February 2011 (just!!)
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 27 attached. A bit of a mammoth, but plenty of short sections, hopefully making for easy reading, although “her indoors” tells me there will be lots of huffing and puffing, as its heavy going!!!
As the spring starts to spring out everywhere, we’re beginning to look forward to our first visitors of the season, having just had a lovely three weeks away in the caravan in “warmer” climes – sunny 20˚ in Biarritz!! Needed shorts which we hadn’t packed!!
In the meantime, enjoy the painting!! Read on and all will be revealed!!
Love
Roger
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
A thought popped into my head / Moments in Time ~ Missive 27
“...... a brief moment in the retina of an observer ......”
From “The Art of Travel” by Alain de Botton
“Memory is complex, as well as fragile. It isn’t just a list of dates and events. You might argue that it is much more to do with scents and textures, and less tangible elements than those. The cadence of a voice uttering a single word. A bird’s song at dawn on one significant day.”
Said by Dr Nicholas Grosseteste in the book “Iris & Ruby” by Rosie Thomas
I love the first of these quotes, how often does an image flash briefly through your mind of something long ago; thought about because of something you have seen (a person who reminds you of someone you know), a smell (it’s the proverbial smell of boiled cabbage taking you back to the school canteen – although for me it’s sweet smelling baked beans!), the feel of something (a well laundered pillow case takes me back to the days – half a century ago! – when I got to sleep sucking my thumb and flicking the hem with my nail!), a piece of music can transport you many miles and also over the years (three years back I sang once again at the folk club in Leeds I frequented, as a student, probably on too many nights, the song I had last sung there over thirty years before, but with the spotlight blinding me the audience became all my old friends once again – helped not a little as the whole pub was unchanged, even not redecorated!, during the intervening years) and in a similar way a tasty meal can not only transport you to heaven, but the very same table that you sat at years before!!
When I first read this quote, I was reminded of snippets of India, featured briefly in my book “Moonlit Guruji Travels” and I quote: “Who could have failed to wonder where the old man hobbling along the seemingly endless road was going, or what would happen to the two old men whose motorbike ground to a halt in the midday heat far from anywhere and why were the group of young children poised ready to flee whilst one brave (only just) soul poked, very gingerly, with a very long stick at something (a snake?) hiding in a crevasse in the corner of the walled garden in the middle of an area of wasteland.” All these were viewed fleetingly from the window of a bus or train and, as I reread them they’re there once again on the retina!!
On the second quote, Michael Gove (currently Secretary of State for Education, should anyone have missed this rather insignificant gentleman!) take note, at this time when you are talking about returning to a “fact-based” curriculum! Who knows, soon maybe he’ll have had his day and the bird’s will once again sing to herald the dawn of a new era!!
As many of you will know, I’m often amazed by little things and certainly by much of modern technology, but surely the most amazing is the human brain which is surely the original hard disk drive, capable it seems of storing endless snippets of information, thoughts, processes and the odd fact or two if you so desire, although these days the knowledge of how to Google has in many ways superseded this requirement!
Finally, by way of introduction John Ruskin talks about how, when travelling (at the moment this is being written on the laptop, in the caravan surrounded by vineyards pruned ready for this year’s growth, close to the world famous St Émilion, a year older than I was yesterday!) everyone should not only draw, they should also “word paint” or write, so colourfully painted below for your edification and delight, are some of my sensory snippets from the last five and a half centuries – makes me feel quite old!!
But I might be stolen!
This one is relatively recent; in fact it dates back to a very cold January day in 2009, just before we set off on our adventures! We were walking up Stroud High Street for our then regular Saturday morning coffee rendezvous at Mills Café, when I overheard a young boy of about nine being asked, by his mother, to stay outside the shop and look after the baby in the push chair, whilst she very quickly popped into the shop.
It was a bitterly cold day with a biting wind and obviously the somewhat agitated young lad felt the shop would be more comfortable, so loudly protested saying “But Mum, it’s freezing!” When that didn’t work the quick thinking boy, who I’m sure will go far said “Mum, I might get stolen!” But unfortunately, that didn’t work either, but may well have made Mum’s “pop in” all the quicker, as the thought might subconsciously have crossed her mind – what if!
Overheard in an Irish coffee shop
In Dublin for a short break with some friends a couple of years earlier, this time on a fairly chilly February morning, perhaps it’s the cold that sharpens the wit, we had popped into a café for a warming cup of coffee.
We were sitting looking out onto the busy streets; it was the day that the England rugby team were playing Ireland in the Six Nations Tournament, so Dublin was awash with the red and white of England and the green of Ireland. A large group of English supporters came around the corner, all patriotically dressed in their team’s colours, but in amongst them and obviously one of the crowd rather than a hostage!, was one solitary figure wearing the green of Ireland with the lucky shamrock emblazoned on the front.
One of two Irishmen sitting in the window drinking coffee, turned to the other one and anyone else who happened to be listening, and said: “Obviously, one of them masquerading as one of us!” which raised a general chuckle. Somehow, I just can’t seem to imagine a similar scenario happening in the streets close to an important football match, indeed I doubt we would even have been able to drink coffee in the same café as the opposition!
We then went on to an amazing pub called the Porterhouse, (if you’re ever in Dublin do find it, the one situated in the old brewery building and quite close to the Liffey, it’s full of little rooms all on different levels with a very interesting collection of quotes – “I drink to make other people interesting” George Jean Nathan, one that particularly caught my eye! – and of world beers displayed everywhere, interspersed with lots of bottles surprisingly looking like Carlsberg – the whole pub and brewery being devoted to the best of real beer. Closer inspection of the famous “C” labels showed the tag line to read “Probably the worst lager in the World!” The food is great as well!) owned by the Porterhouse Brewery who brew a small range of exciting beers, including a stout that gives “The Guinness” a run for its money, and has at various times, guest brews from all around the world.
Today, being match day and the pub full of supporters, English and Irish, as well as Italian and Scotland, who were playing earlier in the afternoon (for the aficionados amongst you, it was the year Italy gave Scotland an early fright – three tries in the first few minutes of the game, but then unfortunately ran out of steam and couldn’t maintain the early lead!!), the numerous wide screen TV’s didn’t seem as intrusive as rugby was today’s theme, and it was great to see rival supporters engaged in friendly banter, but also prepared to praise the opposition where praise was due.
Rugby certainly won on this day, a day when the media had hyped up the possibility of trouble at the England – Ireland match being played for the first time at Croake Park, normally a hurling stadium, and in the distant past scene of a bloody massacre by English troops. It was almost as if the media were hoping that memories of events well before anybody’s living memory would spark off new troubles. But, as I said rugby won the day and never has an opposition stood more respectably for the playing of the opponents National Anthem – you could have heard the proverbial pin drop as well as the tears of emotion in many an eye. The Irish did however get the last laugh, they trounced us, but by the time of the kick off we were at the airport waiting to fly home, and had to endure the agony of watching the excited Irish supporters – we were at the time still reigning world champions, but it didn’t show!!! But as I said above, the one or two moves worthy of world champions were met with warm applause and credit where credit was barely due!!
Overheard in the Turk’s Head
This one I’ll report verbatim, a conversation overheard in the Gents of the Turk’s Head Pub in the Isles of Scilly, between two seemingly strangers, but it could have all been an elaborate ploy – for a laugh, but as they went back to different tables I don’t think so!!
Having finished what I had gone in to do, I was washing and drying my hands, with one gentleman going about his business in one of the two stalls in the fairly cosy space. In comes another gent, who has obviously imbibed freely and needs to make room for more, with a loud “Room for a small one?” The other gent peering over the low dividing screen said “Yes ... and it is a small one isn’t it!”
The other gent then looked back and said “My!, that’s a real porker, what do you call it!?!” I just caught the reply as I stumbled, trying not to laugh, out of the door – “Freddie!”
Again, I can’t imagine this happening at a football match without a certain amount of bloodshed!
Eenie Meanie
Driving home from work one day, yes I did have to do that once!, with the radio on to keep me awake, a rather jaunty little song started, that if I hadn’t been driving in a stream of traffic, would have quite literally stopped me in my tracks! It was the chorus that caught my ear;
“If you don’t give my ball back to me, I’ll get my dad onto you!
I only kicked it over your fence, and broke a silly gnome or two!!”
Why did I find this so arresting, and why still on reading it does it make for such a vivid sensory snippet? Quite, simply, something that happened when we first moved into our second Stroud house, some sixteen or so years ago. Our next door neighbour had a patch of gravel, about 4 metres square on which he had serried ranks of Garden Gnomes, carefully painted and lined up looking towards his bedroom window! Later we discovered, in conversation with the neighbour once he had decided that we weren’t all bad, that there were two hundred gnomes in total and during the inclement winter weather he carefully wrapped them up, possible affectionately patting them on the “bottie,” and boxed them up until the spring!
But back to the retinal incident when we first moved in! It more or less happened like the song says, Daniel had a friend for tea, the football went over, the friend started to climb over and get the ball and the neighbour impounded the ball, which incidentally hadn’t so much as grazed the knee or bloodied the nose of any of the small white bearded gents or their less than traditional lady friends! But I returned to find an indignant Daniel and friend, the incensed pair wanting their ball back and annoyed at the injustice of it all. Binding my time a little, not wanting having just moved in to fall out with our new neighbour, I had tea, a couple of drinks, which made the fact that the neighbour looked uncannily like one of his red hatted charges, all the more hilarious and as darkness fell it took a great deal of self control not to stage a “kidnap the prize gnome” raid and hold it as ransom for the ball!
As time went on, the ball having been returned the next morning, the point having been made, relationships thawed and we ended up getting on quite well with the short legged, pot bellied, gnome-like next door neighbour and even ended up cutting his hedge for him, partly so it didn’t spoil our view across to the picturesque hillside over the valley, but also to help the neighbours out who were both too old to be climbing ladders and cutting hedges. Although, the neighbour remained quite a cantankerous soul, we did end up getting on quite well and even found out why he was so bitter and twisted – he was a Maxwell Pensioner who had ended up losing much of his pension during the financial scandal – I’ve always gone on record as saying that there is usually some explanation for people’s behaviour, particularly when it is rather erratic!
The song, in case you are wondering I finally tracked down, courtesy of the internet. It’s called Eenie Meanie, and sung by a singer called Jim Lawyer!!
Glasgow Central
As a relatively young child, about 15 years old, my parents abandoned me, late at night, at one of Glasgow’s main railway stations. If we hadn’t later been reunited, who knows I could, like a well known cuddly bear, have ended up being named after the station and a series of stories about a lost boy called Glasgow Central (doesn’t have quite the same ring as Paddington!!) taken the world by storm.
Glasgow late at night, as you might imagine can be a little scary, but they (my parents that is!) had the presence of mind to leave me our two dogs, but would two “wee corgis just like the Queen brings to Balmoral each year” be any defence against the numerous local neighbourhood drunks who through the haze, just might have imagined me to be one of the princes, rather than a lost child shortly to become known as “Glasgow Central!”
Shocking, how awful I hear you gasp. How could your parents who seem so pleasant have done such a mean, heartless thing!! Well, I ought to explain!
My brother had spent much of the preceding summer “chilling out” on the island of Tiree in the Inner Hebrides, off the Scottish mainland and having been holidaying in Scotland, we had arranged to meet him off the train to take him home. Unfortunately, having arrived at the main station, we discovered that Glasgow indeed has two mainline stations either of which it seems could have been the arrival point for my brother’s train and all this before the days of mobile phones and a quick call to check which station we needed to be at!
It was therefore decided, indeed I probably being such a delightful child!!! even offered to stay there whilst my parents went to check out the other station. Leaving the dogs, I’m sure was my idea as they were very protective at the best of times. It was quite difficult, a young boy with two corgis trying to wait inconspicuously at a Glasgow station in the dead of night, so I quickly or at least I think it was the dogs that became the blurred focus of attention of a group of drunk down and outs, who started to come over to say hello to the “lovely wee doggies” seeming at the time to ignore me, but who knows maybe it was a case of befriend the “wee doggie” and get to know the “wee laddie a bit better!!” Fortunately, the dogs came up trumps, rose to their full height, raised their hackles and bared their teeth menacingly; both emitting deep threatening growls that were enough to sent the drunks on their way, mindful of being bitten by the now not so lovely wee doggies. Unfortunately, with their minds somewhat befuddled by the drink they quickly forgot about the threat and returned for another go, but the dogs were more than equal to them and drove them off again. I was however, quite a relief to see the rest of the family, my brother now in tow having come in at the other station, coming down the platform for a welcome reunion!!
After this experience, I’m surprised by my fascination with stations, airports and the like at night, finding them in the words of Alain de Botton: “unexpectedly poetic travelling places – airport terminals, harbours, train stations and motels” not forgetting motorway service stations. I guess inherent in all these places is the thrill of travel to faraway, unknown places in wonders of modern technology ranging from the relatively simple motorcar to the mind-bogglingly sophisticated and gravity defying monster of the sky – however scary you find the takeoff of an huge metal aeroplane, you can’t fail to be mixed up in the wonder of it all as you swoop gracefully high, into the air leaving behind the toy like houses and cars, populating the map that spreads out in front of you, quite simply taking your breath away! And, next stop – who knows where!
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The final two snippets...... the first decided upon before our holiday to warmer climes and the second as a result of our time away, both take me back to my younger days. The first, also with an amazing coincidental link to our present life in France as well as strong unexpected links to one of the visits we made on our holiday, the other to my late teens, but both as you will see never far from retina!!
Himalayan Village
Many years ago, when my age could still just be counted on the fingers of two hands, my brother and I belonged to the BOAC (British Overseas Aircraft Corporation, one of the fore runners of the present day BA) Junior Jet Club, by dint of the fact we regularly during school holidays flew to visit my parents who were living in the Far East – first Bangkok, the capital of Thailand and later Singapore. At this age we were travelling as “unaccompanied minors” and were under the care of a steward or stewardess – our BOAC Uncle or aunty, who signed the Junior Jet Club Book and how many miles we travelled, made sure we got to visit the cockpit at some point on the trip (now sadly a thing of the past as cockpits have had to become secure fortresses) and made sure we got safely on and off the plane at the various refuelling stops that aircraft had to make in those days!! By an amazing coincidence, one of our new friends who lives down the road was a new recruit to BOAC Cabin Crew on the Singapore route, at about the time we making the journey and may well have been the one to sign our books – they are still somewhere in my Mum and Dad’s loft – I’ll have to dig them out and see!!
Well, on this particular flight we were flying over the Himalayas very early one morning, just as the sun was rising and with the new dawn painting the snow clad mountains the most stunning colours, for ever changing as the sun rose from behind the mountains and grew in intensity. I seemed at the time to be the only person awake on the plane and glimpsed far below, but very high in the mountains a small, snow covered settlement with no obvious roads to it, just a few barely marked tracks that converged on the village like the fine filaments of a sparse spider’s web. At the great height that we were flying, it was impossible to see much detail, although as it was a strikingly clear morning, you could make out different buildings and imagine in each families with children some possibly my own age, waking up to another morning of survival, in a very different culture and much more extreme environment to any I had ever experienced or indeed the one I was hurtling towards at several hundred miles an hour. At this speed it was surprising how long the village remained in view (it must have been the 35,000 plus feet we were flying at!) from my lofty eerie, and my thoughts (at my very impressionable age!) were of lost worlds and extreme exploration, the sort of books I devoured in those days, and the hot sun and swimming trunks of the beach in Singapore later that day seemed a million miles away.
I had already got this glimpse from a faraway retina on the list for this missive, and then our hair-raising trip by cable car, 1000m up to the nigh on 3000m Pic du Midi in the central Pyrenees, bought it all back even more clearly. The cable car took us up to an observation platform and laboratory / observation complex surrounded by snow and ice with tantalising glimpses to the town where we were staying (the campsite was clearly visible through the telephoto lens) 2 ½ thousand metres below, to the south and to the north an amazing mountain panorama (watch this space as to how to view some of my panoramic pictures from here as well as many others from the growing collection!!) seeming to go on forever, and with a number of intrepid skiers and snow shoe walking parties seemingly in the middle of nowhere and certainly with a long way to go before nightfall. There were even some skiers preparing to ski down from the top, obviously there being some sort of exit from the scientific station, giving access to the perilous slopes surrounding the lofty summit, I just couldn’t help thinking of that rather modern saying “Way to go!!!”
Porte de crayon
It must be something to do with just having had a birthday and now being an official “early retiree!”, but again I find myself equating this sensory snippet (perhaps this ought to be my original thought as I’m claiming, but prepared to accept otherwise, that this is my own “new” terminology!) to time gone by, and how long ago it all now seems!
Anyway, whilst still at school (a Victorian boarding school that was only just starting to catch up with the times!) I became interested in Folk Music, thanks to one of the local clergy, who had previously helped to set up the famous folk club in St Martin’s in the Field in the centre of London, as well as being very involved in helping homeless people through soup kitchens and a hostel next to the church called Centre Point. This respectability I guess helped to ease the relaxing of school rules, allowing me at nearly 18 to be allowed to stay out after dark!!
