When was the last time?

(This time was Saturday 23 June 2012, but only just!!

OMG, the smell of the greasepaint, the lights, the buzz of the audience, the butterflies, the making it to the end of the song and the subsequent rush of adrenalin, were all there, well maybe not the greasepaint – little now covers the weather-beaten wrinkled face!

It wasn’t however a case of midsummer madness and since the loss of my captive audience during school assemblies the chance to “perform” with the associated buzz has been sadly lacking.  But recently, as the house has come on and particularly when the roofing has gone well or the sun has shone, I’ve found myself busting into song and revisiting my past song book!  I’ve even digitalised it, with the sole purpose of being able to enlarge the script; the eyes aren’t what they were! 

But it was just a couple of nights after midsummer’s eve, a time when across France there are scores of Fete de la Musique, showcasing local talent, be it the local music school, the Association Musical or just locals keen to do their “party piece!”  Indeed, the events are not only encouraged by the government, money is made available to sponsor such events.  On midsummer’s eve, we had attended such a fete, put on by one of several local music associations, where members of the commune are encouraged to join the choir (children’s or adults), or play an instrument as part of a group or solo, and most importantly are encouraged (warts and all) to perform as soon as they can, and despite mistakes and wrong turnings there never seems to be any ridicule, they have certainly adopted the sentiment behind that classic poem by Dorothy Law Nolte – Children Learn What They Live, the following seem to be the salient lines:

...... If children live with ridicule, They learn to be shy......

...... If children live with encouragement, They learn confidence.....

If children live with praise, They learn to appreciate......

If children live with approval, They learn to like themselves......

Increasingly during recent times when I have watched musical performers there has been that urge to be up there doing it myself, you know the frustrated rock star syndrome; well in my case folk star!  Tonight, in a small village nearby the urge peaked and towards midnight I uttered to the friends we had met up with that I wanted to sing, the shy and retiring bit of me needing help, a  push, someone to say to the organiser – “we have a friend who can do a turn!”  I needed that someone to put my name forward, but at pushing midnight after a glass or two of wine, it was a case of making sure that they knew I was serious and it wasn’t just a case of “oh I wish I was up there doing that!” and it wasn’t just the drink talking, although we had a conversation about Dutch courage!!  They did indeed think I was joking, but eventually they realised I was deadly serious and on their part perhaps it was the glass or two of wine that gave them the confidence in me – never having heard me utter a musical sound previously!!  Bravely, or they could have been thinking foolishly, they went in search of the organiser and secured me a spot, still I’m sure thinking I would back out and quickly retire!  But, the seed was sown, the adrenalin kicked in and the French introduction I had been mulling over for some time was revisited and slightly panicked about.  I suggested perhaps I needed a minder to translate my “Frenglish” should the need arise, although I have always found myself to become fairly “fluid” in French after a glass or two!!

Suddenly, it all moved very quickly and with my bi-lingual helper at my side I was on after the present turn had done his next song.  As his song finished, I was hastened across the tarmac to the stage steps, up the steps into the lights and introduced.  I muddled through my introduction about the song being from Scotland; a love song where the lady thinks the man is trying it on and has no money or indeed joie de vivre, but then discovers he is a wealthy count and so madly falls in love and gets married!, the ficklity of song and life (!).  Then it’s that first crucial note, and as an unaccompanied singer, it is a bit of a case of make or break, pitch it too high and you squeak and too low and you growl miserably.  Fortunately, the five second tuning up before once more treading the boards, had paid off and the note although perhaps not perfect, was as they say in the profession; “Close enough for folk!!!”

It was only during the second chorus that I suddenly thought that the lady in the song was called Lyndsey, the same name as the daughter of the friends we were with, who had taken that great leap of faith, or possibly stupidity, and effectively vouched for me despite never hearing me sing previously.  A strange and rather fitting coincidence!  Fortunately, there ended up with no egg on anyone’s face and all the old buzz was there and the amazing feeling when even those people at the bar had stopped their conversations and turned in amazement, astonishment or even agony at what was going on on the stage.  But, I felt I was back, I’d done it with a little help from my friends and not only did it feel good it felt right.  The buzzing went on all night it seems as I had the most restless night I can remember in a very long time!  It may have been only one song, but hopefully it will lead to many more to audiences other than; Linda, the shower nozzles and anyone who happens to be in earshot when the windows have been thrown open to let the summer sun in!! 

An earlier act had done Edith Piaf’s “Je regret rein”; moi, Je regret deux points, my latest “debut” had taken so long to happen and after so long a period of absence hadn’t been on the home turf of St Laurent de la Salle, but I suppose thinking about it I had sung at our Christmas party in Le Boutet, but rather informally without the need for lights or indeed the greasepaint and with an audience of five – hardly an auspicious re-launch of my singing “career,” but in true “the glass is half full” optimism, it could only get better as even the shower cubical has 6 nozzles!!  

