French Seaside Utopia

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 146, 10 September 1927, Page 10

French Seaside Utopia

Natives Fly Kites aimd Steady Bathers

(Written for THE SUN by

CAPTAIN GEORGE CECIL.

MANY people come to France, in the merry summertime, for the sole purpose of sampling Deauville, Dinard and, later on, Biarritz Here over-dressed loveliness disports itself on land and sea, the expensivelyattired male looking on* with admiring eyes bulging out of his head . . . Even the teach costume is elaborate, while that which is reserved for the evening visit to the casino outvies the wardrobe in which the Queen of Sheba rejoiced. Such resorts merely are London, Paris and, New York by the sea. It is possible, however, to lead the simple (th* very simple) seaside life in recondite spots, provided one knows where to look for them. Guidebooks and advertisements are of no avail, since these unpretentious places are not advertised. Deauville may ling “Come unto these yellow sands,” *nd attract the noble* the rich* and

the great. The legend “Dinard for a dip” lures half Paris, and “Biarritz, the rendez-vous of beauty,” is a certain draw. But there is, on the northern coast of France, a shady, picturesque little seaside, right at the mouth of the Somme, the key-note of which is rustic simplicity and Arcadian peacefulness, enlivened by the movies once a week and a very occasional dance in the miniature casino. One, in fact, sees life there on a dim inished scale. And quite enough life, too, for those who have discovered this snug and sheltered retreat would not, for the world, have it; overrun by the mere pleasure-seeker. No golfers need apply, potatoes laving first call on the land. Cnee jpon a time, a canny Scotch player jf the “Royal and Ancient Game” approached the municipal authorities of .he townlet with a view to starting a (inks . . . “Wi’ a few hectares,” quoth ’he> Scot, who had mastered several French agricultural terms, “I’ll mak’ u bonnie wee course. There would

be muckle siller In the arrangement for th’ buddies wha tak’ shares . .

Monsieur le Maire, looking him up and down and round about, muttered ominously, and asked a clerk: “Qu’est-ce que c’est le ‘golf’?” Shocked by this display of ignorance, the enterprising golfer left by the first train, marvelling that any human being should be allowed to survive so neglected an education. Still, the visitors are permitted to be sportive in moderation: they may fly kites. Wonderful kites, six feet high, and of ample breadth; gorgeously coloured and furnished with stupendously long tails. When it blows a hurricane, the aborigines turn out to a man, woman, child and dog, to witness “le sport.” They have the time of their lives. One breakfasts in the garden, or on the- verandah, since, apart from all other considerations, does not the

petit de jeuner coffee taste Dest out o’ doors? The yellow country butter and crusty rolls (fresh from the bakery round thp corner) also acquire an added flavour when savoured en plein air. The background of crimson ramblers meandering up a lichencovered wall; the pussy cats gambolling on the lawn; the little birds twittering aloft, though eyeing the grimalkins- with apprehension; everything adds to the joy of the out o’ doors breakfast. The meal being over, there is the clay’s marketing, which is a simple business, for the mountain comes to Mahomet. A procession of market-women passes before the house, ready to sell .fish, flesh and fruit, all guaranteed filling and health-giving. Nor is bargaining necessary; these good people charge a fair price, such a thing as profiteering being unknown at this model retreat. Positively Utopia. If the tide is kind, one bathes before lunch, the natives looking on in admiration . “Sav then Jules: is

it not that the dark lady from the rose-embowered villa on the cliff has an undulating figure? . . .” “But yes., Auguste, I am of your opinion, though, for my part, I prefer a rather more ample shape” . . . Jules is ten and Auguste a year younger, and they spend morning after morning taking stock of the bathing ladies, criticising their charms . . . “Very precocious,” you no doubt will say . . . Very; but little French boys are built that way. There is but one solitary caf-e on the sea-front., where, at the aperitif hour, the visitors and the local “notables” foregather. All the news is to he learned; coming events (when there are any) run the gauntlet of public opinion; a sweet, brown-eyed, little girl, about the height of a tea-table, executes countless orders with the skill of a grown-up waitress. She also would like to make out the bills; but her maman, who looks after this intricate department, fears to overtax the childish brain. So the diminutive Th6rese trots up and down the terrace, piping out: in dulcet tones: “un bock,” “deux cafes creme,” “trois vermouth." Before laying her pretty head on the pillow, she has washed the glasses and assisted in locking (ip for the night. A model of industry. Part of the cafd is a kinerna, the only one, in fact, a performance taking place every Sunday evening. The most exciting films are presented, scene upon scene curdling the blood and rendering the spectators diz2',y, light relief being afforded by the low est of low comedians. Sometimes £ comic singer is imported, and his ef forts are received with tumultuous glee. Fortunately, the performer’s extremely idiomatic French is far above the heads of the English-speaking visitors, who, though by way of knowing the vernacular, wonder what on earth it is all about. The innermost significance of the ditties is more than broad—often frightful. The place is not without its institutions and sights. There being no daily paper, the town-crier makes known the news. Though over 70, he has a bull-like roar, which pierces the fiercest gale, while his French is positively academic. Summoning the inhabitants by beat of drum, the leather-lunged veteran bellows out that an auction, a circus performance, a sale of ducks, a marriage and a funeral will take place, adding, b: way of afterthought, that the Rus sians are an unruly nation. Listened to in respectful silence, the conclusion of the peroration is loudly applauded. There also is a beadle, a. sprightly old man of 78 summers. He keeps order at the kinerna, with a big stick. And the sights? Well, there are two, and of the highest importance. A tablet, affixed to a hoary barn, states that “From this point, in 1060, William the Conqueror set sail, with 400 ships, to conquer England.” Another tablet, bearing the galling inscription, “Harold, King of England, was imprisoned here,” decorates a second venerable ruin. Truly a seaside of historical interest ✓ -