From Pub to Port: The Berry-Bruised Beginning of Our French Adventure
Ah, the sweet scent of adventure and blackberries. Our 2025 trip to France began not with a bang, but with a pint (or two…okay maybe three…perhaps) at the Red Lion in Sturminster Marshall, a charming Dorset town that feels like it was plucked straight from a Hardy novel and dipped in cheddar.
Sturminster Marshall: A Dorset Village Steeped in Time
Nestled along the River Stour in East Dorset, the village of Sturminster Marshall is more than just a picturesque stop on a countryside ramble—it’s a living tapestry of English history.
The name itself is a clue to its layered past. “Sturminster” derives from Stour Minster, meaning a large church by the River Stour. The “Marshall” was added in the 13th century, honoring William Marshal, a legendary knight and statesman who witnessed the signing of the Magna Carta in 1215.
Evidence of settlement here stretches back to Mesolithic times, but the first written records appear around 880 AD. The village’s spiritual heart, St Mary’s Church, stands on the site of an earlier Anglo-Saxon church and was rebuilt in Norman times. It’s seen its share of drama—most notably in 1860 when the bell tower collapsed, prompting a major restoration.
Wander through the village and you’ll find Church Cottages, dating to the 16th century, still bearing original timber beams. One even survived a dramatic fire in 1976 when a haywagon ignited the thatched roof. The Red Lion Inn, a local favorite, has served food and drink for generations, while the Mackrell Charity, founded in 1799, continues to support education and community life from its historic schoolhouse.
Today, Sturminster Marshall is a charming blend of old and new. Its Platinum Jubilee Trail invites visitors to explore 15 historical sites marked with QR codes, turning a casual stroll into a time-traveling adventure.
The Great Blackberry Heist of White Mill Lane
After settling into the Red Lion (which also, by the way, serves a steak and ale pie that could bring tears to a Viking), but before we dined we took a leisurely stroll toward the White Water Mill. The path was lined with hedgerows bursting with blackberries so ripe they practically leapt into our hands.
Cue the impromptu berry-picking contest. Rules were simple: whoever picked the most without getting scratched won. We all looked like we’d wrestled a hedgehog and I did not even get any juice on my white T Shirt. But the berries? Worth every thorny jab. Sweet, sun-warmed, and slightly smug, they became our unofficial snack of the trip.
At one point, we were so engrossed in our foraging that a local dog walker mistook us for foraging influencers. We didn’t correct her. We just nodded sagely and muttered something about “hedgemunching”.
Early Birds and Ferry Nerds
The next morning, we were up at 06:00, bleary-eyed but buzzing. The drive to Poole ferry terminal was short and punctuated by debates over who snored loudest at the Red Lion (jury’s still out). The ferry to Cherbourg was a dream—smooth sailing, gentle waves, and just enough breeze to make you feel like you’re in a French perfume ad. We sat on deck for half the sailing until we got just too toastie.
We docked at around 14:00 to 29 degrees (centigrade that is), greeted by the salty air and the promise of Normandy.
Bonjour, Montmartin-sur-Mer!
Our final leg took us to Montmartin-sur-Mer, a gem in Normandy that’s as laid-back as a sunbathing cat. With its quaint stone houses, and a climbing wall that hosts national competitions, Montmartin is the kind of place that whispers, “Stay a while”, although it’s less touristy than its neighbours.
Final Thoughts Before the Baguettes Begin
From blackberry battles in Dorset to breezy landings in Normandy, our trip began with laughter, history, and a few thorn scratches. If the rest of France is anything like this start, we’re in for a deliciously unpredictable ride.
Stay tuned.
