Sarnia cherie

Sarnia, chiere patrie, bijou d'la mair,
Ile plloine de biautai, dans d'iaou si cllair.
Ta vouaix m'appeule terjous, mon tcheur plloin d'envie
Et mon ame te crie en poine, mes iars voudraient t'veis.

Sarnia, dear homeland, gem of the sea
Island of beauty my heart longs for thee,
Thy voice calls me ever in waking or sleep,
Till my Soul cries with anguish, my eyes ache to weep..

So it never was going to be great poetry! Sarnia is the ancient name for Guernsey, and the first few lines of this pretty bad verse are in Guernesiais. This was a development of Norman French - since the Duke of Normandy conquered these islands long before he had a go at England.

Two weeks here almost done. It really is a place of enormous contrasts - as the poem says later -

"verdure clad hills, wave beaten shores, rock-sheltered bays." Ouch! enough!

But the contrast is in a little measure inevitable. After all, an island has to earn money through industry the same as any other society. This Industrial Complex is in St Sampson - the working end of St Peter Port's harbours.