23 Nov 2009
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 12 attached, which does stray into the realms of heaviness in just one small part of one section, but as I’ve said before “I need to keep my mind active!!” At least that’s my excuse, and the last heavy “edition” provoked far more response than any of the others – so that must say something!!
Hopefully, Missive 13 will wing its way to you before Christmas, but we’ll see. This one is a little late as we have been back in the UK recently for the best part of three weeks and are back again on 11th December for; family wedding, Victoria’s graduation (She got a good merit overall for her MA, signed proud parent!!), Christmas and the New Year, so these might get in the way a little!
However, our 2009 Christmas missive will soon feature here on the blog!
Also, The Citizen does finally seem to have sorted out my Reader’s Blog with them. So, should you wish to see the edited highlights of my missives, type in
http://www.thisisgloucestershire.co.uk
and when you get onto the site, click “Stroud” on the toolbar and follow the link. At the moment you can’t miss it as you’ll be confronted with a picture of Linda and I inanely grinning at you!!
Love
Roger
La Loge,
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Je parle seulement un petit peu français, mais .......................! ~ Missive 12
(I speak only a little French, but .........!)
There was a turning point on the day I sent you the last missive! On the same day I read a passage in a book called: “From here, you can’t see Paris” by an American author who moved, with his family, to live in a remote part of France and chronicle the life of the village in which he lived, and in particular the comings and goings of the local restaurant, and I went for a walk and just on the edge of La Goupillaire, our local hamlet, a lorry driver passed me, backed into a small side road and pulled out, blocking the whole road to ask instructions to somewhere.
The passage in the book made the very valid point that if living in France, it’s impossible to do it fully and properly without being able to get by with speaking French, certainly a laudable sentiment, but to some extent providing difficult as we are living in the middle of nowhere with no neighbours, save the cows that you have previously heard about and an infrequently visiting chateau owner who, likes nothing better than to practise his already excellent English, with smatterings of the other five or six languages that he is fluent in – making opportunities to speak French somewhat limited, although I do always greet the cows in French and, when I’m sure no –one is looking pass the time of day with them!!
Then, later in the day off I go for a walk, through La Goupillaire and out the other side to be confronted by the lorry driver seeking directions, shouting above the noise of the lorry’s engine and catching me unawares. So what do I do, too rapidly and without thinking I ask him: “Parlez vous anglais?,” the response to which is a hasty retreat to find someone who can speak the lingo! I then kicked myself at an opportunity lost to at least try, and for the rest of the walk, tried to work out what I could have said, settling on “Desolé, je parle seulement un petit peu francais, mais c’est possible je aidé vous,” roughly translated as “Sorry, I only speak a little French, but if possible I’ll help you.” At least then I would have tried and maybe, with the help of the large scale map I was carrying, been able to help and rewarded the fact that the driver at least thought that I looked like a native French speaker!!
So, I sort of made a pact with myself to at least have a go in future, and not to resort to the do you speak English question, that more often than not in our area, is met by a friendly but negative response of “Anglais, NON!” followed by incredulous laughter, and when all said and done, why should we expect the everyday man in the street to adopt the tongue of just a few English visitors to this area. So a few days later, when two burly gendarmes (policemen) arrive, fortunately not for us but instead looking for somewhere, despite their obvious discomfort at my excruciating French, I manage to make them understand that I have a large scale map in the house, which I fetch, all to no available as the place they are looking for is nowhere to be seen, - but at least I tried and the gendarmes thanked me warmly for my efforts!! For more “efforts” read on!
Fierté civique
Sitting in France it is easy to start knocking all things English, but on my recent visit to dear old blighty, as I went about the place and watched the news, I kept having a nagging feeling of “Where have we gone wrong in the U.K!” I then asked myself why our small commune (village) in France, population previously 350 and now we are here 352!, has; a floodlit football field with a small pavilion, a part-time Bibliotheque Communale (library), a Salle de Fêtes (parish hall), a community gîte, four large and beautifully maintained and stocked fishing lakes, a small landscaped picnic site complete with a boule pit, attractive flower bedecked name signs at each entrance to the village, well maintained roadside verges and ditches, with little or no evidence of vandalism or litter. The commune also has an Maire (Mayor) with a small purpose-built modern Mairie, set in well maintained gardens and open with secretarial cover on four half days a week, on one of which the Maire himself is in attendance. The Conseil Municipal (“Town” Council) also publishes an annual, full colour, glossy Bulletin Municipal (Parish Magazine) with colour photos on at least 20 of the twenty eight pages, the other pages often sporting full colour graphics or at the very least, as do all the pages, colourful borders!
