Je parle seulement un petit peu français, mais .......................! ~ Missive 12

23 Nov 2009

Dear All

Hopefully you will find Missive 12 attached, which does stray into the realms of heaviness in just one small part of one section, but as I’ve said before “I need to keep my mind active!!” At least that’s my excuse, and the last heavy “edition” provoked far more response than any of the others – so that must say something!!

Hopefully, Missive 13 will wing its way to you before Christmas, but we’ll see. This one is a little late as we have been back in the UK recently for the best part of three weeks and are back again on 11th December for; family wedding, Victoria’s graduation (She got a good merit overall for her MA, signed proud parent!!), Christmas and the New Year, so these might get in the way a little!

However, our 2009 Christmas missive will soon feature here on the blog!

Also, The Citizen does finally seem to have sorted out my Reader’s Blog with them. So, should you wish to see the edited highlights of my missives, type in

http://www.thisisgloucestershire.co.uk

and when you get onto the site, click “Stroud” on the toolbar and follow the link. At the moment you can’t miss it as you’ll be confronted with a picture of Linda and I inanely grinning at you!!


Love

Roger

La Loge,

rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis

Je parle seulement un petit peu français, mais .......................! ~ Missive 12
(I speak only a little French, but .........!)

There was a turning point on the day I sent you the last missive! On the same day I read a passage in a book called: “From here, you can’t see Paris” by an American author who moved, with his family, to live in a remote part of France and chronicle the life of the village in which he lived, and in particular the comings and goings of the local restaurant, and I went for a walk and just on the edge of La Goupillaire, our local hamlet, a lorry driver passed me, backed into a small side road and pulled out, blocking the whole road to ask instructions to somewhere.

The passage in the book made the very valid point that if living in France, it’s impossible to do it fully and properly without being able to get by with speaking French, certainly a laudable sentiment, but to some extent providing difficult as we are living in the middle of nowhere with no neighbours, save the cows that you have previously heard about and an infrequently visiting chateau owner who, likes nothing better than to practise his already excellent English, with smatterings of the other five or six languages that he is fluent in – making opportunities to speak French somewhat limited, although I do always greet the cows in French and, when I’m sure no –one is looking pass the time of day with them!!

Then, later in the day off I go for a walk, through La Goupillaire and out the other side to be confronted by the lorry driver seeking directions, shouting above the noise of the lorry’s engine and catching me unawares. So what do I do, too rapidly and without thinking I ask him: “Parlez vous anglais?,” the response to which is a hasty retreat to find someone who can speak the lingo! I then kicked myself at an opportunity lost to at least try, and for the rest of the walk, tried to work out what I could have said, settling on “Desolé, je parle seulement un petit peu francais, mais c’est possible je aidé vous,” roughly translated as “Sorry, I only speak a little French, but if possible I’ll help you.” At least then I would have tried and maybe, with the help of the large scale map I was carrying, been able to help and rewarded the fact that the driver at least thought that I looked like a native French speaker!!

So, I sort of made a pact with myself to at least have a go in future, and not to resort to the do you speak English question, that more often than not in our area, is met by a friendly but negative response of “Anglais, NON!” followed by incredulous laughter, and when all said and done, why should we expect the everyday man in the street to adopt the tongue of just a few English visitors to this area. So a few days later, when two burly gendarmes (policemen) arrive, fortunately not for us but instead looking for somewhere, despite their obvious discomfort at my excruciating French, I manage to make them understand that I have a large scale map in the house, which I fetch, all to no available as the place they are looking for is nowhere to be seen, - but at least I tried and the gendarmes thanked me warmly for my efforts!! For more “efforts” read on!

