Terps, borgs and the pink granite coast: September 2012

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Saturday, September 8, 2012

And across the channel to England we went, keeping sometimes only a bare length of our motorhome in front of the terrible summer weather. We trundled down our favourite country lanes picking out the picturesque and the quaint historical oddities in some of England's most beautiful villages.

On the edge of Romney Marsh we stopped at a little village called Appledore, which once upon a long time ago was one of the ports which allowed Vikings into the country along with French invaders. And here, in 1381, when fourteen year old King Richard 11's henchmen attempted to extort a poll tax from the peasants, local serfs under Watt Tyler, brandished their weapons and marched on London, in protest.

Inside on the wall of the church the local craftswomen, no doubt inspired by the Bayeux Tapestry, have created and displayed the most magnificent piece of work depicting the history of this little town. Just beautiful.

Across the village road and down the street we came across Miss Mollett's High Class Tea Room, another remnant of days long passed. We were delighted to see one of Miss Mollett's wait-staff, in her crisply starched white apron, offering a kindly guiding hand to an elderly patron who had likely just finished her poacher's roll and tea. History and courtesy appear alive and well in this lovely little village.

On to Hilton, Cambridgeshire, where we stumbled across one of the few turf mazes remaining in England: there are only eight left. This, an historic one, was designed and cut by a nineteen year old youth, William Sparrow, to commemorate Charles 11's restoration to the throne after the Civil War. Around 1660. It is so old, and has seen so many footfalls over time, that the entire circle of the maze has sunk deeper into the ground than the surrounding parkland. Across the field was a beautiful thatched cottage, one of many in this picturesque village.

Our time is running out now. We really have only days left. As the Olympic flame rises over London our plane will be heading home. Another lovely trip complete.

Road into Lindsey, Suffolk

History of Appledore in tapestry

Miss Mollett's High Class Tea Room, Appledore, Kent

Single path maze, coiled into a labyrinth

Stone pillar records in Latin that William Sparrow formed the maze in 1660

Hilton thatch

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Romancing the huts

Still heading north we passed through Ranville where we spied a small group of Romani travellers camped near a crossing selling an assortment of home-made basketry.

Their caravans were as picturesque as Vincent made them in his masterpiece: Caravans, A gypsy camp near Arles.

From there to Trouville, where, despite the gloominess of this late summer colourful striped beach huts paraded along the strand, enticing the hardiest sand-dwellers into their shelter.

Cabanas and beach huts kept drawing our eye.

Little boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same. And they're all made out of tick-tacky, but as charming as can be.

There's a white one, and a blue one.

And a whole line of green and yellow ones,

Lit by sunset, backed by blue clouds,

And while they're all made out of ticky tacky,

They are lovely, just the same.

And as the sun crept down in a blaze of light, people pinned by the views, picnic, watching. We found a restaurant with a view, lining up for three courses. This being the coast our choice was seafood. The first course: Potage de Poisson. Simply delicious!

The following day we found a variation on the beach huts at Berck plage: up and down that beach, cabanas were dipped in soft gelati colours: pink, blue, yellow and green. Even the high-rises facing the beach cabins were painted in sherbet. Looking at it felt just like eating fairy floss.

Ranville Romanis

Caravans, a gypsy camp near Arles

Trouville beach huts

Cayeux-sur-mer cabanas from the esplanade

Pretty cabins

All in a row

Sunset on the beach at Cayeux-sur-mer

Potage de poisson

Lolly coated beach cabins at Berck

Monday, September 3, 2012

Monks and corsairs

Our time is up and we are leaving Brittany, desolate. But we are avoiding England for the moment as the weather reports were all of sodden rain. We clung to the coast as we headed north from our home in Brittany. Again, England misses out on much of a summer.

Passing the fishing traps of Tregastel we took our last shots of boat silhouettes on the Locquemeau waters and the mussel fisherman selling off his catch of the day from the deck of his boat.

We stopped for a wonderful night at the picturesque town of Dinan, walking high on the ramparts overlooking the River Rance and the port. Then for hours up and down historic promenades filled with artillery towers, chateaux, gardens, churches and wealthy merchants homes dating back hundreds of years.

We slept in an Aire on the Rance, not far from where the earliest inhabitants, a group of 9th century monks began their mission, while local lords set about building a wooden fortress that was to become the town.

Then, as today, there would have been garden plots and walks backing on to the river; while further downstream the monks might have had little fishing carrelets at the end of rickety jettys, somewhat like the locals do now. The fragile wooden poles at the front carry the four corners of a large net which is lowered into the Rance when the fish are on the run.

On to St Malo where from slits in the ramparts you can see the very sea where corsairs of long ago prospered as they plundered English ships that attempted to cross into these waters. These were pirates of some note, not your ordinary Johnny Depp, for they carried with them letters of royal permission, allowing them to go 'coursing' after enemy ships.

Today eagles keep one eye on the watch.

And as the tide rolls out, ancient wooden jetty poles stand testament to earlier times when the corsairs would moor their ships along these sandy shores of St Malo.