Our cruiser reduced its sound from a firm throb to a gentle purr as we approached Gorgona’s harbour.

The island opened up to reveal its only landing point, a little cove surrounded by the multi-coloured houses of the fishermen’s village. For it was fish, especially anchovies, that once brought wealth to the island’s handful of inhabitants.

We landed in the calmest of waters. Treading pebbled steps we made our way to the village’s main building, its administrative block, before which were parked two jeeps of the island’s ‘Polizia Penitenziaria’ (penitentiary police). On a parapet above the block were frescoed words taken from the Italian constitution emphasising that humane treatment of prisoners was essential if the inmates were to be satisfactorily rehabilitated in the community. True words yes! But how many Italian prisons achieve this ideal. Sadly, the country’s penal system leaves a lot to be desired. The figures relating to prisoners’ suicides and self-harm miserably reflect this. Gorgona, however, has a praiseworthy record in this respect. Re-offenders are virtually nil.

Entering the admin block we enjoyed its coolness for the morning temperatures were rising fast. There was a bar where we bought a tasty soft focaccia made by the inmates and were surprised by the variety and quality of the vegetables they grow on the islands’ allotments now on sale in the store which also supplies other foodstuffs like pasta and olive oil.

Nearby we visited the island’s museum which houses relics from the recently discovered Roman villa. I especially liked the wall decorations.

Our trek on the island of Gorgona now began in earnest on a beautifully paved little road which wound up to the highest part of the island attaining close to a thousand feet.

Some tractors driven by the prisoners passed by us. Sandra remarked to one inmate ‘what a beautiful place you have here.’ ‘It’s fine for a day trip but not if you’re spending half your time here’, he answered.

At the cattle and chicken sheds where the prisoners keep their livestock (prisons within prisons?!) we stopped to admire the extraordinarily dramatic coastline with its ‘cale’ (creeks). The tumble of rocks descending to the pristine blue of the sea, the characteristic Mediterranean macchia and the glorious Aleppo pines with their intoxicating scent of resin above them was absolutely bewitching.

We reached an old watch-tower dating back to mediaeval times. Dramatically perched upon a high and precipitous rock, held up by an arch on which subsequent accretions of stones had been added the tower to me seemed the ultimate scene of a gothick vision of wild and desolate abandonment. What secret passages may have lurked beneath its forbidding bulk! Below the giddy heights the sea was calm but I wondered what the crash of the waves would sound like in a tempest and thought that just two hundred years ago on this day the mangled body of Percy Bysshe Shelley washed ashore on the Tuscan coast when his boat the ‘Don Juan’ was caught in a violent squall.

What was it like to live in the watchtower’ How did garrisons pass their time? How was the watch organised? How did the soldiers deal with the sightings of those dastardly Saracens always on the prowl in the salty expanse of the Mediterranean for the peninsula’s olive oil, luscious vines and fair Italian women for the Sultan’s harem.

It was beneath the cool sap-permeated branches of the firs that we had our lunch. For me it was a fontina sandwich and the now rather tepid water from the one and a half litre supply it was suggested we bring. Despite the loud clacketing of the cicadas I snatched a few minutes of shut-eye.

We passed a little cemetery in the midst of the pine forest. A domed tomb stood in the centre dedicated to a Mr Citti. We noticed that most of the tombs referred to members of the Citti family. But who were these Citti and where did they originate from?

Our lively trek guide Martina (who would from time to time enterprisingly freshen us up with a mini-shower of water from her spray dispenser) explained this to us. Gorgona had been empty of human settlers for centuries. The mediaeval hermit monks had either died or been enslaved by marauding Saracens. Yet the Grand Duke of Tuscany was interested in repopulating Gorgona and getting the island back into the folds of his dukedom. The Duke’s solution was to invite families from the village of Lugliano which is situated on a ridge in the comune of Bagni di Lucca (where we live) to settle on the island. This they did with some success. After all, although most of them had never lived by the sea the Luglianese knew about terracing steep slopes and whether these were on an island or on an Apennine made little difference.

There remains to this day the ‘princess’ of the island, Luisa, a 95 year old lady who is the last survivor of the Gorgona Cittis:

The island was turned into a penal colony by the government of the newly-united Kingdom of Italy. The fishing village remains and, to this day, there is a handful of residents who have nothing to do with the inmates of the penal colony although they may work for the establishment. However, until recently, only their relatives, were admitted to the island. We were indeed privileged to be among the few now to be allowed to come here. To come to a prison? But what a prison! The island continued to reveal its magic to us during our very special day. As Caliban says in Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’:

‘Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.’

The afternoon trek took us to perhaps the most scenographic part of the island. The Cala Maestra, an inlet flanked by stupendous cliffs on one of which a navigational lamp is sited, is Brucknerian in its power. The cliffs are some of the highest on the island cascading playfully down to meet the Mediterranean. Gulls glide along the precipices. Firs bravely hold their own against the sheer chasms and the herbs of the macchia perfume the air. The sea stretches out with infinite blueness until sky and ocean lovingly embrace each other in an iridescent oneness.

Our heads began to turn giddily when admiring this extraordinary meeting of land and sea. I cast my mind back to those equally vertiginous island cliffs we encountered on Atlantic’s St Kilda on a National Trust working holiday.

After our immersion in this symphonic natural tone-poem we began our return to Gorgona’s harbour. We passed a vineyard descending down the island’s slopes which had been most attractively laid out with the help of the famous Frescobaldi wine family from the Tuscan mainland (or ‘continente’ as it’s referred to here). The island’s vineyard was created on ferrous terrain and covers two hectares which are east-facing and protected against the winds. Vines were first planted here in 1999, and Ansonica and Vermentino varieties have always been key players in the island’s extraordinary wine. Extraordinary is also its price which reaches over Euro 500 per bottle. I wonder how much of this the prisoners get or whether they are even allowed to have a glass of it?

There was a little time left for a welcome and therapeutic swim in one of Tuscany’s most exclusive beaches – Gorgona! Luckily we avoided being stung by the jellyfish there and, suitably refreshed, boarded our little cruiser to return us to Livorno after perhaps the most special day of our Tuscan summer so far.