Hugh, the vicar set first set up a discussion group who met in his converted garage, lay around on the floor doing nothing more risqué than drinking coffee, discussing current affairs (of the state rather than more promiscuous ones!) and singing the odd song – largely of a quasi-religious / folk style accompanied by anyone able to strum along on that most decadent instrument – the guitar. One thing led to another, and could have done in more ways than one as the “clientele” were not only other boys from my single sex boarding school, but also other parishioners, some of the opposite sex!!, and talk turned to the setting up of a Folk Club in a nearby redundant church using Hugh’s contacts from his time in London.
In what seemed like an amazingly short space of time the first acts were announced and the venture was underway with amazing acts such as; Decameron, Mike Maran, Davey Graham and Holly Gwinn Graham amongst many more professional acts and local amateurs doing a number of “floor spots” each week! I even made my “singing” debut as one of the “Falsetto Three” backing a friend playing guitar and singing “Monster Mash” – well with folk anything seems to go!!
But, one thing led to another and I became very friendly with a young couple, regulars at the club, who in time invited me back to their house for singaround sessions and largely coffee. It helped considerably that the mother of the lady in the couple was very friendly with the Headmaster of my school, so again making staying out easier. They were great times, and further instilled a love of folk music in me, but also provided a very welcome retreat from the austerity of school. Initially, the couple and their two young children lived in a tiny cottage the front room of which had initially been a shop and the shop window was still there filled haphazardly with an array of interesting and obscure knick knacks! Indeed, the tiny house was an absolute treasure trove of instruments, records, pictures, interesting furniture and even more knick knacks!! There wasn’t a spare surface anywhere and it was all so homely, and looking back, how large groups of us managed to fit into the tiny sitting room, barely big enough for the two large armchairs and three-seater settee as well as five doors and a fire place that between them all took up most of the wall space, is hard to imagine.
Eventually, they moved on to a bigger house and all the interesting knick knacks could spread out a little and indeed be added to!! It was here in the much bigger lounge that they had built in a shelving unit of lovely rich wood all along one wall, to largely house many of the smaller knick knacks! On here there was an ornate pen stand that I fell totally in love with and vowed one day to own one like it.
Well, it’s taken 35 years of looking in antiques shops, junk shops, flea markets, car boot sales and the like for one and in all those years, vowing that if I saw one I would have to buy it, the nearest I came to finding one was an advert for a modern day version in the back of a glossy “Homes and Gardens” style magazine! Then, whilst staying near St Emilion, in a small Brocante (flea market) there was one and on first sight the heart pounded and I broke into a cold sweat with the excitement of it!! But, I didn’t buy it, not because it was too expensive but because it was the wrong colour, gold instead of black! But, don’t despair of my as having realised that the “holy grail” I had searched all these years for was in danger of slipping through my fingers at the last moment, on our return to St Emilion at the end of the holiday, first port of call was to the Brocante, hoping that it was still there, initially thinking it sold but relieved to find it hiding behind another item, and now I’m pleased to say it is sitting next to me, bringing back happy memories every time I set eyes on it. What exactly is it I hear you ask? It’s a simple object, named a porte de crayon (pencil holder) and consists of two identical arched end pieces with Chinese-style decoration, that have a number of short finger like projections for laying pens or pencils across horizontally, the ends held together by three thin plain horizontal bars – simple but has the retina working overtime!
“Ici devant nous!”
A king called Martin, who is an accomplished fisherman, has moved into the chateau in our back garden, or I suppose to be precise he’s moved into the moat and his full name is Martin Pecheur, better known in England as the kingfisher!
I first saw that unmistakable flash of electric iridescent blue when coming back from a short walk around the lake and coming past the end of the large stable block that now houses the gîte, up he flew for his perch overlooking the now water filled moat – in the summer the long periods of hot dry weather dry up the moat and stop it becoming “des res” for a hungry kingfisher. I must say even now when the current wet weather has filled the ponds and made the water trickle steadily around the chateau moat, it’s still little more than a reed filled shallow hollow in parts and in others a tunnel overhung with laurel hedges on either side, not where I would make my first examination, if on the lookout for a kingfisher.
But a couple of days later a further sighting seemed to confer it was not just a one-off, but indeed a local resident. This time I was coming from the other side of the chateau, just as the kingfisher rose and flew off towards the gîte – it had obviously seen me coming!!
Martin Pecheur, Common Kingfisher, Eurasian Kingfisher, River Kingfisher or Alcedo Atthis (surprisingly in both “French” and “English” Latin which isn’t always the case, making some comparisons between my French and English field guides difficult at times!!) is a small bird, not much bigger than a sparrow, but certainly more colourful and instantly recognisable by even the most amateur of bird watcher. My guide tells me “Nothing else looks so stocky and big-headed, nor so colourful except the much larger bee-eater,” but it’s a Britain and European Guide and although we might have seen an early bee-eater whilst in the far south of France, it seems unlikely you’ll see one in England!
Closer inspection of a Kingfisher shows it to be carefully designed to plunge from a riverside branch or from hovering above the water, its long streamlined bill and large head effectively followed by its compact body, small feet and very short tail to catch small fish or water insects. This excerpt from Wikipedia, I must share with you as it has always puzzled me how a diving bird catches a fish: “A challenge for any diving bird is the change in refraction between air and water. The eyes of many birds have two foveae (the fovea is the area of the retina the greatest density of light receptors), and a kingfisher is able to switch from the main central fovea to the auxiliary fovea when it enters water; a retinal streak of high receptor density which connects the two foveae allows the image to swing temporally as the bird drops onto the prey. The egg-shaped lens of the eye points towards the auxiliary fovea, enabling the bird to maintain visual acuity underwater. Because of the positions of the foveae, the kingfisher has monocular vision in air, and binocular vision in water. The underwater vision is not as a sharp as in air, but the ability to judge the distance of moving prey is more important than the sharpness of the image.” Isn’t nature wonderful and in this case leaving nothing to chance!!
The Kingfisher nests in tunnels dug into vertical riverside mud banks, anything up to a metre in length, lays six or seven glossy white eggs, which hatch in about 20 days with the young flying between 23 and 27 days after hatching. The young are then left to teach themselves to fish, as the parents may well be busy rearing a second brood. That tells you quite a bit about these spectacular birds, it just remains to ask why are they so brightly coloured – surely alerts the more observant minnow of their approach!! Although one of the guides does say, that despite their bright colouring they can be difficult to spot and you should therefore listen out for its call, which the book reliably informs us, is a loud, shrill “chi-keee” or”tseee!”
But undoubtedly, the “piece de la resistance” came several days later when I happened to glance out of one of the windows at the back of our house and that unmistakable and unforgettable, I can remember clearly the few kingfisher sightings I have had over the years, flash of blue passed rapidly across the light coloured front of the “chateau in our back garden!”
My original “thought!”
Both of us keep saying that we are firm believers in fate, and indeed if it wasn’t for fate we may well not be where we are today. However, last month fate dealt us a heavy blow, having set our hearts on returning from France and viewing what we hoped was to be the house of our dreams, only to find someone had beaten us to it and it was sold.
But, on reflection and now the disappointment has dwindled somewhat, fate hasn’t done us too bad so far!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love,
Roger and Linda
And, next time? At the moment in the lap of the GOD’s, which I have now joined being in possession of a pension – Growing Old Disgracefully!!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Missive 26 ~ Friends Along the Way
January 2011
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 26 attached. Christmas was a time for family and friends, which leads rather neatly into this missive.
Those we saw over the festive season, will know we were coming back to look at a possible house purchase, in the village and that had been on the market for some time. Unfortunately, someone beat us to it and we’re back to square one, and as you will see from this missive, as we are beginning to really put down some tentative shoots, we’ve decided we would like to stay in the village – so we’re back to the waiting game!!! I wasn’t so calm and collected at the time!!!
In the meantime, we’re off in the caravan, heading south and hopefully somewhat warmer climes, towards the end of this week for about three weeks. On our return I’ll officially be an “early” pensioner and we will be looking forward to welcoming our first visitors of the year! Then, apart from the visitors, who knows what our return may bring!!
And finally ......
Happy New Year! ~ perhaps a little belatedly!!
Love
Roger
Mes chers amis
Friends Along the Way ~ Missive 26
“To forget a friend is sad. Not everyone has had a friend. And if I forget him I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures!
From “Little Prince” by French writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery
“In the New Year, may your right hand always be stretched out in friendship, never in want.”
Old Irish Toast
The first of these quotes comes from a writer who has an uncanny knack of seeing things through the eyes of a child, or in this case his Little Prince – it’s almost a case of “out of the mouths of babes and sucklings” except the author was adult when he wrote it! He must have had a very good memory or time to sit and watch, but how very true this statement is today, in the competitive world we live in!
The second one reminds me of a good friend – a lay preacher, who is not adverse to pinching you, in public usually the middle of Stroud High Street, in a very delicate place and greeting you, exceedingly loudly, in a none too delicate or indeed polite way – you know who you are Brian!! Well, some years ago he was due to take Midnight Mass, and knowing what I do about him, I was intrigued sufficiently to forgo some of the Christmas Eve festivities and delay the traditional wrapping of my presents until an even later hour and go and see him in action. Initially, indeed throughout most of the service, he wasn’t the man we knew and “loved?” The delivery was polished, albeit possibly a little staid, but he had the little old ladies eating out of his hand! Only at the final blessing did the glint in the eye appear and the Brian we all know came out, as the blessing started with the line “May all you ewe’s be pregnant!” and carried on for some time in a similar vein. The Irish have a lot to answer for, as well as the gift of the gab, and this was a traditional Irish blessing! And before you ask no, I’m not Irish, but you might not be surprised to hear I have kissed the Blarney Stone!!
Friends along the way
Shortly after we arrived in the Vendée, we noticed that there were a lot more English people around than we were expecting, and that was before the summer invasion! We even found details of a monthly English film show at one of the nearby towns, and the more alert amongst you will remember we got to see “Slum Dog Millionaire” in English but with French sub-titles, where the characters were talking in Hindi!! As we sat in the cinema waiting for the film to start we were surrounded, for the first time in many weeks by English people and unfortunately, many the type of ex-pats that at best don’t make any attempt to integrate and worst expect everything to be very English and everyone, including the locals to be able to speak perfect English, to make their life easier!! One such ...... person, we’ll call them as this blog has a family following, we encountered once on the ferry returning to England, in the early days of our adventure! He was heard to answer, in response to a question from a young couple, with young children who were about to move to France, whether he could speak French. His reply sums up the latter category “I spoke no French when I moved here five years ago, I speak no French now and I bloody well (sorry for the family readers, but a necessary verbatim quote!!) don’t intend to learn!!”
So it was when we had watched the highly enjoyable and at times rather harrowing film, but certainly a true portrayal of India as we remember it, we came out into the fresh French air and simultaneously turned to each other and said “we’re not getting into that scene!”
That’s not to say we haven’t made English friends, there are three or four couples we have met and get on very well with, but they have all moved out here “lock, stock and barrel” selling up completely in England and all trying to integrate slowly into the local culture, whilst still retaining English friends. It could be a very lonely existence otherwise, particularly if, like us your French leaves much to be desired!! You could end up going for long periods not “talking” to anyone other than the odd hello, goodbye or restaurant order! On the latter, those ex-pats determined not to make the effort, become very much the embarrassing and cringe-worthy English person abroad – shout loudly, wave their arms around and expect the natives to not only understand, but jump to it quickly! And on this note that leads neatly into the next section:
Christmas Party
Sorry you weren’t all invited, but having not had a Parrot House Christmas Party for a couple of years we had begun to have withdrawal symptoms!! So as we were going to be in France for Christmas, we decided to invite the few good English friends we have made, but saw it as a good opportunity to invite the local farmer, his wife and son, who have over the time we have been here helped us out on a number of occasions, as the farmer acts as caretaker for the chateau and is first port of call should we have a problem. Just recently, we had occasion to call the farmer as we were having another problem with our, at times rather temperamental, fosse septique, or septic tank, and without putting too fine a point on it, he had quite literally ended up with his arm up to the elbow in “notre merde!!” If anyone needed an invite to the party and thanks for helping us out, he did – at the time I was sure that was over and above the call of duty, but the builder who he called in the next day did the same thing, but did ask for a bowl of water and soap before he started!! I then felt very guilty that the farmer had very matter of factly, simply rinsed off in the nearby water trough, with not a bar of soap in sight!! But, enough of this s__t!!, back to the party!!
Some of the English friends mentioned above have lived here for much longer than us and have a much better grasp of the lingo, and so could be fairly crucial should the French contingent arrive, who between then speak really no English at all, and quite rightly don’t expect to have to!! So we phoned around them first and made sure that they were available, before finalising the evening for the soirée. We then sent the farmer and son Christmas cards to thank them for their help over the year and enclosed a party invite, saying we were having a few friends around for some Christmas drinks and would be delighted if they would like to join us and then popped them into the post-box at the end of their drive and hoped they would come.
During the winter, when there is less to do in the fields, we see less of the farmers, and had not seen them before the day of the party and hoped that as they hadn’t responded to the contrary they would put in at least a brief appearance, join us for a drink and have allowed us to use the festive season to thank them. So, with preparations almost complete and Linda barely out of the shower, I went outside half an hour before the party was due to start to light some candles and make the front look welcoming and came face to face with the farmer, his wife and son getting out of the car in party mood. I managed to hide my panic that they were early, as well as stopping myself from commenting on how unlike the French it is to be punctual, let alone early, for anything!!, and loudly showed them in, in case Linda was still dressing after her shower and went to finish lighting the candles. At this point monsieur the farmer with a glint in his eye presented me with what at first glance seemed to be a litre bottle of whisky. I was just about to tell him it really wasn’t necessary and was certainly too much, when touched my arm – something he does when he wants to make sure he has your full undivided attention – and drew my attention to some writing on the label which said “Pineau” a local aperitif, and this he told me was one he had made himself, as he unscrewed the top for me to smell, and mighty good it smelt, although the tasting had to wait (and proved to be worth the wait) as he had bought it for us for Christmas to share with our son who I had told him some weeks before was visiting us over Christmas.
When I came back from lighting the candles the family had made themselves at home, Monsieur on the settee, his wife; a very large but short and jovial lady on a dining chair next to him and their son on a comfy chair opposite. I saw that Linda had sorted out the drinks, but was somewhat dismayed to see the parents drinking water, although the son did have a glass of red wine, which we knew from previously to be his chosen tipple. Panicking slightly, I thought perhaps I had misunderstood what Monsieur had said and that he was expecting to have some of the pineau with his water, but no water was fine! I hastily put on the mulled wine (vin chaud as it called around here and a common winter drink) to mull and there followed at interesting 40 minutes or so before the next guests arrived! But, partly thanks to our digital photo frame that shows various members of the family we managed to cover a lot of ground with a little help from a dictionary. Then when a picture of Max came up the son, who’s 40, was visibly sad to see the picture, although try as he might he had never been able to really make friends with Max, who he came for the cows drinking water from the trough at the front of the house, always needed to be seen off by Max! There are also some arty shots of some of the farmer’s Charolais cattle and every time one came up the son announced in a loud voice to everyone “Ah les vaches!!”
The others did finally arrive, and I did finally manage to persuade Monsieur and his wife to try the mulled wine of which they both approved and came back for more, Monsieur several times, although on each offer initially refusing, but the twinkle in his eye saying otherwise! So the multiple refills, became each time – well, perhaps just a little more as it is Christmas!! They also tucked in heartily to the various nibbles including some English Mince Pies and Coconut tarts and a very rich chocolate cake bought my one of the other guests for us to sample and mark out of ten!! He has just got into making cakes and other sweet things and there’s now no looking back!!
Finally, nearly four hours later and after lots of flowing conversation and a vast amount of entente cordiale, the majority in French, our French friends left in a very much friendlier manner than they had arrived. Their arrival had been friendly enough, but was rather formal handshakes all around, but departure was plenty of kissing and lots of emphasis on what a great time they had had. The party continued for several hours afterwards, and once everyone had left and we were tidying up we agreed that it had been a very worthwhile evening and was just another event that had made us more determined than ever to, when we finally buy a house, to stay in the area as obviously the last two years haven’t been wasted and our French has obviously started to improve albeit slowly!
Hello my Friend
Or should I say “Bonjour mon ami!” This was the greeting that I was met by the other day when I went to the end of the drive to see what all the commotion was. The hunting season or “chasse” is well and truly underway at the moment and not just on the traditional Sunday and maybe one or two other days a week. Almost daily you can hear the horns blowing, the hounds howling and see small convoys of predominately battered old white van tearing around the place!
