HOLIDAYS IN SARK

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume 79, 10 January 1944, Page 6

HOLIDAYS IN SARK

RESORT IN CHANNEL ISLANDS FISHING, SKETCHING AND CLIMBING (By H. G. Foster-Barham) From my earliest clays we considered Sark, in the Channel Islands, as somewhat our special possession and hunting ground. Didn’t we ‘‘discover” it as an ideal sketching and holiday resort? The very name conjured up romance to our minds. A mixed party of grown-ups, together with the elder children would migrate there for the summer holidays. The younger ones—myself included—would remain at home, or had to be content with some crowded beach on the South Coast, accompanied by nurse or governess. Our first French governess arrived from Paris soon after the siege, in 1870. She thrilled us children with descriptions of horrors endured—especially the eating of rats and mice —before the final capitulation to the Germans. As her particular bete noir, I have vivid recollections of her casting her eyes heavenwards in an attitude of blank despair, and saying tu my mother, “mats, Madame, ce garcon, cot Ugh!” Sea-side resorts in those days were hampered with rows of ‘‘bathing machines” —heavy huts on wheels—each provided with a small window, seat, and clothes pegs, with a door and steps at the end facing seawards. These contraptions were hireable, and drawn by horses into the water. Shy ladies were thus protected from the public gaze when entering or leaving the sea, even when suitably clothed, as they invariably were down to the knees, in heavy costumes. Things have certainly changed since, then. I can still remember the wet, gritty, floors, and hot, sea-weedy smell of those “machines.” It was about 1880 that I first joined the Sark party. The journey itself was an adventure. We travelled 3rd class down to Weymouth and caught the G.W.R. paddle-steamer to Guernsey, which left soon after dark and arrived early next morning, usually in brilliant sunshine. I remember exploring the slippery decks half the night, refusing to go below among the smelly, swinging oil lamps and seasick passengers, and waking up stiff at dawn from a coil of damp rope. We had a few hours to explore exotic Port Philip, before catching the 3ton sailing cutter that connected with Sark, some 15 miles distant. HIGH TIDES The tremendous momentum of the ocean tide swell, which oscillates to and fro across the Atlantic at a speed aDoroaching 700 miles an hour, causes the highest tides in the world on each side when it meets resistance, as in the Bay of Fundy, the Bristol Channel, and the Bay of St. Malo, reaching 40 feet in the two last, and over 50 feet in the Bay of Fundy. We had at least 36 feet in Sark. Any rocky coast or flat estuary exposed to such conditions is sure to be of special interest. There are bores in the rivers and treacherous tides advancing over flats at racing speed. Further out among the islands violent tide-rips occur, with 7-knot races, speeding in all directions and very dangerous to navigation. I have, with my brothers, and accompanied by a boat, many times swum down the race that flows past the Cruex Harbour at Sark. It is every bit as rapid, on a spring tide, as that passing the cut from our estuary at Nelson. GOOD FISHING The population of Sark is only a few hundred. It is a rocky, high, cultivated tableland, three miles long and about U broad. The inhabitants speak French, and are, or were, superstitious, unspoilt, and unsophisticated. Accommodation was extremely limited and supplies difficult to obtain when we first visited it. We were always hungry, and my father used to say we returned home ‘ looking like brown skeletons.” He was not very fond of it himself. I and my brothers would get up at 3 a.m. and go out fishing. We caught lots of mackerel, pollack, bream, bass, john dory, garfish and conger eels, besides lobsters and crabs. A high range of tide makes for good fishing grounds and also an abundant harvest of seaweed, which has a high fertilising value for crops. It is extensively used in the Channel Islands, Scotland and Ireland, where the best potatoes in the world are grown. It is called “wrack” and there are two harvests annually. The sea-shore is the nurseryground for fish and the extensive land exposure, under the rise and fall of high tides, brings about conditions essential for healthy life development in the sea. The exposed rocks afford shelter and footholds for the animal and vegetable growth, and even more important is the greater warmth, and more effective aeration of the water, saturating it with free oxygen, without which lif e and vegetable growth cannot exist. For this reason bathing on a rising tide is much more stimulating than on the ebb. If we could breathe under water like a fish, we should feel it even more. No fish will live long in a bucket of water. There js only one sandy beach in Sark, which we rather scorned, and only patronised for bathing in reallv stormy weather. Sketching, climbing and exploring occupied much of our time. There were blackberries and mushrooms to gather, and an occasional rabbit to add to our larder. Sark abounds in wonderful caves. Those known as the Goulliot and Boutique are the most celebrated. ROCK CLIMBING One of the most popular sketching subjects are three high rocks in the Port du Moulin, known as “Les Autelets,” or “Altar Rocks.” The two smaller are unclimbable, but we always wanted to have a try at the 100feet high, flat-topped larger one, and one day, when it was accessible at low spring tide, two of my brothers and myself made the attempt, and to our joy reached the summit. Then my sisters were eager to do so, so we arranged to have a picnic at the lop and, with the help of a rope, sot a party up. I have still a photo m my possession, taken at the time Except at one point, it is not a reallv very difficult climb. We were nevertheless the first to do it, and we capped th e summit with a cairn of stones to mark the occasion. The cairn was still there 22 years ago when I visited Sark on a camping expedition with my son. He naturally .wanted to mount the rock, but I f P if I no longer, had the nerve. However

one day we swam out to it and then in bis enthusiasm he wanted to know where we had climbed it, ami, before I knew it —barefooted us wc were—we started up, and —in a terrible funk as I was—reached the summit again, and danced a hornpipe in our elation. Then we had to lace the nasty descent —always more formidable. When we reached the difficult part I rather lost my nerve, and decided that a 40-foot jump, into the clear, rather shallow water, was less risky than going further. I never touched bottom, and my son following, We swam buck to the shore in a state of highjinks at our triumph. The nastiest climb wc ever attempted was on what is known as the Coupe, a narrow neck of land connecting Big and Little Sark, about a quarter mile long, and 300 feet high, with a narrow road along the top. It is easy on one side to reach the sandy bench already mentioned, but the other had never been attempted, and my brother wanted to try it. So one sunny morning, he, two of my sisters, and myself made the attempt from the summit. It was not very steep, but the rotten granite gave no foothold, and the hot, slippery, grassy slopes were treacherous to a degree. M,y sisters very soon gave it up, and later, I had had more than enough. My brother, however, persisted, and got about halfway down. Then he found himself in difficulties, and called out that lie dare not move, and could get neither up nor down. There was nothing to be done but get a rope, and. with the help of some of the llsherfolk, we managed to rescue him. Later on the same four were exploring a bit of easy, unbroken coast, when i my brother, badly shod, and off his guard for a moment, slipped, and fell some 20 feet on to boulders near the water's edge, breaking his ankle. We couldn’t get at him, the tide was rising, and I raced off for help, and eventually obtained a boat and rescued him. The bone was badly set, and. he was lame for the rest of his life. We were never taken to Sark again, and my brother was blamed—and rightly so—for his carelessness. I know of no more delightful holiday resort than Sark, for anyone eager to avoid crowds, especially if they are fond of sea-fishing, climbing, and sketching. I hope before long we shall get the Germans out of it, and that the simple and kindly and honest folk there will not have suffered unduly under their heavy hand. LSark was occupied by the Germans early in the war. Just lately they reported they had repulsed a commando landing attempt on the island. This was neither officially confirmed nor denied by the British.]