Plantation House and Exiles

I have been staying in Plantation House for four days now. Four days of being exceedingly well looked after by Emma and the house staff. Four days of being privileged to relax in - and benefit from - this house's splendour. And while I have learned a few snippets about its history, today was the day I joined the weekly house tour to learn a bit more about the accommodation I have been enjoying.

But first it was a long walk with Emma and Worsley her dog. An hour and a half of woodland, quiet road and steep, winding track through flax and lush foliage to grass fields and distant views. Views of the sea, of hills, of trees. And throughout the walk, flashes of white as Fairy Terns hover and swoop across the landscape. It was a landscape that reminded me of the ruggedness and richness of Central America.

Twelve people turned up at the front door for the tour. Some were familiar faces - from Saturday’s aircraft, someone I saw in town yesterday and a couple we chatted to when walking to Blue Point two days ago - an indication of how tiny and unvisited this island is. Debbie, the house manager, led us round the rooms that I have had the privilege to be living in - entrance hall, library, dining room, sitting room and others - describing objects of interest and history: built in 1791 by the East India Company as the Governor's summer residence; visited by The Duke of Wellington and Nelson but Napoleon always refused any invitation; and interesting and old letters in the library waiting to be properly catalogued to have their secrets revealed. It was then time to go upstairs.

My bedroom is usually on the tour and I told Debbie that I had moved my things out so it could also be included today. I thought the key point of interest would be that Princess Anne slept here in 2002 but today was the day that I found out that my bedroom and the corridor are haunted… Stories of drawers that moved of their own accord, a bed that shook and the shadow of a man with a deformed hand in the corridor and end room were shared, although who he was and why these other things occurred was a mystery. I will be sleeping a little less soundly tonight…

After lunch I headed off with Worsley for a short walk to a cemetery down the road to see another part of the island’s history.

St Helena is probably best known as the island to which Napoleon was exiled. Yet it was not just Napoleon who the British sent here to keep them out of the way: a Zulu prince and his associates were sent after the Zulu uprising and later other Zulus for different perceived misdemeanours; in 1917 a Zanzibar Royal arrived to keep him from challenging the throne in lieu of a candidate more favoured by the British; and in the late 1950s some Bahrainis were sent when that country was a British Protectorate. The Americans had the remote island of Alcatraz, we seemed to use St Helena, although less well known, more remote and more focused on political rather than domestic crime. And these were not the only people the British sent here. Others included prisoners from the Boer War. Today I wanted to go and see the graves of some of those Boers who died while in St Helena.

Between 1900 and 1902 nearly 6000 Boer prisoners of war, including two important Generals, were sent to St Helena. They were mainly housed in two tented camps on the west and east of the island and overall were apparently well treated. They helped improve the island's road system, some set up their own businesses, and generally they integrated well with the community (there were even some marriages). But in 1902 when 180 died of typhoid, the Anglican Church refused to allow their burial on the grounds they were ‘enemies of the King' so it fell to a nearby Baptist Chapel to allow their burial in its land.

The cemetery lies about a mile away, downhill along a quiet lane opposite the house's access road and then along a wooded track to the open space of the cemetery. It is simple, compact and built on sloping ground: 180 impersonal, faded, white stone markers and two obelisks with names, added some time later by South Africa. It feels isolated, remote and dispassionate, maybe fitting symbolism in some ways for soldiers who died far from home on enemy ground. But sadly, given the generally peaceful involvement with the island community, this place also has a sense of being indifferent and forgotten. Further along a grassy track though, lies the small and secluded burial ground that includes the monument and grave of the only Governor who died on St Helena. So although isolated, those Boers are only a stone's throw from a previous head of the island, an island and community that many, although alien and far from home, supported and contributed to.