That was exactly what was happening today, a convey had just gone down the road, at breakneck speed; all the more worrying as you will read later on, and then hurtled back up the road as I wandered over to do my daily check on the garden and the few bits of produce still doing battle with the local wildlife. With a screech of brakes the first two vehicles came to a stop jumped out and despite the rush gave me a cheery bonjour, just as the next couple of vehicles arrived, one containing the farmer’s son, who jumped out waved to me with the cheery greeting “Bonjour mon ami!” and proceeded to tell me that they had lost the dogs and had I seen them. Being unable to help and with no dogs visible or indeed audible, they jumped back in the cars and sped about fifty yards down the road before the lead car, spotting something far across the field, once more screeched to a stop with the following cars very close behind and out they jumped bellowing and horn blowing at one of the dogs they had espied. This dog ran across the field jumped into the opened back of one of the vans and the whole convoy swiftly hit the road once more! Had there not been a fair amount of rain recently, I would have been left choking in the dust they left behind, but barely had they gone than I heard a distant howl and looking down the green avenue opposite our house, noticed two dogs, who noticed me and came running towards me obviously thinking I was part of the proceedings!
I should mention here, that we are not talking great packs of hounds charging over the fields followed by hooray Henry’s in full hunting livery, but a motley collection of both hounds and hunters, in all different shapes and sizes, again both the dogs and predominately men, all out for a jolly good time, with all the kit and some impressive looking weapons, which in fact they barely discharge, the fun seeming to be in the camaraderie, chase, shouting and horn blowing, with the occasional kill for the pot. It actually never ceases to amaze me, when enquiring about how successful the hunt has been, that normally I’m told that they got away and all they saw was a fleeting glimpse. They make so much noise; I’m surprised they get near enough for a glimpse!!
Well, these two dogs ran down to me, realised I wasn’t either a hunter or a deer, one of them was rather old and probably short sighted!, and ran off again back to where they had started with the odd sounding howl, usually reserved for when they get a scent, but this time seeming to say “Wait for us we’re over here!”
I went back in the house to change into my wellies and see if the dogs and hunters had been reunited. On rounding the corner at the end of the drive, I was confronted by a convoy of five vehicles, thankfully stationary, with all the occupants standing in a circle drinking! The farmer’s son saw me, beckoned me over and having enquired about the dogs and been assured they had been found, done the customary round of hand shaking, Mickael drained his glass, passed it over to me and instructed the pourer to pour me a drink. So, I found myself, at 11 o’clock in the morning with a large glass of something poured from one of several unlabelled old battered plastic squash bottles, but obviously of higher alcoholic content than your average “Fruits of the Forest!” With a “bon année” to the assembled company, about eight men and one woman, I fairly hastily drained the glass as the refreshments were obviously over and the chase was about to resume, wished them a “bon chasse” and quickly sought a safe place to wave them on their way, as the convoy once more took to the road. It was fairly obvious, not only from their general bonhomie and the half empty bottles, but also the increasingly erratic driving, that this hadn’t been the first refreshment stop of the morning.
I was particularly careful when going out later for my afternoon stroll, as by then they had spent a couple of hours in the hunting lodge at the end of the barn and was a bit worried that if the convoy came speeding past they might not by now be able to see me. However, it did bode well for the wildlife, because I’m sure that any kill that afternoon would have been more by luck than judgement, if not one of their friends. Comical as the picture may appear, there are always a number of such tragic accidents in France during the hunting season each year, so I was careful not to become one of this year’s statistics!
La ceremonie des voeux
And, indeed “le verre de l’amitié” along the way! It’s that time of year again, the “AGM of the Parish Council” and like many things parochial in France, in the broadest sense, it’s one of the highlights of the local social calendar. I can almost hear the groans of derision from where I’m sitting, but I jest not, the salle communal was once more packed, and it’s a fair sized room, as a conservative estimate there must have been 150 people (getting on for half the population of the commune / parish), young and old alike, not including M. le Maire and the members of le Conseil Municipal, and even M. Joël Sarlot, Vice-President of the Council General of the Vendée and President of the Departmental Committee of Tourism, puts in an appearance at these parish events!!
The evening starts with the somewhat lengthy hello’s, where everyone shakes hands with everyone else and generally enquires about their health and if they don’t recognise you; who you are, where you live and where you fit in with the general scheme of things. But there is the added confusion, that grows the more we are around and that is “to kiss or not to kiss,” at this stage only the opposite sex, but in time who knows!! Even the kissing isn’t straight forward, as an absolute minimum is one kiss on each cheek, but depending on “rules” that seem to change dependant on different circumstances, it could be three, four or even more!! At the moment, two seems appropriate where required, but that isn’t always too clear, and four or more it seems is just for close family or if you are Parisian, in Paris or to another Parisian. Paris is held in high regard across the whole of France, but as for Parisian’s, they’re the butt of many a joke, certainly more cruel that our own Irish jokes and often followed by a stream of phlegm! In reality, you just have to mention Parisians and you’ll be guaranteed a bout of mass expectoration!!
But back to the meeting, eventually, when the councillors deem it time, they flow gently towards their seats at the front, being sure to greet anyone they missed in the general melee before, and then all in good time the mayor is introduced and takes the stage for his annual report and to welcome newcomers to the village. This year M. le Maire was considerably more relaxed, albeit it rather bleary eyed as his wife had just a day or two before given birth to their third child – a little girl after two boys before. He had also bought a new suit, as last year he wore his wedding suit complete with long jacket, and had obviously lost weight since the occasion! But, with the greater confidence that experience brings, he started by thanking every one for coming, thanking them for their good wishes on the birth of his daughter and even joked about how he and his wife were doing their bit to keep the population of the village up! He followed this up with the suggestion that this might be an example to one or two other younger members of the council!
Much of the rest of his report went above my head, with just snippets making sense, such as talk of the restoration of the church roof and the sale of a further two or possibly three of the newly serviced building plots that the commune has for sale. Then there was much talk, in large figures, which the 4½ hours of Lotto (Bingo) in French and with numbers between 1 and 90, in the same equally packed hall the previous week, did little to prepare me for!! I’m alright on the odd thousand or so, as every time we go away, the farmer’s son wants to know how many kilometres we have done and it’s often “trois mille cinq cent kilometre” by the time we have done all the folks back home. But my pronouncement never fails to receive a long drawn out whistle, from a local lad who for his very occasional week’s holiday ventures to Normandy with the lads!
Then, at the end of his presentation it is time for M. le Maire to welcome the newcomers to the village and present them with, this year the same “Gardens of the Vendée” book we received last year and that had been specially produce by the Vendée Council for this purpose. Sadly, although there were 8 new households in the village last year, only two had attended and a third sent their apologies as they were at work, despite receiving personal invites from the mayor. I guess it might be a sign of the times, but hopefully it will be a long time before such events are so badly attended as to make them almost superfluous.
The formal part of the evening over, and most people rose, not to rush off, but to stack the chairs and make room for some mingling, more greeting and kissing and to allow the members of the council and their partners to bring around large trays of nibbles – rounds of bread with paté or sausisson and large quantities of the local flat garlic bread, prefou, which quite literally oozes and drips strong liquid garlic butter, down your chin and makes the kissing even more interesting. We now caught up with one English friend and a number of French friends, no longer simply acquaintances as they now expect at least two kisses, one on each cheek!
Balancing drink and nibbles and trying to avoid too much garlic butter on the chin, was interesting to say the least, and still the greetings continued. It was then that a lady came up to say hello, she’s the best friend of the farmer’s daughter-in-law and with her husband looks after the other chateau in the village. She also is often around during the hunt, sometimes bringing the lunchtime food for the men, but was the sole female amongst the group of hunters who I had greeted and had a “bon année” glass with the previous Sunday, when having initially lost some of their dogs, found them and decided (at eleven o’clock in the morning) that another drink was needed to help with the proceedings. Initially, thinking that only a handshake was needed I was juggling drink and nibbles around to free up my right hand, when said lady uttered something that in Yorkshire would have translated as “Bugger that give me a kiss!” With a kiss on both cheeks she wished me “Good Evening” and turning to Linda repeated the greeting, but this time adding a “bon année” and further adding that she didn’t have to wish me a Happy New Year, because she had already done it last week with the lads the whole thing accompanied by plenty of bonhomie!
We stayed a little longer, went onto the pamplemousse (grapefruit) troussepinette, a favourite local aperitif, which comes in a variety of flavours and proved to be much drier than the horrendously sweet sangria we had originally mistaken for red wine. It was so sweet that it was impossible to disguise the shock on the first sip, and many of the French around us concurred with us when we told the member of the council who was serving the drinks how much better the troussepinette was to the drink we had previously mistaken. Mind you it had been a good excuse to have another soggy piece of prefou – if only to take the taste of the sugar away!!
A further very enjoyable evening and yet another example of beginning, very slowly after two years, to become a part of the community and for roots to be growing just a little. Who knows, another twenty years and maybe not only will we be speaking the language like the locals, patois and all, but maybe we’ll no longer be “the newcomers” or “les anglais”, I wouldn’t be presumptuous enough to say one of the locals – that I’m sure takes a lifetime and probably has to start from birth!!
New Year Resolutions ~ with a twist!
A little more of what I call and maybe others too: “free form” or “as it happens” poetry, something of a none rhyming slow rap, and in this case inspired by a recent TV holiday ad!! With not having a television in France, it’s surprising what you end up glued to when you get your hands on a remote!!
New Year Resolutions, for longer than the 5th Jan!
I want to ......
watch a thousand stars in a dark sky
eat fresh food under a French apple tree
wander, at will through the green lanes of France
grill freshly caught fish in the summer sunshine
for friends who have sought us out
hear the hoot of owls at night
and the jubilant chorus at dawn – sometimes!
my times ......
have the noise of a crowded beach
fringed with an azure sea, breaking gently on
warm sand or crashing noisily on the rocks
or the quiet of the deepest countryside
dappled or damp as the season dictates
have time to put my thoughts on paper
have time to find that bird in the book
have time for friends to share
have ...... quality time
to watch the hare startled in the car headlights
and stop to watch it cross the moon-beamed field
I do ......
I don’t want to ......
have the stars washed out by neon lights
rush dinner under a pile of paperwork
sit in interminable lanes of solid traffic
rush round the 24 hour supermarket
with brief encounters over the fish counter
hear the hoot of car horns late at night
and the grind of the rush hour traffic – never!
at no time ......
have the noise of a crowded shopping mall
fringed with all manner of rubbish and waste
blowing idly like a late night film
of a deserted city street
dreary, damp, depressing
just think fleetingly, and ephemerally
barely see the bird that remains unknown
not enough time to go around
watch ...... the clock
hare around adding to the wanton road kill
petrified by the beam sweeping the dark lane
I don’t ......!
“Ici devant nous!”
This time two years ago I was in the middle not only of packing up the house ready for storage and renting out the house, but also undertaking a mega-sort. I was so busy, that there were several times that I thought being back at work, oiling the wheels of education, was a calmer and less tiring option, but as the 25 missives in between will confirm – I was wrong!! It was all worthwhile, even if it didn’t seem it at the time, and our sanity was maintained at the time by many good friends, who realising that our departure was imminent invited us for a farewell dinner. I don’t think I have ever eaten out, or indeed so well, in a period of a month, but if nothing else, it made us stop for a while and recharge the batteries, even if after we had been fed and watered we often returned for the night shift and more boxes to sort and to pack!!
The sorting was very like one of those “clear out the clutter” TV programmes, and was made all the easier as so much can now be recycled or taken to charity shops. For a bit of light relief, late at night when I needed to sit down, but felt I couldn’t be inactive, I sorted through seemingly huge mountains of old magazines: Caravan Club, Wildlife Trust, Country Walking to name a few. Loathed to part with them, but needing to prune down our accumulated life, I flicked through them quickly and tore out interesting articles for future reading or reference, so the mountains slimmed down to a document wallet or three.
Having moved finally into the French house, albeit still only rented, the document wallets found their way in some sort of order into the filing cabinet. Well, with a week or so to go before setting off once more for an adventure in the caravan and the weather and other circumstances not being conducive to outside work, I decided for old time’s sake to have a sort out and see what was there. In many ways it was like finding old friends, but more excitedly many of the wildlife / nature cuttings I rediscovered related to things common in our neck of the Vendée, the very first article relating to a splendid summer resident the Libellule déprimée, or Broad bodied chaser as you may know it as. These are simply quite enormous (body 5 cm and as you may have guessed broad with a wing span of about 8cm) and rather noisy dragonflies, their wings brushing together to make an audible clatter – you hear them coming.
Having spent two or three years as a “gothic-looking, mud coloured, slow moving gargoyle” of a nymph, skulking around hidden in the depths of the local pond, in amongst the water weeds, they emerge as a “fairy-winged dragonfly” the males with a powder blue body and the females a cleaner than the nymphs, almost glossy brown, both edged with a pale yellow. They are supposedly common in the UK, but I can’t particularly recall seeing them in profusion, but here the males at any rate are everywhere during the summer. Perhaps, it’s just that it’s easier to spot the brighter males, but the females certainly seem much scarcer, or at least know their place, back at the kitchen sink – oh dear there goes the keyboard again running away with inexcusable sexist comments, good job I don’t work for Sky News (just to let you know although we’re out in the sticks we do keep up with current affairs!!).
The males are fiercely territorial, flying around their patch and often using the same perches to keep an eye on things, so it is easy to stand and watch for them coming back, often hearing them before you see them! Having mated the females fly far away in search of pastures, well ponds, new and will often be the first insects to colonise newly dug ponds – this might also explain the lack of females around these ‘ere parts. Our ponds are obviously male territory!
Well, this week the woodpeckers have started hammering again, there are celandines coming out in the chateau park and the violets and primroses have been out for some time, so the seasons are doing it again and coming around, despite the rather cold biting wind we have today, and hopefully it won’t be too long until the sun warms and the dragonflies start to clatter!
My original “thought!” or two!
Brief and totally not to the point, at least with the first thought! Linda, before the festive season and at other times last year, became an avid and rather accomplished furniture restorer. First the beds and dressing table that belonged to my Nana, which now elegantly grace the guest room cum study, and matching the other pieces of furniture in the room – all very “Homes and Gardens!” Then, we acquired a “mini dresser” comprising an old floor standing meat safe with a shelf unit on top that in a previous live had consisted of a number of detachable trays used for storing and distributing hymn books in a church and now a lovely looking addition to our increasing number of kitchen items.
This finished and the old school dresser, we purchased some years ago in an antique shop in Nailsworth, near Stroud and that had for years sat in the hallway of The Parrot House, collecting amongst other things piles of Christmas cards for party goers at the annual Parrot House Christmas party and now is used as our crockery cupboard, started to look a little shabby!! This is no longer the case, as it is now cleaned, sanded, varnished with a smart new tongue and grove back and competing admirably with the meat safe and top!!
Then, there were the old chairs we had acquired from Linda’s Mum and Dad’s house in York. Many years in the sunny conservatory, had taken their toll on the fabric which was perishing badly. So we acquired some old wooden framed chairs, that had belonged to my Aunt, which although serviceable, needed refreshing and have subsequently been stripped down and recovered, and now Linda is eying up the first chairs and planning to reupholster them on our return from our forthcoming holiday in the caravan.
All this renovation got me thinking – maybe she’s going to renovate me next!! On second thoughts maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, as if look it up in the thesaurus, it means: to make better, enrich, enhance, touch up .... the list goes on and on!!!!!! So, maybe the next time you see me, it won’t be me but the new improved me, and you might not even recognise me!!
But my final thought for this time, is I hope that I’ve not forgotten any of our friends and not wished them a Happy New Year!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? The next missive will probably come under the title of “A Thought popped into my Head!” with thanks to Alain de Botton and his book “The Art of Travel” which for anyone who shares his, and indeed my love, of motorway services or airport terminals in the dead of night, it’s a must!! It is also, something of a departure from earlier missives, as some of it regresses ......
back to my childhood!!
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 26 attached. Christmas was a time for family and friends, which leads rather neatly into this missive.
Those we saw over the festive season, will know we were coming back to look at a possible house purchase, in the village and that had been on the market for some time. Unfortunately, someone beat us to it and we’re back to square one, and as you will see from this missive, as we are beginning to really put down some tentative shoots, we’ve decided we would like to stay in the village – so we’re back to the waiting game!!! I wasn’t so calm and collected at the time!!!
In the meantime, we’re off in the caravan, heading south and hopefully somewhat warmer climes, towards the end of this week for about three weeks. On our return I’ll officially be an “early” pensioner and we will be looking forward to welcoming our first visitors of the year! Then, apart from the visitors, who knows what our return may bring!!
And finally ......
Happy New Year! ~ perhaps a little belatedly!!
Love
Roger
Mes chers amis
Friends Along the Way ~ Missive 26
“To forget a friend is sad. Not everyone has had a friend. And if I forget him I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures!
From “Little Prince” by French writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery
“In the New Year, may your right hand always be stretched out in friendship, never in want.”
Old Irish Toast
The first of these quotes comes from a writer who has an uncanny knack of seeing things through the eyes of a child, or in this case his Little Prince – it’s almost a case of “out of the mouths of babes and sucklings” except the author was adult when he wrote it! He must have had a very good memory or time to sit and watch, but how very true this statement is today, in the competitive world we live in!
