Friday, December 30, 2011

Missive 35 ~ The Forgotten Chapter!!

30 December 2012

 rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis

The Forgotten Chapter!! ~ Missive 35

“The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.”
Friedrich Nietzsche

“Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.”
Khalil Gibran

Amongst lots more, this missive includes:

The Forgotten Chapter! ~ Chapter 6

As Khalil Gibran says above, “Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.”  Well, it’s hard to imagine how I forgot what happened next, but I will be fairly brief in this chapter as it could become slightly repetitive and could well be subtitled; Boxes, Food, Boxes, Food and more bl..dy Boxes and Food.  But, as I’m writing this I’m free to do as I choose!

After the incredibly busy and as you heard in the last chapter tearful, end of term, a thorough and intense sorting out of my office and a fairly relaxing Christmas.  There came the final handing over of the school keys and the actual end of an era; played out in rather like an old black and white cold war spy movie as I left the deserted and without children rather desolate building, locked the door that clucked shut behind us, walked across the bleak windswept, deserted, leaf strewn playground and got into my car and drove out of the gate, parking outside to clang the gate shut and to lock the large padlock, before handing over the package (keys) and solemnly driving off (and yes there was another tear in the eye at the finality of no longer being in charge!), into the cold grey winter dusk!!  O.K!  I admit this is a slightly fanciful reworking of part of the last chapter, but it does help to set the scene!

Then, there was the annual New Year bash and second Christmas in York with Linda’s family, before returning home for the start of, no I was going to say term, but suddenly beginnings and ends of term have lost their significance and no more will I be irritated by the “Back to School” displays that appear in all the shops (yes, and it also happens in France where Rentrée is emblazoned everywhere!!!) during the week before term ends for the summer hols!!  And, now we’re back to the end of the last chapter, with snow on the ground, waking up just as whistles would be blowing, or bells ringing, in school playgrounds the length and breadth of the country, and getting ready for a peaceful lunch with my Mum and Dad.

However, the more astute amongst you will have noticed that, with thought of shrill whistles and clanging bells ringing in my ears, I did mention that it would have been good to have turned over and gone back to sleep, as I had been “sorting and packing until two o’clock in the morning!?!”  Now that’s your first hint about boxes!  Yes, work had finished only to be replaced by a relentless and time-limited occupation – sorting out and packing up our life from the last twenty odd years or so, as although we had only moved into The Parrot House some 14 years previously, we only moved from down the road and at a very busy time of our lives, so everything had been picked up and moved with precious little time for sorting!  So, to empty most of the house, put as little into paid storage as possible, whilst still storing some things at our Bath Road house; in the attic, the annexe and the garage and undertake a complete declutter, indeed carry out an “extreme makeover” in time for potential new tenants at the beginning of February, involved lots and lots of boxes, as well as trips to: the tip, charity shops and recycling banks (clothes, shoes, and books etc) and as the boxes mounted and the newspaper for packing dwindled, we even found ourselves raiding the paper banks and bringing recycling back into the house!!  It’s only when you have to do it that you realise just how much stuff you accumulate over the years, and by the end of the process we had vowed never to buy any more stationary, clothes, shoes, crockery or kitchen utensils, unless replacing something that had worn out – we have actually failed on probably all those fronts, but have been very careful and selective – honestly!!

So, with me working relentlessly at the sorting and the packing (10 in the morning until 2 the following morning most days, with very little time off for good behaviour!) and Linda helping as much as she could, with a very busy last month at work – I don’t think ever before had she worked so many shifts in such a short space in time!, we just managed to finish everything including the cleaning of the house, by the end of the first week in February.  This left just enough time to spend a few days with my Mum and Dad, before setting off on our adventure, despite being nearly thwarted by heavy snow and overwhelming kindness!!  The latter is the first clue as to the Food mention in the suggested subtitle above!

Before the food course, looking back at my diary brings a somewhat incredulous smile to the face as I look back at January 2009, with the first entry being “Today started the first day of the rest of my life” and for a few days there are quotes about time and travel, but that was before we returned from York and most of the days after that mention Boxes, although amazingly we did by the end of January, manage to redecorate the dining room, put the furniture into storage, show a few prospective tenants around (although it was to be six months before anyone actually moved in!) and Linda managed to work ten nights, and I joked that I seemed to be working night and day and it all revolved around boxes.

But, we did have to eat (The Food Course!) and the freezer came in very handy, as it was reasonably stocked to avoid too many shopping trips as we emptied it.  Then, there came the overwhelming kindness, as people realised that our departure was imminent and thinking that once we were gone that was it, never to be seen again (how wrong they were, we keep turning up like the proverbial bad pennies!!), and the invites to go out for dinner flooded in.  In the end, during our last two and a half weeks in Stroud we went out no fewer than eight times and six of these were in the last nine days, four on consecutive days!  And, on at least one occasion we went out early and then Linda went on to work!  So, not only were we well fed, so full some days that we had to go home afterwards and pack some more boxes to let the food settle before bed (as well as being in danger of running out of time), humbled by people’s kindness, but we also ended up with rather more left in the freezer than expected and ended up making up food parcels for just about anyone we saw, and ate very well when we final left, having slept the last night on the floor as the bed and everything else had gone, and went to stay at my parents for a few days of farewell, my brother and his family even managing a flying visit.

Then, all of a sudden it was a one way ticket to France with a very laden car and caravan, and the beginning of the rest of the adventure and indeed the first missive, so the rest has already been said!  But funnily enough writing this now three years down the line, it’s quite funny as we possibly see more of some of our family and friends, at least in terms of quality time, than we did before because now we’re not rushing and trying to fit everything into the space left after work, eating and sleeping! The “voyage dans l'inconnu” or “voyage into the unknown,” had started in earnest, and its back to Missive one for the beginning!  Leaving much behind, including a group of Year 6’s who would in due course make their own voyages into the unknown, and whilst, for a while worrying about the agonies that some of them would face during SATS (Standardised Assessment Tests) Week, relief I wouldn’t be around to witness this and an element of relief that there was a growing groundswell of feeling against this testing regime, with further worries about what might replace them, such feelings lingered for a while.  I was also reminded of one of my many moral issues over education and it’s overreliance on testing, whilst feeling that it doesn’t follow that a “Level 5” child is better than one who scores “Level 4,” as it is really more complex than that and much depends on where they came from in the first place!  However, OFSTED (Office for Standards in Education would have us believe a “Level 5” school is better than a “Level 4” school, simplistic maybe but so often it simply came down to scores without looking underneath the figures and here I don’t just mean progress, I’m thinking emotional baggage and the like, and before emotions start to run too high, I guess I should point out that it is my intention never again to mention OFSTED, unless of course they make inane statements along the lines of “All teachers should power dress” – the gist of a recent proclamation, so it might be a difficult intention or resolution to keep!!!  Or as one anonymous person put it:  Many people look forward to the New Year for a new start on old habits!”  So I best not make any promises!    

