Packed Bags

Firstly, thank-you to all the people who have privately messaged their concerns for me and I apologise for the lack of posts. I am not exaggerating when I say that the past few months have been the strangest in my life. So much so, that I just couldn’t write about it. How can you put in words, in a respectful way, the madness of others, the results of any form of employment law on Sark and the utter lack of care or interest in others’ wellbeing by people who actually should care. I feel as though I’m talking in riddles, but I just don’t know how to articulate what I’ve experienced.

I found myself working 13 or 14 hour days, every day, with very few days off, or in fact with perhaps a half hour break during the day. The work, I found enjoyable, interacting with guests, with most appreciating the service given. However, when I worked out my hourly rate, I was working for about 2 pound an hour.

There are many stories to be told, but I feel that this is not the right medium but it may be enough to say that since the season started on 25th April, 14 people have come to work at La Sablonnerie and they have gone either the same day, or within a short time after arriving. That’s 14 people’s hopes, dreams and travel expenses – some had given up jobs to come, others were young hopefuls, first time away from home, who were treated abysmally and would spend time on the phones to their families back home, asking for help to get off the island, having spent their savings to come. Two young, vulerable women only lasted 1 day each. There is no employment law on Sark to protect them.

What this environment did do, was to help me to create strong bonds with the staff who did stay. Even if we couldn’t communicate in the same language, we all knew the sign for ‘crazy lady’. The guys in the Tea Garden were my saviour. What has also made a big difference to me was finally, at last (trumpet roll …) my friend Astrid arrived about 6 weeks ago, so there are now 2 kiwis on Sark. We’ve been able to laugh at the craziness and we have pretended that we are in a reality programme, which we have named, When The Truman Show Meets Survivor and had been expecting to be bumped off at any minute.

Another highlight has been the visit of our dear friend Jennifer, who travelled well out of her way to come to visit us. And trust me, Sark is well out of anyone’s way. It was unfortunate that neither Astrid or I could have time off, but Jen did a fine job with engaging with the other guests in the bar, finding out their stories and relaying them back to us over our late meals. She was able to watch the craziness (some would and did say ‘circus’) and provide us with her perspective. Jen also found out more about the staff in 2 days than Astrid and I could find out in 5 months. She has a knack! We were very sad to see Jen go.

You may remember my dining with royalty a while back, where I fell off my bike 3 times on the way home. Le Seigneur, Christopher and his delighful wife, Sarah and I have maintained contact and they have alway said that there was a spare bed for me at their home in the amazing Le Seigneurie gardens if I needed it and as it transpired, life at the hotel became unbearable, so Astrid and I became the 12th and 13th to leave. And so ends the La Sablonnerie experience, not without some sadness. Sadness that things didn’t work out, leaving colleagues whom I am now worried about and leaving the stunning scenery, my little room and that special bond that transpires when you have a ‘we are all in this together’ experience.

So Astrid and I now find ourselves working in the gardens cafe, Hathaways. We are both working in the kitchen and once again, learning some new skills. Who’d have thought cream teas take so much logistical thinking to get from baking to the plate. And how many ploughmans can a block of cheese make?

We are here for we don’t know how long. It may be a week, it may be 2 months. In the meantime, we are enjoying summer on Sark. We have our lives back and no more 13 hour days, so we can actually start to enjoy the island. Evening picnics, gin and tonics at the local Bellaire Pub and even watching a bit of Netflix in the evenings.

Gosh, this is an experience I won’t forget and despite the craziness, hard work and uncertain future, I wouldn’t swap it for anything. So far the joureney has been worth it.