It is April and the grounds are white over ; not snow but hail. An intense , but fortunately brief storm, then followed by equally torrential rain . All my hard work raking the potage negated , and newly planted seedlings non too happy . Still it helped somewhat to flatten the sangliier’s rotovation of the previous night ( electric fence inadvertently not on ). Nothing to be done , we are off to UK the following day . Four weeks at home , after four months away ; itchy feet !
Airport chaos; Ryan air strikes; so we are driving, whilst avoiding Dovers’ snarl-ups. Roscoff to Plymouth on Brittany ferries . For us P&O , with the way they treat their staff, is a no no ! Not to stress the driver ( me ) an overnight stop in Pons , and then two in Roscoff.
Pons , pronounced Pon , why , well it just is ; was a bit like the curate’s egg…good in parts. ( 1895 Punch cartoon ). The hotel was perfect, except the room’s only window was a sky light …with a view of …the sky ! It being a Sunday , virtually all restaurants were closed routinely or ‘ exceptionally’. We were saved by the local bar which served a simple , but an excellent meal . The local beer was good too.
In the centre, in a commanding position , was the ‘Donjon’, or castle keep . The rest of the castle was long gone, but taking the132 spiral steps , the view from the top was fit for any lord. The only residents now appeared to be a pigeons egg and a dead mouse . The latter succumbing to the effort of those steps , and the egg from abandonment.The top’s main feature was the five speakers of the siren , placed at head height next to the walkway. For audible preservation, a place to avoid at noon on the first Wednesday in the month ( when tested ) or during an impending air raid .
Roscoff was well worth the extra days sojourn. The stone housing spoke of previous prosperity, derived from legal and dubious trading . The latter paid for a truly magnificent church bell tower, I guess a form of spiritual compensation. With the decline in smuggling , hastened by the power of the British navy, onion selling became the other main occupation; Delivered throughout England and Wales by beret clad Breton cyclists, affectionately known as ‘Johnnies.’ Increasing post war prosperity killed this trade. To maintain onion production in the face of stiff competition, the wily Bretons have managed to obtain an AOC designation for only their onions . To the unprofessional eye, they still look the same as any other onion , but now are a must as tourists memorabilia .
Today we left Europe, given that Brexit has opened up that divide. Presentation of our ‘Carte de séjour’ is now an obligation to avoid breaching non resident 90 day limit on stay. You would think Europe would want to encourage tourism ! As we head towards ‘Blighty ‘ , I can gain some solace in that The Leavers, leader is facing appropriate discomfort from his ‘ miss truths ‘ ( lies to us lesser mortals ) ; even if this comes from errant partying rather than responsibility for economic and political damage .
A White…..April!
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