I’d intended to pop down to Arles for more antiquities post swimming this morning, but the weather had something to say about the prospect of driving along that open stretch of road: so gloriously edged by fields of sunflowers in the summer, but a different can of worms in a mistral as violent as today’s offering. Thus, buffeting along the back roads towards Tarascon, whilst being blown in from the windy city, I reflected on how I’d already been both Orca and Doris Day by only eleven o clock.

To be fair, I don’t think there’s a huge swathe of folk placing Tarascon at the top of a list of places to visit in Provence but I like it, even though it appeared generally shut today. It’s February, it’s exceptionally windy, and it’s midi so what can you expect. The beautiful seventeenth century town hall was bathed in sunlight – but closed. I first came here one Christmastide, poked my head around those uninviting doors, and discovered a most wonderful creche which wound its way on and on, upstairs and around corners. As santons, everyone you can think of, and more, was on their way to see the nativity including the three kings with elephants! However, the real reason to visit Tarascon, whilst equally fantastical, and vaguely related to Christian stories, involves a monster.

This is the Tarasque, from whom the town derives its name – see how important monsters can be? The Tarasque was said to be half amphibian and half reptilian, or possibly a six legged dragon, which roamed the banks of the Rhone giving everyone in the locale the heebie-jeebies. And don’t think this is the only depiction.

Here he is again above the national bank.

And there he is on the steeple of the St Martha’s church. (Look at that sky – hard to believe how cold the wind is). So, I’m just going to remind you about St Martha and why, for me, her church is the most interesting place in town.

Christian tradition tells us that Martha was the sister of Lazarus. Then there’s something called Provencal Christian tradition which, to the traveller, is arguably more interesting. For a start, some folk believe that Christ was born in Provence – hence the preoccupation with creches that involve every provencal character you may have read about, and wherein the nativity is only a part of the whole.

Martha, along with a number of people called Mary, including the Magdalene, were cast adrift in a boat which found its way to St Maries de la Mer, down the road, in 48 AD. All sorts of myths and tales abound concerning the subsequent lives of these sacred mariners. For example, it’s from this source that the suggestion of Christ going to Glastonbury is derived. Or that Lazarus is buried in Marseilles. Or … take your pick.

Martha is supposed to have travelled up through the marshy wastes of the Camargue, hoping, like her fellow travellers, to spread the Christian word. You may recall that when I wrote about Chapelle St Gabriel, it was to suggest that the edifice on which the chapel was built was a religious school for women founded by Martha. But, before she could begin her work, she had to overcome the Tarasque which was too fearful for the locals to listen to any other beliefs. Martha caught and tamed the monster and took it into town for the people to see. Look, she did a good job and managed to put it on a lead.

Presumably, the story is allegorical. However, the folk of whatever Tarascon was called before, hadn’t heard of allegories so they thanked Martha very much before tearing the monster apart. Only then, did they convert, which says something suspicious about faith.

Here’s the crypt where Martha’s tomb and relics reside. (And can I just say that I was the only person in the place when I descended. Actually, I might’ve been the only person in Tarascon today; certainly, the only tourist). I will own up and say I took this snap with my arms between bars.

Finally, it’s not immediately obvious in this church where, amongst all the usual statues, sculptures and paintings, any depiction of Martha might be. I’d do well to follow my own advice when on a walk or a visit anywhere: Look UP. And as I was leaving, along an aisle that I’d already traversed, way up in the vaults, I finally saw this glorious piece of stained glass. There’s our dear brave Martha, and at her feet the fearsome Tarasque.