“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.
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