The House! 

Well, since the last missive it has been largely roofing for me and shutters for Linda with a little demolition, window frame making, hole filling, ceiling cleaning, floor tiling and pipe boxing (the sejour, or lounge, is all but finished) and a list of other minor jobs that all go towards the whole.  We are now estimating, perhaps not counting those little finishing off / cosmetic jobs in the “finished rooms” that we have probably finished 75% of the inside of the house and in 3 – 6 months the bulk will be finished with the next year or two snagging, finishing off and cosmetic bits!!

So work continues apace, although I’m writing this now in the UK resting and enjoying the festive season.  But, the longer we are in residence in our new French abode the more we are having to use French, this time to real people instead of the neighbouring Charolais cattle near the previous house, all our new immediate neighbours are French people who don’t speak English, and our nearest neighbours over the “road” have lots of visitors many of whom stop to chat before knocking on their door.  Some of these visitors have also called to see us, one definitely parking in our bit rather than on the neighbour’s; on the couple of occasions he has called.  The first time we were sitting outside having just finished our dinner, one balmy late summer evening, and he pulled in purposefully by our gate and strode into the courtyard, proffered his hand and proceeded to lend us an electronic Universal Translator to help us with our French.  He had been visiting the neighbours a few days previously, we’d had a conversation and struggled for a word and he’d thought of the translator, fished it out when he got home and brought it   

There was also the ex-mayor and his wife who called over the road, found they were not in and seeing us at work on the garage roof came over interested to see what we were doing and ended up having a conducted tour of the outside work, then the house and stopped for a coffee, whilst telling us about their family.  Again, all the conversation was in French, but showing we understand and can speak a little French, they then speak far too quickly and if we puzzled over something, in true “Englishman abroad” fashion they shouted it a bit louder!!

Just prior to this, at the annual meeting of the leisure committee, we had met the same gentleman who remembered not recognising us at the local DIY shop some weeks before.  I had walked passed him and said hello, and although he replied it was obvious he didn’t recognise me, but on turning the corner and seeing Linda our faces fell into place and he quickly came back into my aisle and shook hands and made amends!  This evening he wasn’t going to be caught out and came straight over to talk to us and indeed reminded us of the day he hadn’t recognised us.  He then talked about how we had moved to our new house and how quiet our hamlet was, to which I replied, much to their amusement, that at the moment it was even quieter as our neighbours opposite were away.  I didn’t add that as the neighbours are both a little deaf they have the habit of shouting at one another and indeed do have the occasional exchange of “angry” words!!  But, subsequently we found out he is madam’s cousin so I’m sure knows just how they are!  He added still laughing, that if they were away we must be the guardians of the hamlet, similarly knowing that as matriarchs of the hamlet our neighbours miss nothing and have a certain guardianship of the area!  

These kindly neighbours also recently arranged an apéro (early evening drinks and nibbles) for all the hamlet to welcome us, although it went on fairly late and we were very grateful we had prepared our evening meal before we went, as it was almost bedtime when we had eaten our dinner.  A great evening was had by all, again in French, and perhaps more of this another time.  However, it was a little disconcerting that whenever those that knew him mentioned the previous owner of our house, they referred to him as “spéciaux” and we were in danger of thinking he would be a hard act to follow, until we realised that in fact they were saying special needs!!  The fact that every time he was mentioned the sentence was accompanied by a gesture of the first finger pointing at their temple and drawing little circles, should have been enough of a clue as to the gentleman’s state of mind.  There were certainly signs of madness in some of the things that he had done in the house!  

The New Year will see the work continue, hopefully the garage roof finished off and the downstairs bedroom / en-suite started and finished in time for our first visitors of the year and the new fosse septique (septic tank) is due to go in in mid-February, weather and rock permitting – then hopefully the odd unpleasant whiffs will disappear in time for the summer!

In the village of Hammquille ...... Le homme avec le pinceau

A nearby holiday cottage is being put to bed for the winter, and perhaps rather surprisingly has just had a new coat of paint, just in time for the ravages of winter to set to work.  It might, I felt, have been better to wait for the spring and refresh the paintwork then, but I guess we’re doing the same and painting our shutters, the only difference being that ours had already been ravaged by time and without Linda sanding them down, raking out some bits of rotten wood, applying wood hardener and wood filler, before the lengthy process of an undercoat and three top coats to one side, before turning them over and starting all over again!, there may not have been any shutters there to paint after another winter.  That and the need to stamp our mark and make the outside reflect all the hard work inside!

So, enough of us and back to the holiday cottage and enter a local peintre et décorateur, yes you’ve got it the man with the paintbrush!!  Well, from the first day he arrived to the last time I saw him he appeared to have a thin and seemingly rather soggy cigarette permanently stuck to his bottom lip, but never appearing to produce any smoke, and also seemed to spend much of his time going backwards and forwards to somewhere, perhaps his house, unit or indeed another job.  He would arrive early enough, make contact with the owners for the latest lowdown, not it seems instructions about what needed doing next, but rather catching up on all the gossip, a very French phenomena and one that I found myself thinking about the other day.  Do they, the workmen and artisans, factor into their working day “Social Intercourse Time,” the acronym for which you might notice is “SIT!”  Not all this time is spent sitting, often it is standing next to the car, conversing in very loud voices, which as the French have a habit of “starting” work very early, can be a little annoying if you’re having a lie in!!, but there are times to be seated, but more of those later.  My musings also wondered if “devis” (quotes) allow for this time, particularly if they are being worked out at an hourly rate!  Then, I thought about our own artisans who, in really quite a short time rewired and replumbed our new house, and stopped only fairly briefly for lunch and didn’t once have a tea break, just a swig on the move, of water or coke, when the weather was particularly hot.  The difference I decided was that these artisans were working for a large company, didn’t work Monday mornings and did a standard 35 hour week, those working for themselves work longer hours but perhaps have “SIT” factored in as well as having 2 hour lunch breaks!

The surprising thing about this particular artisan with his paintbrush, cigarette and frequent trips to fetch things, was that he actually got lots of work done despite appearances to the contrary and quickly the shutters and window and door frames were repainted, a similar but rather brighter green which when only half done didn’t seem as pleasant a colour as before, but once finished was pleasant enough and will tone down in time.  But back to “SIT” and fairly quickly the artisan was enticed into the cave (cellar) of our neighbour for a midday drink or two, so hopefully the work done in the afternoon was as carefully done as that in the morning!!  Maybe the cigarette was never lit because of the paint fumes, or could it have been the alcohol fumes!!

So although starting early and finishing late, there was included each day a good degree of “me” time, even despite the fact he was a self employed person.  Therefore, it was a little surprising to see him turn up on Bank Holiday Monday, but it quickly became apparent that, true to form, he had left something behind and had come to collect it, but was taking some time contacting the neighbours, as they were out and about in the enormous garden.  Having finally tracked down monsieur, the first thing they did was to retreat to the cave for a Bank Holiday drink, so I was never sure if it was a forgotten paintbrush or responding to a friendly “If ever you’re passing call in for a drink!”  Maybe it was the gîte shutters being painted that spurred Linda on to do ours, but then the neighbours started looking at theirs, but if it becomes a case of “keeping up with the Jones” as far as gardens go it’s going to be difficult – theirs is immaculate!