The second one reminds me of a good friend – a lay preacher, who is not adverse to pinching you, in public usually the middle of Stroud High Street, in a very delicate place and greeting you, exceedingly loudly, in a none too delicate or indeed polite way – you know who you are Brian!! Well, some years ago he was due to take Midnight Mass, and knowing what I do about him, I was intrigued sufficiently to forgo some of the Christmas Eve festivities and delay the traditional wrapping of my presents until an even later hour and go and see him in action. Initially, indeed throughout most of the service, he wasn’t the man we knew and “loved?” The delivery was polished, albeit possibly a little staid, but he had the little old ladies eating out of his hand! Only at the final blessing did the glint in the eye appear and the Brian we all know came out, as the blessing started with the line “May all you ewe’s be pregnant!” and carried on for some time in a similar vein. The Irish have a lot to answer for, as well as the gift of the gab, and this was a traditional Irish blessing! And before you ask no, I’m not Irish, but you might not be surprised to hear I have kissed the Blarney Stone!!
Friends along the way
Shortly after we arrived in the Vendée, we noticed that there were a lot more English people around than we were expecting, and that was before the summer invasion! We even found details of a monthly English film show at one of the nearby towns, and the more alert amongst you will remember we got to see “Slum Dog Millionaire” in English but with French sub-titles, where the characters were talking in Hindi!! As we sat in the cinema waiting for the film to start we were surrounded, for the first time in many weeks by English people and unfortunately, many the type of ex-pats that at best don’t make any attempt to integrate and worst expect everything to be very English and everyone, including the locals to be able to speak perfect English, to make their life easier!! One such ...... person, we’ll call them as this blog has a family following, we encountered once on the ferry returning to England, in the early days of our adventure! He was heard to answer, in response to a question from a young couple, with young children who were about to move to France, whether he could speak French. His reply sums up the latter category “I spoke no French when I moved here five years ago, I speak no French now and I bloody well (sorry for the family readers, but a necessary verbatim quote!!) don’t intend to learn!!”
So it was when we had watched the highly enjoyable and at times rather harrowing film, but certainly a true portrayal of India as we remember it, we came out into the fresh French air and simultaneously turned to each other and said “we’re not getting into that scene!”
That’s not to say we haven’t made English friends, there are three or four couples we have met and get on very well with, but they have all moved out here “lock, stock and barrel” selling up completely in England and all trying to integrate slowly into the local culture, whilst still retaining English friends. It could be a very lonely existence otherwise, particularly if, like us your French leaves much to be desired!! You could end up going for long periods not “talking” to anyone other than the odd hello, goodbye or restaurant order! On the latter, those ex-pats determined not to make the effort, become very much the embarrassing and cringe-worthy English person abroad – shout loudly, wave their arms around and expect the natives to not only understand, but jump to it quickly! And on this note that leads neatly into the next section:
Christmas Party
Sorry you weren’t all invited, but having not had a Parrot House Christmas Party for a couple of years we had begun to have withdrawal symptoms!! So as we were going to be in France for Christmas, we decided to invite the few good English friends we have made, but saw it as a good opportunity to invite the local farmer, his wife and son, who have over the time we have been here helped us out on a number of occasions, as the farmer acts as caretaker for the chateau and is first port of call should we have a problem. Just recently, we had occasion to call the farmer as we were having another problem with our, at times rather temperamental, fosse septique, or septic tank, and without putting too fine a point on it, he had quite literally ended up with his arm up to the elbow in “notre merde!!” If anyone needed an invite to the party and thanks for helping us out, he did – at the time I was sure that was over and above the call of duty, but the builder who he called in the next day did the same thing, but did ask for a bowl of water and soap before he started!! I then felt very guilty that the farmer had very matter of factly, simply rinsed off in the nearby water trough, with not a bar of soap in sight!! But, enough of this s__t!!, back to the party!!
Some of the English friends mentioned above have lived here for much longer than us and have a much better grasp of the lingo, and so could be fairly crucial should the French contingent arrive, who between then speak really no English at all, and quite rightly don’t expect to have to!! So we phoned around them first and made sure that they were available, before finalising the evening for the soirée. We then sent the farmer and son Christmas cards to thank them for their help over the year and enclosed a party invite, saying we were having a few friends around for some Christmas drinks and would be delighted if they would like to join us and then popped them into the post-box at the end of their drive and hoped they would come.
During the winter, when there is less to do in the fields, we see less of the farmers, and had not seen them before the day of the party and hoped that as they hadn’t responded to the contrary they would put in at least a brief appearance, join us for a drink and have allowed us to use the festive season to thank them. So, with preparations almost complete and Linda barely out of the shower, I went outside half an hour before the party was due to start to light some candles and make the front look welcoming and came face to face with the farmer, his wife and son getting out of the car in party mood. I managed to hide my panic that they were early, as well as stopping myself from commenting on how unlike the French it is to be punctual, let alone early, for anything!!, and loudly showed them in, in case Linda was still dressing after her shower and went to finish lighting the candles. At this point monsieur the farmer with a glint in his eye presented me with what at first glance seemed to be a litre bottle of whisky. I was just about to tell him it really wasn’t necessary and was certainly too much, when touched my arm – something he does when he wants to make sure he has your full undivided attention – and drew my attention to some writing on the label which said “Pineau” a local aperitif, and this he told me was one he had made himself, as he unscrewed the top for me to smell, and mighty good it smelt, although the tasting had to wait (and proved to be worth the wait) as he had bought it for us for Christmas to share with our son who I had told him some weeks before was visiting us over Christmas.
When I came back from lighting the candles the family had made themselves at home, Monsieur on the settee, his wife; a very large but short and jovial lady on a dining chair next to him and their son on a comfy chair opposite. I saw that Linda had sorted out the drinks, but was somewhat dismayed to see the parents drinking water, although the son did have a glass of red wine, which we knew from previously to be his chosen tipple. Panicking slightly, I thought perhaps I had misunderstood what Monsieur had said and that he was expecting to have some of the pineau with his water, but no water was fine! I hastily put on the mulled wine (vin chaud as it called around here and a common winter drink) to mull and there followed at interesting 40 minutes or so before the next guests arrived! But, partly thanks to our digital photo frame that shows various members of the family we managed to cover a lot of ground with a little help from a dictionary. Then when a picture of Max came up the son, who’s 40, was visibly sad to see the picture, although try as he might he had never been able to really make friends with Max, who he came for the cows drinking water from the trough at the front of the house, always needed to be seen off by Max! There are also some arty shots of some of the farmer’s Charolais cattle and every time one came up the son announced in a loud voice to everyone “Ah les vaches!!”
The others did finally arrive, and I did finally manage to persuade Monsieur and his wife to try the mulled wine of which they both approved and came back for more, Monsieur several times, although on each offer initially refusing, but the twinkle in his eye saying otherwise! So the multiple refills, became each time – well, perhaps just a little more as it is Christmas!! They also tucked in heartily to the various nibbles including some English Mince Pies and Coconut tarts and a very rich chocolate cake bought my one of the other guests for us to sample and mark out of ten!! He has just got into making cakes and other sweet things and there’s now no looking back!!
Finally, nearly four hours later and after lots of flowing conversation and a vast amount of entente cordiale, the majority in French, our French friends left in a very much friendlier manner than they had arrived. Their arrival had been friendly enough, but was rather formal handshakes all around, but departure was plenty of kissing and lots of emphasis on what a great time they had had. The party continued for several hours afterwards, and once everyone had left and we were tidying up we agreed that it had been a very worthwhile evening and was just another event that had made us more determined than ever to, when we finally buy a house, to stay in the area as obviously the last two years haven’t been wasted and our French has obviously started to improve albeit slowly!
Hello my Friend
Or should I say “Bonjour mon ami!” This was the greeting that I was met by the other day when I went to the end of the drive to see what all the commotion was. The hunting season or “chasse” is well and truly underway at the moment and not just on the traditional Sunday and maybe one or two other days a week. Almost daily you can hear the horns blowing, the hounds howling and see small convoys of predominately battered old white van tearing around the place!
That was exactly what was happening today, a convey had just gone down the road, at breakneck speed; all the more worrying as you will read later on, and then hurtled back up the road as I wandered over to do my daily check on the garden and the few bits of produce still doing battle with the local wildlife. With a screech of brakes the first two vehicles came to a stop jumped out and despite the rush gave me a cheery bonjour, just as the next couple of vehicles arrived, one containing the farmer’s son, who jumped out waved to me with the cheery greeting “Bonjour mon ami!” and proceeded to tell me that they had lost the dogs and had I seen them. Being unable to help and with no dogs visible or indeed audible, they jumped back in the cars and sped about fifty yards down the road before the lead car, spotting something far across the field, once more screeched to a stop with the following cars very close behind and out they jumped bellowing and horn blowing at one of the dogs they had espied. This dog ran across the field jumped into the opened back of one of the vans and the whole convoy swiftly hit the road once more! Had there not been a fair amount of rain recently, I would have been left choking in the dust they left behind, but barely had they gone than I heard a distant howl and looking down the green avenue opposite our house, noticed two dogs, who noticed me and came running towards me obviously thinking I was part of the proceedings!
I should mention here, that we are not talking great packs of hounds charging over the fields followed by hooray Henry’s in full hunting livery, but a motley collection of both hounds and hunters, in all different shapes and sizes, again both the dogs and predominately men, all out for a jolly good time, with all the kit and some impressive looking weapons, which in fact they barely discharge, the fun seeming to be in the camaraderie, chase, shouting and horn blowing, with the occasional kill for the pot. It actually never ceases to amaze me, when enquiring about how successful the hunt has been, that normally I’m told that they got away and all they saw was a fleeting glimpse. They make so much noise; I’m surprised they get near enough for a glimpse!!
Well, these two dogs ran down to me, realised I wasn’t either a hunter or a deer, one of them was rather old and probably short sighted!, and ran off again back to where they had started with the odd sounding howl, usually reserved for when they get a scent, but this time seeming to say “Wait for us we’re over here!”
I went back in the house to change into my wellies and see if the dogs and hunters had been reunited. On rounding the corner at the end of the drive, I was confronted by a convoy of five vehicles, thankfully stationary, with all the occupants standing in a circle drinking! The farmer’s son saw me, beckoned me over and having enquired about the dogs and been assured they had been found, done the customary round of hand shaking, Mickael drained his glass, passed it over to me and instructed the pourer to pour me a drink. So, I found myself, at 11 o’clock in the morning with a large glass of something poured from one of several unlabelled old battered plastic squash bottles, but obviously of higher alcoholic content than your average “Fruits of the Forest!” With a “bon année” to the assembled company, about eight men and one woman, I fairly hastily drained the glass as the refreshments were obviously over and the chase was about to resume, wished them a “bon chasse” and quickly sought a safe place to wave them on their way, as the convoy once more took to the road. It was fairly obvious, not only from their general bonhomie and the half empty bottles, but also the increasingly erratic driving, that this hadn’t been the first refreshment stop of the morning.
I was particularly careful when going out later for my afternoon stroll, as by then they had spent a couple of hours in the hunting lodge at the end of the barn and was a bit worried that if the convoy came speeding past they might not by now be able to see me. However, it did bode well for the wildlife, because I’m sure that any kill that afternoon would have been more by luck than judgement, if not one of their friends. Comical as the picture may appear, there are always a number of such tragic accidents in France during the hunting season each year, so I was careful not to become one of this year’s statistics!
La ceremonie des voeux
And, indeed “le verre de l’amitié” along the way! It’s that time of year again, the “AGM of the Parish Council” and like many things parochial in France, in the broadest sense, it’s one of the highlights of the local social calendar. I can almost hear the groans of derision from where I’m sitting, but I jest not, the salle communal was once more packed, and it’s a fair sized room, as a conservative estimate there must have been 150 people (getting on for half the population of the commune / parish), young and old alike, not including M. le Maire and the members of le Conseil Municipal, and even M. Joël Sarlot, Vice-President of the Council General of the Vendée and President of the Departmental Committee of Tourism, puts in an appearance at these parish events!!
The evening starts with the somewhat lengthy hello’s, where everyone shakes hands with everyone else and generally enquires about their health and if they don’t recognise you; who you are, where you live and where you fit in with the general scheme of things. But there is the added confusion, that grows the more we are around and that is “to kiss or not to kiss,” at this stage only the opposite sex, but in time who knows!! Even the kissing isn’t straight forward, as an absolute minimum is one kiss on each cheek, but depending on “rules” that seem to change dependant on different circumstances, it could be three, four or even more!! At the moment, two seems appropriate where required, but that isn’t always too clear, and four or more it seems is just for close family or if you are Parisian, in Paris or to another Parisian. Paris is held in high regard across the whole of France, but as for Parisian’s, they’re the butt of many a joke, certainly more cruel that our own Irish jokes and often followed by a stream of phlegm! In reality, you just have to mention Parisians and you’ll be guaranteed a bout of mass expectoration!!
But back to the meeting, eventually, when the councillors deem it time, they flow gently towards their seats at the front, being sure to greet anyone they missed in the general melee before, and then all in good time the mayor is introduced and takes the stage for his annual report and to welcome newcomers to the village. This year M. le Maire was considerably more relaxed, albeit it rather bleary eyed as his wife had just a day or two before given birth to their third child – a little girl after two boys before. He had also bought a new suit, as last year he wore his wedding suit complete with long jacket, and had obviously lost weight since the occasion! But, with the greater confidence that experience brings, he started by thanking every one for coming, thanking them for their good wishes on the birth of his daughter and even joked about how he and his wife were doing their bit to keep the population of the village up! He followed this up with the suggestion that this might be an example to one or two other younger members of the council!
Much of the rest of his report went above my head, with just snippets making sense, such as talk of the restoration of the church roof and the sale of a further two or possibly three of the newly serviced building plots that the commune has for sale. Then there was much talk, in large figures, which the 4½ hours of Lotto (Bingo) in French and with numbers between 1 and 90, in the same equally packed hall the previous week, did little to prepare me for!! I’m alright on the odd thousand or so, as every time we go away, the farmer’s son wants to know how many kilometres we have done and it’s often “trois mille cinq cent kilometre” by the time we have done all the folks back home. But my pronouncement never fails to receive a long drawn out whistle, from a local lad who for his very occasional week’s holiday ventures to Normandy with the lads!
Then, at the end of his presentation it is time for M. le Maire to welcome the newcomers to the village and present them with, this year the same “Gardens of the Vendée” book we received last year and that had been specially produce by the Vendée Council for this purpose. Sadly, although there were 8 new households in the village last year, only two had attended and a third sent their apologies as they were at work, despite receiving personal invites from the mayor. I guess it might be a sign of the times, but hopefully it will be a long time before such events are so badly attended as to make them almost superfluous.
The formal part of the evening over, and most people rose, not to rush off, but to stack the chairs and make room for some mingling, more greeting and kissing and to allow the members of the council and their partners to bring around large trays of nibbles – rounds of bread with paté or sausisson and large quantities of the local flat garlic bread, prefou, which quite literally oozes and drips strong liquid garlic butter, down your chin and makes the kissing even more interesting. We now caught up with one English friend and a number of French friends, no longer simply acquaintances as they now expect at least two kisses, one on each cheek!
Balancing drink and nibbles and trying to avoid too much garlic butter on the chin, was interesting to say the least, and still the greetings continued. It was then that a lady came up to say hello, she’s the best friend of the farmer’s daughter-in-law and with her husband looks after the other chateau in the village. She also is often around during the hunt, sometimes bringing the lunchtime food for the men, but was the sole female amongst the group of hunters who I had greeted and had a “bon année” glass with the previous Sunday, when having initially lost some of their dogs, found them and decided (at eleven o’clock in the morning) that another drink was needed to help with the proceedings. Initially, thinking that only a handshake was needed I was juggling drink and nibbles around to free up my right hand, when said lady uttered something that in Yorkshire would have translated as “Bugger that give me a kiss!” With a kiss on both cheeks she wished me “Good Evening” and turning to Linda repeated the greeting, but this time adding a “bon année” and further adding that she didn’t have to wish me a Happy New Year, because she had already done it last week with the lads the whole thing accompanied by plenty of bonhomie!
We stayed a little longer, went onto the pamplemousse (grapefruit) troussepinette, a favourite local aperitif, which comes in a variety of flavours and proved to be much drier than the horrendously sweet sangria we had originally mistaken for red wine. It was so sweet that it was impossible to disguise the shock on the first sip, and many of the French around us concurred with us when we told the member of the council who was serving the drinks how much better the troussepinette was to the drink we had previously mistaken. Mind you it had been a good excuse to have another soggy piece of prefou – if only to take the taste of the sugar away!!
A further very enjoyable evening and yet another example of beginning, very slowly after two years, to become a part of the community and for roots to be growing just a little. Who knows, another twenty years and maybe not only will we be speaking the language like the locals, patois and all, but maybe we’ll no longer be “the newcomers” or “les anglais”, I wouldn’t be presumptuous enough to say one of the locals – that I’m sure takes a lifetime and probably has to start from birth!!