And in answer to the title, I couldn’t actually remember the last time; on stage with lights and a “public” audience until I started to write this and it came back to me - February 22^nd 2008, the day before my birthday, at The Grove Folk club in Leeds, an old student haunt and incidentally the longest running same venue Folk Club in the world.  Where on an eventful week, several years previously, I had returned to revisit the past at a time when the future was due to change dramatically and to also relive past glories.  It was the week we finally made the momentous decision to move to France and were busy spilling the beans to family and friends!  How strange is that!

A couple of Roger’s short ramblings!

Some prat just phoned!

Must just tell you this one, but first a little background.  Good friends of ours, who may well read this but will remain anonymous to all but those who know them – it will be obvious!

They used to own a rainforest, but facing outrage, fury and indignation they have cut it down, lock, stock and barrel or should that be; trunk, Tarzan and chip!  What’s more much of it, shock horror, has gone or is destined for a local charity so no chance of the “phoenix rising from the ashes!”  I should explain that this rainforest was a small part of a small Gloucestershire town, in which our friends had created said rainforest in their sitting room!!  It almost defies description and it is some time since I have sat on the tiger skin throw on the settee clutching a drink in one hand and a furry gorilla in the other, having been known to have long meaningful, late night discussions with this dark beast with even darker knowing eyes!  But, for those not fortunate enough to go jungle trekking, I’ll attempt to give you just a flavour of this iconic room!

Not a huge room but filled to overflowing with anything jungly, be it ornaments arranged on any and every surface or hanging from the camouflage net that hung covered in felt leaves billowing from the ceiling – blow up snakes, wooden animals, soft toy animals, pictures, plastic nicks and nacks “carrying on the theme” or simply gaudy, plants (real or otherwise), animal skin rugs, an eclectic mix of furniture – ethnic, colonial, animal themed, gaudy and certainly not beige and functional!!  You might be beginning to build a picture, but exaggerate it a lot and you’ll be on the way!  The whole of the end wall contained a specially commissioned jungle scene with ruined buildings, trees, creepers and all things atmospheric. Then opposite this was originally a window and later opened onto a conservatory, which you might by now have realised, was certainly not conservative, the jungle creeping into it!  In the corner, one side of the opening into the conservatory was a curved and relatively gaudy bar, the top of which under the counter had a glass fronted illuminated display cabinet full of items that continued the theme, all looked over by a life size Tarzan painted into a scene on the wall behind the bar.

Every other bit of wall space was covered with a multitude of pictures and artefacts all “in keeping” with the general theme and the diverse, miscellaneous, zany totality of this room of pure escapism.  I still feel I might not be doing this extravagant work of pop art due justice!  Suffice to say, I remember the first time I visited, and although having been pre-warned, I walked in and was quite simply blown away and amazingly for me momentarily lost for words!!  It was that arresting, impressive, eye-catching, striking and stunning – thank you thesaurus!

However, you might wonder why I’m briefly (!) telling you all this, well it’s to set the scene!  Having been told by mutual friends that the jungle had been deforested, and once more been rendered momentarily speechless, I decided that the only course open to me was direct action!  Putting on my best “early evening canvasser” voice, I phoned the perpetrators of this dastardly, environmental disaster and simply asked “What are your views on the cutting down of the rainforest?”  Fortunately, phoning from France comes up as an international call and has more than once made people a little suspicious, thinking call centres in India no doubt, so my cunning disguise worked a treat.  However, I wasn’t expecting the next chain of events, when my friend obviously taken in hook line and sinker, quite rudely (a man after my own heart when it comes to evening telephone canvassers!!) said: “I thinks it’s a great idea and should be done more often!!  He then put down the phone on me before I got the chance to come clean!!

I phoned him straight back and to avoid a further tirade of his unenvironmental rantings, said quickly as soon as he picked up the phone – “Hello, it’s Roger!”  To which he replied, in all seriousness, “Thank goodness for that, I’ve just had some prat on the phone talking about deforestation and I gave him short shift about how I think it’s a great idea and how they should do more of it  and I can’t stand it when these pompous do-gooders phone up in the evening and pontificate about this, that and the other ............,” and after several minutes of unevironmental and probably non-PC rantings, with me trying to get in I finally did manage to say “That prat was me!!”   It rather took the wind out of his sails and his wife chuckled loudly in the background.