Further examination of the above mentioned bulletin, shows that it contains the following information about the commune, which is too small to support a shop or a school, but does has the following:
• Various civic events such as; Remembrance Ceremonies (Les Cérémonies), an annual Competition "Landscape Your Town" (Concours "le Paysage de votre Commune") along the lines of “Best Kept,” and a Children’s Christmas Show (Spectacle de Noel pour les enfants).
• Birth, Marriages, Deaths and Welcome to the Village section.
• Brief notes of the monthly Council meetings and key decisions.
• Details, with great and colourful graphics, of the annual budget, which last year amounted to nearly 470 000€ or 1342€ for each inhabitant, and interestingly with Christmas looming, the previous year 2 206.62€ was spent purchasing Christmas decorations!
• A communal building scheme, where serviced building plots are up for sale.
• Practical information including the function of the Mairie, hiring of the Salle de Fêtes, opening times of the local tip (déchèterie), new kerbside recycling facilities, and much more education, religious, leisure, health and social care information, for the commune and the wider Canton (small District.) of which it is a part.
• The following Associations:
• L’association loisirs (spare-time activities such as walks, outings, bingo).
o L’association L’Art-Crée (a private creative arts company that heavily involves the local community and holds an annual Festival of Arts (dance, theatre, comedy) and helps with the children’s Christmas show.
o Les Doryphores, the local football club.
o UNC – AFN who organise the Remembrance Ceremonies.
o Club du 3ème Âge, like the U3A (University of the Third Age) in England.
o La Société de Chasse ~ The Society of Hunters.
o Syndicat Local des Exploitants Agricoles ~ Local Farmers Union.
o Patrimoine Religieux ~ Religious Heritage Group covering the whole Canton.
At this point, let me remind you as it says at the beginning of the second paragraph, we are talking here of a small village with a population of just over 350, and this level of civic activity seems to be replicated, and in the bigger villages expanded on, throughout the 12 Communes that make up our Canton, and indeed it would seem to happen the length and breadth of France. So in answer to “Where have we gone wrong in the U.K.,” I would make the following observations, and I guess this is the slightly heavy bit, but as always, I need to get it off my chest!!:
Family life, and respect for others seems strong, certainly around us in rural France; extended families spend time together and greetings remain important, be it the shake of a hand or a kiss on the cheeks (2 for friends, 3 for family and very good friends and 4 or more if you’re from Paris, which strangely the rest of France almost doesn’t seem to class as France!). Quite naturally children, young and old, will kiss their elders and indeed very noticeable is that when groups of young adults meet, hands are shook and even kisses are, in traditional French manner, exchanged between males. The different generations seem generally at ease with one another.
Our village employs what I guess in England would be a roadman or lengthsman (something I have for some time felt should be reintroduced in the U.K. as a useful way of cutting unemployment), who was in the past in England responsible for making sure grass verges, hedges and footpaths were immaculately kept, and does just that role and more still in France. They are employed by the community through the Mairie, to carry out the “fauchage” as it is known in France, but also maintains the other civic areas and keeps the decorative planting that is so much a feature of civic areas of France, looking spick and span. He seems to also be involved with rubbish collection and repairs, including small scale road works – for all intent and purpose a commune caretaker or handyman, who probably also does quite a lot of informal policing! He’s the man who visited us at lunchtime, on the very day we moved in, to explain when the rubbish was collected and which bin (general or recycling) to put out when, and since that first meeting, waves enthusiastically to us whenever we see him.
Obviously, all this at the end of the day comes down to money, and certainly the French seem prepared to pay more in taxes. Whilst appreciating that the role of the Parish Council in England and the Conseil Municipal in France cannot be easily compared, as they have very different responsibilities in areas such as highways and refuse, it is interesting that expenditure per head of population, by the Parish Council, in my parent’s village in Gloucestershire amounts to just short of £10 (about 120 less than the 1342€ in our French village!), perhaps some of the differences lie in the amount of money available at very much the grass root level and the power given to the Conseil Municipal and in particular the Maire. It is widely known that it pays to stay on the right side of the Maire in France, an almost feudal system, which is at the moment being reviewed, but maybe there is at least something to be said for greater amounts of money, with the increased responsibilities, being available lower down the system.
