KÄNSÖ, AN IDYLL IN THE SOUTHERN ARCHIPELAGO

ONCE THE TERROR OF SEAFARERS.

Far out in the outer archipelago lies Känsö, the rock that about 150 years ago became a quarantine station and then for nearly 70 years was a both known and feared harbor for all that were called seafarers. Plague, cholera, and yellow fever were the scourges of humanity in days of old, and it was necessary to ward off such epidemics already at the country's borders. And so it came about that the authorities as early as 1770 decided to locate a quarantine on the remote Känsö, or Wargö håla, as the island was called at that time.

Today the island is perhaps best regarded as a cultural monument of the most captivating kind. A visitor feels as though he has landed in an abandoned city when he steps ashore on this distant island, whose buildings and vegetation seem like exotic strangers in this barren archipelago kingdom. The current facility stood ready in 1818, but its creation had caused the authorities great concern. In vain had the Governor of Gothenburg turned to the city's medical corps to arrange the quarantine, but no one listened to that tempting offer; the position was indeed well paid, and the explanation was presumably to be found in the fear of the mysterious diseases. They then turned to the Collegium Medicum, which appointed a physician with a field surgeon as assistant, as well as a quarantine master to the island. A Quarantine Commission was formed, whose driving force was Admiralty Physician Pehr Dubb, who for his efforts was awarded 500 riksdaler banco by His Majesty, a gratuity that was to be converted into a gift, suitably a (snuff) box of the same value! The Crown further placed 120 men from the Bohus Regiment at their disposal, and so they began in earnest. They filled in the shallow water, and each house came to form a small island, connected to the others by arched drawbridges.

The buildings were constructed in Swedish manor style, but otherwise the quarantine in Marseille had been taken as a model. On the island's highest point, a tower was built that is still a well-known seamark in these waters. The foreman and military commander on Känsö was Major Jacob Forsell, grandfather of opera director John F., and even though he had to report in 1838 that "due to lack of money, no construction work this year either," the new facility nonetheless stood ready five years later with a pest house, observation building, convalescent ward, model house, residences, and storehouses.

Dubb and Forsell were evidently pioneers, not only in the sense that they built beautifully and solidly, but they also had such amenities as air ducts and toilets installed in the premises. That the fear of infection was great is evident not least from the regulations for access to the communication room, the only one that had connection with the pest house.

Here is the instruction according to Dubb:

” When, for example, the quarantine master is on his way there to deliver the provisions for the following day, he opens the window to air out whatever acid fumes may still remain in the room; then the provision items are carried in and handed over. When this is done, he retrieves in a tin box the reports and requisitions that the physician has left there, thoroughly soaked in wine vinegar, hung over strings to drip dry, and leaves behind the letters and orders intended for the pest house physician or others in the hospital. Thereafter, before he leaves and carefully locks the door, he sets out the fumigation materials, which the pest house physician is to mix together when he intends to depart. After the quarantine master has done this, he has the drawbridge lowered between the hospital and the observation hospital and, by ringing a bell, gives those in the pest house the signal to collect the goods. When the pest house physician has had the items that were placed in this room collected, the windows closed... he mixes the fumigation materials and locks the door behind him, and rings to summon the raising and locking of the drawbridge."

The control was evidently meticulous, which also applied to the external surveillance, managed by the Crown's ships, of which one was placed between Skagen and the Swedish coast, one at Koster, and yet another at Vinga. A battery of twelve six-pounder cannons maintained order in the harbor. The treatment of both patients and others was not always of the mildest kind. The pilots on board suspected ships were simply thrown into the sea, pulled up again, and thereafter considered free of infection. According to the 1807 quarantine regulations, the transport of the sick was to take place in the following manner: "…the hairs close to the head shall be cut off, and the head and face washed in vinegar or seawater, before he, lying in his berth, is lowered into the boat, which then proceeds to the opening under the hospital, after which he is hoisted from the boat into the bathhouse by a lifting machine, and there, without being touched by hands, is lowered with his berth and clothes into the bath tubs; during the bath, the clothes are loosened from the body with hooks and cutting tools, so that the sick person can be removed from them, dried and rubbed with vinegar, and then moved to the sickroom intended for him."

The burial regulations were also elaborate. The dead were to be transported on a special bier outside the harbor, "where the corpse, with sufficient attached weight, is sunk in the sea at a location designated by the Military Commander," while the personnel in a towing boat with a hawser of at least five fathoms were to keep to windward, i.e., "in the windward of the corpse."

Yes, that is how it was done on Känsö in days of old. Today little happens here, for the old hospital town sleeps its Sleeping Beauty sleep. Yet no decay is visible, for the Crown's people, i.e., KA4 in Gothenburg, have tended the maintenance of the remarkably beautiful buildings with great piety. It is a pity only that their walls cannot speak, for then they would surely have much to tell of the imperious Major and Knight Jacob Forsell's regiment, but also of other well-known people: of the postman Olof Ericsson (born 1774 and died 1818), father of the renowned brothers John and Nils, who is buried on this island.

And perhaps we would also have heard of Victor Rydberg, for a time tutor to the quarantine master's children, when between lessons and exams he also devoted himself to writing, which according to tradition was set in the Känsö tavern, where at least the novel Singoalla came into being. The tragedies that played out inside the "Parloir," where those infected with plague and other sick persons could meet their relatives, though separated by bars and a wall of stinging tar and sulfur smoke, would certainly have held some interest for later generations.

The flora on Känsö differs from the barren surroundings. Rare herbs are found here, and the deciduous forest has grown wild into a jungle, probably without parallel in this country. It was Jacob Forsell who had trees and bushes planted, whose growth force unfortunately has now encroached even on the island's beautiful cemetery, which has fallen into severe disrepair. The blame for this lies not with the Crown but with the relevant parish authorities in Styrsö, to which Känsö belongs. This unsatisfactory condition ought to be rectified as soon as possible, for if not, soon bushes and trees will have completely conquered the departed's final resting place on this Swedish cultural outpost in time and space. Perhaps the chapter of the diocese in Gothenburg has the opportunity to intervene.

The black flag of plague and the yellow cholera flag, which were once so often hoisted on Känsö, have now ended up in a museum. But the Känsö quarantine is also a cultural monument that requires care and supervision.