21st October 2016
We went to bed last night to the soothing sound of the sea washing against the seawall, three stories below. A rather pleasant way to drift off to sleep.
Like Martin Luther King, Sue had a dream. Hers, however, involved rabbits. Apparently, Jamie had acquired another one, this time brown, and I had inadvertently shut the garage door on it, bending its ear downwards. Unlike Dr. King’s, I doubt Sue’s dream will inspire a shift in white rabbit attitudes towards brown rabbits… but hey, what’s up, doc? I do wonder if I was the stand-in for James Earl Ray.
After indulging in a sumptuous breakfast buffet, we decided to stretch our legs under a glorious blue sky, setting off along the coastal path.
Our first stop was the little parish church of St. Brelade. After exploring the charming Fisherman’s Chapel nestled in the graveyard, reputedly the oldest of its kind, according to a friendly lady we met inside, we moved on to the more imposing and undoubtedly ancient main church.
As we approached the entrance, we passed the vicar, head down, engrossed in his laptop. One glance at the screen told me he was wrestling with the age-old challenge of connecting a projector and not having much luck. I’d been there, done my time, and lived to tell the tale. I left him to his struggle and carried on inside.
The church itself was as it should be, timeless and full of character. However, it was clear that this vicar and a few tech-savvy parishioners had decided the 4th century needed dragging into the 21st. Large-screen TVs and various visual contraptions adorned the walls and vestibules. It looked slightly out of place, but perhaps I’m just getting on a bit. If that’s what it takes to divert younger generations from their iPhones, who am I to argue?
I do wonder what the vicar’s avatar might be… Michelangelo the Ninja Turtle, perhaps?
We carried on with many diversions along the at times rugged pathway, stopping frequently to ogle at the splendid houses we passed, often taking photos of the cliffs and seascape when our fancy took us (Sue needed the practice on her new phone). We stopped in a small wood to collect sweet chestnuts, which were peeled and scoffed as we carried on.
We consulted one of the warders heading in for his shift, who helpfully pointed out that the nearest stop was just 50 metres away. Encouraged by this, we set off in the direction he indicated.
Roughly half a mile later, still bus-stop-less, we asked again at a nearby garage. The attendant cheerfully informed us that the stop was directly outside, then pointed to the large white letters painted on the road that read ‘BUS’. We’d passed dozens of them! When you’re searching for a bus stop, you naturally look up, not down. Backward bloody islanders.
About twenty minutes later, we finally caught the bus to St. Helier.
Upon arriving at the terminus, we strolled over to nearby Liberation Square and settled at an outdoor café. Cider in hand, we basked in the warmth of the October sun, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching the world go by.
We, however, opted for the ferry on wheels. Having already walked more than our fair share that day, the sight of the castle, imposing even from a distance, promised many more steps to come.
As it turned out, we were the ferry’s only passengers. We didn’t feel guilty about leaving the other tourists behind. In fact, it felt rather grand, like lords surveying the peasants from on high. I briefly considered tossing a few coins in their direction, feeling charitable. But Sue would have disapproved, no doubt pointing out they’d only squander it on gin and loose women. So, I kept my money and contented myself with the view.
Later, we crossed paths with our subjects as we wandered the fortifications, but they knew their place and didn’t engage us in conversation. Elizabeth Castle is well worth a visit, large, steeped in history, and brimming with character. We certainly didn’t do it justice. The castle boasts many original features from various eras, and several small museums tucked within its parapets that deserve far more of our attention. Perhaps next time? We shall see.
Our return journey to the mainland was not as exclusive. This time, we were joined by noisy, loathsome commoners. Such is the state of the world these days, no respect for one’s betters.
Upon our return, we caught the bus back to the Golden Sands, where we restored ourselves with a well-earned goblet of coffee in our room. Suitably refreshed, we changed for dinner.
With appetites satisfied, we retired to the bar, spending the remainder of the evening with refreshments in hand, consulting information parchments to plot the adventures that awaited us on the morrow.
Palmer Family 
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