Saint Pierre et Miquelon

Moving through the little slices of French territory around the world, I’ll forgive you for perhaps forgetting Saint Pierre et Miquelon—I’m guessing there are a lot of people who couldn’t point to this island group on a map. Caribbean? No. African? No. Oceania? No. The islands—population not much over 6,000—are just south of Newfoundland. It’s French status is a hangover from the colonial territory of New France. And so it celebrate’s France’s Fête Nationale.

Before the Europeans arrived, it’s thought there were some prehistoric inhabitants—most likely the same group that inhabited Newfoundland. And then Europeans arrive, some time around the early 16th century.

The British attacked the islands a few times—they also took possession of them for the fifty years from 1713 to 1763. After the French took the islands back there was about 15 years of peace before they got passed back and forth a few more times. After 1815 they stayed with France—and the islands were quite prosperous, until the local fishing industry began to decline.

Things did perk up a bit with prohibition—the islands were, apparently, a handy spot for those smuggling alcohol. No mention of pirates in my reading, but, honestly, smugglers are just as good.

Also interesting is the fact that the guillotine was only ever used in North America once: in Saint-Pierre. The guillotine used was shipped from Martinique, and didn’t arrive in working order. Then there was trouble finding an executioner—eventually a recent immigrant agreed to the job. Want to see it? Go to Saint-Pierre’s museum.

It didn’t find a poem by an islander—I guess with such a small population that’s not so hard to believe. But I found a piece by William Henry Drummond—he was born in Ireland and moved to the French portion of Canada. He published a couple of books in the 19th century, and in this poem, illustrating the dialect of English-speakers in the region he lived, he mentions the islands a number of times. This is a small portion of what is a much longer piece. I found it online here.


from The Rose Delima

You can sew heem up in a canvas sack,
     An’ t’row heem over boar’
You can wait till de ship she ’s comin’ back
     Den bury heem on de shore
For dead man w’en he ’s dead for sure,
     Ain’t good for not’ing at all
An’ he’ll stay on de place you put heem
     Till he hear dat bugle call
Dey say will soun’ on de las’, las’ day
W’en ev’ry t’ing ’s goin’ for pass away,
But down on de Gulf of St. Laurent
     W’ere de sea an’ de reever meet
An’ off on St. Pierre de Miquelon,
     De chil’ren on de street
Can tole you story of Pierre Guillaume,
     De sailor of St. Yvonne
Dat’s bringin’ de Rose Delima home
     Affer he ’s dead an’ gone

—William Henry Drummond