Maybe the above is all rather simplistic, but it does all appear to add up to a corporate and strong Fierté civique (Civic Pride) at this very grass roots level, which I feel is certainly lacking in some areas of U.K. society, and maybe due, in part, to the breakdown of the family unit and lack of respect, both ways, between the generations. How often do you hear older generations praising the youth of today, the word “youth” itself almost taking on a derogatory tone?
De marche par jour, de vivre une semaine (Vieux proverbe français ~ Old French Proverb)
I mentioned walking in the introduction, and I have of late found my feet again, and started to branch out regularly walking between eight and ten miles, or I should say 12.874 – 16.093 kilometres approximately!! Many of these walks have been circuits from the house, but as I have explored the immediate area quite thoroughly, some to spread my winds a little, involve a short car ride or Linda dropping me on the way back from somewhere and me walking the last bit! I’m sure that some of the more observant locals might be thinking that we have rather a lot of tiffs, and I’m left to walk home!!
On the longer walks, sadly Max who has just turned 14 (the equivalent of 98 in human years!!) can’t make and Linda doesn’t share my love of walking, so involve solo walking and lots of time to think, and when I remember to “stand and stare!” However, it was Max who would usually look through a gap in the hedge or climb on the walls to see what was beyond and would pull me up and make me look!! Now it is the camera and growing album of photos that tends to make me stop and look for a good shot!!
In between times, I do shorter walks and Linda often accompanies me and Max, although if he is feeling tired, a bit hot or stiff, he has been known to go so far and then turn around and go home. Unfortunately, he hasn’t quite worked out that if Linda and I are both out walking, then invariably there is no-one in to answer the door when he stands plaintively barking outside!!
But the walks have proved a great way to get to know the surrounding area, and in particular to find off the beaten track gems, such as; le Moulin du Pigeon (Pigeon Mill), la Smagne (River Smagne), GR 364 / GR de Pays de Melusine (a long distance footpath or Grand Randonnée that passes close by, and is a spur of the Santiago de Compostella, the pilgrims route to Northern Spain, marked throughout it’s route by signs containing scallop shells) and Bois de Lavaud (the communal wood of nearby La Caillère-St-Hilaire), all of which I find myself returning to frequently. I’m going to pinch a motto from another region of France, The Lot, which is some way south of here, where they say “A surprise at every step!” I think it applies equally well here!
On one such walk, that took in at least la Smagne, I was to put my new found determination to use French as much as possible and not just a friendly “Bonjour monsieur or monsieur(ma)dame,” that the locals have a habit of rolling together as one quick word, to the test! Having passed through a local village, dodged cars on the main road, although I will say that by and large French motorists are almost as respectful of walkers as they are of cyclists, I turned down a country lane heading towards a farm on one side and a well tended vegetable plot on the other. The plot contained the usual mainstays of the French kitchen garden; chard, carrots, onions, potatoes, beans, salad leaves, courgettes, tomatoes, growing with such profusion that not for the first time I marvelled at the sheer quantity of produce being grown, enough surely to feed a small army, but replicated in almost all the cottages around. There were also several rows of well hung vines, ready for picking and wine making. As I approached I was greeted by the barks of two large dogs and I noticed an elderly gent was tying his hoe onto his bicycle, from the handlebars of which hung a carrier bag of produce, freshly collected for this evening’s meal. Well, here goes I thought and greeted the man, determined to try and have a longer conversation. I received a friendly response to my greeting and we proceeded to pass the time of day, making sure that he knew I only spoke a little French. Having complimented him on his garden and discussed the weather, something I always thought was an English pastime, but certainly a popular topic amongst the farmers and gardeners hereabouts!, struggling a little I asked him, in French, if he spoke English and received a response reminiscent of me having told him an hilarious joke! But nothing ventured I now turned to the vines and tried, as it happens unsuccessfully, to ask if they were ready to harvest, and even wondering if he could answer a long-standing question I have of “How many bunches of grapes does it take to make a bottle of wine? (Answers by email or on a postcard please, to the address above!). But it wasn’t to be and eventually, he mounted his bike and we parted company like long-lost friends, I even nearly got a clap on the back before he meandered off down the road with a friendly wave and goodbye! It was only then that I realised that the two dogs who had stopped barking whilst we talked, didn’t belong to my new friend, and now remembered that they were supposed to be guarding and started to bark again, so not wanting to miss an opportunity I had a chat with them too before wishing them an “au revoir” and following the old man down the road.