Ici devant nous!”

Our outlook has changed, a row of some twenty or thirty very tall poplar trees, that marched boldly down the banks of the Riviere Sauvegere (Sauvegere Stream), upstream from our house, and heavily hung by huge and numerous gigantic spheres of mistletoe – which doesn’t have the same significance as in the UK, have been cut down.  It could have easily been a case of mobilising the troops and chaining ourselves to the trees to protect them from unscrupulous chainsaw welding lumberjacks, but in reality the trees were coming to the end of their lives and could easily have been blown down in the next significant gale, which coincidentally came only a couple of weeks after they were felled.

We found out that some of the trees were owned by a nearby chateau owner, a Frenchman who works in the City of London but spends quite a lot of time in France or his other property in Greece and who, knowing the trees needed felling was watching timber prices and they had gone up to an acceptable price.  Amazingly we were told the timber was destined for Italy, when asked if it was for the furniture industry, the owner laughed and said no it was rubbish wood that would probably be turned into camembert boxes – I couldn’t quite work out the economy of this!!, but the man from the City is obviously a shrewd businessman and certainly wasn’t doing it as a health and safety exercise to stop the trees falling on someone! 

Fortunately, although our outlook has changed considerably, there are sufficient other trees for it not look too stark and we will probably find we get a longer evening of sunshine, particularly in the summer, although the sun has been conspicuous in its absence over the last month!  But, there’s another issue here of course, without all that mistletoe the kissing will stop, and at the Christmas period as well, that we’re blaming on that most romantic of cultures, the Italians!

My original “thought!”

It’s happening by stealth and default!  One of the good things about living as we do in France, is that routine has gone out of the window with no things on set days, or to be precise, as Linda has now started French conversational lessons on Thursday afternoon, we swim on Friday and put out the rubbish on a Sunday night routine is well spread out, by choice or quite minimal in its demands!

But, due to stealth and default, it is beginning to change!  Having moved from the middle of nowhere, to a sleepy hamlet there are now at least people around, at present with us seven full time residents, which makes it worthwhile for travelling trades people to call, most fortunately at a reasonable hour, so if we are about we can buy bread or mussels (summer time only).  However, a different Bread Van calls on a Monday morning and a Milk Van (raw milk scooped straight from the churn) on a Tuesday morning and both come earlier than I am sometimes up, so I’m trying to make sure I am up and just a glimmer of a routine is slipping in or emerging!  In fact, I must stop writing here for a moment as it is Tuesday morning and I can hear the peep of the Milk Van, announcing its arrival!                      

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love,      

Roger and Linda

and ... A Happy and Prosperous New Year to everyone

And, next time, in Missive 36 ~ The times they are a changing........

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Christmas Missive 2011






Roger and Linda Higgs
   FRANCE
Christmas Missive December 2011
Dear All

Amazingly, it’s that time of year again and as always no apologies about the “round robin” nature of this missive, it’s like the paint tin – it does what it says a communication at Christmas to tell you what we’ve been doing – without it you might not get to know!!  Sadly, we had hoped that this year would be free from bereavements, but at the very end of last year Linda’s Auntie Eileen died quite suddenly and another good warden friend also sadly died.

But, I guess the really big news for us this year, is that we have finally bought a house (above, view of hamlet below), dint of the house in York being sold and me becoming a pensioner!!  Early, I hasten to add with a useful lump sum attached!  Since signing the initial documents for the house back in March and being given permission, by the vendors, to start work on the garden – a veritable jungle with a multitude of chicken and rabbit sheds, constructed with wire netting, concrete slabs, corrugated tin, rolls of wire (some barbed), staples, bent nails – a cross really between a Heath Robinson construction and Fort Knox and certainly not designed to come down.  After about 10 weeks of solid work on the garden, sometimes in temperatures of over 30˚ and with the odd large snake for company, and a little time off for good behaviour, we completed on the deal at the end of June. We then spent the next couple of months having the electrics and plumbing renewed by local artisans, whilst we proceeded to make as much of it habitable as possible.  We then moved in at the end of August, somewhat wistfully leaving La Loge behind – we had had a great 2 ½ years there. Since moving with the odd day off and a holiday in the UK, we have continued with what is probably a 2 year restoration programme on house / outbuildings / garden 350 sq m and as often happens in France another large plot of land (1000 sq m) about a kilometre (about 0.6 miles) from the house, next to an enormous flooded quarry and a small beautifully tended vineyard, unfortunately our plot is a long and narrow jungle, untended for many years! So we’ve had a very busy year and learnt a variety of DIY and hard-labour skills we didn’t know before as well as finding various muscles that we didn’t know existed – it seems that every job uses a different set of muscles and just when you hone one lot you change jobs!!

We have also had three visits back to the UK, on one occasion flying in for a party, as one does!  Well, actually we were also meeting the latest addition to the family – Maisy, Philip (Linda’s nephew) and Cheryl’s new daughter.  We managed three weeks away in the caravan in February, going south to Biarritz, Lourdes and Perpignan (from where we got to visit Salvador Dali’s amazing house at Portlligat just over the border into Spain) to chase the sun and had amazing early spring weather.  Then there have been the usual visitors, including my Mum and Dad who came back with us from the UK on two occasions and then flew back to the UK afterwards, most of which came after we had started the purchasing process, so were able to see the house at least from the outside and some of the more recent ones have been set to work!!  My Mum and Dad supervised!!  And, “Le Tour” de France came very close and caused much excitement and was over in barely the turn of a bicycle wheel!!

Briefly, the rest of the family:  Daniel and Lisa joined us last Christmas in France for a brief first visit and continue to live in Stroud and lead very busy lives with work and St John Ambulance – Daniel is now the Unit Leader for Stroud Division and Lisa runs the Badgers (Cub Scout age!).  Daniel is now trying to get on a Teacher Training course next year, as when all said and done, he is, without the planning and marking, already doing a very similar job.

Victoria and Dermot are still in Plymouth, he has just had an extension for a year on his current submarine and Victoria very successfully completed her Teacher Training, getting “head hunted” for a job at the school she was doing her final placement in.  The job is going really well, and she is sorting out the Geography Department (something the Head of Geography wanted her to do!!) and working with an Assistant Head who used to teach at her secondary school, Archway, in Stroud who knows many of our friends from Stroud – isn’t it a small world!!!  She also, has got involved with D. of E. and various Outdoor Activities. They’re off at the end of term, with Tyler, to Disneyworld L.A. for Christmas, having visited us back in the summer.  Victoria’s wanderlust continues, she also managed to visit Iceland on a Teacher’s visit and their trip list for next year is looking quite impressive!!  

