The Island of Swemmit is hard to find if you haven’t checked the pages of Old Mantiphe’s Almanac of Swemmit recently. Since 1802 the island has committed itself to taking shifts in being off the coast of every British coastal county at least once a decade to boost tourism. This was instigated after the civil war of 1801, which wasn’t so much as a war as a bit of a scrap that lasted a morning and resulted in the ancient Swemmit royal family of the Blonwynns stepping down in favour of an elected - if somewhat eccentric - parliament. The Blonwynns still live on the island in shabby splendour just on the outskirts of the village of North Hum.
It is not a large island, or a small island, but it is - as described in the words of 18th century geographer and gadabout Dr Ephraim Pudding - "comfortably snug". It is a mainly agricultural economy, but increasingly has become known as a tourist hotspot. This is mainly because of the notoriety of such mysteries as the wreck of the 17th century ship the Pifkyn, the haunted Medwain Abbey, the mysterious and seasonal lights and sounds over Kilvert Water and the fact the entire island is wholly populated by anthropomorphic animals, and always has been.
Think of Nutwood, but as a whole island. And stranger.
Anyway, if this has whet your appetite for more about the delightful tales of Swemmit, this blog will soon be turned over to one particular inhabitant, retired librarian Mr Ibsen Finch - a bear - who lives in Trosset on the north western side of the island. A fine and erudite gentleman, with a broad series of penpals and friends from across the world whose stories he will soon be sharing.
In the mean time, if you're interested in reading more about this most lovely of places, I can heartily recommend Trevelyan K Spong's Visitor's Guide to Swemmit. Unavailable anyway other than the island of course, unless you happen to know the right people, but a wonderful introduction to the traditions, history and mysteries of this most enchanting of islands.
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