My favourite thing to do on St. Martins is snorkelling with the seals, followed by a crafty beer at the Seven Stones before a trip to see Fay before catching my boat. J Taylor
Kayak over the flats from 'campsite' beach, walk over the back of the island and meet friendly people everywhere.
My favourite thing to do on St. Martins is to spend the day with my boys at Old Quay. We look for cowrie shells and see who can find the biggest juiciest "hopper". As the light fades we do a spot of crabbing with a large slab of homity pie and brown sauce ( for the us not the crabs - they get streaky bacon ). When it's time for home we race our catch on the Quay.... first crab to plop over the edge to the water wins. Then back up the hill for a sundowner and clean the glitter from between our toes. No better place on earth. I couldn't miss my yearly St. Martins fix. A Peet
Here is a list of our favourite things.....Finding as many cowries as we can, watching and listening to all the wonderful wildlife ( from sandhoppers to lapwings), the tame birds, all the great quiet times playing in the dazzling, white sand and snorkeling on little bay, enjoying being the only people on the beach!, watching the seal watching us, making islands to stand upon for the tide to wash away, catching shrimps and, fish and crabs when rockpooling, the walk all the way around the island ,evening walks to the Daymark, climbing the rocks and discovering the rope/net playgrounds, watching the beautiful butterflies on the Buddleia by the greenhouse at Middle town, the dive bombing swallows down the road, watching the sunset behind Round island from the hotel quay, all the fabulous sunsets, walking all the way out to Guther's island at very low tide, watching the gig races (following the St Martin's gig Dolphin!!), the variety of flowers (especially the Agapanthus), Adam's Fish and chips , tea and cake at Polreath, fresh vegetables from the honesty stalls, wonderful bread from the bakery, milkshakes and snacks at Little Arthur, shandy and crisps at the Sevenstones and of course Fay Page's silver smithing!! (Mum and me have both got a cowrie!!)
I could go on... but I''ll stop now. We love St Martin's. M Hamer
50 things to do.......
In the market-place at Goderville was a great crowd, a mingled multitude of men and beasts. The horns of cattle, the high, long-napped hats of wealthy peasants, the headdresses of the women came to the surface of that sea. And the sharp, shrill, barking voices made a continuous, wild din, while above it occasionally rose a huge burst of laughter from the sturdy lungs of a merry peasant or a prolonged bellow from a cow tied fast to the wall of a house.
It all smelled of the stable, of milk, of hay and of perspiration, giving off that half-human, half-animal odor which is peculiar to country folks.
< 2 > Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived at Goderville and was making his way toward the square when he perceived on the ground a little piece of string. Maitre Hauchecorne, economical as are all true Normans, reflected that everything was worth picking up which could be of any use, and he stooped down, but painfully, because he suffered from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin string from the ground and was carefully preparing to roll it up when he saw Maitre Malandain, the harness maker, on his doorstep staring at him. They had once had a quarrel about a halter, and they had borne each other malice ever since. Maitre Hauchecorne was overcome with a sort of shame at being seen by his enemy picking up a bit of string in the road. He quickly hid it beneath his blouse and then slipped it into his breeches, pocket, then pretended to be still looking for something on the ground which he did not discover and finally went off toward the market-place, his head bent forward and his body almost doubled in two by rheumatic pains.
He was at once lost in the crowd, which kept moving about slowly and noisily as it chaffered and bargained. The peasants examined the cows, went off, came back, always in doubt for fear of being cheated, never quite daring to decide, looking the seller square in the eye in the effort to discover the tricks of the man and the defect in the beast.
The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, had taken out the poultry, which lay upon the ground, their legs tied together, with terrified eyes and scarlet combs.
They listened to propositions, maintaining their prices in a decided manner with an impassive face or perhaps deciding to accept the smaller price offered, suddenly calling out to the customer who was starting to go away:
"All right, I'll let you have them, Mait' Anthime."
Then, little by little, the square became empty, and when the Angelus struck midday those who lived at a distance poured into the inns.
< 3 > At Jourdain's the great room was filled with eaters, just as the vast court was filled with vehicles of every sort -- wagons, gigs, chars-a- bancs, tilburies, innumerable vehicles which have no name, yellow with mud, misshapen, pieced together, raising their shafts to heaven like two arms, or it may be with their nose on the ground and their rear in the air.
Just opposite to where the diners were at table the huge fireplace, with its bright flame, gave out a burning heat on the backs of those who sat at the right. Three spits were turning, loaded with chickens, with pigeons and with joints of mutton, and a delectable odor of roast meat and of gravy flowing over crisp brown skin arose from the hearth, kindled merriment, caused mouths to water.
All the aristocracy of the plough were eating there at Mait' Jourdain's, the innkeeper's, a dealer in horses also and a sharp fellow who had made a great deal of money in his day.
The dishes were passed round, were emptied, as were the jugs of yellow cider. Every one told of his affairs, of his purchases and his sales. They exchanged news about the crops. The weather was good for greens, but too wet for grain.
Suddenly the drum began to beat in the courtyard before the house. Every one, except some of the most indifferent, was on their feet at once and ran to the door, to the windows, their mouths full and napkins in their hand.
When the public crier had finished his tattoo he called forth in a jerky voice, pausing in the wrong places:
"Be it known to the inhabitants of Goderville and in general to all persons present at the market that there has been lost this morning on the Beuzeville road, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather pocketbook containing five hundred francs and business papers. You are requested to return it to the mayor's office at once or to Maitre Fortune Houlbreque, of Manneville. There will be twenty francs reward."