Iles du Salut
Iles du Salut
The islands which make up the former French penal colony are a heartbreaking combination of beautiful landscape and a reminder of the horrific brutality endured by the convicts during their stay there, and even after death. Walking round St Joseph's island shortly after reading Papillon brought the history of the deserted prison buildings to life, and the ghosts of those who lived, worked and died there made their presence felt very strongly.
Deposited on St Joseph's island
I climb a steep dirt track
Away from the chattering bustle of tourists
To a place of unexpected peace and quiet
A graveyard, in a clearing.
For a penal colony there are so few graves,
The dates of birth and death too close together:
The graves of children.
Where are the missing thousands
The incarcerated convicts, banished for life
Where do their bodies lie?
A sudden voice behind me makes me jump
"At the bottom of the sea, the lucky ones.
Those not so lucky left no bones
To bear witness to their lives.
Wrapped tightly in a winding sheet
Weighed down with stones
Rowed out to sea to the tolling of a bell
Thrown by their compatriots
To the greedy waves, and the sharks.
A convenient solution to overcrowding"
The warden laughs, then drifts away
On the chill breeze.
Was he aware of the inhumanity
Of such an efficient solution?
Or is this why he haunts this island still
Seventy years on?
One year for every thousand shark meals.
© Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.
The islands which make up the former French penal colony are a heartbreaking combination of beautiful landscape and a reminder of the horrific brutality endured by the convicts during their stay there, and even after death. Walking round St Joseph's island shortly after reading Papillon brought the history of the deserted prison buildings to life, and the ghosts of those who lived, worked and died there made their presence felt very strongly.
Deposited on St Joseph's island
I climb a steep dirt track
Away from the chattering bustle of tourists
To a place of unexpected peace and quiet
A graveyard, in a clearing.
For a penal colony there are so few graves,
The dates of birth and death too close together:
The graves of children.
Where are the missing thousands
The incarcerated convicts, banished for life
Where do their bodies lie?
A sudden voice behind me makes me jump
"At the bottom of the sea, the lucky ones.
Those not so lucky left no bones
To bear witness to their lives.
Wrapped tightly in a winding sheet
Weighed down with stones
Rowed out to sea to the tolling of a bell
Thrown by their compatriots
To the greedy waves, and the sharks.
A convenient solution to overcrowding"
The warden laughs, then drifts away
On the chill breeze.
Was he aware of the inhumanity
Of such an efficient solution?
Or is this why he haunts this island still
Seventy years on?
One year for every thousand shark meals.
© Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.
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