But, alas I then found out it was indeed true the jungle was gone, the house about to be sold, but was relieved to learn that the next house somewhere nearby would not just be any old house it had to feel right – I’ll just watch this space!!  Perhaps, as they’ve vowed never to set foot in France again after a somewhat eventful holiday, might I suggest a French boudoir theme; I could then visit and have a late night meaningful conversation with a French ...............

Poodle!?!, and then maybe a French bistro for the kitchen, where I could enjoy becoming acquainted with a French tart or two!!  

And whilst on matters French .......

Missed opportunity 

I recently read this in a book and couldn’t help but feel it was a little surprising that the French weren’t making a little more of this during the current Euro crisis and as entente hasn’t recently perhaps been as cordiale as normal!

In pre-Revolution France and originating from Roman times, livres and sols were coins in common usage and with the smallest coin then being a denarius, from which comes our pre-decimal “l  s d,” pounds (£), shillings and pence, rather than a hallucinatory substance!!

As if that isn’t enough of an affront!, when the Normans came to England, they used their own coinage marked with a star.  The Norman French for star was “esterlin” which in turn became the origin of Sterling!  That’s another in the eye for Harold!! 

Full Circle                                                     

Ever since we arrived in France to live, now although hard to believe, over three years ago we have been aware of strange nocturnal “goings on,” and although maybe the French are right up there with the Italians in the amorous stakes, that’s not what I’m talking about!

The first occurrence happened shortly after we moved into are first house, converted farm worker’s cottages just over the entrance drive to the chateau, which we always joked was in our back garden as we could see it from the rear windows!), from where the home farm had been.  This farm had some years previously fallen into disrepair and been demolished and a small lake dug on its site.  It was in the murky waters of this spring-fed lake that the first “goings on” occurred!  Despite being only late spring,  the evenings and nights were warm for the time of year and so our shuttered window remained open all night, and incidentally as the weather that year was generally exceptional stayed thus until into October, which meant that we could hear the night sounds all around.  The nightingale might have sung in Berkeley Square, but it also sang outside our window sometimes dueting with a beautiful barn owl that was for a time a regular visitor to the roof of the wonderful curved Victorian cast iron greenhouse, sadly then somewhat neglected, but sitting at the back of the house, like an upturned boat.  But, there were times when the gentle avian singing of these two glorious birds was totally upstaged by the frenzied quacking of a number of seemingly rampant ducks, well it was spring, the sap was rising and “frogs” are well ...... amorous. You only have to walk down the street of any self respecting small town and there sitting provocatively beside the boulangerie, boucherie, office postale and the coiffure will be what could at first glance be a “naughty knickers” shop along the line of Ann Summers, and you all thought that there was going to be a “lady of the night” sitting outside these shops, I’m beginning to read you all like a book!!  It’s only on closer inspection, so I’m told, being far to prudish to look closely at the rather skimpy, lacy and racy coloured pieces of satin or silk, that would barely cover the top of a jam jar, to keep the flies off (we’re currently plagued by the b-----s!, hence the analogy!), to notice the rather plain functional garments, Bridget Jones style for her and Y-fronts for him, tucked away in the bottom corner to add a little sobriety to the otherwise rather erotic, at times tucked into the bottom, display!  But, as I said you’ll have to take other peoples’ word for it as I couldn’t possibly vouch for all that detail!!

Now, where was I before I got carried away (another quick aside here as “her indoors” thinks I might be at any moment, by men in white coats!!), ah yes the nocturnal quacking of the ducks!  And here in lay a mystery as said featured creatures of the canard variety, so obvious and up front during the hours of darkness, were nowhere to be seen during the day!  We’re not here talking about a couple of breeding pairs who each morning at sunrise decided to do a bit of sightseeing around the very many neighbouring lakes and ponds, no from those frenzied squawks of seemingly unbridled passion, there must have been hundred of them.  First, I thought that perhaps they were a French nocturnal breed, then that perhaps they had read the guidance for the local chasse (hunt) that only allows for shooting during the hours of daylight, but then remembered that it hadn’t been the hunting season for some time and surely by now some of the wariness would have worn off and the more cocky birds started to come out to play during the day!

Then, to add to the mystery the frenzied quacking started to happen during the day, all around the lake, but without the ducks!!  So I started to think that these here French ducks are rather canny and have perfected, in the face of adversary, the art of being the antipathy of Victorian children – heard but not seen!!!  Well, I suppose I didn’t really, it just makes for a good line!  It was however then, on closer inspection that quite literally the bubble burst and we discovered that the loud quacking was indeed frogs croaking, obviously with a French accent!!  I should at this point pick up on those of you who were worried about my use of the word “frogs” above, and were deriding me for daring to sit deep in the French countryside and refer to my friendly neighbours in such derogatory terms, it was simply there to hint at what might have been to come, and just maybe some of you might have got there before we did!!

