WHERE were you when Nelson Mandela died?

In years to come people will ask this question.

I was sitting on the sofa, sewing the hem of a dress that I was planning to wear to the Salisbury Cathedral Carol Concert the next day. A notification pinged up on my phone, my friend’s status declaring, RIP Nelson Mandela.

In the 1980s, from the age of 10 years old through to teens, I was aware of Nelson Mandela.

At home we boycotted South African produce.

We weren’t eating Cape apples. At the time I wasn’t entirely sure why, but I knew that it was to do with apartheid and political oppression. There was often great debate around the dinner table, ‘one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter’.

As a child growing up in a market town in Wiltshire it was difficult to rationalise the reality of Apartheid.

My stepmother bought ‘Free Nelson Mandela’ t-shirts and I can still hear the African incantation Free Nelson Mandela, written by Jerry Dammers and performed by Special AKA ringing resonantly in my ears.

South Africa was a place I longed to visit. It was so politically complex and yet magical and enduring.

As a sailor, it called to me with the magnetism of the mythical peninsula of the Cape of Good Hope, which marked its southernmost tip.

It was a country that I knew I must visit.

My dreams came true on my honeymoon as we spent 12 incredible days in South Africa.

On November 14, 2001, as part of my personal pilgrimage, we visited The Robben Island Prison and Precinct where Nelson Mandela was incarcerated for 18 years of his 27-year political imprisonment.

In my diary I wrote: “We headed off to Robben Island, the prison of political prisoners of apartheid, including Nelson Mandela.

The day was now gorgeous and it was great to depart Cape Town, via the water, and watch it shrink into the distance.

“Robben Island itself was barren, savage and hostile in places, and other parts flourished with community. It was a very humbling experience, and odd to be a voyeur at such a tourist attraction, especially as our tour guide was an ex-inmate, (political prisoner), who explained that being a tour guide was very cathartic for him.

“It was strange to watch other tourists take pictures of themselves smiling outside Nelson Mandela’s cell.

“It made me feel slightly nauseous. Following ‘the long walk to freedom’ we snatched a glance at the penguin colony and then waddled back to the boat.”

Visiting Robben Island, for me, was a moment to reflect on the injustice of inequality.

The world still has a long way to go but at least Nelson Mandela put the route on the map.

Rest in Peace, Nelson Mandela.