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.