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In 1710, nine years before the Russians sailed into Trosa and burned it to the ground (except for the church), the island of Landsort was besieged by the plague. It would have bypassed the people were it not for all the seafarers who bought it to the island and spread it about. There were only 300 people there in the first place. They lost 79 of them and they were buried in, what is now called, The Plague Cemetery.
If only it had waited around for the pesky, arsonist Ruskies.
As you can no doubt see, there are no grave markers in The Plague Cemetery. Well, there is a big iron cross but that’s it. So who were these people? And why have they been forgotten?
Actually, we do know about one person who was buried here. It was Johan Andersson’s wife. She doesn’t seem to have had a name. History doesn’t care about such things. Women were just not very important. Mind you, Johan was a Pilot.
Anyway, the point is, why did the Russians feel the need to burn all the towns along the east coast of Sweden when they won the war and should have been celebrating rather than incinerating? Especially a tiny place like Landsort!
No, actually, that’s not the point. That is more like a bugbear I have. No, the point is, today we caught the special ferry out to the island of Landsort for a bit of an adventure.
The island is like a tiny Sandhamn but without all the murders. However, and I really need to clarify something. The island is actually called Öja and the lighthouse is called Landsort. But, then again, the small village you see in the photo above is also called Landsort. And, to make things way more confusing than it needs to be, the island is often referred to as Landsort.
But let’s leave that confusion because the day was too beautiful to indulge in it.
We were principally there for Mirinda to check out the bird station. This is a research station where they ring and count birds, something she would like to participate in. But, that wasn’t the only reason. We also wanted to see the lighthouse.
While it isn’t the original lighthouse (that burned down in 1672, because it was made of wood and not because of overzealous Russians) it is one of Sweden’s oldest preserved lighthouses.
It is pretty majestic sitting atop the highest point on the island. The views were fantastic.
I would have liked to visit the gun emplacement next to the lighthouse, one of the leftover reminders of the Swedish defence needs during WWII, but it was full of a noisy family with too many children. I figured I’d seen enough gun emplacements in Normandy and probably wasn’t missing too much.
What I was glad not to have missed was all the art dotted around the village.
It started in 1991, this island art show. Back then, it was a small affair, raising money for charity and housed in the village chapel. Two years later, the annual show left the confines of the building and spread out across the village.
These days, the works seem to be everywhere. The piece above, for instance, is at the harbour, as soon as you arrive. In fact, it’s difficult to move for public art. And I loved it.
A little longer ago in its creation was the labyrinth located outside the village, on the path that heads north to the other end of the long, narrow island.
This ancient maze was built in order to safeguard fisherfolk from the cruel reality of the dangers of the sea. There is only one way in and one way out and once a person starts the journey between the stones, it is imperative for the person to continue and complete the route through. Otherwise, bad luck will follow. Likewise, bad luck will occur if the person crosses the stones rather than follow the narrow track.
I was too concerned with the state of my luck to attempt it – wobbly legs and all – but Mirinda managed it. Emma, being not that mystically minded, just wandered all over it, unmindful of the spiritual connotations.
Also, not very mindful were the people who built a military barracks on top of the labyrinth during WWII. This one was rebuilt in the 1970’s.
Something not destroyed by war was the Gulahuset, a rather odd building.
This was built in 1886 in order to measure the depth of the Baltic. It is one of four water level gauges spread around the Swedish east coast. It sits on a big stone and has a basement which is around two metres deep. In the middle of the basement there is a long, deep hole which joins the Baltic via a canal.
From here there is a horizontal copper pipe which sits a few metres below the level of the sea. All of this somehow measures the sea level and transmits the results to a printer that sits in the building above.
Currently, there are around 30 people who live permanently on the island. Of them, the kids go to school somewhere on the mainland and travel every day by boat to attend lessons. Now that would be amazing. It certainly puts the bus I used to catch in the shade.
Mind you, it would be wise not to sit outside like we did on our return trip. Mirinda and a couple sitting on the port side didn’t last long. The Baltic was angry today and regularly doused them in seawater splashing and wind. They went inside while the more hardy of us remained, clutching on for dear life and enjoying the wild ride.
Even Freya managed to survive the journey, curled up on my lap and fast asleep.
Actually, Freya did extremely well given we four walked over four miles. And that’s not a mile each! Given her recent health, that is a couple of marathons for her. She did extremely well and her tail was up and wagging for most of the day.
Obviously, Emma was fine and could have kept going for the rest of the day but, sadly for her, the boat returned at 2pm, ending our wonderful day out.
We may have had a sneaky ice cream back in Trosa before heading home, zonked but happy.
All round, a splendid day out.