Well, Joyeuse Fêtes as they say in France, cuts out the Christmas and New Year greetings and quite simply means Happy Holidays! As before this is a brief Family Christmas Missive for “more” visit the blog http://ithappenedonethursdayinfebruary.blogspot.com/ and find out about the changes that are happening.

Love from
Roger and Linda






                                                                                          

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Missive 34 ~ Reality, the end of the beginning!!

29th November 2011

Dear All
Sorry, but attached is the longest missive to date - Missive 34, please don’t be put off by the size, as it’s in easy sections!!

Basically, there are things that needed saying and with changes afoot after the next couple of missives (watch this space!), I need to get it in now!

However at 7794 words, the website I’ve just been looking at will tell you it just nudges over the 7500 word upper limit for a short story, thus making it the length of a very short novelette the upper limit of which is 20000!!!

Love

Roger 
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk

Mes chers amis

Reality, the end of the beginning!! ~ Missive 34

John Lennon

One person’s craziness is another person’s reality.”
Tim Burton

“Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.”
Søren Kierkegaard

It's short sighted not to view the education of a future generation of Americans
as a priority for all Americans.
Mel Martinez
This missive includes the end of the beginning, if that’s not a contradiction of terms, but in this case the last chapter from the first section before we set off on our “voyage dans l'inconnu” or “voyage into the unknown.”  But as you’ll see in the section below “Not PC for FC!” we’re a long way along the voyage now!

However, as the last quote doesn’t seem to fit in, and apologies it’s from across the pond but equally apt, I should explain.  As many of you will know, Gloucestershire County Council in their wisdom; well with narrow minded, short sighted, money grabbing, ill thought through, short term, intentions if not indeed rank stupidity with a total disregard for the wonderful work that has been done before and could have been successfully and memorably continued for generations to come, have closed The Wilderness and Plump Hill Outdoor Education Centres.  Sorry it’s a bit of a rant but once these places go they won’t return, like public libraries, and the crux of it is the world will be a worst place without them.

This missive is therefore dedicated to this tragic loss, although there does remain a glimmer of hope that the Friends of the Wilderness Centre (www.friendsofthewildernesscentre.org) may stop the disaster.  But in dedication to this wonderful place, I reproduce below part of the dedication and introduction of another project I am working on, that for me, brings back the magic of this amazing place, that has over the years given countless children incredible experiences, that may well be lost to generations to come – shame on the present County Council and let’s hope that the perpetrators are soon left wandering in the political wilderness.

To Gino

for

listening and ...

asking the question

 You may wonder who Gino is, and hopefully if he were to read this now; firstly he would recognise himself and remember the occasion  and secondly, as he’ll now be grown up, he’ll forgive the slight deception, but read on and “All will be revealed” as they say!!

“On the second evening, (of our storytelling residential at The Wilderness) there were more stories to tell and we were asked if we would like to use the Anglo Saxon house, where we could light a fire and try to keep warm – I forgot to mention that the trip was during a particularly cold and frosty February, with night time temperatures plummeting well below freezing.  But, the thought of sitting in an Anglo Saxon house, warmed at least on the front, with the flames of the fire casting eerie shadows amongst the rafters was too good an opportunity to miss, at least for a short while, before returning for a warming cup of cocoa and bed!

 Gino’s Night

At the appointed hour, well wrapped up against the piercing cold, we took our torches and ventured out into the night.  The moon was full, and being still low in the sky seemed magnified and cast an almost warming light, had it not been so perishingly cold!  The sky was completely clear of clouds, but as the moon was yet to reach its brightest, there were quite a multitude of stars twinkling in the cold night air, just visible through our own clouds caused by the animated party breathing out and chattering excitedly.

The route took us through a dark piece of woodland, down a short track, which had the ground not been turned to iron by the deep frost, would have been quite muddy, through a wooden gate and onto the field in which the wooden house had been built and now, despite the dark, stood out sharply in the moonlight as well as being silhouetted by the distant lights of Gloucester town.  The true majesty of the scene unveiled itself as we crossed the field; as the moon hung low in the sky above the silvery line of the far off river, etched along its length by the moonlight, which underneath the moon turned the river into a golden pathway – who needed an Anglo Saxon house, with the flames of the fire causing shadows to dance magically around the rafters, surely the scene before us was inspiration enough, but it was mighty cold and the thought of at least a little warmth from the promised fire was too much to resist and had us fumbling, with the all too modern key to unlock the heavy wooden door.

Inside, was some respite from the cold, as it at least stops a gentle breeze, that you almost didn’t realise was there until being sheltered from it made you realise that icy fingers were no longer creeping into any tiny chink in your cold weather armour!  The Centre staff had left a fire made up in the central hearth, ready for a match to hopefully make it spring into life, the paper ignite the kindling and kindling catch the bigger sticks and logs from which the warmth would, with a bit of luck, emanate.  Despite my cynicism, quite quickly we had a reasonable blaze and even a little warmth, or was it simply that the mind being a powerful thing, equates flames with heat!!  Sorry more cynicism, but actually the springing of the fire to life, magically transformed the interior of the house we now sat in and I for one was transported back in time!!  Having not been in the house before it was interesting to use the firelight and torches to look around and discover what seemed to be a very faithful reproduction of an Anglo Saxon dwelling, complete with; primitive furniture, cooking pots and utensils and a sleeping platform above where no doubt the families animals would have slept, perhaps adding a little warmth as well as an odour or two!!  Now animals of a different kind inhabited the space and most of them seemed to appreciate at least something of the magic of the place – certainly a stark contrast to warm cosy homes that seemed a million miles, as well as nearly a thousand years away, but in reality, which almost seemed to have been suspended, were only a few miles and less than an hour over the river!

Some of magic rubbed of and having viewed our surrounding, one or two stories from our visit’s work were shared, the atmosphere of the place adding a certain something to even the humblest of offering and the flickering flames helping to add expression and animation to the plainest of faces.  A good time was being had by all , and then the bubble burst, when some bright spark, one of the animals (sorry children) not something from the fire, found a small piece of raw wool lying abandoned from the weaving that a previous group visiting the house had done, and wondered if it would burn!! You might think that said miscreant was Gino, but not so!  He might similarly know who he is and at this particular point was far from popular, as we discovered that wool does indeed burn and produces the most foul smelling thick acrid smoke that despite efforts to remove it from the fire or at least remove the choking smoke, by opening the door, proved unsuccessful and we were forced to abandon the relative warmth of the house and sit instead on the logs outside, bathed now in brighter but no warmer moonlight taking in once again the splendour of the crystal clear and sparkling night hoping that given a short time the air in the house might clear enough for us to return.  As it was taking its time and indeed so awful was the stench that an early return seemed unlikely; so enjoying the spinning of a good yard myself and certainly inspired by the location, I quietly asked the assembled crowd who had now almost stopped haranguing the wool burner, whether they would like me to tell a story, to which there was general agreement, as my assembly stories usually met with approval.

