The Île de Batz

This beautiful island—Île de Batz—was a fifteen minute small boat crossing from Roscoff. It always featured in my itinerary to Brittany as it was so special and for most, but not all, was a highlight of the trip.

Usually, the boat was booked in advance by Nicole from the château and then she and Claudine started to put together our picnic. After breakfast and the cleaning of the dormitories the children would meet up in the classroom and then one by one would collect their package of picnic goodies wrapped in a white plastic bag. They would already have been told to have collared t-shirts, hat, sun cream and towel etc.

“Do not open your picnic until we sit down on a beach and eat.”

This order was sometimes ignored and hard boiled eggs or some French cheese was mysteriously found on some seats in the coach. Never the baguette though. This was delivered fresh daily, left outside the front door of the château and loved by both staff and children.

Before arriving in Roscoff, for the short ferry journey, we usually visited Les Viviers, a fishing co-operative, where you could see edible crabs, spider crabs, lobsters and red crayfish in large tanks, winkles, dog cockles, clams and scallops. Some of the children were often horrified by the smell and intrigued by the elastic bands around the lobsters’ claws. Some couldn’t comprehend the fact that they were packed alive into polystyrene boxes and sent, for example, to Marseille in the South of France.

The fifteen minute journey on the ferry from Roscoff to the Île de Batz was usually uneventful except for the occasional loss of a hat blown away by the wind. If we were lucky the ferrymaster would tell us about the island and through the microphone the fluent French speaker of the party would translate. On arrival, quite a long walk began and, of course, you always had the leaders and the stragglers. Sometimes the leaders were given the job of putting small chalk marks on the tiny paths and roads so that the laggards would know where to go. Very few staff liked to be with them.

After about a mile we stopped at Chez Thérèse. It was a shop selling everything, and doubled up as a bar. It remained in a time warp. By the time we arrived, there were already a few men drinking either beer or pastis. There, sitting outside in a small garden, the children were allowed in, in small groups of four or five to buy sweets, ice cream or lemonade etc. Bubble gum was not officially allowed - but what were rules for?

(Maman Thérèse died some time ago but when she was alive she always remembered us and asked, in French of course, whether the crossing was calm, how the château was, and that she would see us next year. Her three daughters now run the shop.)

Of course, the ‘loo’ was sometimes needed but the tiny shack posing as the toilet in the garden was often deemed unsuitable by the more delicate of the group. Once the count was taken, we moved off. To make the count easier, children were sub divided into large registration groups, perhaps nine or ten, before the visit began, and allocated to a named adult. A raised hand from each of the three groups indicated that all were there. Counting children, especially on the island, was very important. Years ago, one child from the château - not from our school - ran off and the whole island had to be searched by the police.

After the Chez Thérèse stop, there was about another mile to go before we reached our deserted beach. We passed on our way, fields of potatoes, artichokes and cauliflower and horses tethered on grassy meadows.

Once at the beach we established boundaries and the children were left to do their own thing. Sun cream and hats were compulsory. After about forty minutes the picnic was opened and consumed. Often the picky eaters wouldn’t eat much or the entrepreneurs would swap their hard boiled eggs for two slices of buttered baguette with ham. Water and plastic cups were provided and at the end of the meal a couple of “volunteers” were coerced into gathering up all the rubbish into black bin bags. Volunteers were not really hard to find. They had usually thrown away unwanted food or litter on the beach. Ach-y-fi! (Welsh: horrible or disgusting) Their punishment was quick, proportionate and fair. Children had to learn.

After another bout of activities or letting the sloths lie about, the long walk back to the small ferry was attempted. For some children, walking was a nightmare, having parents who were sure that sitting in a car was far less damaging to health. However, a visit to another bar/cafe for an ice cream or a drink, a beer for the staff and then meeting the coach at a predetermined time in Roscoff, usually meant the end of a very special day - particularly if the chief medical officer had not been involved.

By the time we got back to the château, it was shower time. One day, it was girls first; the next, boys.

After that, off to the classroom, and a write up of, perhaps, their visit to the church in St. Pol, the day’s diary, or a continuation of the sketch of the château or the seascape from the terrace.

Work was an essential element in the residential visit. Initially, though, children didn’t appreciate that walking round a church, looking at the countryside, visiting a fishing co-operative or speaking in French to Nicole or Claudine was work. I also kept excellent written and artistic work from previous visits and presented them to the children as examples of “not bad work.” Expect much and you may receive much.

Work, pleasant or not, also filled time. Leave ten to twelve year olds to do as they want all day long and trouble will ensue.

In the early years, the age of the top year in this primary school was 11-12. (Year 7) With the introduction of the National Curriculum the age of transfer to Secondary school changed and so the top year became 10-11. (Year 6)

Also, the school grew and later on there were two classes who went to Brittany. As one class returned home after a week, the other was preparing to leave from the U.K. I stayed and had a fantastic free day. I often went to the island by myself. So, no children, an almost empty château and any of my dirty washing was taken care of by Nicole. Bliss.