New Year Resolutions ~ with a twist!
A little more of what I call and maybe others too: “free form” or “as it happens” poetry, something of a none rhyming slow rap, and in this case inspired by a recent TV holiday ad!! With not having a television in France, it’s surprising what you end up glued to when you get your hands on a remote!!
New Year Resolutions, for longer than the 5th Jan!
I want to ......
watch a thousand stars in a dark sky
eat fresh food under a French apple tree
wander, at will through the green lanes of France
grill freshly caught fish in the summer sunshine
for friends who have sought us out
hear the hoot of owls at night
and the jubilant chorus at dawn – sometimes!
my times ......
have the noise of a crowded beach
fringed with an azure sea, breaking gently on
warm sand or crashing noisily on the rocks
or the quiet of the deepest countryside
dappled or damp as the season dictates
have time to put my thoughts on paper
have time to find that bird in the book
have time for friends to share
have ...... quality time
to watch the hare startled in the car headlights
and stop to watch it cross the moon-beamed field
I do ......
I don’t want to ......
have the stars washed out by neon lights
rush dinner under a pile of paperwork
sit in interminable lanes of solid traffic
rush round the 24 hour supermarket
with brief encounters over the fish counter
hear the hoot of car horns late at night
and the grind of the rush hour traffic – never!
at no time ......
have the noise of a crowded shopping mall
fringed with all manner of rubbish and waste
blowing idly like a late night film
of a deserted city street
dreary, damp, depressing
just think fleetingly, and ephemerally
barely see the bird that remains unknown
not enough time to go around
watch ...... the clock
hare around adding to the wanton road kill
petrified by the beam sweeping the dark lane
I don’t ......!
“Ici devant nous!”
This time two years ago I was in the middle not only of packing up the house ready for storage and renting out the house, but also undertaking a mega-sort. I was so busy, that there were several times that I thought being back at work, oiling the wheels of education, was a calmer and less tiring option, but as the 25 missives in between will confirm – I was wrong!! It was all worthwhile, even if it didn’t seem it at the time, and our sanity was maintained at the time by many good friends, who realising that our departure was imminent invited us for a farewell dinner. I don’t think I have ever eaten out, or indeed so well, in a period of a month, but if nothing else, it made us stop for a while and recharge the batteries, even if after we had been fed and watered we often returned for the night shift and more boxes to sort and to pack!!
The sorting was very like one of those “clear out the clutter” TV programmes, and was made all the easier as so much can now be recycled or taken to charity shops. For a bit of light relief, late at night when I needed to sit down, but felt I couldn’t be inactive, I sorted through seemingly huge mountains of old magazines: Caravan Club, Wildlife Trust, Country Walking to name a few. Loathed to part with them, but needing to prune down our accumulated life, I flicked through them quickly and tore out interesting articles for future reading or reference, so the mountains slimmed down to a document wallet or three.
Having moved finally into the French house, albeit still only rented, the document wallets found their way in some sort of order into the filing cabinet. Well, with a week or so to go before setting off once more for an adventure in the caravan and the weather and other circumstances not being conducive to outside work, I decided for old time’s sake to have a sort out and see what was there. In many ways it was like finding old friends, but more excitedly many of the wildlife / nature cuttings I rediscovered related to things common in our neck of the Vendée, the very first article relating to a splendid summer resident the Libellule déprimée, or Broad bodied chaser as you may know it as. These are simply quite enormous (body 5 cm and as you may have guessed broad with a wing span of about 8cm) and rather noisy dragonflies, their wings brushing together to make an audible clatter – you hear them coming.
Having spent two or three years as a “gothic-looking, mud coloured, slow moving gargoyle” of a nymph, skulking around hidden in the depths of the local pond, in amongst the water weeds, they emerge as a “fairy-winged dragonfly” the males with a powder blue body and the females a cleaner than the nymphs, almost glossy brown, both edged with a pale yellow. They are supposedly common in the UK, but I can’t particularly recall seeing them in profusion, but here the males at any rate are everywhere during the summer. Perhaps, it’s just that it’s easier to spot the brighter males, but the females certainly seem much scarcer, or at least know their place, back at the kitchen sink – oh dear there goes the keyboard again running away with inexcusable sexist comments, good job I don’t work for Sky News (just to let you know although we’re out in the sticks we do keep up with current affairs!!).
The males are fiercely territorial, flying around their patch and often using the same perches to keep an eye on things, so it is easy to stand and watch for them coming back, often hearing them before you see them! Having mated the females fly far away in search of pastures, well ponds, new and will often be the first insects to colonise newly dug ponds – this might also explain the lack of females around these ‘ere parts. Our ponds are obviously male territory!
Well, this week the woodpeckers have started hammering again, there are celandines coming out in the chateau park and the violets and primroses have been out for some time, so the seasons are doing it again and coming around, despite the rather cold biting wind we have today, and hopefully it won’t be too long until the sun warms and the dragonflies start to clatter!
My original “thought!” or two!
Brief and totally not to the point, at least with the first thought! Linda, before the festive season and at other times last year, became an avid and rather accomplished furniture restorer. First the beds and dressing table that belonged to my Nana, which now elegantly grace the guest room cum study, and matching the other pieces of furniture in the room – all very “Homes and Gardens!” Then, we acquired a “mini dresser” comprising an old floor standing meat safe with a shelf unit on top that in a previous live had consisted of a number of detachable trays used for storing and distributing hymn books in a church and now a lovely looking addition to our increasing number of kitchen items.
This finished and the old school dresser, we purchased some years ago in an antique shop in Nailsworth, near Stroud and that had for years sat in the hallway of The Parrot House, collecting amongst other things piles of Christmas cards for party goers at the annual Parrot House Christmas party and now is used as our crockery cupboard, started to look a little shabby!! This is no longer the case, as it is now cleaned, sanded, varnished with a smart new tongue and grove back and competing admirably with the meat safe and top!!
Then, there were the old chairs we had acquired from Linda’s Mum and Dad’s house in York. Many years in the sunny conservatory, had taken their toll on the fabric which was perishing badly. So we acquired some old wooden framed chairs, that had belonged to my Aunt, which although serviceable, needed refreshing and have subsequently been stripped down and recovered, and now Linda is eying up the first chairs and planning to reupholster them on our return from our forthcoming holiday in the caravan.
All this renovation got me thinking – maybe she’s going to renovate me next!! On second thoughts maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, as if look it up in the thesaurus, it means: to make better, enrich, enhance, touch up .... the list goes on and on!!!!!! So, maybe the next time you see me, it won’t be me but the new improved me, and you might not even recognise me!!
But my final thought for this time, is I hope that I’ve not forgotten any of our friends and not wished them a Happy New Year!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? The next missive will probably come under the title of “A Thought popped into my Head!” with thanks to Alain de Botton and his book “The Art of Travel” which for anyone who shares his, and indeed my love, of motorway services or airport terminals in the dead of night, it’s a must!! It is also, something of a departure from earlier missives, as some of it regresses ......
back to my childhood!!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Missive 25 ~ Count our Blessings!
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Count our Blessings! ~ Missive 25
“One of the greatest mistakes of our time is to act your age”
Billy Connelly
“One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
“There are aristocrats and the riff-raff” (I think we fall into the former – see below!)
“Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
Monsieur Le Comte
Sorry, there are four quotes this time and there could be, and indeed may be below, many more, when you read on about a summer of eccentric madness, during which at least for much of the time “acting your age” was out of the question, whilst trying to maintain an aristocratic bearing, often in very difficult circumstances!!
If you haven’t twigged already, this missive isn’t going to be yet more of “How lucky we are,” but will, largely relate to a friendship made during a quite remarkable summer which went by almost too quickly in a whirl of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, with nearly our youngest visitors to date and our landlord back from Spain, although for the first week he was back we saw nothing of him and were beginning to think it was something we had said. We were relieved to find he had been busy cleaning the house and getting it ready for the summer, and what a summer it was to end up as. I recently, part way through the summer you are about to read about, came across the following passage in an article, by Alan Franks, about Ray Davies, songwriter and member of The Kinks: ‘ “I’m sorry” he (Ray Davies) says again. “I’m a lonely adult. I was a lonely child. When I’m busy I have tunnel vision. I give off signals that I don’t want to see people, but all they have to do is knock on the door. That’s what they should be doing. They think I don’t want to talk to them, but they’re wrong.” He’s right.’ It sort of struck a chord, and I’m so glad we “knocked on the door” metaphorically speaking, as to get to said door would require going through two large gates with pointed tops and crossing a water filled moat, not to mention getting past the large black dog, but there were other ways and the dog proved very useful – read on!! I also sense that although this is going to be a mega-missive, there will be lots left out; as I have said before this one man and his dog are worthy of a whole book, let alone the bulk of one chapter!
Something missing and it wasn’t the sunshine!!
The something missing in our lives was quite simply Max, he had before he died got used to having us around, but it also worked the other way, he was always there for us, although towards the end we might have had to whistle a little louder as he had gone completely deaf, but surprisingly it was selective total deafness as he didn’t hear us calling him for a stroll on a hot day, but always heard the French stick slip out of the soft material of the bread bag!!
But, by and large as the weather set fair and the sun shone we forced ourselves to continue our nightly after dinner walks, paddles in the lake and had to lick out the last bit of the yogurt cartoon ourselves, we still felt something was missing!!
In the nick of time Monsieur from the chateau, forthwith simply to be referred to as Monsieur or even M, at least for the time being (!), returned from Spain, for his normal summer in the Vendée, and initially more importantly his dog, Toutoune (note we now know the correct spelling!!) came around to renew the friendship of the previous year. She didn’t obviously seem to notice Max’s absence, or was perhaps just too polite to say anything, but I suppose the previous year they had got on fine, choosing largely to accept each other, but as Max was old and slow and Toutoune younger with much more energy on our nightly walks they rarely met each other, unless it was a there and back walk, as Toutoune liked to lead from the far distance, and Max trailed behind, until he knew we were heading for home and a comfy bed, then led just far enough ahead to make sure we went the quickest way back!!
But there was something rather comforting when sitting outside for our evening meal, silently the big black shaggy and at times quite pongy Toutoune would appear and keep guard whilst we ate, occasionally chasing things that passed on the distance road, which was much better, because she never got to them, had it been our road we might have had to explain that she wasn’t our dog, despite her sitting quite “at home” on the gravel at the front of the house! Patiently waiting for the evening stroll, and like her master adept at languages, knowing “walk” in at least English, French and Spanish, and with the most alluring eyes you have ever seen – almost out of keeping with the rest of the shaggy mutt, to the manor “born” (well adopted!) but certainly with no airs and graces! The moment we had finished and cleared the plates away she would be ready for the off and willing us to go for a walk!
Or, if the people in the gîte were more generous and slipped her the odd morsel – we, as they were, were under strict instructions not to give her titbits, but as you know
Mes chers amis
Count our Blessings! ~ Missive 25
“One of the greatest mistakes of our time is to act your age”
Billy Connelly
“One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
“There are aristocrats and the riff-raff” (I think we fall into the former – see below!)
“Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
Monsieur Le Comte
Sorry, there are four quotes this time and there could be, and indeed may be below, many more, when you read on about a summer of eccentric madness, during which at least for much of the time “acting your age” was out of the question, whilst trying to maintain an aristocratic bearing, often in very difficult circumstances!!
If you haven’t twigged already, this missive isn’t going to be yet more of “How lucky we are,” but will, largely relate to a friendship made during a quite remarkable summer which went by almost too quickly in a whirl of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, with nearly our youngest visitors to date and our landlord back from Spain, although for the first week he was back we saw nothing of him and were beginning to think it was something we had said. We were relieved to find he had been busy cleaning the house and getting it ready for the summer, and what a summer it was to end up as. I recently, part way through the summer you are about to read about, came across the following passage in an article, by Alan Franks, about Ray Davies, songwriter and member of The Kinks: ‘ “I’m sorry” he (Ray Davies) says again. “I’m a lonely adult. I was a lonely child. When I’m busy I have tunnel vision. I give off signals that I don’t want to see people, but all they have to do is knock on the door. That’s what they should be doing. They think I don’t want to talk to them, but they’re wrong.” He’s right.’ It sort of struck a chord, and I’m so glad we “knocked on the door” metaphorically speaking, as to get to said door would require going through two large gates with pointed tops and crossing a water filled moat, not to mention getting past the large black dog, but there were other ways and the dog proved very useful – read on!! I also sense that although this is going to be a mega-missive, there will be lots left out; as I have said before this one man and his dog are worthy of a whole book, let alone the bulk of one chapter!
Something missing and it wasn’t the sunshine!!
The something missing in our lives was quite simply Max, he had before he died got used to having us around, but it also worked the other way, he was always there for us, although towards the end we might have had to whistle a little louder as he had gone completely deaf, but surprisingly it was selective total deafness as he didn’t hear us calling him for a stroll on a hot day, but always heard the French stick slip out of the soft material of the bread bag!!
But, by and large as the weather set fair and the sun shone we forced ourselves to continue our nightly after dinner walks, paddles in the lake and had to lick out the last bit of the yogurt cartoon ourselves, we still felt something was missing!!
In the nick of time Monsieur from the chateau, forthwith simply to be referred to as Monsieur or even M, at least for the time being (!), returned from Spain, for his normal summer in the Vendée, and initially more importantly his dog, Toutoune (note we now know the correct spelling!!) came around to renew the friendship of the previous year. She didn’t obviously seem to notice Max’s absence, or was perhaps just too polite to say anything, but I suppose the previous year they had got on fine, choosing largely to accept each other, but as Max was old and slow and Toutoune younger with much more energy on our nightly walks they rarely met each other, unless it was a there and back walk, as Toutoune liked to lead from the far distance, and Max trailed behind, until he knew we were heading for home and a comfy bed, then led just far enough ahead to make sure we went the quickest way back!!
But there was something rather comforting when sitting outside for our evening meal, silently the big black shaggy and at times quite pongy Toutoune would appear and keep guard whilst we ate, occasionally chasing things that passed on the distance road, which was much better, because she never got to them, had it been our road we might have had to explain that she wasn’t our dog, despite her sitting quite “at home” on the gravel at the front of the house! Patiently waiting for the evening stroll, and like her master adept at languages, knowing “walk” in at least English, French and Spanish, and with the most alluring eyes you have ever seen – almost out of keeping with the rest of the shaggy mutt, to the manor “born” (well adopted!) but certainly with no airs and graces! The moment we had finished and cleared the plates away she would be ready for the off and willing us to go for a walk!
Or, if the people in the gîte were more generous and slipped her the odd morsel – we, as they were, were under strict instructions not to give her titbits, but as you know
when on holiday standards slip and even with us; our missing bread dancer, the fac
t that she lodged with us a few times and those eyes made it difficult if not impossible at times!! – then having finished supper a loud whistle of two and quick as a flash there was the thunder of hooves, well pads actually, on the chateau drive and she was round the corner and raring to go! In case you’re wondering she’s a Griffon Vendéen, and from the picture you’ll see what I mean about the eyes, or “eyeses” as Monsieur refers to them – an English word he just doesn’t seem able to get his head around!! This picture is supposed to feature on M’s Christmas cards this year, but ours hasn’t arrived yet!!
Sometimes, if dinner went on a bit and the evening stroll got late, and as she now seemed to treat us like a second home, particularly after she had stayed a couple of nights when Monsieur had to go into hospital for a small op, and came back with us after the walk, rather than going home as she had done the previous summer. Knowing that Monsieur kept different hours to us, early to bed and early to rise, we were worried that if she didn’t get home she would be locked out so I started to walk her to the front chateau gate, and say “Bon nuit” to her, and reluctantly she would go home, but with never a backwards glance, she seemed to know that the time had come and that was that! Mind you as the summer wore on and I started to walk down the drive to send her home, she sensed it like a recalcitrant child would drag her heels all the way to the gate, before realising the game was up and she’d be under the hedge trotting down the drive and home to bed!!
But, she was only ever going to be temporary therapy, as when she was left with us on a few occasions, when Monsieur left she would always go looking for him, on the first occasion sitting forlornly on the steps of the chateau’s front door, until we whistled and promised a walk and used a couple of dog biscuits as a bribe. Then, when M returned the warmth of her welcome for him and the subsequent staying close to check he didn’t go off again, certainly reciprocated Monsieur’s oft to be heard “She is my partner, my wife, my daughter, my princess, my everything,” or variations on a theme. When my parents were staying my mother complimented Monsieur on his lovely dog and said that perhaps she would have to smuggle her home when she left, to which with that faraway twinkle in his eye, he said “you can have all my jewels, all my money, everything, except my Toutoune!!”