Having made the offer, I had to think quickly; a story I already knew sprang to mind, but there was a danger that I may have told it them before and so interest might be lost or the story wouldn’t reflect the splendour of our surrounding (would “How the leopard got its spots” or “Three Billy Goats Gruff” work sitting outside on a freezing cold February night?) or should it be a new one, premiered on this night inspired by the surroundings.  Due to the storytelling theme for the visit, it really had to be the latter, so I launched into a story at the time with no idea where the journey would take me, and in nautical terms, well I had launched into the story, sailing very close to the wind! 

To buy myself a little time to think, I started to tell the children about the previous Anglo Saxon inhabitants of the house, made up names and talked about how they lived a simple life, that was until a handsome prince happened by and became transfixed by the beauty of daughter of the house and in an instance vowed to marry her – you know the sort of thing, and had by now the children not become huddled and enthralled, it might there and then ended happily ever after.  But no, there needed to be more and the daughter, bolshie by nature, was having none of this being taken out of simple, poor life to live in some posh guys jewel encrusted palace, with servants at her beck and call!  Well, it called for a journey, a quest, to incur various hardships and danger to bring back some small token, to prove to the beautiful peasant girl that he truly loved her and it wasn’t just some short-lived whim!!

The story wove its way through many a traditional storyline, the journey involving the meeting of various people who bestowed various gifts on the Prince, not immediately useful, but surprisingly useful when later he faced some adversary and needed a quick fix, again I’m sure you know the sort of thing – a phial of liquid smashed to the ground that becomes a raging torrent of water washing away everything and certainly any pursuer, far far away.

The upshot was that he did prove his love and after a sumptuous, but rather truncated wedding ceremony, the couple did live happily ever after.  Why, I hear you ask did the prince stint on the wedding celebrations?  Well, suddenly that nip in the air I mentioned earlier found its way through a chink and I suddenly realised that the log I was sitting on had mysteriously turned to ice – but that’s another story.  The children, including a couple who had been lulled off to sleep, were although still thoroughly engrossed and proving to totally belie the description of the class as “a lively bunch!” were in fact beginning to turn blue and in desperate need of a warming cup of cocoa and a cosy bed.  A quick look at my watch told me that the journey we had just been on together had gone on for the best part of an hour – not surprising that I couldn’t feel my feet, and other parts of my anatomy as we cajoled the weary children back to the Centre, reality and warmth!

You might be forgiven for thinking that the piercing cold had numbed the children into submission and had it not been for a conversation I had with one of the children who had sat very close to me, mesmerised by the intricacies of the story, as we made our way back across the field, trying to force some life back into our frozen limbs, I might have thought the same:

 The conversation went something like this:

“Mister ‘iggs?”

“Yes Gino?”

“How did you remember all that long story?”

I was just about to say “Well actually I made the whole thing up as I went along!” when, in the moonlight I saw Gino’s face looking up at me, and just managed to stop myself from spoiling the moment and with just a touch of deception said:

 “Years of practice Gino!”

To which he replied, with a certain amount of wonderment:

“Oh!”

Now you know and at the time he was none the wiser!!  And once again, sorry Gino!

February 2010

 I also have a lot to thank them for, as without overcoming my worried, nay fears, about enclosed spaces and heights, whilst caving and abseiling with The Wilderness Centre – really a combination of great friendly encouraging instructors and feeling that I couldn’t ask the children to do something I wasn’t prepared to do myself has meant that I could, albeit with the odd nightmare, clear out and put new insulation in our tiny loft space, as graphically portrayed in an earlier missive and now I’m spending lots of time up a ladder and up on the roof, but more of that later!!  

Reality! ~ Chapter 5

The last chapter, Winding Down, you may remember didn’t quite get to the end.  There was one final afternoon to get through before it really was “reality” and whatever emotions that might bring!

Traditionally, the end of the Christmas Term was an afternoon of festive fun, with carols, Christmas songs and poems and readings, to which parents and friends were invited and was another thing to organise on my “to do” list.  The staff were always great, at this incredibly busy time, at getting the children to practise the songs, but I traditionally sorted out the programme, readers, seating etc etc.  But this year it had been more difficult, not so much because of everything else that was going on, but it was really difficult to pin everyone down to what they were doing, what songs were being offered and the like, so I could draw up the programme – but with a little badgering I just managed to get it together at the eleventh hour, and so we were all in the hall – the children, the staff and a good number of parents and friends, everything was organised and I started my final event, playing a not particularly seasonal song , a poem called “The Roads Go Down” by Gloucestershire poet Frank Mansell and set to music by Johnny Coppin an amazing singer-songwriter from Gloucestershire.  Why this song, well it was the song I had first played in a Moat Primary School assembly, when I had amalgamated (with a great deal of help from a very dedicated, hard working and focussed bunch of people) the previous two schools – infant and junior and I admit there was a catch in my voice as I explained the reason for playing it, but the show was on the road and I pulled myself together.

 But why this particular song, well perhaps the first verse will explain, as I was moving from a Headship up in the Stroud valleys to one in the big county town!?:

The roads go down to Gloucester town
And Severn seeks the sea;
But what road leads where I’d be gone,
What river flows to thee?

Rather apt at the time I felt and now seven and a half years later, with other roads about to be travelled, a necessary albeit difficult choice as the memories flooded back with the melody, but I had my programme or running order and all I had to do was announce each item  and sit back and enjoy!  As the last notes of the song faded, I rose to my feet and started to announce the first item, only to be somewhat forcibly interrupted by my Deputy Head, Ann, saying that actually that wasn’t what was going to happen and for once I had to sit down, listen and only speak at the right time.  Having worked with her for so long she knew me so well, and for once it seemed appropriate, as it would be the first and last time, to roll over like a pussy cat and do as I was told, albeit somewhat difficult!!

I was then shown to a chair, no ordinary chair I hasten to add, but a beautifully carved Eisteddfod chair a family heirloom from Ann’s house and I sat back and enjoyed, marvelled and squirmed a little as there followed a series of presentations including such items as a French beret, a string of onions and a French Flag amongst others, and then speeches, songs, a rap which I had to join in and poems, all hugely enjoyable, somewhat emotional and certainly very memorable as I sit here writing this amazingly about three years down the line.  But it wasn’t all over then, as for the finale, the lights dimmed and a DVD started, called simply “Roger Higgs and Moat School” consisting of a slide show of the highlights of my time at Moat, including many of the varied events that everyone threw themselves into with rarely a second thought, other than perhaps “Oh no! It’s another of his hair brained ideas!”  But credit to the wonderful team they joined in with gusto, even when as documented in the last chapter, we quite literally ended up sliding down the hill behind the school, which had by a torrential rainstorm been turned into a series of mudslides.  At that point there were muttering of never again, but I kind of figured out that in time we would do it again and we did several times but thankfully never in quite such atrocious conditions.  The photos were accompanied by the haunting melody of a French song, which I have since discovered is called Je viens du sud (I come from the south) sung by Chimène Badi.

