CASTAWAY 2000 - COME IN FROM THE COLD!!

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Castaways come in from the cold

Sex, squabbles, sewage, and stress - the TV survivalists warm to their island life

Gerard Seenan

After dark winter months punctuated by occasional bouts of petty squabbling, strenuous work and cramped living arrangements, it pays to have a common foe against whom a community can unite.

For the remaining volunteers of the BBC's Castaway 2000 series, it is generally the weather. But, as the sun finally kissed the white sandy beaches of the Hebridean island of Taransay yesterday, the castaways decided to break with habit and unite behind each other.

Only four months into the so-called social experiment of the BBC's landmark millennium series, fault lines are emerging and the community is being forced to work around them - or spend 10 months in feuding hell.

First there was the new year schism when half the volunteers deserted the island and lived it up on Harris. Terrible for the community, but great for publicity.

"There were two communities for the first month. In the beginning of February, we really had to work at it. We had missed things," said Rosemary Stephenson, who stayed on Harris with her husband and children while the other Castaways continued building the settlement.

Now, as the cameras continue to roll, there are new tensions emerging. While the families and couples get on with their home education and alternative living experiment, there are other factors afoot on the island's home for the unattached - the singles pod.

From the beaches of Harris, Tatler picture editor and tabloid heartthrob Ben Fogle has reportedly been spotted walking hand in hand with an unidentified woman. He does not deny this, but the Castaways claim in unison that there has been no snogging behind the pig sheds.

"Any relationships that have been formed have been transitory. People are reluctant to get romantically involved in this situation," said Cynthia McVey, the programme's psychologist.

The instant the helicopter drops on to the island, it is clear that there is another factor mitigating against romance. The cold. The freezing, wind-enhanced, Hebridean cold. And this is a good day in April. It has been the worst winter locals can remember; they are even beginning to feel sorry for the castaways.

Yet the cramped-but-cosy homes are now finished, save for the turfing of the odd roof. The youngsters are in together, and the atmosphere is akin to scout camp for grown ups. "I would have had a lot more space and time alone back in my old life. It's a hard thing to give up, but I'm really loving it," said Toby Waterman.

The generational split, however, has been said to run deeper than differences over accommodation. Ray Bowyer, who left the island in March, said some of the young people were not doing their fair share of the work. On the island this is played down, but some of the older Castaways concur.

"The young haven't got the discipline that we have got," said Peter Jowers. "It is hard to get out of bed after a piss up on the home brew."

Mr Bowyer's departure was the collective low point for the community. They say he got drunk on Burns' night and became aggressive, but his departure was the culmination of many other minor things. "He had hardly ever lived in one place, never mind a tiny community for a year," said Sheila Jowers.

As the 27 adults and eight children get down to day-to-day life on Taransay, a few preconceptions - along with the pseudo-survivalist beards initially sported by most of the men - have gone a similar way to Mr Bowyer. The group started off with only two vegetarians in their number, but the prospect of slaughtering the island's livestock has made that number jump to eight.

The first animal to go was a sheep. Tricia Pater had to round it up for cull. "I looked it straight in the eye and I felt really guilty. I couldn't eat meat after that."

Even the more carnivorously inclined castaways have learnt one valuable lesson of animal husbandry: it is an awful lot more difficult to kill an animal with a name. The slaughtering of Heathcliffe, the over-plump pig, by butcher Colin Corrigan, provoked days of debate.

There is also the tricky subject of toilet. After the initial fiasco over the inadequacies of the sewage - a compost hole in the ground rendered virtually useless by the lack of soil on the island - the eco toilets are now working to such effect that the castaways can tell if there has been a visitor on the island merely by examining the sewage. Privacy does not come in to it.

But as they end their first quarter on Taransay, the castaways say the reality of isolated island life - milking, cooking, fencing, planting and communal eating - has been easier than many first imagined. Many say they will find it difficult to go back to normal life.

For others it is an experiment, not a life choice. Away from the questions of journalists, for some it may not be what they thought. "They all go through phases of wanting to go back, hating it," says Mrs McVey. "I think, yes, some of them were a bit naive about what it would be like."

But in front of the fire in the main house yesterday none of them said they regretted it. And, for that moment at least, it was almost possible to believe them.

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