The little house at the end of the drive
Having broken the ice the previous year with a couple of tea parties, well “real English tea, made by a real Englishman” and a piece of cake; you may remember a previous story about how, after the tea he was going to go home happy, sleep soundly and get up in the morning and stand by his bed and sing “God Save the Queen!” Well, although I say it myself I do make a “damn fine cup of tea!” although never before causing a reaction quite like this. But, it did mean if nothing else our shared love of a good cup of tea in the afternoon, was an opening to use and knowing Monsieur better, and his worries about intruding, meant that now instead of asking him if he would like a cup of tea, more often than not, I would say “You’ll have a cup of tea won’t you” or “I’m just making tea I’m sure you’re ready for a cup” and I would see that glint in his eye and know that a cuppa and a chat was just what he could do with and he knew I wouldn’t take no for an answer!!
As the summer progressed, we started to see much more of Monsieur and found many interests in common. He loves nature and his garden (Over tea one day he said “Your garden is so ..... so ..... English, the English have the best gardens in the world – little did he know most of the flowers and plants are cuttings and transplants from the park and verges around!!), surfing the web, eating food and collecting quotes, each of us having a notebook to hand, where we jot down any sayings and quotes that appeal. Indeed, eventually, Monsieur decided that he and I “were like twins,” except, as I pointed out “No you live in the big house and we live in the little house at the end of the drive!” But still he pronounced that “Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
The only problem we really encountered during the summer was how to communicate as Monsieur is not always good at answering his telephone and can be a little forgetful. So when we made an arrangement to call at the chateau for tea, he said “Give me a trumpet call to remind me!” In the absence of a trumpet I decided that Toutoune would make a good messenger service and attached a picture of a trumpet to her collar with a reminder of the tea appointment. As with much that happened during the summer he found this hilarious, put the message in pride of place on a marble statue in the hall, where it stayed all summer and he said he was going to phone his sister and tell her all about it.
Having on numerous occasions spend many an hour putting the world to rights, tea at the chateau above went on for four hours, he announced one day that “The world is made up of Aristocrats and Riff Raff!” Politicians definitely fall into the latter, but I’m pretty certain that we’ve been elevated to the ranks of the aristrocracy!! Thought it must be something to do with us becoming Computer Technician and Official photographer to a Count, but the difference is apparently down to honesty!
Oh no! Children on the horizon, and they speak a funny language!!
In catching up with old friends from when we lived in Huntingdonshire, as it became part of Cambridgeshire, only to revert once more to Huntingdonshire – hope you’re keeping up, but that’s to show it really was a very long time ago!! – we made two new friends – Kirsten and Hannah, youngest daughter and her cousin of the aforementioned friends. Friends who we last saw regularly around the time that Victoria was born – yes that long ago, and too far back to have met Kirsten (12) and Hannah (10), and although we heard quite a lot about them, most of it true I hasten to add, I’m not sure if our little sleepy backwater was quite ready for them.
What we had got wrong about them, was their age and Linda had spent some time worrying what two 14 year old girls would find to do in these here parts, as well as us both worrying about language difficulties, after a phone call to George, Kirsten’s Dad, when after all the intervening years we had forgotten just how difficult he is to understand, particularly when he becomes animated – did I mention they’re from Scotland! So it was a bit of a shock when first two much younger girls got out of the car, and second that the intervening years simply fell away and we found ourselves picking up where we left off and able to understand our visitors – well most of the time and where spoken language was concerned; there were to be times when we didn’t understand the “girls,” as I shall refer to them as from now on, but then people say women are hard to understand!!
We had just a couple of days before had a conversation with Monsieur, who despite arguing to the contrary, is a superb master of six languages and is learning Czechoslovakian, to be able to speak with his brother in law, who appears to speak French, English and Monsieur’s language of choice – Spanish anyway!!, about how difficult it is sometimes to understand people with regional accents. He had found it difficult to understand some of his guests in the gîte despite them speaking English and his amazing command of the language. It had worried him, he said he must be out of practice despite often speaking with English friends when in Spain, until we explained it was a little like the patois that the locals slip into in many parts of France and then he felt better! But, it was noticeable that having mentioned our Scottish visitors and the trouble we might have understanding them, he kept out of the way, was it his deep seated worry about intruding or concern about the language!?!
We ended up having a riotous couple of weeks, the girls mostly managing to entertain themselves, with a bit of help(!) and I was reminded of just how untidy young girls can be; losing everything usually somewhere in the piles of assorted clothes, cosmetics, shoes, towels, sweets, presents, books, games, bedding that adorned the once tidy guest room!! They even managed to change into clean clothes just before they knocked over the drink or split the pasta sauce down their fronts!!
Then, there were the evening walks, the girls at an age where they were glad to join us, rather than whining – “Do we have to!?!” Mind you there was plenty of other whining, particularly when asked to tidy their rooms or finish the food piled onto their plates. It was good to see that they enjoyed their food, but sometimes their eyes seemed bigger than their bellies, until they were told the house rule!! “Clean plates – if you put it on your plate it means that you want it!” There were some exceptions to this rule when they were trying something new, which to their credit they did do sometimes and even occasionally found something they liked!!
But the whining reached a new level, when on one of the evening walks we went along the avenue, only to discover that when the cows had been moved earlier, they had appeared to quite simply poo all the way down the road and we had to try and avoid it as we walked along. So was born the first of several little ditties, modelled on two girls who tiptoed between the piles whilst whining “Err, we can’t walk down there” Well, they do live in town and weren’t too familiar with farm animals or indeed the proliferation of creepy crawlies that seem happy to share our living accommodation with us, even if at times the feeling isn’t mutual!! The ditty, with suitable mincing actions, went along the lines of “A one, a two a one two three. A one, a two a one two three. It’s the walk of the POOOOOOO!” Repeated several times, as loudly as possible!! I know, little things please little minds, it was a bit like being back at school, but it was just as well we live well away from civilisation and, so we thought, out of earshot!!
So I was a little surprised when several days later, having really perfected the Poo Ditty the previous evening, and our visitors had gone off to the seaside for the day, giving us a chance for some peace and quiet – we tried to explain that where we live that’s what we get most of the time, but it did give us a chance to catch up on a few chores in the house and garden, we met Monsieur checking his mail and despite his deafness he had obviously heard our singing, as he asked me if I had heard the singing beyond the woods the previous evening?! Well, I had to come clean and explain that it was our visitors, well the younger ones practicing a song I had taught them, to make the evening walk more enjoyable. I should have know that being an inquisitive sole, and enjoying a wide and at times surprising repertoire of music he was bound to ask, and ask he did in all innocence (his hearing definitely isn’t that good) what the song was about. Well, as best I could I explained (thinking that if I didn’t tell him for real, he might want to come around for a sing song!), that the cows had left their deposits along the road – saying that I believed in French slang it might have been called “merde,” to which he responded yes, but there is another word for it, but fortunately when I clarified the origins of the ditty, saw the funny side and was glad that the youngsters were enjoying their stay!!
But, the two weeks just flew by, and we couldn’t believe how quickly departure loomed, but were once again amazed at how quickly you pick up on friendships, even when for many years contact had been the occasional telephone call and cards at Christmas. It was surprisingly quiet after they left, and even after all the intervening years Mary and George, Kirsten’s Mum and Dad and Hannah’s Auntie and Uncle, were not particularly noisy!!!
Sophistication and naivety!
Monsieur, in some ways leads a privileged life – chateau in France, penthouse flat in Spain and various other properties, but although the Chateau and estate and other property has been inherited, he has had to do his military service (ending up as an aide to Charles de Gaulle) and work for a living, earning money as opportunities arose – in the distant past he was, at a time when he was a big whisky drinker, on a TV advert extolling the virtues of bottled water (the irony certainly wasn’t lost on him). But, having inherited what he has, he feels it is his duty to maintain it and improve it, as he sees fit, using his own money and very aware that when he passes it on to the next generation, when he “finally goes upstairs” it will duly be sold. But, whilst in his possession he remains very firmly principled, that despite not being a millionaire, it must be looked after out of respect for those who left it to him.
The idea of being a millionaire quite appeals to him, see Dreams and Schemes below, and having got on so well during the last summer, several times when conversations turned to the fact that it was unlikely that we would stay where we are for much longer, he would wistfully say “If I was a millionaire you could stay here for nothing for ever!!” and I would, when he was out of earshot say to Linda, what a pity he isn’t, because although we love his “little house at the end of the drive” it’s not ours and therefore we can’t do things to it that we would like – not least, with the current cold weather prompting this, fit a wood burning stove. If we were able to have one, unfortunately the chimney is condemned; there would certainly be no shortage of firewood, in “our” 12 acre back garden!!
But money aside, Monsieur is an extremely well read and informed eccentric, fluently speaking about 6 ½ languages and able to talk very knowledgeably about a very wide and diverse range of subjects, including rather to our chagrin, English history and particularly politics and the monarchy, to the point that he often looses us completely. There was however a thread immerging in his interests: The Shakespeare debate, Francis Bacon, Rose-Croix (accounting for his teetotal and vegetarian Lifestyle), Science of the Sacraments, Astrology and elements of the occult, that direct him in life and the way he lives it. All very sophisticated and at times rather heavy stuff, particularly when discussing “Life after Death” or topically for this time of year “The meaning of Christmas.” But, apart from the odd dark days when lamenting the state of the world; it’s inhumane occupants, rogues of politicians the world over, poverty, cruelly to animals etc. etc., things that he claims to think about everyday and says “It’s terrible, it’s terrible, I will thanks (sic) God when I finally go upstairs!”, he more often than not quickly regains the twinkle in his eye and quickly concurs, that really he is nothing but “A dictator, scoundrel and (always bringing up the rear!) ...... a gentleman!” One who at 70 remains quick witted, keen to learn and with plenty of energy, last year he took up kite surfing!!
However, I guess it’s something to do with the eccentricity, there remains a certain naivety that at first can be quite disconcerting. Three things stand out, the first when having admired our solar lights felt he must get some to put in the border in front of the chateau, so that it “seems like the stars had fallen from the sky and twinkled amongst the roses!” Having dutifully purchased four from the local town, several times he expressed his disappointment that they didn’t work, and blamed the fact that they were made in China and were obviously shoddy – did I mention he is very out spoken! – and would I mind having look at them as he couldn’t figure out the problem. I returned with him and Linda came “on call” for another computer problem, and on removing the top of one of the lights pointed out that the switch marked “On – Off” and set at off just might explain the fact they weren’t working. I went on to test them by putting my hand over the light sensor and the light twinkled into life and from the look on Monsieur’s face you would have thought he had seen the light!!! He did see the funny side of it however, and blamed not having his glasses on. I’m more inclined to blame the time he spends reading learnèd texts and doing astrology readings, making no time to read instruction manuals, which was certainly the case with his car radio!! He had to have a new battery and when he got the car back the radio / CD wouldn’t work, it needed the code putting back in. Panic stations and thoughts that it would have to go back to the garage to be fixed, until Linda asked if he had the manual, which he found and Linda was able to understand sufficient of it, it was in Spanish, to point out to him the short passage that explained what needed to be done! No it would have to go back, in the morning at great inconvenience to the garage; he had hoped to go to the seaside for the day! Linda ended up with the manual, translated the relevant short passage and was quickly able to reset the code on his return from the seaside, after a minor mishap, where against strict instructions he turned the engine off and had to turn it on and wait for half an hour before it would accept the code – just long enough for a calming cup of tea!
Finally, one day whilst having another cup of tea, and Toutoune sticking close to M, partly to have her ears tickled, but also to receive a fairly regular supply of titbits, the end of each biscuit or scone seems the order of the day (he once asked Linda if it was better to give her sugar or candy!?!), he asked us in all innocence – what does it mean when a dog licks you? He almost seemed surprised when we said it was a sign of affection, “Yes, I suppose it must be,” he said!
One day we told him we had had a dream, and although in many ways we never expected it “to come true” it had and we were now living in France, with time to do what we want and not to be constrained by work and deadlines. It happened to be another of the “well it was like that for me moments, making us twins once more. Yes, he said it was like that for him too and his life as he now lived in, part in France, but mostly in Spain.
This led on to another scheme, which in turn came out of one of many conversations, that started very seriously and earnestly, about the state of the world and in particular, on this occasion how many European countries were suffering from serious financial problems and were in some cases in danger of going bankrupt. In all seriousness Monsieur, with one of his worried expressions, asked me what would happen then, if a country simply ran out of money! I said that they would probably just print some more, and his response to this was “wouldn’t that be great, just to be able to print money when you needed some!”
At the time we were standing outside the front of our house, next to Monsieur’s derelict barn, which needs serious attention to avoid the roof falling in (see other schemes below!), and I suggested that perhaps that was an idea use for a counterfeiting operation, under the cover of a semi-derelict barn. He bit on the idea and as always at such times we were on a roll!! His excitement at such times is like an excited school boy, and it’s a case of “Yes let’s!!” “Why not, underneath I’m nothing but a scoundrel!” “You’re in it with me!” However, it transpired that he’s what they might call in Yorkshire “A canny scoundrel” as before I knew it I was to be in the barn, sleeves rolled up running the press and doing not only the hard work, but the illegal bit, whilst he reverted to his “gentleman” status and provided the “folding screen,” just occasionally his English lets him down, he met cover!! “Well, officer there must be some mistake, the barn is nearly falling down and hasn’t been used for many years, can’t think what’s given you the idea that it’s being used for criminal activity!!”
As he claims to be deaf and consequently speaks several decibels louder than most people, hence warning us in the barn of imminent danger and could also, no doubt, keep the conversation going for some time, along the lines of; didn’t you know my father, how is your father, didn’t I go to school with your brother, basically anything like that to buy a little time for incriminating evidence to be disguised and the operation temporarily shut down!! I couldn’t help but feel that what he wouldn’t do was to turn me in and claim no knowledge of what was going on, but rather admit it was a “fair cop,” even if then he were to drop various names into the conversation, as I’m sure he must have a cousin high up in the justice department, as well as family links with most, possibly all of the European Royal Families, or what is left of them!!
Other schemes along the way have been to; bottle and sell his personal spring water and make a million, hadn’t thought of it before but the advertising could include “As passed by the Count!”, to flood a daily current affairs programme on Spanish TV with choice political quotes and statements, which they then broadcast on a running banner along the bottom of the screen, with a view to bringing down the Spanish Government and a Roofing Party to re-roof his dilapidated barn, that he was worried was going to cost too much money to save! As the local farmer, family and friends had recently re-roofed their own barn just across the road and done a very professional looking job on it, I suggested having a party, inviting everyone on the proviso they did the roof first and then he would lay on the drinks. At this suggestion, his eyes lit up and he said: “If they mend my roof I’ll provide enough wine to fill the Seine!” I couldn’t help but think it might have been cheaper to pay a “Macon,” but this section is called “Dreams and Schemes!!”
One dream of a scheme that failed miserably, was to persuade Monsieur that there is more to cooking than omelettes and mashed potatoes, as he leads something of a frugal life in terms of food, mainly because he sees its preparation as a waste of time: “you spend ages preparing food and its gone in an instant!” Now we see eye to eye on many things, although I have told him that although he firmly believes certain things like “The great Shakespeare debate,” I will make up my own mind and when it comes to food I’m firmly with Harriet Van Horne (feted American journalist) who says “Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” And just to make sure, I’ve made the point forcefully enough, a couple of quotes from Julia Child (celebrated chef who introduced French cuisine to the Americans!): “Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need.” and “In France, cooking is a serious art form and a national sport.” So feeling that a Frenchman, albeit one who regards himself more as a Spaniard, should have a better attitude to food, during one of a couple of dinner parties during the summer, when Monsieur informed me that he couldn’t cook anyway, so it was silly to try, I rather unnerved him by saying “You can read, you can use your hands, you can cook!” First there was a slightly puzzled look on his face, until I explained my point, that his personal abilities made it very easy to read a recipe, manipulate the utensils to concoct a sumptuous supper, even if only for one. However, the look of puzzlement was quickly replaced by a look of sheer panic, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried I was about to give him a cookery lesson, or I was expecting him to invite us to the chateau for said sumptuous supper, in the not too distant future. The look of abject horror was sufficient for me to let it drop; otherwise it might have spoilt the evening!!
Monsieur becomes Madame ~ Le coqueluche du village!
At the second dinner party, a curry evening towards the end of Monsieur’s summer stay, hatched as he informed us that he “adored” spicy food, when we told him of our love for Indian cuisine. It then came as something of a surprise as we sat down to start the meal, which included some seriously spicy dishes and he told us that he had never eaten Indian food before! Fortunately, he loved it and his healthy appetite did the spread justice, as he kept coming back for just one more little bit, but only if I would keep him company!! I ended up eating far more than I needed and out of courtesy there was no beer, or indeed alcohol, to wash it down!!
Conversation flowed about the summer and Linda’s help with his computer and my photographic endeavours of his family portraits and more, and he asked just one more photographic favour, if he put the floodlights on the chateau tomorrow evening would I take some photographs, as he had always wanted a floodlit photo. I was only too pleased to agree, as we had never seen the chateau lit up before and would therefore be a great photo opportunity, so it was fixed for 21.00 hrs the following evening, just as darkness was beginning to fall.