Fierté civique

Sitting in France it is easy to start knocking all things English, but on my recent visit to dear old blighty, as I went about the place and watched the news, I kept having a nagging feeling of “Where have we gone wrong in the U.K!” I then asked myself why our small commune (village) in France, population previously 350 and now we are here 352!, has; a floodlit football field with a small pavilion, a part-time Bibliotheque Communale (library), a Salle de Fêtes (parish hall), a community gîte, four large and beautifully maintained and stocked fishing lakes, a small landscaped picnic site complete with a boule pit, attractive flower bedecked name signs at each entrance to the village, well maintained roadside verges and ditches, with little or no evidence of vandalism or litter. The commune also has an Maire (Mayor) with a small purpose-built modern Mairie, set in well maintained gardens and open with secretarial cover on four half days a week, on one of which the Maire himself is in attendance. The Conseil Municipal (“Town” Council) also publishes an annual, full colour, glossy Bulletin Municipal (Parish Magazine) with colour photos on at least 20 of the twenty eight pages, the other pages often sporting full colour graphics or at the very least, as do all the pages, colourful borders!

Further examination of the above mentioned bulletin, shows that it contains the following information about the commune, which is too small to support a shop or a school, but does has the following:

• Various civic events such as; Remembrance Ceremonies (Les Cérémonies), an annual Competition "Landscape Your Town" (Concours "le Paysage de votre Commune") along the lines of “Best Kept,” and a Children’s Christmas Show (Spectacle de Noel pour les enfants).
• Birth, Marriages, Deaths and Welcome to the Village section.
• Brief notes of the monthly Council meetings and key decisions.
• Details, with great and colourful graphics, of the annual budget, which last year amounted to nearly 470 000€ or 1342€ for each inhabitant, and interestingly with Christmas looming, the previous year 2 206.62€ was spent purchasing Christmas decorations!
• A communal building scheme, where serviced building plots are up for sale.
• Practical information including the function of the Mairie, hiring of the Salle de Fêtes, opening times of the local tip (déchèterie), new kerbside recycling facilities, and much more education, religious, leisure, health and social care information, for the commune and the wider Canton (small District.) of which it is a part.
• The following Associations:
• L’association loisirs (spare-time activities such as walks, outings, bingo).

o L’association L’Art-Crée (a private creative arts company that heavily involves the local community and holds an annual Festival of Arts (dance, theatre, comedy) and helps with the children’s Christmas show.
o Les Doryphores, the local football club.
o UNC – AFN who organise the Remembrance Ceremonies.
o Club du 3ème Âge, like the U3A (University of the Third Age) in England.
o La Société de Chasse ~ The Society of Hunters.
o Syndicat Local des Exploitants Agricoles ~ Local Farmers Union.
o Patrimoine Religieux ~ Religious Heritage Group covering the whole Canton.

At this point, let me remind you as it says at the beginning of the second paragraph, we are talking here of a small village with a population of just over 350, and this level of civic activity seems to be replicated, and in the bigger villages expanded on, throughout the 12 Communes that make up our Canton, and indeed it would seem to happen the length and breadth of France. So in answer to “Where have we gone wrong in the U.K.,” I would make the following observations, and I guess this is the slightly heavy bit, but as always, I need to get it off my chest!!:

Family life, and respect for others seems strong, certainly around us in rural France; extended families spend time together and greetings remain important, be it the shake of a hand or a kiss on the cheeks (2 for friends, 3 for family and very good friends and 4 or more if you’re from Paris, which strangely the rest of France almost doesn’t seem to class as France!). Quite naturally children, young and old, will kiss their elders and indeed very noticeable is that when groups of young adults meet, hands are shook and even kisses are, in traditional French manner, exchanged between males. The different generations seem generally at ease with one another.

Our village employs what I guess in England would be a roadman or lengthsman (something I have for some time felt should be reintroduced in the U.K. as a useful way of cutting unemployment), who was in the past in England responsible for making sure grass verges, hedges and footpaths were immaculately kept, and does just that role and more still in France. They are employed by the community through the Mairie, to carry out the “fauchage” as it is known in France, but also maintains the other civic areas and keeps the decorative planting that is so much a feature of civic areas of France, looking spick and span. He seems to also be involved with rubbish collection and repairs, including small scale road works – for all intent and purpose a commune caretaker or handyman, who probably also does quite a lot of informal policing! He’s the man who visited us at lunchtime, on the very day we moved in, to explain when the rubbish was collected and which bin (general or recycling) to put out when, and since that first meeting, waves enthusiastically to us whenever we see him.

