St. Lucia

The island was said to have been discovered by Christopher Columbus on St. Lucy's Day 13th. December 1502 but he did not set foot ashore. The British made the first attempt at a settlement when the "Olive Blossom" called here in 1605 but they were either killed or driven off by the Carib Indians. During the next 150 years the island was a subject of constant dispute between the French and British resulting in much bloodshed.

It was to Morne Fortune (Hill of Good Luck) overlooking Castries that I needed to go. A 1925 guidebook described the journey up as follows: A winding road ascends from Castries to the summit of Morne Fortune. It is a road made gracious by many trees, by cocoanut palms, by a dell or a thicket here and there, and by glimpses of the sea. All who mount this steep way will find that step by step they are carried back into the past. How many hundreds of men, French & English, have climbed this hillside with such ardour and breathless determination and with such fervent light in their eyes that one would suppose they thought to find at the top some beautific vision! If the wealth of the world had been there they could not have stormed the slope with more passionate eagerness. Yet there was nothing on the height but a mast from which hung a faded flag.

As Artemis entered the harbour at Castries I looked out over the town and up to Morne Fortune. There was no way I could follow in the soldiers steps and make the climb by foot so I had pre-booked a taxi - Fabian's Tours. As I was travelling solo it cost me an absolute fortune but at least I had the reassurance of knowing that this was a recognised tour operator who would take me exactly where I wanted to go and get me back to the ship safely after a couple of hours. I met Fabian as arranged outside the cruise terminal and he whisked me off through the town and up the winding road with hairpin bends to the top of Morne Fortune. It was good to see that many of the old colonial military buildings are now being used by the University and Colleges of St. Lucia. They are good solid edifaces and will no doubt last for many more hundreds of years. Fabian had little understanding of why I should want to visit the old military cemetery let alone why I should want to spend a whole hour or more there - but took me there he did. I would never have found it for myself for it was hidden away at the end of a narrow grass road. The 1925 guidebook describes it thus: This ever silent gathering place of the British is the most beautiful spot on the side of the hill. A number of graves are blackened with age. Some are of stone, others of weather-worn brick. Most of them tell the same story - the roll-call of the Yellow Death, the major of this regiment or the lieutenant of that, and so many of them mere lads.

It was in 1794 that the mortality was the highest. Of General Grey's original force of 7000 men at least 5000 perished in the course of that one year. The soldiers were badly housed and badly fed. Many were in rags. Grey wrote letter after letter to the Secretary of State but nothing was done. In the end he sent the message - "You seem to have forgotten us". The wonderful old guidebook goes on: It is, and always will be, a gruesome and discreditable story. If ever, on some silent tropical night, there should be heard again on the Morne Fortune the tramp of the sentry by the barrack wall and the challenge of the guard at the outpost, and if ever the stir of human life should waken among these blackened graves, the voice that would call from the summit of the hill would utter those reproachful words, "You seem to have forgotten us".

As I stepped into the cemetery I had no idea of what I might find. If the graves were blackened with age 85 years ago would anything remain now? I need not have feared. There were the graves standing proudly on their hillside. Some were huge edifaces surrounded with metal railings whilst others were simple slabs of granite. Many were in a very sad and sorry condition but I could see that it would be possible to obtain an inscription from perhaps a handful. I took many photographs and managed to transcribe a few actual inscriptions - the six year old son of a Sergeant, the nine year old daughter of a Sergeant, a 22 years old Ensign, the wife of a Government Administrator. Whether I could transcribe the inscription or not I was careful to place my hand on as many graves as possible - at least I had not forgotten these souls who had helped to forge the British Empire.

I would have loved to have spent a couple of days on that hillside examining the graves and trying to transcribe more of the inscriptions but one hour was all that I had. I bid the souls farewell. Fabian then took me on a very brief tour out to Marigot Bay where the original film of Doctor Doolittle was filmed. It was very beautiful but held none of the magic that I had found at the cemetery. Fabian despaired of me and took me back to the ship !!!

In the afternoon I wandered into town in the pouring tropical rain. I found the local people very friendly and very helpful but once again I was not interested in buying the normal tourist tat. At one point a rastafarian came pounding after me clutching his wares of plaited baskets. "Slow down, slow down I want to show you what I do" he shouted at me. This time my ploy of walking briskly with an air of knowing exactly where I was going did not work. He stood right in front of me explaining how he fashioned the baskets from fresh reeds and how in a couple of weeks they would turn from green to brown at which time they could be varnished or left in their natural state. They could be used for all manner of things. I explained that I had no room in my suitcase for a basket of that size but he came back with the reply that I could pack my knickers into it !!!!!!!! I have to admit that I did end up buying the basket just to get rid of him.

Back at the quayside I found a small shop selling modern art, antique prints and handmade jewellery. Again it was the unique handmade jewellery that caught my eye. I must have spent about an hour in there chatting to the sales lady about the various crystals and admiring piece after piece. I had a quantity of East Caribbean dollars that I needed to spend (I am full of good excuses) and eventually purchased a lovely pink druzy pendant and pink rhodocrosite ring. I returned to the ship happily clutching my purchases from St. Lucia - but my abiding memory will always be of that little cemetery high on the hillside.