Jack Phoenix reckons East Cowes - his adopted home on the Isle of Wight - is Narnia. The Island's tranquillity was recently shattered by a local woman's enormous cyst; Jack wonders what became of it . . .

I don't know whether C.S. Lewis, author of the Narnia Chronicles, ever visited the Isle of Wight, but it would be no surprise if he did; from the era of Tennyson and Lewis Carroll to David Icke today, the Island has been a haven for artists and eccentrics, and draws them like a magnet.

The story of how East Cowes got its nickname is this: One day, a resident of the East traversed the River Medina (local equivalent of the Berlin Wall) via the "floating bridge" (chain ferry) and partook of mood-changing brews in the superior pubs of West Cowes. Having started life at something of a neurochemical disadvantage, our man, with the addition of alcohol, was soon proclaiming that he could see færies, elves and satyrs. Come chucking-out time, an amused but friendly Westerner escorts our chap back to the floating bridge: "Come on mate, time to go back to Narnia."

And the name kind of fits in a grotesquely satirical way. You see, I'm by no means the oddest person here. Frankly, the place is packed with the peculiar; physical and behavioural strangeness abound. And sometimes I wonder if we Narnians aren't depriving a lot of villages of their statutory idiot allowance.

Rumours of genetic experimentation circulate regularly, but as yet there's no firm evidence. Another possibility suggests itself: inbreeding. The Island is, well, insular . . . one of the last places in Britain where nurses are required to ask expectant mothers "Is the father a blood relative?" And the answer is "yes" just often enough to justify them continuing to ask the question.

In a place where everyday experience is like a cross between episodes of Twin Peaks, The League of Gentlemen and The Archers, it is tempting to blame the government's transport policies. But does the historical legacy of a restricted gene pool, combined with the inadequacy of the present bus service and the high price of ferry tickets to the Mainland, really explain the strangeness we encounter here? And is there anything to the rumours of one-eyed mutants in Wroxall?

If you think I'm making this up, I'm willing to admit that you might be partly correct. On the other hand, you could do worse than consult our astonishing local newspaper now and again. Typical headlines in the Isle of Wight County Press - www.iwcp.co.uk- are usually along the lines of BINSTEAD LAMP-POST CAN STAY (IWCP, 5 May 2000) and LOOS TO STAY OPEN AFTER OAP POWER WINS DAY (IWCP, 19 May 2000) - so it was quite a surprise when Narnian hairdresser Marian Little inspired a fortean headline screaming FOUR-STONE CYST SHOCK FOR MUM (IWCP, 5 May 2000).

Formerly 18 stone (114kg), Mrs Little (sic) had endured a life restricted by her corpulence until a scan ordered by her new Narnian GP revealed the cyst's existence, necessitating the op. Despite her intense fear of hospitals, Mrs Little was admitted to St Mary's in April 2000. She remained in post-operative shock for three days after consultant David McNeal revealed the size of the cyst, which contained 5.5 gallons (25l) of "fluid."

According to the IWCP, McNeal once assited in an operation to remove a 10 gallon (45.5l) cyst which earned a place in the Guinness Book of Records. Guinness World Records 2000 mentions an ovarian cyst weighing in at 328lb (148.7kg) which was removed in Texas (everything's bigger in Texas) by Dr Arthur Spohn in 1905, whilst the 2001 edition refers to a record-breaking 96 hour operation to remove a cyst from Gertrude Levandowski of Chicago in 1951. Ms Levandowski's weight fell from 44 stone (280kg) to 22 stone (140kg).

I quickly abandoned attempts to search the Guinness website - www.guinnessworldrecords.com - due to its frustrating size and complexity. However, a web search did come up with a cyst described as "the largest in medical history." It was removed "in the late 19th century" by A. Morgan Cartledgge, Professor of Abdominal Surgery and Gynæcology at the Medical Institute of Louisville (now the University of Louisville School of Medicine). The cyst weighed 245lb (111kg) - now eclipsed by Ms Levandowski's.

Back in Narnia . . . The morning after the news about Mrs Little broke, there was a massive queue of Narnian fatties of both sexes outside the GP's surgery demanding removal of ovarian cysts. "I think I might have a couple!" shouted my 20 stone (127kg) neighbour George from the industrial wheelbarrow he's been stuck in since 1979.

On the same day that Mrs Little gave birth via Cæsarean to her four stone (25kg) cyst, her second granddaughter was born weighing a comparatively modest 9lb 8ozs (4kg). Whilst the granddaughter was quickly named Isobel, the cyst apparently remained nameless and unloved. Rumours that the cyst was being kept alive in an incubator were quickly scotched by hospital staff. "The cyst was disposed of in the normal way," a hospital spokesperson was said to have said, mysteriously.

But this morning when I went to get a paper, there was one more faceless blobby entity in a nylon frock haunting the streets of Narnia.

Jack Phoenix has lived on Narnia for 30 years. E-mail Isle of Wight, Narnia, or cyst-related news to Jack

This article was first published in Fortean Times 143:48, February 2001

Copyright © 2001 Jack Phoenix

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