Talk then moved on, as always covering many subjects, some revisited such as politicians and rogues being largely one and the same, but then we got on to first impressions and how important they can be and also how when talking to someone on the telephone, you build up a mental picture of how you expect them to look. Sometimes then, the reality can be quite a shock! It was the opening I had been waiting for and grasping the bull by the horns I said “Well, actually when we first met you we had a terrible shock!” This was met by one of Monsieur’s best quizzical fronds and the question Why? I then explained that when we first saw the house and decided that we wanted to rent it, we were told by the immoblier, estate agent that he would have to check that Madame, who lived in Spain, agreed to our tenancy. So, the long and short of it was that when we first met Monsieur, we were very surprised because we had been told he was Madame!!!
He was hugely puzzled, but more importantly highly amused but this and for the rest of the evening slipped into a female persona, ending the evening by saying how much Madame had enjoyed herself, and was looking forward to seeing us the following
evening, when Madame would have a little surprise for us!! So, the following evening, punctually, at nine with camera and tripod, we presented ourselves at the chateau, somewhat surprised not to be met at the gate by Monsieur, who is a stickler for punctuality. The normally locked gate was open and as we approached the front door, loudly greeted by Toutoune, noticed the hall was in darkness but the door slightly ajar, but no sign of Monsieur. I knocked on the door, and a squeaky female voice bade us “Come in” and as we entered we noticed that the sitting room light, to the left through the library, was on and started to head that way thinking that was where the voice had come from. Here, perhaps it is worth reiterating that Monsieur lives in the chateau all alone save the dog!!
Well, a couple of steps across the hall and the same squeaky voice wished us a good evening and welcomed us, a voice altogether closer that the illuminated sitting room! Then, we saw half hidden behind the giant fern in the middle of the hallway, back lit by a small table lamp, an old lady in mop cap and white pinny, who started giggling and revealed themselves to be none other than Monsieur in drag!! From then on, for the rest of the summer, Monsieur was usually Madame, in name if not in dress! But I’ve the pictures to prove it, but that’s perhaps just a shutter click too far!!, and emails where Madame is delighted by the photographs and refers to me as the as the “Cecil Beaton of the Vendée,” praise indeed but I guess lost on anyone under a certain age!!
Once he had returned to Spain, after a short break we received an email from Monsieur about some maintenance work that was due to be carried out, and subsequently several emails have gone back and forth, and those from him are now signed “Madame, le coqueluche du village!” Coqueluche? Take your pick, as the dictionary lists the following translations: the rage, darling, favourite, reigning fancy or whooping cough!!! Somehow don’t think it’s the last one, but have settled myself on “darling!” But, I haven’t managed to bring myself to start my emails to him with “Darling!”, I’m sure in times past addressing a Count like that could have led to a “rendez-vous avec Madame Guillotine!!”
Adiós mis amigos
As I said before it had a been a summer of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, but was rapidly heading towards the end, which in many ways fortunately, more or less coincided, with our first proper trip back to the UK since our “Pet Shop Boys” and “Babysitting Experiences” back in February. It would mean that we had our trip to look forward to, at a time when we might have once again felt lonely, the population of our road plunging once more down to two, from the dizzy heights of as many as 11 if the gîte was full and of course no dogs. We don’t really have anything to do with the gîte holiday makers, but we can sometimes, when sitting out in the sunshine, hear them splashing around in the swimming pool, or screaming as it can be quite cold as it is fed directly from the spring!! I know this as Monsieur invited us to use the pool before his first visitors arrived, which coincided with Hannah and Kirsten’s visit, even they found it cold, particularly on the first day, when the farmer had just finished filling it and getting it ready and kept incredulously telling us it would be freezing as it was filled from the source and hadn’t had time for the sun to warm it up – his laughter when the hardiest, or should that be most foolish of us, finally got in, together with the look of utter amazement, would I’m sure be understandable in any language as “I told you so!!”
But back to our soon to depart new found amigos, and the irony wasn’t lost on me that one of our aims of our move was to improve our French, and I had spent quite a bit of the last few weeks conversing in emails and snatches of conversation with a French aristocrat and his dog IN SPANISH!! On the last afternoon we had invited Monsieur to a cream tea, combining his passion for food with that of “real English tea made by a real Englishman,” who had earlier in the summer had to explain, sailing quite close to the wind as I wasn’t totally sure about my answers, as to why it was preferable to serve your tea MIF – Milk in First!! That said, whatever the scientific, or otherwise, explanation – I do think it makes the cuppa taste better!
He had told us a couple of evenings previously, realising that “the end was nigh” and he was going back to Spain just after we left to go back for a visit to the UK, he and his dog would be gone when we returned, that we were the first tenants that he had had a relationship with! He lingered over the tea and scones, dragged his feet a little like Toutoune as he made his way down the drive, with us seeing him to the road as he always sees us to the gate, and still the conversation flowed, none of us wanting to finally say good bye, although the previous evening Monsieur had said that all good things come to an end and if we never saw one another again we would have many happy memories of the summer of 2010. Finally, in true gentlemanly fashion he clasped Linda’s hand in his two hands and came as close to kissing her hand as he had all summer, her hand had been getting closer at each parting!! Then, turning to me he firmly shook my hand, looked me firmly in the face and said “Thank you for everything, for the conversation, the photographs, the food ..... it has been ..... fantastic!” to which I replied “Yes, it has been great!” his response, before heading off down the drive throwing back the odd Goodbye, ¡hasta la vista!, ¡adiós! and more in Spanish, Italian, Czech and who knows what!!, was “No, not great, FANTASTIC!”
As we walked back to the house, we had to agree, but also knew that on our return from England, our little house at the end of the drive, would seem very lonely again for a while, particularly as the summer visitor season would also be over!!
But, there was one other final farewell, a final walk with Toutoune (Monsieur often calls her Manoose, he says it doesn’t mean anything it’s just sweeter!) and perhaps sensing the moment Linda said “You’re not going to get all sentimental are you?!” After all these years she can read me like a book, I’d already slipped a couple of dog chews into my pocket, as we set
off around the “block!” As we walked it turned into the most staggering sunset I have ever seen, it wrapped around all 360˚ of the sky and the colours intensified into the most remarkable finale, to a most astonishing summer, and yes the final pat, the dog chew and the “Adios mon amigo, au revoir et à beintôt,” was not without a little emotion, as she waddled down the drive of the chateau, as always without a backwards glance!
“Ici devant nous!”
I’m going to go off the theme of the natural world this time and turn instead to the supernatural world, and like many good stories there’s something of a cliff hanger in this one. On that first meeting, when Madam became Monsieur!, we talked to him about how he lived most of the year in Spain, only visiting the chateau in the summer to be able to welcome his guests to the gîte. We asked if the house was therefore empty during the rest of the year, to which he replied it was and if we saw or heard anything, it would be his long gone ancestors. Funnily enough on several occasions we have heard voices or music, when nobody has been anywhere around, remember our nearest neighbours are over a quarter of a mile or heading towards 500 meters, and when we told Monsieur this rather light heartedly, he was at first quietly surprised, until he first occasion when having a cup of tea at the front of our house he also heard the voices ...... , and on another occasion the music ......!
My original “thought!”
“This has probably gone on long enough!”
But hopefully, you’ve had at least a small flavour of our wonderful “summer relationship!” we just seemed to hit it off and I’m sure there will be more along the way.
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? Maybe a report of all the festive fun, who said they don’t celebrate Christmas in France, and also we’ll have been back in the UK for a couple of weeks collecting even more stories! But, also watch out for “Frog vs Rosbeef!”
t that she lodged with us a few times and those eyes made it difficult if not impossible at times!! – then having finished supper a loud whistle of two and quick as a flash there was the thunder of hooves, well pads actually, on the chateau drive and she was round the corner and raring to go! In case you’re wondering she’s a Griffon Vendéen, and from the picture you’ll see what I mean about the eyes, or “eyeses” as Monsieur refers to them – an English word he just doesn’t seem able to get his head around!! This picture is supposed to feature on M’s Christmas cards this year, but ours hasn’t arrived yet!!Sometimes, if dinner went on a bit and the evening stroll got late, and as she now seemed to treat us like a second home, particularly after she had stayed a couple of nights when Monsieur had to go into hospital for a small op, and came back with us after the walk, rather than going home as she had done the previous summer. Knowing that Monsieur kept different hours to us, early to bed and early to rise, we were worried that if she didn’t get home she would be locked out so I started to walk her to the front chateau gate, and say “Bon nuit” to her, and reluctantly she would go home, but with never a backwards glance, she seemed to know that the time had come and that was that! Mind you as the summer wore on and I started to walk down the drive to send her home, she sensed it like a recalcitrant child would drag her heels all the way to the gate, before realising the game was up and she’d be under the hedge trotting down the drive and home to bed!!
But, she was only ever going to be temporary therapy, as when she was left with us on a few occasions, when Monsieur left she would always go looking for him, on the first occasion sitting forlornly on the steps of the chateau’s front door, until we whistled and promised a walk and used a couple of dog biscuits as a bribe. Then, when M returned the warmth of her welcome for him and the subsequent staying close to check he didn’t go off again, certainly reciprocated Monsieur’s oft to be heard “She is my partner, my wife, my daughter, my princess, my everything,” or variations on a theme. When my parents were staying my mother complimented Monsieur on his lovely dog and said that perhaps she would have to smuggle her home when she left, to which with that faraway twinkle in his eye, he said “you can have all my jewels, all my money, everything, except my Toutoune!!”
The little house at the end of the drive
Having broken the ice the previous year with a couple of tea parties, well “real English tea, made by a real Englishman” and a piece of cake; you may remember a previous story about how, after the tea he was going to go home happy, sleep soundly and get up in the morning and stand by his bed and sing “God Save the Queen!” Well, although I say it myself I do make a “damn fine cup of tea!” although never before causing a reaction quite like this. But, it did mean if nothing else our shared love of a good cup of tea in the afternoon, was an opening to use and knowing Monsieur better, and his worries about intruding, meant that now instead of asking him if he would like a cup of tea, more often than not, I would say “You’ll have a cup of tea won’t you” or “I’m just making tea I’m sure you’re ready for a cup” and I would see that glint in his eye and know that a cuppa and a chat was just what he could do with and he knew I wouldn’t take no for an answer!!
As the summer progressed, we started to see much more of Monsieur and found many interests in common. He loves nature and his garden (Over tea one day he said “Your garden is so ..... so ..... English, the English have the best gardens in the world – little did he know most of the flowers and plants are cuttings and transplants from the park and verges around!!), surfing the web, eating food and collecting quotes, each of us having a notebook to hand, where we jot down any sayings and quotes that appeal. Indeed, eventually, Monsieur decided that he and I “were like twins,” except, as I pointed out “No you live in the big house and we live in the little house at the end of the drive!” But still he pronounced that “Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
The only problem we really encountered during the summer was how to communicate as Monsieur is not always good at answering his telephone and can be a little forgetful. So when we made an arrangement to call at the chateau for tea, he said “Give me a trumpet call to remind me!” In the absence of a trumpet I decided that Toutoune would make a good messenger service and attached a picture of a trumpet to her collar with a reminder of the tea appointment. As with much that happened during the summer he found this hilarious, put the message in pride of place on a marble statue in the hall, where it stayed all summer and he said he was going to phone his sister and tell her all about it.
Having on numerous occasions spend many an hour putting the world to rights, tea at the chateau above went on for four hours, he announced one day that “The world is made up of Aristocrats and Riff Raff!” Politicians definitely fall into the latter, but I’m pretty certain that we’ve been elevated to the ranks of the aristrocracy!! Thought it must be something to do with us becoming Computer Technician and Official photographer to a Count, but the difference is apparently down to honesty!
Oh no! Children on the horizon, and they speak a funny language!!
In catching up with old friends from when we lived in Huntingdonshire, as it became part of Cambridgeshire, only to revert once more to Huntingdonshire – hope you’re keeping up, but that’s to show it really was a very long time ago!! – we made two new friends – Kirsten and Hannah, youngest daughter and her cousin of the aforementioned friends. Friends who we last saw regularly around the time that Victoria was born – yes that long ago, and too far back to have met Kirsten (12) and Hannah (10), and although we heard quite a lot about them, most of it true I hasten to add, I’m not sure if our little sleepy backwater was quite ready for them.
What we had got wrong about them, was their age and Linda had spent some time worrying what two 14 year old girls would find to do in these here parts, as well as us both worrying about language difficulties, after a phone call to George, Kirsten’s Dad, when after all the intervening years we had forgotten just how difficult he is to understand, particularly when he becomes animated – did I mention they’re from Scotland! So it was a bit of a shock when first two much younger girls got out of the car, and second that the intervening years simply fell away and we found ourselves picking up where we left off and able to understand our visitors – well most of the time and where spoken language was concerned; there were to be times when we didn’t understand the “girls,” as I shall refer to them as from now on, but then people say women are hard to understand!!
We had just a couple of days before had a conversation with Monsieur, who despite arguing to the contrary, is a superb master of six languages and is learning Czechoslovakian, to be able to speak with his brother in law, who appears to speak French, English and Monsieur’s language of choice – Spanish anyway!!, about how difficult it is sometimes to understand people with regional accents. He had found it difficult to understand some of his guests in the gîte despite them speaking English and his amazing command of the language. It had worried him, he said he must be out of practice despite often speaking with English friends when in Spain, until we explained it was a little like the patois that the locals slip into in many parts of France and then he felt better! But, it was noticeable that having mentioned our Scottish visitors and the trouble we might have understanding them, he kept out of the way, was it his deep seated worry about intruding or concern about the language!?!
We ended up having a riotous couple of weeks, the girls mostly managing to entertain themselves, with a bit of help(!) and I was reminded of just how untidy young girls can be; losing everything usually somewhere in the piles of assorted clothes, cosmetics, shoes, towels, sweets, presents, books, games, bedding that adorned the once tidy guest room!! They even managed to change into clean clothes just before they knocked over the drink or split the pasta sauce down their fronts!!
Then, there were the evening walks, the girls at an age where they were glad to join us, rather than whining – “Do we have to!?!” Mind you there was plenty of other whining, particularly when asked to tidy their rooms or finish the food piled onto their plates. It was good to see that they enjoyed their food, but sometimes their eyes seemed bigger than their bellies, until they were told the house rule!! “Clean plates – if you put it on your plate it means that you want it!” There were some exceptions to this rule when they were trying something new, which to their credit they did do sometimes and even occasionally found something they liked!!
But the whining reached a new level, when on one of the evening walks we went along the avenue, only to discover that when the cows had been moved earlier, they had appeared to quite simply poo all the way down the road and we had to try and avoid it as we walked along. So was born the first of several little ditties, modelled on two girls who tiptoed between the piles whilst whining “Err, we can’t walk down there” Well, they do live in town and weren’t too familiar with farm animals or indeed the proliferation of creepy crawlies that seem happy to share our living accommodation with us, even if at times the feeling isn’t mutual!! The ditty, with suitable mincing actions, went along the lines of “A one, a two a one two three. A one, a two a one two three. It’s the walk of the POOOOOOO!” Repeated several times, as loudly as possible!! I know, little things please little minds, it was a bit like being back at school, but it was just as well we live well away from civilisation and, so we thought, out of earshot!!
So I was a little surprised when several days later, having really perfected the Poo Ditty the previous evening, and our visitors had gone off to the seaside for the day, giving us a chance for some peace and quiet – we tried to explain that where we live that’s what we get most of the time, but it did give us a chance to catch up on a few chores in the house and garden, we met Monsieur checking his mail and despite his deafness he had obviously heard our singing, as he asked me if I had heard the singing beyond the woods the previous evening?! Well, I had to come clean and explain that it was our visitors, well the younger ones practicing a song I had taught them, to make the evening walk more enjoyable. I should have know that being an inquisitive sole, and enjoying a wide and at times surprising repertoire of music he was bound to ask, and ask he did in all innocence (his hearing definitely isn’t that good) what the song was about. Well, as best I could I explained (thinking that if I didn’t tell him for real, he might want to come around for a sing song!), that the cows had left their deposits along the road – saying that I believed in French slang it might have been called “merde,” to which he responded yes, but there is another word for it, but fortunately when I clarified the origins of the ditty, saw the funny side and was glad that the youngsters were enjoying their stay!!
But, the two weeks just flew by, and we couldn’t believe how quickly departure loomed, but were once again amazed at how quickly you pick up on friendships, even when for many years contact had been the occasional telephone call and cards at Christmas. It was surprisingly quiet after they left, and even after all the intervening years Mary and George, Kirsten’s Mum and Dad and Hannah’s Auntie and Uncle, were not particularly noisy!!!
Sophistication and naivety!
Monsieur, in some ways leads a privileged life – chateau in France, penthouse flat in Spain and various other properties, but although the Chateau and estate and other property has been inherited, he has had to do his military service (ending up as an aide to Charles de Gaulle) and work for a living, earning money as opportunities arose – in the distant past he was, at a time when he was a big whisky drinker, on a TV advert extolling the virtues of bottled water (the irony certainly wasn’t lost on him). But, having inherited what he has, he feels it is his duty to maintain it and improve it, as he sees fit, using his own money and very aware that when he passes it on to the next generation, when he “finally goes upstairs” it will duly be sold. But, whilst in his possession he remains very firmly principled, that despite not being a millionaire, it must be looked after out of respect for those who left it to him.
