Fond farewells are said. The Saint's Day sailors prepare to return their home ports.
Motoring out, through the channel. Sails hoisted, in the hope of a breeze later, on a still morning.
The medieval battlements standing high above them.
Truth be told it is a better day, to discover the secrets of the Ville Close, than for passage making.
A palpable excitement emanates from the arched entrance.
Within, restaurateurs prepare for the day. In the cool of the morning shade.
Amid sun dappled alleyways. Close set with cottages. Their gardens a riot of vibrant colour.
Rapiers are drawn, in the glare of the midday sun, on a parched grass square.
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A battle scene is in rehearsal ; or in creation. With much debate required.
The granite walls look on unmoved. They have seen swordplay, musket fire and the advent of automatic weaponry. Blood spilled for real, over ten centuries, or more.
In a pool of evening sunlight, an accordion player chuckles pleasurably. Whilst he softly regales us with a tune.
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