarding a Pan Am flight from New York to Puerto Rico with thirty other English boys. The cast of characters was headed for a deserted pineapple cannery refurbished as a summer camp on Vieques Island. Accompanying us was Peter Brook, 35, the director, and a cadre of producers, photographers and sound people. I still remember today, 35 years later, the united energy of those days.

We spent those first mornings sitting in the shade under the palm awning in front of the pineapple factory as Mr. Brook recounted Lord of the Flies, in the terms that a group of boys could understand, but without ignoring the story's significance. We were to live our roles, speak in the best British accents that we could, adopt our screen names, and think in terms of those characters. Evenings and mornings were filled with the regimen of living in the warehouse, which was fitted with cots with mosquito netting. There was a kitchen, a wardrobe room and a makeup room where we all applied smelly pancake makeup to our bodies. The days were spent filming and learning the meaning of patience. Encouraged by Brook, we were brought into each scene and became part of it. Offset we snorkeled, explored the cane plantations, published a paper "The Vieques Variety", entertained a dog named "Tramp", and we even made our own 8 mm movie--Murder for Money. We caught lizards, went fishing, played chess, and lived the summer life of boys at camp under the paternal watch of a group of counselors.

In spite of our flights of fancy Lord of the Flies was the business of the summer, and we spent it living out author William Golding's vision of the decaying society of a group of British boys stranded on a tropical island. In this paradise they formed their own version of the society they had left behind: one of 2 leaders elected, hunters designated to get meat, water carriers, house builders, shifts at the lookout fire on the mountain, and someone to take care of the "littl'uns". The boys' unified inability to deal with the specter of an incomprehensible "beast thing" lurking--almost unseen--on the mountaintop broke the group and led to struggles between leaders Ralph and Jack, who were supported by cerebral Piggy, visionary Simon and evil Roger. The island was gradually was transformed from a paradise to one of fear, savagery and destruction.

I was "Simon". The boy was pensive, quiet, thoughtful--"batty" according to Piggy-- and had short lines and symbolic roles. Although not my perception of myself, it was easy for me to adopt that demeanor and I enjoyed it. Peter, associate director Toby Robinson, and cameramen, Tom Hollyman and Gerry Feil, seemed to make me think that I was actually doing quite a good job and I liked them.

Simon established a link between the group of boys and the simple and innocent truths of the natural world. As Simon I did not believe in the beast, and I left the group to climb the mountain. On the way I stared at the pig's head--the "Lord of the Flies"--left by the hunters on a stick as an offering to the beast. At the mountaintop I found that the beast was simply a corpse attached to a parachute. I rushed to tell the other boys, who were engaged on the beach in a rabid dance of fear at the outset of a great tropical storm. But I was misinterpreted as the beast itself and brutally stabbed by the dancing throng, staggered to the water, collapsed in the surf, and floated out to sea. The simple identity of the beast was never revealed to the boys whose savagery continued to grow unchecked.

The story has become a classic. It can be taken at face value, interpreted to produce a remarkable statement of the structure of British society of the 1950's, or even to make a broader statement on human nature itself. Peter Brook called it the "potted history of man". The film is directly faithful to the book, in black and white, and in its entirely natural setting it is quite timeless.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Time Flies summer.
 

In 1996, 35 years later, BBC television reunited me with "Ralph","Piggy","Jack", the twins "Samneric", and director Peter Brook on these same Puerto Rican beaches. BBC organized the reunion and made Time Flies, a 50-minute documentary film of our reunion. There we were, in middle age looking at ourselves preserved as children on film, taking a week to explore the landscapes of our lives, recalling our boyish adventures there. How had Lord of the Flies affected us?