I was now totally relaxed, enjoying the memories and marvelling at how much had happened over the years, lulled by the haunting melody, which after some time faded as a final picture of smiling me on the final of our whole school walks “Up the Hill” filled the scene and also faded with the dying last chords and a moment of silence, which seemed interminable, was broken first by applause and then for me by the realisation that this was actually it, the end and I now was expected to say something and although a rare event I was rendered emotionally speechless!!  Perhaps the next few moments are best summed up by quoting my letter of thanks I sent everyone at the beginning of the next term, the relevant paragraph is fairly obvious:

Dear All

 Happy New Year to you all and I hope that you had a good and healthy Christmas and have returned to school raring to go and full of energy!  Without putting too fine a point on it, I realised as I got up on Monday, to a white world, that the whistle would just be being blown!!  However, although tempted (I had been sorting and packing until gone two o’clock in the morning!?!) I didn’t turn over and go back to sleep!

 It was something of a strange day and I found myself looking at my watch, at various times and thinking about you all, and thinking how sitting down at the table for lunch with my Mum and Dad was certainly more peaceful than the dining hall!!

 However, the purpose of this letter is not to gloat (!), but rather to pass on my heartfelt thanks for the wonderful send off I was given at the end of last term.  Thank you all; children, staff, governors, parents and friends for your kind words, cards and gifts that I received, and I really look forward to choosing a suitable bench for some sunny patio in France, where I can relax whilst tending the barbecue, supping a fine wine and having time to watch the sunset and find interesting shapes in the clouds..... yes I know I’m not gloating, but it’s worth milking for one last time!!  Also, as I said at the time, hopefully many of you (perhaps not all at once unless you bring your own tents!) will find a chance to come and sit beside me and share the bottle!!

 You also managed a first, after several previous emotionally charged departures from other schools. As the lights came on at the end of the fantastic “Mr Higgs and Moat School” DVD and it became obvious that proceedings had come to an end and it was now my turn (finally, I did wait my turn, apologies Ann for not waiting my turn at the other times!! – I must be hell to work with!!!!!), for the first time I wasn’t able to hold it together and as the child on the front row correctly observed “Mr Higgs you’re crying!” – it’s amazing how strong the string of onions were, even with their peel still on!!  Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings!  I blame it on catching sight of Michaela sobbing on the back row and realising that she wasn’t the only one!!  At times like that it’s rather humbling to realise the love and affection that people feel for you, and you begin to think, “What have I done!”  And although certainly at the moment “Je regret rien!” the feeling of love and affection is certainly reciprocated, and I have left with very many fond and happy memories of my time at Moat, that I will take with me into the next phase, indeed adventure, in my life. 

 So a final heartfelt, Au revoir, and many thanks to all of you for being such a big part of these memories and all the very best for the future, both personally and for the ongoing success of Moat Primary School and hopefully, I’ll be remembered for being a small part of this?

This was written just after the next term started and I wasn’t part of it a really strange feeling, but although on that last afternoon in many ways it was all over and funnily enough, often the end of the Christmas Term felt like that, Christmas was over and done with, the tree came down and then when you got home and got over all the excitement, you had to start all over again at home.  But this time it was sort of final!

That said, school hadn’t finished and because of all that had been happening I hadn’t been able to sort out my office and leave it ready for my successor, who thankfully, despite the relatively short notice I had been able to give, had been appointed and was due to meet me just before the new year, to go through the final handover and relinquish the keys as well as the responsibility!  And although having got over the excitement of the end of term and a family Christmas needed to happen, I did spend much of the next week and the week between Christmas and the New Year in school, surrounded by quietness and memories, but with little time to reminisce, as it’s amazing what you amass during nearly eight years as Headteacher of a primary school, particularly one like me who liked to be involved in as many projects and activities, for the benefit of the children, as possible.

Finally, after what seemed like an interminable ten days or so of sorting, packing, throwing away and generally tidying up, I got to the day of handing over the keys and leaving the premises for the last time as Headteacher, responsible for the day to day smooth running of a vibrant and fun-filled place of learning and gosh it was hard – reality hit me as I drove out of the gates, not needing to stop and lock up and as I drove home, and I can’t deny with a tear or two in my eye, there was also a lifting of a weight and a tremendous feeling of both; “What have I done” and “What adventures lie ahead!”  Then, I realise as I write this that before that adventure starts, there’s a whole forgotten chapter that you’ll have to wait until next time for!!

But, one of the things I had to do before setting off on that journey into the unknown, was to thank very many people for the amazing send off we received from so many people.  The letter I sent to school is reproduced above but I’ll finish, maybe somewhat wistfully, with a couple of extracts from other letters that I sent, as Chapter 6 developed and reality set in!

To the Gloucester Headteacher group:

......since our decision in February to relocate and become FPF (Free from Papers and Forms or French Peasant Farmers: not sure if the two go together but at least the wine will be cheaper when the forms need filling in!!), I have often driven to meetings or courses thinking that it would be good to come away thinking that I would miss whatever we had been discussing, whilst sitting in the shade of a French apple tree with time to watch the sun set and marvel at it’s colours without worrying about Section 3 of the SEF!  Sadly, this happened very infrequently, but the rebirth of the Excellence Cluster into The GSP, is one of the things that seems to me an exciting, useful and sensible development in otherwise bleak times, not least as there is a truth behind the saying: “strength in numbers!”

Many of you will know my real worries about where Education in England is going and concerns about a system that is over reliant on testing and scores and less concerned about real people and issues of equality and life chances.  So in the end I have become rather like the sad clown in a circus, unable to keep up all the juggling balls at once, and those that I have started to drop are the ones that I believe are the most important.  Therefore, for those of you who remember my presentation to the Excellence Cluster entitled:
                                
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                "What we said we would die fighting for –

                         well perhaps not quite, there's always an olive farm in the south of France!!"
             led by Roger Higgs

in many ways sadly, the “olive farm” won.  The heart?  (Should be a pink heart above the title but it won't load!!!!) Susan being creative as the presentation took place on Valentine’s Day!!

And to The Gastrell’s Ramblers, initially a school group, but then a group of very good friends who for many years I organised an annual caravan / camping weekend:

...... I never have been one for farewells and as a child when visiting friends and relations, when the time came to say good-bye, I would often hide or sneak out into the car, just wanting to be whisked away.  Unfortunately, that probably meant then and certainly now that important things were left unsaid, so here goes …………….

...... Thanks for the fantastic caricature and kind messages in the card, it will certainly find pride of place somewhere in a French farmhouse in the not too distant future, and a very special thanks to Andy for the fantastic Eiffel Tower vase which will similarly grace our new abode and both bring lots of memories flooding back each time we pass them.  It also didn’t go unnoticed that there was such a great turnout of people this year and that Kate, Denise and Martyn abandoned their families to freeze in a Welsh field with us for one last time!!!

