The two other principal passages across the Braye du Valle were the bridges called “Le Pont Colliche” and “Le Pont St. Michel.” They consisted of rude slabs of stone resting on huge blocks of rock, and were dangerous, both from the sea-weed which attached itself to them, and rendered them exceedingly slippery, and also from the rapidity with which the tide, when rising, flowed in, for both of them were covered at high water. Many and sad were the accidents which had happened to incautious and belated passengers, and it is not wonderful that superstition believed these spots to be haunted by the ghosts of those who had perished in attempting the crossing. The “Pont St. Michel,” situated near the Vale Church, where the embankment now is, was held in especial dread. At night the “feu bellenger” or will-o’-the-wisp, was to be seen dancing on the sands, and gliding under the bridge, and even at mid-day, when the sun was shining brightly, unearthly cries of distress would be occasionally heard proceeding from that direction, though no living being could be discovered, by whom they could possibly be uttered.
An old woman, still alive, whose youth was spent in that neighbourhood, has assured me that she has repeatedly heard the cries.
“Le Pont Colliche” was situated about midway between the two others, a little to the eastward of the road which now traverses the Braye. According to tradition, there was once a time when the opening at the “Bougue du Valle”—the channel between the Grand Havre and the Braye—was so small that a faggot, weighted with stone, would have sufficed to stop it.
At that time the passage between the islands of Herm and Guernsey was so narrow that a plank laid down at low water enabled the Rector of St. Sampson’s to cross over when his duty called him to perform divine service in the Chapel of St. Tugual. Great quantities of the common cockle (cardium edule), locally known by the name of “cocques du Braye,” used to be gathered on the sands at low water. It is said, however, that even before the enclosure of the Braye they had begun to disappear, and their increasing scarcity was attributed to the impiety of an old woman, who, unmindful of the sacred duty of keeping the sabbath holy, was in the habit of searching for these cockles on that day. A similar story is told to account for the rarity of a particular kind of periwinkle (trochus crassus) known here by the name of “Cocquelin Brehaut.”
A stone, which has evidently served as the socket or base of a cross, and which is said to have come from the Pont Colliche, is still preserved at Les Grandes Capelles.
[79] Editor’s Note.—Of course this was written long before the days of greenhouses and the tomato-growing industry.
“The Lovers’ Leap.”
“Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale, or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.”