I tried calling Susan just before we slipped our moorings for the ride to Samarai Island, an abandoned entrepôt in the southwest of what once was British New Guinea. I wanted to let her know I was on the way to the old stamping ground of Beatrice Grimshaw, an Irish writer about the islands who grimly fascinated us both. The phone rang out that Saturday morning, as it often did these days. I hoped she was still alive. John the boatman, his arms a…
This story is only covered by news sources that have yet to be evaluated by the independent media monitoring agencies we use to assess the quality and reliability of news outlets on our platform. Learn more here.