How remarkable it was that after all these years we knew each other almost instantly. "Ralph", James Aubrey, is the only among us who pursued an acting career, and now is established in British theatre. As with all artists, anguish must be part of the creative process, but more so for actors. They have only themselves, an audience and a set, are at the mercy of the media, producers and directors, yet, like everybody else, must find a way to put food on the table. James made me realize, in just a few days, how extreme are the rewards and frustrations of such a life. There he was, sensitive and mysteriously out of touch, feeling repressed by things outside of his control. "Jack", Tom Chapin, is today a gold mine geologist in Nevada. His depth of perception today is as remarkable as when he was 13. You could see Jack in him, a leader who believes and follows his own thoughts, but there was nothing evil. "Piggy", Hugh Edwards, formerly the image of short fat comic strip character "Billy Bunter", is now a tall and almost slender engineer for a Russian firm. It was at first hard to see the remarkable "Piggy" we had known--perceptive, friendly, humorous, trustworthy, genuine and responsible, but there it all was under a well-fortified exterior. "Sameneric", the twins, were there also. It seemed they were still trying to come to terms with their part. Identical twins, David and Simon Surtees have remained together through life. They married, have families in the UK, and have similar careers as a guidance counselor and political administrator. They have changed dramatically, but they are still identical and their inseparability tortures them. A soul bond exists between these brothers; and they shared it with us, the boys of Lord of the Flies. As for me, a free lance forester from Inverness, California, I came to the reunion straight from busy weeks working in the woods. I was relaxed and happy, and simply proud to let Lord of the Flies emerge from my past.

We have all gone on to lead different lives, completely without contact with one another, but somehow are bound by our powerful experiences on Vieques. We expected each other to be the people we were as children, and the surprising part is that we are. The personalities have not changed. Part of the timeless value of our film was in Golding's description of each of us, and Peter's careful casting of a crowd of children. It had been method acting. We had been ourselves.

The task was for BBC film director Richard Dale to create an unscripted documentary emerging from this encounter. In his words, "honesty, that is what cuts through the crap". It was anybody's guess as to what would happen.

We met at Casa de Frances, the grand old Woolworth villa or "Frenchman's House" where the filming crew had stayed in 1961. The setting, remarkably familiar after decades of change, could again easily be seen as the desert island it was to us in 1961. Hurricane Hugo, the great defoliator and beheadder of coconut palms, had ravaged Vieques in 1989. The canefields, so prolific in the area in 1961, have been replaced by a government biological preserve, now a naturalized scrub. The mangroves and mountain are as they were, the beaches more accessible and covered with litter, yet easily restorable to 1961 condition. The exposed beaches themselves have eroded. The coral reefs were destroyed by Hugo but are regenerating. The sandy azure bay bottom has been filled with an invasive eel grass. The local village, Esperanza, has grown. At the grill, owner Alajandro Williams fondly remembers us as children, and there was the same pool table and even the 5¢ jukebox of 1961. New houses dot the hills here and there, but most of the island is a military preserve, and there little has changed.

I wandered in with my bag at the appointed time, the last to arrive. It didn't take very long to sort everyone out. The twins were effusive and sentimental. Hugh Edwards was warm and genuinely happy. James Aubrey looked tired. Tom Chapin, "Jack", held back and we greeted each other more carefully off film.

The film crew took us to the pineapple factory, which still stands, victim of changing times and years of disuse. Hugo had removed the roof. The building itself is grown over in vines. No trace of our childhood forays exist there exist except in our scrapbooks and a few persons' memories. That evening was our first production--set in this decayed structure with a fire, candles, lanterns, video clips from the film, and comraderie. We had been great friends.

Early the next morning the film crew went to San Juan to film Peter's arrival. Peter Brook, now in his 70's, is short white headed, and cerebral. What makes him special are his accomplishments, and his way of surprising people in his constant and spontaneous search for new ideas. You can feel the energy of his mind. I had anticipated re-meeting Peter for many years. Perhaps this documentary is his way of taking a moment in time to look back and to give us the opportunity to explore as adults what we really had not understood as children.

Peter Brook is a complex man trying to achieve simplicity. I think we helped him do that, and during our August week together he became increasingly comfortable with our renewed friendship. Peter was on Vieques pausing to reflect on his most important film, and it was his way to repay us for the support of his art that we had innocently offered years ago.

It was an odd feeling to be filming again after all these years, but we must be actors at heart because we knew well how to be patient with a set. We spent much of the first day waiting while the film crew worked on one shot and another--just passing the time in these dazzling places. Sun Bay, the choir boy marching beach, is a prize, more beautiful than I remembered.

