In centuries past, when the winds were high, children from Little Sark would crawl across La Coupée — a narrow causeway that was their only route to school on the main island of Sark.

At 80 metres above the sea, braving this crumbling ridge would have been scary enough without the fear of ghosts and stories of drowning sailors’ screams in the caves below. Many islanders believed La Coupée was haunted and sightings included a headless horseman, a floating coffin and a slavering witch’s hound that sniffed out vulnerable prey.

Fortunately, railings were fixed along the 100-metre causeway in 1900 and a concrete path was laid in 1945 by German prisoners of war, so La Coupée now offers visitors a wonderful walk on the wild side with dramatic views out across the turquoise sea to Jersey.

On our return walk from La Coupée to Stocks Hotel, the hedgerows were filled with three-cornered leeks which release a light waft of garlic — perhaps to ward off those ghosts!

Stocks Hotel, in the heart of Sark, dates from 1741 and is reputed to have its own haunting — a woman who creeps along the corridor and into the heavily beamed Smugglers’ Bar, although the only spirits we encountered were the local Wheadons gin.

The hotel’s ethos is to serve locally sourced produce and its attractive grounds feature a two-acre permaculture garden alongside a newly planted orchard. Eggs are the breakfast speciality, courtesy of the well-fed chickens, and more home-made delights include butter, chutneys, wines and brandies served by the team of friendly, knowledgeable staff.

Sark sits in its own a charming timewarp. One of the last places in the world where cars are banned, the doctor uses a tractor to call on patients while visitors to the island have three transport options; to take a horse-drawn carriage from above the quayside, hire bikes or simply walk the two-square mile island.

With no street lights, it was also designated a Dark Sky Community in 2011. Stargazers can spend an evening in the cosy volunteer-run observatory, whose 10-inch telescope was financed by jumble sales and quiz nights.

The sense of community is strong here and Sarkees, as the 600 islanders are known, have also pulled together to help restore La Seigneurie Gardens, part of the island’s oldest property, home to Sark’s Seigneur — the Lord of the Manor. There is no entry to the house but La Seigneurie’s tranquil walled garden is not to be missed in summer when it bursts into colour with a magnificent display of pink roses, Guernsey daisies and purple salvias.

Our group of garden lovers, on a Royal Horticultural Society holiday, also headed to Guernsey and Saumarez Park Walled Garden where volunteers grow heritage plants from the Victorian era including Guernsey tomatoes, once a top export before the industry fell into decline.

One of the high-profile supporters of the walled garden is clematis grower Raymond Evison OBE, a 28-times RHS Chelsea gold medal winner, who grows a quarter of the world market of the flower in his four-acre greenhouses.

Along with other private garden visits arranged especially for us, a dazzling array of flower-filled troughs, baskets and beds transform St Peter Port into one of the prettiest towns in the Channel Islands every spring and summer but, like Sark, it is the natural landscape that steals the show.

Walking the granite cliffs, with fields of wild orchids vying for attention against the backdrop of a sparkling sea, is perhaps the true joy of visiting Guernsey.

The complete clifftop loop of the island is around 40 miles, but the route can be broken into sections. The well-maintained paths, where frothy white blackthorn blossom gives shelter to clumps of white sea campion and pink pom-pom heads of thrift, lead to valley roads and peaceful bays.

Or gaze down from above from the top of Candie Gardens’ Victoria Tower and listen for a whisper of romance. French author Victor Hugo, who spent 15 years in exile on the island from 1855, would meet his lover, French actress Juliette Drouet, for secret liaisons here.

Like the novelist, who described himself as being struck by ‘the breath of the flowers’, it is hard not to succumb to the wild allure of Guernsey.