...... Once again, a really heartfelt thanks for the gifts, they will be treasured in our new French home, as we get the need to live abroad out of our system and hope to share our dream with any friends who want to make the journey.  So as they say, it’s not Good-bye but Au Revoir (rather apt in this case!!) and ……. thanks for the memories!

 P.S:  I’ve just, three years on, tracked down the lyrics of the song on the DVD mentioned above – Je viens du sud.  I wonder if the producer of the DVD knew what the words meant, or if simply, as it does, the haunting melody fitted in so well?  But here’s an extract:

I have somewhere in the heart
Of melancholy,
The desire to reset the time
The clocks in my life.
A path in the mountains
When I need water,
A garden in the countryside
For my days off.
A stone house .....

How very apt, there’s also a bit in the song about “A very old lady in black, Illuminated for me” whichdoes so remind me of the two ugly sisters in the pantomime that the staff sprung on me as told in the last chapter, you know who you were!!!!!!!!

The House! 

You may remember the “answers on a postcard” quiz about the name of our new house, well they haven’t exactly flooded in, indeed the only sensible suggestion (I’ve made several others such as Maison Corset – look up Henri Boutet, an artist who lived close by to our own little hamlet, on Wikipedia and you might think it’s not such a silly suggestion – just not sure what the neighbours might think!!), but I think that this evening’s research into French song lyrics, might just have sorted it!

We have finally found our own Maison pierre, but then in the cold light of day the next morning I realised that actually at least three of the other houses in the hamlet also show the stone from which they are made, so it’s back to the drawing board!

There is also the strong possibility that this is going to be the longest missive to date so I’ll be brief about the house, the bulk of the work consisting of the roof outside, although the shutters continue to change colour (to date 5 down 3 to go!), the insulation (first layer) is in the loft some coat hooks have gone up together with a freshly painted free standing rack we picked up from a nearby house clearance, the workshop is tidier and the pipes are boxed in in the lounge.

But as I said, with the weather largely set fair and for much of the month unseasonably warm, work outside has been the order of the day.  The roof and all the rafters that are coming out in the hidden courtyard have been finished and the walls largely capped to protect the top and look like the roof is still there.  Then the garage roof has been stripped of tiles, several rafters and roof boards replaced, the top has been beetle treated and the tiles have started to go on today.  Unfortunately, the bit I’m working on at the moment is very public, particularly as regards any visitors to our neighbour’s cave, which in reality seems to be a steady stream and so earlier today there I was up the ladder cementing on the first row of tiles in the long process of reroofing the garage.  Along comes my neighbour with two of his cronies, heading towards the cave for a verre (ou deux) de l’amitié, but first they start to inspect my handiwork, particularly commenting on the one tile that wasn’t really in line!

I explained that there was a problem underneath with one of the rafters and this was graciously accepted. I then asked the three of them if what I had done so far was OK, as it was the first attempt at roofing.  One of the friends, who spoke a little English, inspected the work closely, uummed and aarred a bit before saying: “It’s OK, not brilliant, but it will be better the second time!” and I was left wondering if this was a little bit of French wisdom or a veiled insult.  I’m still not sure, but I was subsequently asked to join them, although the “pinching of the throat” sign I initially misread as being a comment that the fact that the lovingly grown FC whiskers had been severely trimmed, partly to avoid recognition should I bump into one of the children of this parish, but also for comfort as after a while long beard locks get a little irritating, for me at least!

Perhaps, however, the drink invitation was by way of commiseration for the tiling, but after a couple of glasses of rosé and a rather one sided conversation about muscles, injuries and mushrooms amongst other things, when I later emerged from the subterranean drinking den the ups and downs of the tiling did seem to have levelled out a bit!!!   Although, carrying the tiles and the bucket of cement up the ladder, well it was still only 4.30 p.m!, seemed more difficult, as the ladder seemed to have more steps and at least one of the other visitors had gone back to work driving a tractors and handling a chainsaw – how do they do it without lots of drink related accidents!!  

Quilleham, Hammquille or Bouhenri

A few missives ago (26 ~ Friends Along the Way to be precise, my avid reader, usually the first to respond and indeed my “French Mistress” replied rather out of character in English!   The opening line of her email said: “Lovely to read your 'Clochemerle courrier'! Such fun to hear of all the garlic dripping chins, apéritifs, kissing (4 times in Brittany!), la chasse etc etc. Wonderful stuff.”  To which I quite quickly replied:“I'm definitely a urinophile, as there's never one when you need it, although at least for the men in France it doesn't seem to matter!!! Also, by an amazing coincidence the ones next to our Mairie are going to get a face lift this year!!!

It appears that there is a large part of the population that will know exactly what I’m talking about and perhaps an equally large number who will be completely in the dark.  I’ve also got to admit that I was one of those who as you read this will have a blank look on your face – I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about!!  But, thanks to the wonders of modern science a quick typing into the search engine of the word Clochemerle and a whole new world opened up!  For all the details type it in yourself, but in a nutshell Clochemerle is a 1934 French satirical novel by Gabriel Chevallier. It is set in a French village in Beaujolais inspired by Vaux-en-Beaujolais and deals with the ramifications over plans to install a new urinal in the village square.  It subsequently became a 1972 BBC television serial with Ray Galton and Alan Simpson adapting the text. Filmed on location in France, it starred Cyril Cusack, Wendy Hiller, Kenneth Griffith, Roy Dotrice, Cyd Hayman, Micheline Presle, Bernard Bresslaw, Hugh Griffith, Nigel Green, Madeline Smith and Wolfe Morris with narration by Peter Ustinov and on all accounts ended up with something of a cult following.  Now where was I in 1972, because it totally passed me by!!

Well, once the cat was out of the bag as it were and it became known that the fictitious Clochemerle was indeed based on a real place, Vaux-en-Beaujolais, I’m sure that initially all hell must have broken out in the village for real, those wanting to remain an anonymous French village in a popular wine growing region and those wanting to cash in on the success of the story.  If you go on the website for the village it seems that the latter won the day, although what fighting there was in the streets I can’t tell you.

But, at this stage to avoid the glare of publicity and indeed any nastiness, for reasons of missive confidentiality our little hamlet is to adopt a “nom de plume,” or to be more exact 3!!  Yes, that’s right if you come across one of the three names in the title of this section, in a future missive you will know where the action takes place!!  The first two are a play on our “hammeau tranquille” or quiet hamlet and the other a play on the name of a famous artist who lived not a million miles away in the eighteen hundreds!  Also, any likeness of any character to a living person will be purely accidental and involve a good degree of imagination, and all names will be changed to protect the identity of the person who is not the likeness of any living person, or something like that!!!