Obviously, all this at the end of the day comes down to money, and certainly the French seem prepared to pay more in taxes. Whilst appreciating that the role of the Parish Council in England and the Conseil Municipal in France cannot be easily compared, as they have very different responsibilities in areas such as highways and refuse, it is interesting that expenditure per head of population, by the Parish Council, in my parent’s village in Gloucestershire amounts to just short of £10 (about 120 less than the 1342€ in our French village!), perhaps some of the differences lie in the amount of money available at very much the grass root level and the power given to the Conseil Municipal and in particular the Maire. It is widely known that it pays to stay on the right side of the Maire in France, an almost feudal system, which is at the moment being reviewed, but maybe there is at least something to be said for greater amounts of money, with the increased responsibilities, being available lower down the system.

Maybe the above is all rather simplistic, but it does all appear to add up to a corporate and strong Fierté civique (Civic Pride) at this very grass roots level, which I feel is certainly lacking in some areas of U.K. society, and maybe due, in part, to the breakdown of the family unit and lack of respect, both ways, between the generations. How often do you hear older generations praising the youth of today, the word “youth” itself almost taking on a derogatory tone?

De marche par jour, de vivre une semaine (Vieux proverbe français ~ Old French Proverb)

I mentioned walking in the introduction, and I have of late found my feet again, and started to branch out regularly walking between eight and ten miles, or I should say 12.874 – 16.093 kilometres approximately!! Many of these walks have been circuits from the house, but as I have explored the immediate area quite thoroughly, some to spread my winds a little, involve a short car ride or Linda dropping me on the way back from somewhere and me walking the last bit! I’m sure that some of the more observant locals might be thinking that we have rather a lot of tiffs, and I’m left to walk home!!

On the longer walks, sadly Max who has just turned 14 (the equivalent of 98 in human years!!) can’t make and Linda doesn’t share my love of walking, so involve solo walking and lots of time to think, and when I remember to “stand and stare!” However, it was Max who would usually look through a gap in the hedge or climb on the walls to see what was beyond and would pull me up and make me look!! Now it is the camera and growing album of photos that tends to make me stop and look for a good shot!!

In between times, I do shorter walks and Linda often accompanies me and Max, although if he is feeling tired, a bit hot or stiff, he has been known to go so far and then turn around and go home. Unfortunately, he hasn’t quite worked out that if Linda and I are both out walking, then invariably there is no-one in to answer the door when he stands plaintively barking outside!!

But the walks have proved a great way to get to know the surrounding area, and in particular to find off the beaten track gems, such as; le Moulin du Pigeon (Pigeon Mill), la Smagne (River Smagne), GR 364 / GR de Pays de Melusine (a long distance footpath or Grand Randonnée that passes close by, and is a spur of the Santiago de Compostella, the pilgrims route to Northern Spain, marked throughout it’s route by signs containing scallop shells) and Bois de Lavaud (the communal wood of nearby La Caillère-St-Hilaire), all of which I find myself returning to frequently. I’m going to pinch a motto from another region of France, The Lot, which is some way south of here, where they say “A surprise at every step!” I think it applies equally well here!

