Good morning Kersaliou

The view from the terrace of the château to the sea was magical. In June, light brown soil-furrowed fields and dappled dark green hedges surrounded double chimney topped, old stone Breton houses.

Then, the sea itself—sometimes it was pond calm with sunlight reflecting on the water like mosquitoes around a lake. To the right were three humpback whale ridges of rock. Centrally, was another rock—a dragon—and scattered everywhere were other small islands. Beyond that again was the Île Callot, and then a gentle, gentle roller coaster of trees, yellow sand and small islands.

Unfortunately, there was work to be done.

Leaving the terrace through the main entrance, I passed through the hall, turned left and soon entered the main dining room. Approaching a table laid for one, I picked up a small bell, left the room and climbed a narrow and semi-spiralled stairway. Beyond was a door which I entered unannounced. I turned the light on and opened the two double windows at the far end of the room. This was indeed necessary as the smell could be unpleasant – most unpleasant!

The bell, in my right hand, was lightly shaken to the side of a head and close to an ear belonging to the head. Moving on, exactly the same was repeated to another head, and then another, until nine pairs of ears had heard the dulcet tones.

The results could be amazing. For some, it was as if the gates of Hell had been seen and then entered. Their heads and upper bodies rose from the bed with jaws open and eyes wide and shell-shocked. For others, it was as if paradise had been attained. Their eyes gently opened, they gave a slight smile, and then they closed the same eyes again in order that their places at the right hand side of God could be re-established. 

For one, or sometimes two, the hypnotic trance was ended and life resumed where it left off. The old night had ended, let the new day begin—immediately! Inevitably it was these who laughed, giggled and uttered their first derogatory words at the expense of the one poor soul—and there was always at least one—who was on another planet, who could not be reached by this fair means of awakening. Foul means were sometimes necessary if these boy children, for that’s what they were, were to be ready for le petit dejeuner at 8.30, some forty five minutes away.

I returned to the terrace and again reflected on the view. It had changed. The mosquitoes of light, seen earlier, had now encroached on one third of the sea. This constant change of scene was one of the château’s most magnificent treasures and it was one of the reasons that I had returned year after year. There was magic in and around this place.

Dormitories at Kersaliou

It was 8.50 and a small boy approached the staff room. He knocked twice on the door and:

“Entrez.”

He did so and sheepishly approached the long rectangular table.

“Miss Blount wants to know what you want us to do.”

“Ah—never mind about that now Alex, come and sit down here.”

He did so.

“What’s new with the world today? Is God in his heaven?”

An embarrassed silence, a grin and a superb Gallic shrug.

“Tidy the dormitories then and wait there until they are inspected.”

He left and delivered the message to Miss Blount because the scuffle of chairs on the dining room floor, situated nearby, was heard distinctly a minute or two later. The boys would take the spiral stairway to their dormitories. The girls, however, had a much grander approach to theirs—turning left out of the dining room, down the long corridor and then left up the more imposing, much wider stairway.

Dormitories were not just for sleeping in. They were centres of intrigue, laughter, tears and gossip. There were plots to be hatched, plans laid, events discussed and sweets to be eaten. There were friendships to be formed or discarded and reformed; emotions to be expressed; selfish and selfless acts to be committed.

Long before the residential trip to Brittany occurred, the thirty ten to eleven year old children would want to know if they would be allowed to share a dormitory with their friends.

Sometimes, an anxious parent would suggest that their child should or should not be put with another particular individual. The staff, too, would have their own ideas of what the groupings should be in order for harmony to reign. Known saints might nullify boisterous sinners, extrovert peacocks might encourage church mice, benevolent mother figures might nurse and mollify budding hypochondriacs. What was clear, was that in any one dormitory there would be a mixture of the timid and the brash, the wise and the foolish, the clean and the dirty. In short, a group of fairly normal state school children.

Inspections were, usually, light affairs but many of the children loved the competitive aspect.

“Did we beat the other girls’ dormitory?”

“Why have we got only seven out of ten?”

Once a modicum of tidiness had been established, the children were told to go to the classroom downstairs, which was not many metres away from the staff dining room. There, they were given instructions for their morning’s work.

St. Pol de Leon

“Today we are going to St. Pol de Leon. You won’t need to take anything with you except your imagination, your knowledge of French, and a safe place for your money. At the post office buy stamps for the postcards you want to send home. There are postcards of the château that you can buy here. Remember, if you are given any free time, you must go around in your groups of three, four or five. There are normal people living here and they won’t want to see abnormal behaviour from any of you. Be aware that traffic is on the right hand side of the road and that it does not always stop at crossings. Also, remember to keep your receipts if you buy anything. Any questions?”

“Do we have to buy any stamps or postcards?”

“George, if you’re not going to write one to your mum and dad at least send one to your cat or dog. Okay?”

“But I’ve still got some English stamps. Can’t I use them?”

“No, George. Yes, Lucy. “

“No one wants me to be in their group.”

“Oh God,” I say to myself and reply, “Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out a little later!”

