THE WORLD FORGETTING

Evening Star, Issue 22146, 28 September 1935, Page 12

THE WORLD FORGETTING

LIFE ON LITTLE FRENCH ISLAND PRIMITIVE CGHDITIOHS The, following are extracts from a letter written by Miss Audrey Panton, a granddaughter of the late W. P, Frith, R.A., to Miss A. C. Anderson, of Mac- . andrcw Bay:— . I have taken five , days’ complete rest in a qilaint little island near jUshant, lie Molenes (The Bald). Yon cannot think how beautiful it is, ■ and how absolutely out of the common. iWe are fortunate in the weather, which is perfect, and the sea is the most heavenly colour you ever saw. It must l)e bakingly hot on land, but here there is always an agreeable breeze, and you can always take refuge in the seal' How I adore the sea, and never understood how pebple can be bored near it! Of course, it is the simplest life in the absolute sense of the word, and no doubt the amenities of civilised life will be very welcome when ,iye return, to them; but, despite lack of every comfort and many of what we consider the bare necessities, I am absolutely content, and am thoroughly enjoying a glimpse of Breton life which the ordinary tourist does not obtain. Do you remember the passage in f Jj» Foyer Breton.’—The house “ il'se composait de deux chambres tapissees de toiles d’araignees, et meuhlees d’un lit, d’une table et d’un escabeau”? Well, that is the exact description of the cottage where I am at present—only there are three rooms; in one lives the gay old dame of 80, to whom the cottage belongs, and it is stuffed full of rags, chickens, cats, and kittens. I should never have got here, but for my maid, who is a native of the island, and undertook to introduce me. . The people, of the Moleae have no use whatever for the tourist, whom they suspect , of being proud and “ difficile ” —two unforgivable sins in Breton eyes. Besides the fine season is the time of harvest; water is scarce and fish equally so, with the exception of lobsters and crayfish, which are reserved for the mainland. However, introduced by Marie, and known to be happy in the cobwebby cottage, I have been received Tvith great . kindness, and have had a generous share of the native diet of excellent bread and butter, new-laid eggs from the chickens which insist bn sharing our ’ room—potatoes and shrimps, and even some excellent fish which has been produced for ns; one dear fisherman nearly gave us what he had caught for his sick wife,, but luckily we discovered in .time to refuse it. The beds, fortunately, are not "lit fclqs,” but big, wooden bedsteads filled with straw, on the top a thin feather mattress—clean hut unironed sheets, and quite good blankets. Large white curtains hang over them like wings, tut I have removed mine to rig up like a tent, so that Marie and I are decently separated at night. There is a window at each end which we leave open night and day, to the astonishment of the natives. I had to buy a .wash-basin, the windowsill is my washStand. Plates are scarce, too, and water scarcer, so the native nses one side for first courses and then turns around and uses the back for the second, and really there is much to be said, fer the idea. There is not the simplest sort of inn—to he sure there is a “restaurant du port,” but when, to save Marie trouble, I went and asked for a midday meal there, we were flatly refused any meal whatsoever! Howe'>;er; meals are absolutely simple, and Mane, having commandeered the neighbours’ pots and pans,.is quite amused performing wonders on them. The island is four kilometres in circumference. There are quite extensive downs on which, cattle manage mysteriously to grow quite fat and give excellent milk, for the sandy soil is so , dry—it is the shortest,,scantiest grass mixed with thyme and comomile (?). Thisturf, too, not only feeds the cows, but is used to eke out the fuel of cows’ dung and seaweed, because, cf course, there is not a tree on the island except . stfme baby ones in Monsieur Je Cure’s garden, and when they try to peep over his wall everyone prophesies they will •ho snapped off at once, but as M* le Cure optimistically remarks: “ We shall , see.” Certainly he has a marvellous garden, with all sorts of ingenious tricks for catching every drop of rain .water. There quite a lot of tiny, fields Of hatley and potatoes —the latter are. excellent because of the sandy soil, X expect—but as there is a baker now the inhabitants use what corn they have for chickens and pigs. Nevertheless, harvesting here is hard work. Their fields are very scattered, and as there are no horses every single bit has to be carried home on their backs or heads! My-gay old dame of 80 brisked off this morning to her fields quite a kilometre off; to her great joy I helped her harvest yesterday and to-day. As the corn is so short and they want every scrap they don’t cut it, but just root it up. They say _ if ever they use a sickle they invariably cut their fingers. Another hard work is the collection of the seaweed, which is dried for fuel; if they are not harvesting you', see a steady procession of women, children, and old men carrying the bundles., . (huge ones) on their heads from the shore. They also fish up a special kind of seaweed, a little way out from the land, dry it on the cliffs, burn it in a stone trough, and take the ash in their boats to the mainland, where there is the factory for extracting iodine. They say now they get as much as 000 francs a ton for this ash, and it takes about four days to collect and burn enough for a ton; but this can only be done from April to September, and during that time there are many stormy days when nothing can he done, so they are not quite such millionaires as may be supposed! The real occupation of the 'men is fishing, chiefly enormous crayfish. One side of the island faces the mainland, with nothing between save rocks, - hut a very. calm-looking sea; at the west front is Cruch Ushnnt (or Quessanfc), separated by the most appalling rocks and rocky islands you can imagine/ and then nothing between us

and America, but the Atlantic, which is always roaring like an unsatisfied beast, and sending huge jets of foam over more rocks, even when there is apparently a dead calm all around. Many a gallant ship has been swallowed up off here, including the P. and 0. steamer Egypt. , The precious cistern for the water was given by the English as a token of gratitude for the help given at the time of the wreck of the Drummond Castle; also the church clock and a most beautiful chalice are gifts on the same occasion. The war memorial—a simple cross surrounded by a nice garden (again the work of M. le Cure)—looks out over the Atlantic. As M. le Cure, who showed us round, said: “It is in the right place, between the cemetery of the sea, where _so many of the dead soldiers’ relatives lie, and the cemetery of the land.” The .church is quite pretty, but new, with a .window representing St. Renan or Ronan —as they call him in some parts—just arriving from Ireland and preaching to the fishermen with a very large lobster in evidence. Perhaps as he came from St. Patrick’s land he was able to do for here what St. Patrick did for Ireland, for, as Mane proudly informed mo, “ no bete malfaisante is to be found on the island—not a toad, not a viper—though there are plenty on the mainland. They say seals come sometimes to the rocky islands between here and Ushant. Part of the -island is cut off from the rest at high tide, but the best downs arc that part, so the cows and goats troop over as soon as the sea goes down, so impatient are they to get there that you see them wading over before it is quite dry. I love to see them; it is said they arc never caught by the tide, and always know the right moment to come. I have not been to Vannes nor Carnac yet, but hope to get there some day. Most regretfully I leave here to-morrow. The Brest boat calls only twice a week, so there are no newspapers, I find an enormous advantage. , Standing boldly out against the horizon is Quessant, or Ushant (in Breton “ Enssa,” from the Gallo loxama, meaning “ the highest,” and not the “Island of Horror,” as some would have it). Quessant rises proudly, a rocky fastness amid ' the waves, stretching forth, as it were, a hand from the Old World towards the infinite sea beyond. It is separated from the mainland by the Chenal du Four and Le Passage du Fromveur. where meet the Atlantic and the English Channel, two waterways lighted at night by countless lamps and bearing day after day great fleets of steamers to every part of the wq^ld.