Other strange, but eventually explained, “goings on” over the intervening years I will briefly fill you in on, before our latest, most up to date, conundrum is unfurled!  First, there were the ruthless whines, late at night in the middle of a nearby wood, droning on well into the wee small hours and sufficient, had the moment now not passed for our amorous amphibious neighbours, to have drown them out!!  We were later to discover it was a night meet of the nearby scrambling club on their “barely floodlit” track!  Another night, strange thunderous thumpings were accompanied by bright lights scoring the sky like wartime searchlights and went on deep into the night.  Again centred it seemed in the middle of nowhere, which we then placed as Le Village, a large nightclub, quite simply in the middle of nowhere, which therefore has to bus its clientele in from all over Le Vendée and beyond.  Normally, we hear nothing although the sweeping lights are often evident, but it was an exceptionally warm night so just perhaps the well sound-proofed doors had been opened to preserve the clientele!!

On another occasion towards the end of the summer, a night time walk would be accompanied by loud buzzing and if you looked towards the still light night sky, it would seem that the SAS were mounting a full scale attack of our little bit of the Vendée, and occasionally it seemed like you had been shot as you were hit hard by a flying something, so hard in fact as to cause a friend’s daughter to               fall off her bike, more I feel through shock that physical force!  But, on closer examination it turned out to be the flight of the giant staghorn beetles, huge fearsome looking creatures with terrifying, but harmless to humans, pincer like claws extending at times by up to half the creatures body length.

Then, despite mentioning above that the strange nocturnal goings on would be explained, the next mystery, incidentally diurnal as well as nocturnal cannot really be explained.  Just occasionally in our lonely spot we would clearly hear voices over the wall, indeed once our delightful landlord, the owner of the chateau heard them when sitting outside with us having a cup of tea.  He was incensed that there were people in the chateau grounds without permission and stormed off to confront them, only to find as we had previously, not a sole in sight!  Puzzled he returned to finish his tea and we told him this was not the first time that this had happened much to his astonishment!  We then reminded him of a conversation we had had when we first met him and he told us that he spent most of his time in Spain.  We had asked if anyone lived in the chateau or nearby stable block, wondering if perhaps there was a resident housekeeper or caretaker, to which the response was no, if you hear anyone it will be the ghosts of my ancestors – so well ...... I suppose that one is also explained!

The final conundrum has happened more recently, since we have moved on and into our nearby new abode.  For a number of nights we had been hearing a strange bird call from the conifer tree in our neighbour’s garden just opposite our bedroom window.  We had put it down originally to a strange owl variety, but admittedly unlike any we had heard previously, but there remained a nagging feeling that it was something else!  After several weeks of this strange call, which I decided was like an old windup toy that had been left in the toy box and suddenly for no apparent reason sprang harshly and loudly into life!  Then, remembering the frogs, those with the edible legs before you ask, I started to think that perhaps the call wasn’t a bird at all, but rather an amorous toad (hence the loudness and harshness!) in a damp spot under the aforementioned nearby evergreen.  But, I’ve got to say I wasn’t convinced!

Several days later, I was sorting through a pile of cuttings that needed filing and came across an article about a nightjar and thought wouldn’t it be funny if they described the bird’s call as like an old windup toy ........ Sadly, it didn’t calling it instead a “drawn out churring” sound that can be heard up to half a mile away!  Interesting it said the evening’s musical entertainment might start with the male “coo-ick”ing a sound not dissimilar to a frog!, before finding a perch for an indeterminate bout of “churring,” audibly clapping its wings above its body as it goes.  It seemed the problem had been solved as all the components were there!  However, to be sure the internet came to my rescue in the form of the RSPB website, with a convenient “press here to listen to a nightjar” button.  Suddenly the room was filled with the very same sound that had been coming in through our bedroom window during the preceding weeks.  The conundrum was indeed solved and just to confirm it a few evening later sitting outside in the twilight we caught “a glimpse of the enigmatic nightjar” with its distinctive flight pattern – “hovering, fluttering and swift sorties” as described in the article.

And, really finally should you need the information for that vital quiz question at the next quiz night down at the local – it’s also known as a whip-poor-will, nighthawk and goat sucker as erroneous it was thought to use its wide mouth to suck milk from goats.  Actually, the mouth is used like a sweep net for catching the insects on which it feeds, flying slowly with its mouth gaping wide open.  And for the bonus point, it’s called an engoulevent in French, which rather fetchingly translates as “ghoul in the wind!” and that must be worth $64,000!!  So things that go bump in the night are not always what they seem!!