Friday we decided to go to the mountaintop after an on-film morning meeting. The film crew was not aware of the mountain top's significance to us. I suppose we all remember suffering there in the dust and the heat, filming long scenes over and over again. But the mountaintop was not easy to find. I had already tried twice to locate it, studied the map, and now thought I knew the way. Unable to secure permission, it was necessary to trespass onto forbidden ground at the Marine base. We assembled a convoy of 3 trucks and drove in like we owned the place. It worked! After many wrong turns, fallen trees across the road, a track through the jungle, the excitement of expedition, somehow we found the mountain top by mistake actually after abandoning the search. But there was no mistake about it. This mighty mountain we remembered (we had all been drawn to search Vieques' highest peaks) was no more than a mound of rock next to a mangrove and an old quarry.

Tom Hollyman, one of Lord of the Flies original cameramen, had come from New York to visit with the group and to shoot publicity stills. He arrived carrying a pig's head on a stick. We stood there, awkwardly posing with enlarged photographs of ourselves as children. After the shoot we left this grinning representative of the world of authority at the beach.

Vieques remembers us as part of its history. Many Vieques residents had worked on the filming, but the movie had never been seen there. Therefore it was truly a pleasure to finally show Lord of the Flies to our hosts in the open air town square at Isabella Segunda, the island's main town. Perhaps to offset my announcements in broken Spanish a local woman did a touching job translating the film, scene by scene, in few but powerful words. Then Peter surprised and graced us all with his Spanish. We made it about halfway through, with Simon headed up the mountain, about to gaze at the Pig's head--and the rain came down. It poured so heavily that we had to abandon our gesture. Everybody was disappointed. The town's support had been so nice to have.

We spent Saturday at the Assembly Beach. What an important place for us: the many assemblies, the huts, the clear water, the choir march, my fainting scene, the first trip with Ralph and Jack to the mountaintop--the essence of our experiences in the summer of 1961. We had spent so many long days as a group shooting these scenes here. Although just boys, the making of Lord of the Flies had been a difficult job, and much of it was done in that palm lined cove. Here it was--the blue warm water, the reef, thousands of colorful fish, white sands, beach grapes and palms, the Caribbean wind and light--the background and form of Lord of the Flies.

We came together to resolve our relationships and see what would happen during a reunion of 35 years, and to try to evaluate if something important had happened after, as children, we had lived on Peter Brook's Island. This documentary focuses on an extraordinary experience that happened to regular children, now regular adults, piecing together an unscripted story of their own lives. We were intensely familiar to one another, but years and maturity create barriers. Each of our little group of Englishmen now had the opportunity to actualize an unscripted role, and to present and exhibit it before a camera--within just days. But could we? We were not actors--not even particularly distinguished people. These were our lives and Lord of the Flies was the most public thing we ever did. I felt a frustration with my inability to communicate, yet a need to explore my own personality and to try to relate my life to my role in this film.

Perhaps I should again have visited that pig's head on its stick.

In the square at Isabella Segunda the prior night the translator had described my role as "el innocente", the innocent, later amended to "el sencillo", or the simple. Later in the evening, she approached me with a tentative apology for labeling me in such a way, but none was necessary. I had been delighted. She had captured Simon in the true terms of his role, and so I thanked her instead.

I am proud of my role as Simon, and always have been. A third of a century has intervened, but I will never deny that the character is part of me, and that the experience went on to build other parts which you cannot so easily see. Peter Brook managed to see the essential raw material of personality in small boys, and to exaggerate these traits to unfold the story of Lord of the Flies on film in 90 minutes, speaking through our eyes with a script drawn verbatim from Golding's book.

What a wonderful opportunity it was as a child to live and to help create a classic and timeless film that asks fundamental questions of human nature. I am quite sure I represented to others more than I really am, but I am satisfied with the memory of this part of my life, and have no regrets or disappointments. I'm still here. I'm happy. I'm busy. I'm constantly challenged by a never ending sequence of experiences. I have a wonderful family, a remarkable place to be, and I'm fine.

In Lord of the Flies I related really to nobody in particular, my role provided a connection between the boys and the natural world. In my real life perhaps, this had an impact on me--I went on to become a forester and today this is still my profession, and perhaps a link to my life as Simon. My role is to study and perceive the science of forest ecology and to practice the art of forestry. But, more importantly, it builds a bridge between the complexities of nature and the demands of human society.