However, due to limited space “Le homme avec le pinceau” promised at the end of the last missive will simply have to wait his turn. I am also slightly worried that the “pissoir planté” mentioned in the last missive and not only named as such by my “French Mistress”, who for reasons of confidentiality will in future be referred to as “Madame Fifi” or simply “Fifi”!!!!, but was also called a “novel” idea by her and may well split the inhabitants of Quilleham down the middle and end up as a long running saga ~ perhaps there’s even a book in this or would that be plagiarism!?!

Suffice to say at this stage that hopefully confidentiality will be maintained and a quick on my computer search engines for the three names, throws up “no results containing your search term” for the first two names and only a few sites for someone called Bouhenry for the other, so hopefully the stage is set!!   

Ici devant nous!” Two blokes (any prudes amongst you might like to jump to the next section!!! – this is a public decency announcement!)

You may have detected that over the last few missives the original idea for this section has, to say the least, been somewhat overlooked.  But what the hell, it’s going to be again!!  Here I am reproducing, very loosely translated, a conversation “overheard” between two local gentlemen, who were certainly here before us and I suppose each to their own!!

Whilst working on the roof the other day, in our quiet hamlet of Hammquille(!), a car pulled up outside and Bloke 1 gets out and greets Bloke 2.  Bloke 2 then peers into the car and the following exchange loosely takes place:

Bloke 2:  “Cor! She’s a bit of alright then, where did you pick her up!”

Bloke 1:  “Yeah, something of a cracker isn’t she!”

Bloke 2:  “Wouldn’t mind a bit of her!”

Bloke 1:  “I’ve got it on a plate like!”

Bloke 2:  “Whor! Bit of oil and a sweat on, like the sound of that!”

Bloke 1:  “Yeah and a bit of sausage, know what I mean!!”

Closer examination would have shown you that in the car was a magnificent white headed (the two blokes were quite elderly!), in the peak of condition champignon, or mushroom to you and me!!  And ... the sausage mentioned a nice bit of boudin noir or black pudding!!!

And, before you all get on your high horses and flood me with complaints, I have never been too good with tenses, but I do know “she” should have been “he” – le champignon – but a bit of poetic licence makes it sort of ring better, amazing what a little bit of gender realignment can do!!

My original “thought!” Not PC for FC or PN 

This should have been called “Sexy Santa” but for my younger readers it may have spoilt the seasonal fun of a strange bearded fellow, dressed in red coming down the chimney bearing gifts!  Hence FC or PN as he’s known in these parts and if I’m rumbled by my younger readers use the excuse given some 21 years ago, when one of Victoria’s playgroup friends rumbled me, but fortunately kept it quiet until that evening when he said to his father “I know who FC was today, it was Roger!”  His quick thinking father, also a Headteacher, simply said “Well it’s like this son, sometimes at this time of the year FC is so busy he has to get some kindly soul to help him out!!”  He never said anything to me, but that evening Victoria told me all about how frightened she had been of FC and how she wouldn’t go up to him for her present!!!

But back to now!  Feeling something of a turncoat having for many years filled the role for “Fifi” who organised a seasonal fayre each year and enlisted my services and then I moved to France and despite being told by Linda not to volunteer for anything when we went to the AGM of the village leisure group, she sort of pushed me forward to take on the role from a rather small, skinny and beardless predecessor!! Double standards I call it, don’t volunteer and then volunteer someone else.  But it was done, I’d agreed and then the palpitations started.  What would the assembled children think about the fact that last year he could speak fluent French and this year he couldn’t!  Deciding that maybe the fact that I looked more the part, I wasn’t sure how to take the comments about how I wouldn’t have to wrap the suit around me several times like my predecessor, might have made the children overlook the language barrier!!

But, to be sure, I decided to enlist the help of Madame Fifi and emailed her, somewhat tongue in cheek, to ask if she would be my elf!  She however missed the tongue bit and was most apologetic that she couldn’t fly out to help, the next morning she was organising her own seasonal bash complete with the man in red!!  She did however give me some good advice, the best of which was to “remain mysterious!” as well as some simple key questions, remembering to use tu not vous so as not to come over as “distant, cold and unfriendly!”, some hope more likely bumbling, terrified but at least smiling!!

Avoiding sleepless nights by hard work on the roof meaning I was simply too exhausted to be sleepless, said evening arrived and as arranged I arrived just after the “spectacle,” (this year a magic show) had started  at 8.30 in the evening!  Yes, even the tiny tots were still up watching the show and waiting for my appearance!  I was able to slope into the back of the room, in mufti a scarf covering the beard and a hat the sticky out ears, watch some of the show and then the plan was that I could go to the little salle and change ready for my grand entry!!  So in plenty of time I escaped to the kitchen, not least because the hat and scarf were causing me to overheat, to find the little room to change in.  In the kitchen were three ladies from the committee overseeing the refreshments, amongst them one known to wear tight black leather trousers and high heeled boots and who is often late for meetings, not uncommon in France but I’m sure in this case for the enjoyment of making an entry!!  You see we’re not the sleepy little village that you’d all imagined and unfortunately I’ve got into the habit of calling this young lady (well actually she has a 16 year old daughter, who like mother like daughter could be seen flirting with FC later on in the evening!!) Miss Whiplash – sorry I tried to translate this into French for reasons of moral sensibility, but Whiplash Mlle didn’t help much!!

Anyway to cut a very long story, not particularly short!, I asked where the room was to change in and other than the meter cupboard, that I could just get into and not close the door, they had no idea and said it would have to be quite literally “the smallest room” and they didn’t think there was a lock on the door and every likelihood that one of the children could be caught short and I could end up being caught out!

In the end there was nothing for it but to change in the kitchen, so using sign language to get the ladies to avert their eyes, off came the jeans to be replaced by the red almost tights like FC trousers, and when they turned back, I’m sure you’ll know which of the three ladies, with a slow intake of breath, and a somewhat seductive voice said “Oh! sexy Santa!”  Now I wouldn’t swear to it but I don’t think it was the tight fitting red trousers but the sneaky peek as I removed my jeans that did it and then she rushed off to get her camera and started to take multiple pictures of me in all sorts of positions or should that be locations!!  Now, no-one could accuse me of being a prude, but finally we’ve arrive at today’s thought - is it PC to peek at Santa in his boxers?, particularly as I was worried enough about the language difficulties without having to worry about my modesty!!  Suffice to say it was never like that with Mme Fifi!!   

Oh and how did it go?  I remained mysterious and despite the incident in the kitchen, composed, managed just to climb over the language barrier, ho ho ho in the right places and distribute all the presents and ended up due to another language barrier, in this case the chair of the committee’s limited English, being booked to appear again “LAST” year!! It’s the magic of Christmas, and I think that’s the first time I’ve used the “C” word and it therefore seems just about appropriate, with December looming and this being probably the last missive before the big day to wish all my readers a “Joyeuse Fêtes” a cover all for have a good Christmas, New Year and anything else happening thereabouts – literally “Happy Holidays!”    

Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love,      

Roger and Linda

And, next time, in Missive 35 ~ The Forgotten Chapter and further adventures of .........,