As the chill started to encircle us in typical September style, we headed out to pass a sunny visit to Normandy, dragging in tow an 86year old father in law, in town from Connecticut, and with the great importance on the agenda being a visit to St Mère Eglise.  He had a long standing wish to visit the town that became famous in the movie about the longest night, to see with his ageing eyes, the steeple of the church where the legendry paratrooper hung all night long, dodging German gunfire as a battle was fought during the second World War.

A car trip, an ageing but loving and generous grandpa, two ankle biters and a couple of hundred kilometres between us and home meant an overnight trip would serve us best.  I’m never one to enjoy a B and B.  It is something that causes endless friction between my husband and I when planning trips.  My idea of comfort doesn’t tie in with his.  To give credibility to his reasoning, he’ll add in the kid factor.   I stand my ground, kids and all, I want somewhere with at least a hint of lush.  With all requirements in mind,  I started to search the internet to see what I could find.  At least by taking it on myself, I had a sense of some control.  Mind you there was every chance the hole thing could backfire and we'd end up in some poo soggy dairy farm in the middle of nowhere, which indeed we did before the trip was over.

When I hit on their website, it seemed too good.  A large two bedroom suite, sleeps six plus a baby and under 120 euros for a night.  It looked a superior passable in the pictures, so I called.  Yes, there is a vacancy, yes we do tables d’hotes, ok, see you in three days.  Off we set, me squashed worse than a sardine in the middle of two children’s car seats, sucking in my shoulder blades to endure the next two hours of repetitive, “cow” “moo”, “cow”, “moo”.  Life with a two year old is great for killing off the brain cells.  In fact, I’d like to see a study done to see which kills more and quicker, a glass of red wine, or a week with a toddler!

Just when I thought my shoulders were permanently hunched and I would be sent to the towers of Notre Dame, we found an isolated road heading into nowhere.  Eventually it took us into the drive we were seeking.   The website photos did not do it justice.

From the moment of stepping through the front door, there were little pieces of history, knick knacks that come from someone’s past life.  Entering  the suite allowed for surprise, 90m2 of clean, pristine sleep space, filled with charm and everything you imagine a french room might be.  Two bedrooms connected by a bathroom meant we were able to keep an eye on all things fragile, children and grandfathers.  Photos on their website don’t even come close to portraying the reality of comfort, it was worthy of any four star hotel.

 Thinking we couldn’t ask for better, indeed it came.  It, or rather she, came in the form of  a big black lab, “Plume” who my daughter still sobs for on the odd occasion.  With Plume, the children chased, ran, cuddled in the large gardens at the rear of the house whilst we indulged in un aperitif as the evening arrived.

Dinner with our hosts was a delicious mix of company, local food and produce.  Being a non meat eater, neither the veal not the pork (having come from the farm next door)  appealed to me.  But, by all accounts, my “yeah it was OK”  husband declared it to be delicious.   Vegetables were local, dessert was scrumptious and the only thing that was better, was the absolutely divine home made jam that came with breakfast the following morning. 

Speaking of breakfast, once that was out of the way, our hostess collected our children and started off on a walk.  Not someone to let a virtual stranger walk off with my precious bundles, I tagged along and indeed,  I did find myself in a poo-soggy cow farm. 

As the four legged species were paraded across the road and into the stalls, the children were fixated, so much that they ignorant to the stench.  As the cows were hooked up be milked, we were warmly welcomed into the farmers domain and regionally dialect french until the machine kicked in and the noise indicated it was time to return, collect our bags and head off. 

As we loaded the car, and I resumed my squashed, hunched up position preparing for the inundation of monotonous three letter words, we promised the children to go back before they too are old and grey.  With their hankering for Plume, and my need for a fix of that jam, I think it will be sooner rather that later that we settle in for the journey again.

Our night in the two bedroom suite with three adults, two children, dinner for all and breakfast the following morning came in under 180 euros. Recommendation doesn't do it justice, it warrants a personalised visit indeed. 

 Contact

Manoir de Magneville

50310 Fresville

Tel 02 33 01 02 24

http://monsite.orange.fr/manoirdemagneville/