The film was a fortuitous labor of love. We had all come together, sacrificed, unified in the moment and endured to do what was necessary to get the job done. There was no money in it--the venture had been so risky to Hollywood that it had taken a hundred blind investors to raise the film's budget--a quarter of a million dollars for such an experiment! We learned the meaning of work as children, and perhaps Peter Brook taught us the meaning of honest leadership. We knew each other via our scripted names--"Ralph", "Simon", "Piggy", "Jack" and all the others. We lived here on a "desert island", moments were filled with drama, scenes were recorded on film. But we were just boys. It was a special time in a paradise, and we took these activities as they were--scenes in a film.

Although I didn't think much about it at the time, in hindsight my death scene scares me. It was night, the spears--those wooden stakes--were quite real. We were excited, brandishing flaming sticks around a bonfire on the beach in a real storm. I really did emerge from the bushes into the center of a raging crowd, screamed in terror, was stabbed by boys with shapened sticks, and staggered to the water.

Of course the reality is that we didn't quite live the story. The drama was not real life. Nobody was killed. Nobody was even in danger. We ate 3 meals a day and wrote letters to our families.

People have long been interested in my involvement in a great production--it has changed my life in an enriching way. Now this year we are back together, looking directly at ourselves as children, examining who were are, learning things we never expected about our own personalities, and enjoying our surviving love for each other as brothers. In many ways it is quite unnerving--addressing as adults difficult matters that we so easily took for granted as children.

I had never realized until now that I had the best part in the film. I had been the good guy and so never carried any baggage into the world that related me directly to "Simon". When the film came out in New York it was un-rated, and so I could take all my high school friends, and we could have a good party. Little did I know that in England other boys were enduring the stigma of having performed in an X-rated film! And I may have been lucky too, back in 1961, when the phone rang asking me to interview for parts in what became great plays, that I declined. Even at that age it had been easy to see the price of the glamour of the stage. Except enjoying high school and college productions, I never went on to act. Even if I had, the highlight of my career might well have been Lord of the Flies.

Monday, August 19, was the final day. We went to "Castle Rock"--actually at Aguadilla in northwestern Puerto Rico. This was the site of the savagery, scene of my death, Piggy's end, sharp rocks, dramatic ocean, hot humid earth, fire, and wild children with spears dancing as one organism in a united nightmare---and our visit this day was to be the final scene of Time Flies.

BBC hired 2 airplanes to carry us across Puerto Rico from Vieques to Aguadilla. The planes floated across all of Puerto Rico's rainforests and delivered us in the early morning. We quickly found the site. Peter practically danced down the steep trail, very agile at 74. Hugh "Piggy", disabled this time by sunburned feet, symbolically was unable to make the pilgrimage.

The lay of the land was as clear as if it was yesterday. I climbed a hill and there were the sharp rocks, the cave, the beach of fire where we did my death scene, and where Roger dropped the rock on Piggy.

Seeing the place again unnerved us, but I think that fate smiled too. Together we had unknowingly climbed a very tall mountain--and accomplished what today seems almost a miracle. Such a film as Lord of the Flies would never be made again, and could never have been made otherwise. There was an unplanned moment of silence as we searched our souls. Peter Brook smiled and you could tell he loved us all.

James Aubrey echoed my thoughts-- "For me something happened, religious, spiritual experience. Peter Brook was the octopus and we were the arms". I departed San Juan disbelieving of the totality of my own experience, gazing at people with new eyes, and struck with the enormity of the opportunities of life, the beauty of these our experiences in Puerto Rico, with love for my brothers and need for their support. We have learned that human nature does not change. With Peter Brook's leadership, the spontaneity of ideas, and hard work, we had made these things happen. This event has somehow changed me, and leads through the theatre of my life. This wonder of "Simon" has come to pass through me for a second time. The Time Flies boys looked at their lives, and I think we were satisfied.
 
 

Tom Gaman is a free lance forester in Inverness, California. He acted as Simon in Peter Brook's Lord of the Flies