From the château, the small town of St. Pol de Leon can be reached by a main road, if we use the coach that brought us to France. Or, it can be reached by walking on a pretty back road. The walk, which initially takes us onto the narrow road leading to the local beach, is a fifteen to twenty minute stroll with some gentle inclines and marvellous views of the château, of the sea and the surrounding countryside. 

The fields are filled with artichokes, cauliflowers and potatoes. Our group might even burst into song on the way and a few “Bonjours” tried out on anyone we might meet. It was not uncommon for locals to report back to those working at the chateau about how the English children behaved in the small town, especially on a Tuesday which was market day. We had built up a good reputation over many years. Indeed, for those who went to Sunday mass at the cathedral, it was often the case that the priest welcomed the English children.

Once in the centre of the town, the children split into two groups and work began. The first group’s task was to walk down the high street to the local post office and buy some stamps and postcards for sending home. They had to use French. The second group visited the local cathedral and once this was finished the two groups swapped.

Now, taking a group of fifteen top year primary school children around a sixteenth century church might not sound interesting. However, reflect on this: perhaps, up to three quarters of them had never been into a church before and no more than two or three were practising any religion. Talk of God, religion and religious symbols had, for these children, been confined to a religious education syllabus.

Sitting the children in the outside porch, they were reminded that the building represented a house of God and had to be treated with respect. No running, no loud talking, no hats and certainly no eating.

“When you enter the church go and sit on the first two benches you see and say nothing. Observe.”

The silence, once inside, was immense, magnificent and startling. No words were needed. Two or three minutes passed. Then, “Come. Look at that large painting on the wall depicting the Last Judgement. What a story. Try and lead a good life and all will be well when you die. However, if you lead a very bad life then go to Hell!”

The impact of such stories within such a magnificent setting could be very powerful. The cathedral itself had a wealth of interesting items: lighted candles at the statue of the Virgin Mary with perhaps an old lady praying silently, confessional boxes, the statue of Saint Pol defeating the dragon, the stained glass windows, the marble tombs of past bishops, the ribbed vaulting, the Gothic arches, the skulls, Saint Joan of Arc, the baptismal font, the exquisitely carved oak choir stalls, the beautiful rose window and, as a finale, the lepers’ gate. 

Oh! I nearly forgot the alabaster statue of Saint Appolonius - the patron saint of dentists who, as a martyr, had had her teeth extracted with pliers! All this offered a forty-five minute lesson with no writing, or not just yet. With any luck, the second group would already be sitting in the church porch and the swap could begin.

Once both groups had finished their work there was usually some free time in St Pol. The children were shown where the coach was to be for the return journey, reminded to be in their groups of three, four or five and told not to be late.

Punctuality and Receipts

Being late was not acceptable.

For example, at the château if you were late getting down for breakfast, or lunch or supper, you just couldn’t walk into the dining room. All the children had to line up outside in the playground and wait for the teacher on duty to let them in. Once the children were let in, the fire exit door was closed again. Late children had to line up outside, look through the windows and hope the teacher let you in quickly.

I remember one time two boys being late for breakfast.

“Why are you late?”

“Putting gel on my hair.”

The other nodded in agreement.

“Well, after breakfast help Claudine sweep the floor.”

Staff were almost never late. Some rose at six thirty, showered, dressed and went to the staff room or terrace and made coffee or tea before staring at the wonderful view to the sea. Others left it until much later and only just made it in time for breakfast which in good weather was on the terrace. Missing that meal was very rare but if it happened then a lot of banter would follow.

Being late back from trips and having no receipts had consequences. So, for example, each year, towards the end of the trip, the children would be taken to a hypermarket on the outskirts of Morlaix. Great emphasis was put on them being in their groups. Again, great emphasis was put on being back on time and keeping all receipts.

A few times, children would buy items, come out and then decide a little later to go back in with the items already bought but without their receipts. Over the years I’d heard many excuses: they hadn’t collected them, they had thrown them away or they didn’t know where they were. I had had to grovel on a few occasions with security staff who said they had caught these English schoolchildren stealing from the store.

“They have not paid for these items. They have no receipts!”

The hypermarket was a great temptation for young children, so it was no surprise one year when four boys and three girls were late returning to the coach. All were mortified when they were told to apologise to Nicole, the resident boss at the château, for being responsible for all of us being late back for lunch.

Nicole, of course, when we arrived back shrugged her shoulders and said in French, “What’s all the fuss about?” I was trying to teach the children to be punctual. The non-teacher was not.

Other forfeits or punishments for various crimes included tidying the classroom, sitting on one of the benches at the front of the château when there was free time, sweeping the dining room, or laying the plates on the table for the next meal.

A more serious punishment for persistent noise after lights out in the dormitory, for example, was to move the offender into a single room for the night. This rarely happened because clever children realised that if they whispered they couldn’t be heard by the staff in the staff room. Misdemeanours aside, the vast majority of children conformed to the rules set. Good behaviour was expected, demanded and, for the most part, exceeded expectations. The vast majority of the children were a great credit to their parents.