The idea of being a millionaire quite appeals to him, see Dreams and Schemes below, and having got on so well during the last summer, several times when conversations turned to the fact that it was unlikely that we would stay where we are for much longer, he would wistfully say “If I was a millionaire you could stay here for nothing for ever!!” and I would, when he was out of earshot say to Linda, what a pity he isn’t, because although we love his “little house at the end of the drive” it’s not ours and therefore we can’t do things to it that we would like – not least, with the current cold weather prompting this, fit a wood burning stove. If we were able to have one, unfortunately the chimney is condemned; there would certainly be no shortage of firewood, in “our” 12 acre back garden!!
But money aside, Monsieur is an extremely well read and informed eccentric, fluently speaking about 6 ½ languages and able to talk very knowledgeably about a very wide and diverse range of subjects, including rather to our chagrin, English history and particularly politics and the monarchy, to the point that he often looses us completely. There was however a thread immerging in his interests: The Shakespeare debate, Francis Bacon, Rose-Croix (accounting for his teetotal and vegetarian Lifestyle), Science of the Sacraments, Astrology and elements of the occult, that direct him in life and the way he lives it. All very sophisticated and at times rather heavy stuff, particularly when discussing “Life after Death” or topically for this time of year “The meaning of Christmas.” But, apart from the odd dark days when lamenting the state of the world; it’s inhumane occupants, rogues of politicians the world over, poverty, cruelly to animals etc. etc., things that he claims to think about everyday and says “It’s terrible, it’s terrible, I will thanks (sic) God when I finally go upstairs!”, he more often than not quickly regains the twinkle in his eye and quickly concurs, that really he is nothing but “A dictator, scoundrel and (always bringing up the rear!) ...... a gentleman!” One who at 70 remains quick witted, keen to learn and with plenty of energy, last year he took up kite surfing!!
However, I guess it’s something to do with the eccentricity, there remains a certain naivety that at first can be quite disconcerting. Three things stand out, the first when having admired our solar lights felt he must get some to put in the border in front of the chateau, so that it “seems like the stars had fallen from the sky and twinkled amongst the roses!” Having dutifully purchased four from the local town, several times he expressed his disappointment that they didn’t work, and blamed the fact that they were made in China and were obviously shoddy – did I mention he is very out spoken! – and would I mind having look at them as he couldn’t figure out the problem. I returned with him and Linda came “on call” for another computer problem, and on removing the top of one of the lights pointed out that the switch marked “On – Off” and set at off just might explain the fact they weren’t working. I went on to test them by putting my hand over the light sensor and the light twinkled into life and from the look on Monsieur’s face you would have thought he had seen the light!!! He did see the funny side of it however, and blamed not having his glasses on. I’m more inclined to blame the time he spends reading learnèd texts and doing astrology readings, making no time to read instruction manuals, which was certainly the case with his car radio!! He had to have a new battery and when he got the car back the radio / CD wouldn’t work, it needed the code putting back in. Panic stations and thoughts that it would have to go back to the garage to be fixed, until Linda asked if he had the manual, which he found and Linda was able to understand sufficient of it, it was in Spanish, to point out to him the short passage that explained what needed to be done! No it would have to go back, in the morning at great inconvenience to the garage; he had hoped to go to the seaside for the day! Linda ended up with the manual, translated the relevant short passage and was quickly able to reset the code on his return from the seaside, after a minor mishap, where against strict instructions he turned the engine off and had to turn it on and wait for half an hour before it would accept the code – just long enough for a calming cup of tea!
Finally, one day whilst having another cup of tea, and Toutoune sticking close to M, partly to have her ears tickled, but also to receive a fairly regular supply of titbits, the end of each biscuit or scone seems the order of the day (he once asked Linda if it was better to give her sugar or candy!?!), he asked us in all innocence – what does it mean when a dog licks you? He almost seemed surprised when we said it was a sign of affection, “Yes, I suppose it must be,” he said!
One day we told him we had had a dream, and although in many ways we never expected it “to come true” it had and we were now living in France, with time to do what we want and not to be constrained by work and deadlines. It happened to be another of the “well it was like that for me moments, making us twins once more. Yes, he said it was like that for him too and his life as he now lived in, part in France, but mostly in Spain.
This led on to another scheme, which in turn came out of one of many conversations, that started very seriously and earnestly, about the state of the world and in particular, on this occasion how many European countries were suffering from serious financial problems and were in some cases in danger of going bankrupt. In all seriousness Monsieur, with one of his worried expressions, asked me what would happen then, if a country simply ran out of money! I said that they would probably just print some more, and his response to this was “wouldn’t that be great, just to be able to print money when you needed some!”
At the time we were standing outside the front of our house, next to Monsieur’s derelict barn, which needs serious attention to avoid the roof falling in (see other schemes below!), and I suggested that perhaps that was an idea use for a counterfeiting operation, under the cover of a semi-derelict barn. He bit on the idea and as always at such times we were on a roll!! His excitement at such times is like an excited school boy, and it’s a case of “Yes let’s!!” “Why not, underneath I’m nothing but a scoundrel!” “You’re in it with me!” However, it transpired that he’s what they might call in Yorkshire “A canny scoundrel” as before I knew it I was to be in the barn, sleeves rolled up running the press and doing not only the hard work, but the illegal bit, whilst he reverted to his “gentleman” status and provided the “folding screen,” just occasionally his English lets him down, he met cover!! “Well, officer there must be some mistake, the barn is nearly falling down and hasn’t been used for many years, can’t think what’s given you the idea that it’s being used for criminal activity!!”
As he claims to be deaf and consequently speaks several decibels louder than most people, hence warning us in the barn of imminent danger and could also, no doubt, keep the conversation going for some time, along the lines of; didn’t you know my father, how is your father, didn’t I go to school with your brother, basically anything like that to buy a little time for incriminating evidence to be disguised and the operation temporarily shut down!! I couldn’t help but feel that what he wouldn’t do was to turn me in and claim no knowledge of what was going on, but rather admit it was a “fair cop,” even if then he were to drop various names into the conversation, as I’m sure he must have a cousin high up in the justice department, as well as family links with most, possibly all of the European Royal Families, or what is left of them!!
Other schemes along the way have been to; bottle and sell his personal spring water and make a million, hadn’t thought of it before but the advertising could include “As passed by the Count!”, to flood a daily current affairs programme on Spanish TV with choice political quotes and statements, which they then broadcast on a running banner along the bottom of the screen, with a view to bringing down the Spanish Government and a Roofing Party to re-roof his dilapidated barn, that he was worried was going to cost too much money to save! As the local farmer, family and friends had recently re-roofed their own barn just across the road and done a very professional looking job on it, I suggested having a party, inviting everyone on the proviso they did the roof first and then he would lay on the drinks. At this suggestion, his eyes lit up and he said: “If they mend my roof I’ll provide enough wine to fill the Seine!” I couldn’t help but think it might have been cheaper to pay a “Macon,” but this section is called “Dreams and Schemes!!”
One dream of a scheme that failed miserably, was to persuade Monsieur that there is more to cooking than omelettes and mashed potatoes, as he leads something of a frugal life in terms of food, mainly because he sees its preparation as a waste of time: “you spend ages preparing food and its gone in an instant!” Now we see eye to eye on many things, although I have told him that although he firmly believes certain things like “The great Shakespeare debate,” I will make up my own mind and when it comes to food I’m firmly with Harriet Van Horne (feted American journalist) who says “Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” And just to make sure, I’ve made the point forcefully enough, a couple of quotes from Julia Child (celebrated chef who introduced French cuisine to the Americans!): “Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need.” and “In France, cooking is a serious art form and a national sport.” So feeling that a Frenchman, albeit one who regards himself more as a Spaniard, should have a better attitude to food, during one of a couple of dinner parties during the summer, when Monsieur informed me that he couldn’t cook anyway, so it was silly to try, I rather unnerved him by saying “You can read, you can use your hands, you can cook!” First there was a slightly puzzled look on his face, until I explained my point, that his personal abilities made it very easy to read a recipe, manipulate the utensils to concoct a sumptuous supper, even if only for one. However, the look of puzzlement was quickly replaced by a look of sheer panic, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried I was about to give him a cookery lesson, or I was expecting him to invite us to the chateau for said sumptuous supper, in the not too distant future. The look of abject horror was sufficient for me to let it drop; otherwise it might have spoilt the evening!!
Monsieur becomes Madame ~ Le coqueluche du village!
At the second dinner party, a curry evening towards the end of Monsieur’s summer stay, hatched as he informed us that he “adored” spicy food, when we told him of our love for Indian cuisine. It then came as something of a surprise as we sat down to start the meal, which included some seriously spicy dishes and he told us that he had never eaten Indian food before! Fortunately, he loved it and his healthy appetite did the spread justice, as he kept coming back for just one more little bit, but only if I would keep him company!! I ended up eating far more than I needed and out of courtesy there was no beer, or indeed alcohol, to wash it down!!
Conversation flowed about the summer and Linda’s help with his computer and my photographic endeavours of his family portraits and more, and he asked just one more photographic favour, if he put the floodlights on the chateau tomorrow evening would I take some photographs, as he had always wanted a floodlit photo. I was only too pleased to agree, as we had never seen the chateau lit up before and would therefore be a great photo opportunity, so it was fixed for 21.00 hrs the following evening, just as darkness was beginning to fall.
Talk then moved on, as always covering many subjects, some revisited such as politicians and rogues being largely one and the same, but then we got on to first impressions and how important they can be and also how when talking to someone on the telephone, you build up a mental picture of how you expect them to look. Sometimes then, the reality can be quite a shock! It was the opening I had been waiting for and grasping the bull by the horns I said “Well, actually when we first met you we had a terrible shock!” This was met by one of Monsieur’s best quizzical fronds and the question Why? I then explained that when we first saw the house and decided that we wanted to rent it, we were told by the immoblier, estate agent that he would have to check that Madame, who lived in Spain, agreed to our tenancy. So, the long and short of it was that when we first met Monsieur, we were very surprised because we had been told he was Madame!!!
He was hugely puzzled, but more importantly highly amused but this and for the rest of the evening slipped into a female persona, ending the evening by saying how much Madame had enjoyed herself, and was looking forward to seeing us the following
evening, when Madame would have a little surprise for us!! So, the following evening, punctually, at nine with camera and tripod, we presented ourselves at the chateau, somewhat surprised not to be met at the gate by Monsieur, who is a stickler for punctuality. The normally locked gate was open and as we approached the front door, loudly greeted by Toutoune, noticed the hall was in darkness but the door slightly ajar, but no sign of Monsieur. I knocked on the door, and a squeaky female voice bade us “Come in” and as we entered we noticed that the sitting room light, to the left through the library, was on and started to head that way thinking that was where the voice had come from. Here, perhaps it is worth reiterating that Monsieur lives in the chateau all alone save the dog!!
Well, a couple of steps across the hall and the same squeaky voice wished us a good evening and welcomed us, a voice altogether closer that the illuminated sitting room! Then, we saw half hidden behind the giant fern in the middle of the hallway, back lit by a small table lamp, an old lady in mop cap and white pinny, who started giggling and revealed themselves to be none other than Monsieur in drag!! From then on, for the rest of the summer, Monsieur was usually Madame, in name if not in dress! But I’ve the pictures to prove it, but that’s perhaps just a shutter click too far!!, and emails where Madame is delighted by the photographs and refers to me as the as the “Cecil Beaton of the Vendée,” praise indeed but I guess lost on anyone under a certain age!!
Once he had returned to Spain, after a short break we received an email from Monsieur about some maintenance work that was due to be carried out, and subsequently several emails have gone back and forth, and those from him are now signed “Madame, le coqueluche du village!” Coqueluche? Take your pick, as the dictionary lists the following translations: the rage, darling, favourite, reigning fancy or whooping cough!!! Somehow don’t think it’s the last one, but have settled myself on “darling!” But, I haven’t managed to bring myself to start my emails to him with “Darling!”, I’m sure in times past addressing a Count like that could have led to a “rendez-vous avec Madame Guillotine!!”
Adiós mis amigos
As I said before it had a been a summer of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, but was rapidly heading towards the end, which in many ways fortunately, more or less coincided, with our first proper trip back to the UK since our “Pet Shop Boys” and “Babysitting Experiences” back in February. It would mean that we had our trip to look forward to, at a time when we might have once again felt lonely, the population of our road plunging once more down to two, from the dizzy heights of as many as 11 if the gîte was full and of course no dogs. We don’t really have anything to do with the gîte holiday makers, but we can sometimes, when sitting out in the sunshine, hear them splashing around in the swimming pool, or screaming as it can be quite cold as it is fed directly from the spring!! I know this as Monsieur invited us to use the pool before his first visitors arrived, which coincided with Hannah and Kirsten’s visit, even they found it cold, particularly on the first day, when the farmer had just finished filling it and getting it ready and kept incredulously telling us it would be freezing as it was filled from the source and hadn’t had time for the sun to warm it up – his laughter when the hardiest, or should that be most foolish of us, finally got in, together with the look of utter amazement, would I’m sure be understandable in any language as “I told you so!!”
But back to our soon to depart new found amigos, and the irony wasn’t lost on me that one of our aims of our move was to improve our French, and I had spent quite a bit of the last few weeks conversing in emails and snatches of conversation with a French aristocrat and his dog IN SPANISH!! On the last afternoon we had invited Monsieur to a cream tea, combining his passion for food with that of “real English tea made by a real Englishman,” who had earlier in the summer had to explain, sailing quite close to the wind as I wasn’t totally sure about my answers, as to why it was preferable to serve your tea MIF – Milk in First!! That said, whatever the scientific, or otherwise, explanation – I do think it makes the cuppa taste better!
He had told us a couple of evenings previously, realising that “the end was nigh” and he was going back to Spain just after we left to go back for a visit to the UK, he and his dog would be gone when we returned, that we were the first tenants that he had had a relationship with! He lingered over the tea and scones, dragged his feet a little like Toutoune as he made his way down the drive, with us seeing him to the road as he always sees us to the gate, and still the conversation flowed, none of us wanting to finally say good bye, although the previous evening Monsieur had said that all good things come to an end and if we never saw one another again we would have many happy memories of the summer of 2010. Finally, in true gentlemanly fashion he clasped Linda’s hand in his two hands and came as close to kissing her hand as he had all summer, her hand had been getting closer at each parting!! Then, turning to me he firmly shook my hand, looked me firmly in the face and said “Thank you for everything, for the conversation, the photographs, the food ..... it has been ..... fantastic!” to which I replied “Yes, it has been great!” his response, before heading off down the drive throwing back the odd Goodbye, ¡hasta la vista!, ¡adiós! and more in Spanish, Italian, Czech and who knows what!!, was “No, not great, FANTASTIC!”
As we walked back to the house, we had to agree, but also knew that on our return from England, our little house at the end of the drive, would seem very lonely again for a while, particularly as the summer visitor season would also be over!!
But, there was one other final farewell, a final walk with Toutoune (Monsieur often calls her Manoose, he says it doesn’t mean anything it’s just sweeter!) and perhaps sensing the moment Linda said “You’re not going to get all sentimental are you?!” After all these years she can read me like a book, I’d already slipped a couple of dog chews into my pocket, as we set
off around the “block!” As we walked it turned into the most staggering sunset I have ever seen, it wrapped around all 360˚ of the sky and the colours intensified into the most remarkable finale, to a most astonishing summer, and yes the final pat, the dog chew and the “Adios mon amigo, au revoir et à beintôt,” was not without a little emotion, as she waddled down the drive of the chateau, as always without a backwards glance!“Ici devant nous!”
I’m going to go off the theme of the natural world this time and turn instead to the supernatural world, and like many good stories there’s something of a cliff hanger in this one. On that first meeting, when Madam became Monsieur!, we talked to him about how he lived most of the year in Spain, only visiting the chateau in the summer to be able to welcome his guests to the gîte. We asked if the house was therefore empty during the rest of the year, to which he replied it was and if we saw or heard anything, it would be his long gone ancestors. Funnily enough on several occasions we have heard voices or music, when nobody has been anywhere around, remember our nearest neighbours are over a quarter of a mile or heading towards 500 meters, and when we told Monsieur this rather light heartedly, he was at first quietly surprised, until he first occasion when having a cup of tea at the front of our house he also heard the voices ...... , and on another occasion the music ......!
My original “thought!”
“This has probably gone on long enough!”
But hopefully, you’ve had at least a small flavour of our wonderful “summer relationship!” we just seemed to hit it off and I’m sure there will be more along the way.
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? Maybe a report of all the festive fun, who said they don’t celebrate Christmas in France, and also we’ll have been back in the UK for a couple of weeks collecting even more stories! But, also watch out for “Frog vs Rosbeef!”
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