On one such walk, that took in at least la Smagne, I was to put my new found determination to use French as much as possible and not just a friendly “Bonjour monsieur or monsieur(ma)dame,” that the locals have a habit of rolling together as one quick word, to the test! Having passed through a local village, dodged cars on the main road, although I will say that by and large French motorists are almost as respectful of walkers as they are of cyclists, I turned down a country lane heading towards a farm on one side and a well tended vegetable plot on the other. The plot contained the usual mainstays of the French kitchen garden; chard, carrots, onions, potatoes, beans, salad leaves, courgettes, tomatoes, growing with such profusion that not for the first time I marvelled at the sheer quantity of produce being grown, enough surely to feed a small army, but replicated in almost all the cottages around. There were also several rows of well hung vines, ready for picking and wine making. As I approached I was greeted by the barks of two large dogs and I noticed an elderly gent was tying his hoe onto his bicycle, from the handlebars of which hung a carrier bag of produce, freshly collected for this evening’s meal. Well, here goes I thought and greeted the man, determined to try and have a longer conversation. I received a friendly response to my greeting and we proceeded to pass the time of day, making sure that he knew I only spoke a little French. Having complimented him on his garden and discussed the weather, something I always thought was an English pastime, but certainly a popular topic amongst the farmers and gardeners hereabouts!, struggling a little I asked him, in French, if he spoke English and received a response reminiscent of me having told him an hilarious joke! But nothing ventured I now turned to the vines and tried, as it happens unsuccessfully, to ask if they were ready to harvest, and even wondering if he could answer a long-standing question I have of “How many bunches of grapes does it take to make a bottle of wine? (Answers by email or on a postcard please, to the address above!). But it wasn’t to be and eventually, he mounted his bike and we parted company like long-lost friends, I even nearly got a clap on the back before he meandered off down the road with a friendly wave and goodbye! It was only then that I realised that the two dogs who had stopped barking whilst we talked, didn’t belong to my new friend, and now remembered that they were supposed to be guarding and started to bark again, so not wanting to miss an opportunity I had a chat with them too before wishing them an “au revoir” and following the old man down the road.

There followed two briefer encounters with old woman, which were simply “Bonjour madams!” but on the second further communication was ruled out rather taking madame by surprise as she came out of her front door onto the road outside to tend her various pots, she beat a hasty retreat. As for the first, I turned a corner to see an elderly lady shuffling with a stick out of a small settlement into the middle of nowhere. As I was walking faster than she was and not wanting to alarm her in such an out of the way place, I scuffed my feet a little to announce my presence and as she turned and I “bonjour madamed” her, I received something of a wicked if not maniacal grin, so hurried on my way!! Shortly afterwards, I heard a car coming up behind us, which stopped at the old lady, loud and possibly heated words were exchanged and the next I knew madam, was in the car and being driven past me on a road I discovered went on for ages with not a dwelling in sight. As it appeared that the car stopped some way ahead, after where I was due to turn off, I couldn’t help but let the imagination run riff; was she escaped from an institution and for ever being rounded up, or had she been done in behind the hedge! As I turned off I shall never know if it was the same car that had stopped further up the road or not, but I did drive that way a few days later, and there were no houses where the car had stopped, but then again the nearby field wasn’t bristling with gendarmes and a fenced off scene of crime!!

Finally, on this walk as I was some way from home, a little weary and not wanting to miss my turn, I stopped to look at the map. Starting off again, a man, wearing wellies that appeared too large for him, appeared from out of a small area of woodland just a short distance across a field and rather unnervingly seemed to be trying to head me off. Being initially too far away for a bonjour, I ignored him and continued along the road conscious that the man was still heading my way and appearing to speed up. Had it not been for a large hedge next to where I had consulted the map, I would have thought that maybe he had seen me stop with the map and was wondering if I was lost.

He must have then realised that I was striding on, as he used a universal “hey” to get my attention and bring me to a stop! I then turned to face him, decided he looked harmless enough, and certainly I felt I could outrun him if necessary, if only because of the large boots!! He got to the other side of a straggly hedge that bordered the field said hello and was I out for a walk. I concurred and felt at this stage it to be appropriate to say I only spoke a little French, to which he responded in English, “Do you speak English?” At this point he pushed through the hedge and seeming friendly enough I held out my hand to help him negotiate the shallow overgrown ditch that lay between the road and hedge. When he finally stood next to me, he shook my hand and rather confusingly, as we had established that we both spoke English, we proceeded to have quite a long conversation largely in French, perhaps he knew about my pact!!

He wanted to know if I lived hereabouts, where I was going and how far, and he seemed sufficiently impressed that I would probably cover about 16 kilometres in the three hours I was out. He told me he was also a walker and was going for a three hour walk, the following day in the nearby Mervant Forest area, and did I know it? We talked about how good the forest was for walking and shadier than walking where I was today as it was rather hot! I then told him about the lost walker that had turned up at our house asking the way to Santiago; he was walking the Pilgrim’s Route, but had over the previous hour or so got lost and walked around in a large circle! He said he also cycled, but then so do most Frenchmen, garish lycra being the order of the day most summer Sundays, being replaced in the autumn by altogether more toned down hunting gear, the loudness of the lycra being replaced by the retort of the hunting rifles! Well, on one particular outing in a village not far away, he had stopped to talk to a walker, something he must enjoy doing as it had become obvious he simply wanted a chat, and had met an Englishman walking the Pilgrim’s Route all the way from London to Santiago, and then told me his age. As I didn’t catch this, he held up three fingers on one hand, which I took to mean 30, and obviously didn’t respond as he expected, well if you are going to take on such a walk (2000 k or 1250 miles by fastest road route), 30 seemed a reasonable age at which to try it! But he persevered, and I realised that in addition to the 3 fingers on one hand he was holding up five on the other hand, and then clenching it into a fist. The penny dropped, 5 + 3 and add a nought came to a staggering, “huit-zero” as I realised he was saying - 80, to which I then made the correct response “C’est magnifique!” and he heartily agreed. I then told him that perhaps I would come back in 27 years time and give it a try, raising a chuckle and a light touch of the arm, before we parted company. He bade me a hearty “Good-bye” in English to which I responded with an “Au revoir” in French and left with a friendly wave!

Something of a by product of these walks, is returning with pocket / bag full of something gleaned from the hedgerow, be it walnuts, sweet chestnuts, apples, pears, hazel nuts or blackberries, or sometimes a pin-pointed site to return to with the car and with further willing gatherers. Such items have helped to provide many a tasty morsel and recently whilst finishing off our evening meal the telephone rang, the caller checking that we weren’t in the middle of eating, to which I responded that we had just finished a delicious “ditch apple” pie!

All this walking is perhaps why the time seems to be flying by, as the old French proverb that titles this section simply means: “Walk a day, live a week!,” but I don’t think it means it quite like that!!

“Clever Words”

• Rather topical after the horrendous ferry crossing we have just made: “A sure cure for seasickness is to sit under a tree!” Spike Milligan
• With walking, and perhaps life in general, in mind: “I came to a fork in the road, so I took it” Yogi Berra
• Topical when strolling in our 12 acre private woodland and in similar vein to the last one, about decisions!!! “In the woods we return to reason and faith” Ralph Waldo-Emerson
• And finally, a lovely one spotted outside a New York Irish bar: “There are no strangers here, only friends who haven’t yet met!”

My original “day’s thought!”

Carrying on the walking theme, and as I’ve always thought that I do my best thinking when out walking, many a problem has been sorted out following this maxim!:

“I walk, therefore I think. I think, therefore I do!”

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger, Linda and Max

(“It’s great to be back, but we seem to be suffering from ‘winter isolation,‘ been back over three days and apart from one visit by the post van, which I missed altogether, NOTHING, not even a tractor, has come down the road for me to chase!! Mind you, I’ve heard them talking about another trip over the water, it will be good to catch up with friends, but let’s hope for a considerably smoother crossing next time! Wouf!)

End piece: (P.S.) Nearly midday Saturday before the isolation finished and Michel, the farmer, came to fetch water and allow me to keep up the French quest!! True to form we covered; welcome back, the weather (two weeks of solid rain whilst we were away accounts for the ponds filling up) and how good it is that the ponds have filled up, distance we had travelled, had we had a good visit and party for mon parents (on being told about their 60th wedding anniversary before we left he had simply said “soixantième... phew!!!”), and how old are my parents. On being told they were both 84 he commented on their visits to see us and their bon forme, which on reflection he changed to superbe forme (shape)! All I hasten to add in French, well in my case “pigeon French!!”

And maybe to come next time? “A glass half full or half empty!” “Wild Gourmet” “Toi Moi” “Keith Floyd and Eddie Izzard!!” “Tupperware” and maybe some more bureaucracy!!