There followed two briefer encounters with old woman, which were simply “Bonjour madams!” but on the second further communication was ruled out rather taking madame by surprise as she came out of her front door onto the road outside to tend her various pots, she beat a hasty retreat. As for the first, I turned a corner to see an elderly lady shuffling with a stick out of a small settlement into the middle of nowhere. As I was walking faster than she was and not wanting to alarm her in such an out of the way place, I scuffed my feet a little to announce my presence and as she turned and I “bonjour madamed” her, I received something of a wicked if not maniacal grin, so hurried on my way!! Shortly afterwards, I heard a car coming up behind us, which stopped at the old lady, loud and possibly heated words were exchanged and the next I knew madam, was in the car and being driven past me on a road I discovered went on for ages with not a dwelling in sight. As it appeared that the car stopped some way ahead, after where I was due to turn off, I couldn’t help but let the imagination run riff; was she escaped from an institution and for ever being rounded up, or had she been done in behind the hedge! As I turned off I shall never know if it was the same car that had stopped further up the road or not, but I did drive that way a few days later, and there were no houses where the car had stopped, but then again the nearby field wasn’t bristling with gendarmes and a fenced off scene of crime!!
Finally, on this walk as I was some way from home, a little weary and not wanting to miss my turn, I stopped to look at the map. Starting off again, a man, wearing wellies that appeared too large for him, appeared from out of a small area of woodland just a short distance across a field and rather unnervingly seemed to be trying to head me off. Being initially too far away for a bonjour, I ignored him and continued along the road conscious that the man was still heading my way and appearing to speed up. Had it not been for a large hedge next to where I had consulted the map, I would have thought that maybe he had seen me stop with the map and was wondering if I was lost.
He must have then realised that I was striding on, as he used a universal “hey” to get my attention and bring me to a stop! I then turned to face him, decided he looked harmless enough, and certainly I felt I could outrun him if necessary, if only because of the large boots!! He got to the other side of a straggly hedge that bordered the field said hello and was I out for a walk. I concurred and felt at this stage it to be appropriate to say I only spoke a little French, to which he responded in English, “Do you speak English?” At this point he pushed through the hedge and seeming friendly enough I held out my hand to help him negotiate the shallow overgrown ditch that lay between the road and hedge. When he finally stood next to me, he shook my hand and rather confusingly, as we had established that we both spoke English, we proceeded to have quite a long conversation largely in French, perhaps he knew about my pact!!
He wanted to know if I lived hereabouts, where I was going and how far, and he seemed sufficiently impressed that I would probably cover about 16 kilometres in the three hours I was out. He told me he was also a walker and was going for a three hour walk, the following day in the nearby Mervant Forest area, and did I know it? We talked about how good the forest was for walking and shadier than walking where I was today as it was rather hot! I then told him about the lost walker that had turned up at our house asking the way to Santiago; he was walking the Pilgrim’s Route, but had over the previous hour or so got lost and walked around in a large circle! He said he also cycled, but then so do most Frenchmen, garish lycra being the order of the day most summer Sundays, being replaced in the autumn by altogether more toned down hunting gear, the loudness of the lycra being replaced by the retort of the hunting rifles! Well, on one particular outing in a village not far away, he had stopped to talk to a walker, something he must enjoy doing as it had become obvious he simply wanted a chat, and had met an Englishman walking the Pilgrim’s Route all the way from London to Santiago, and then told me his age. As I didn’t catch this, he held up three fingers on one hand, which I took to mean 30, and obviously didn’t respond as he expected, well if you are going to take on such a walk (2000 k or 1250 miles by fastest road route), 30 seemed a reasonable age at which to try it! But he persevered, and I realised that in addition to the 3 fingers on one hand he was holding up five on the other hand, and then clenching it into a fist. The penny dropped, 5 + 3 and add a nought came to a staggering, “huit-zero” as I realised he was saying - 80, to which I then made the correct response “C’est magnifique!” and he heartily agreed. I then told him that perhaps I would come back in 27 years time and give it a try, raising a chuckle and a light touch of the arm, before we parted company. He bade me a hearty “Good-bye” in English to which I responded with an “Au revoir” in French and left with a friendly wave!
Something of a by product of these walks, is returning with pocket / bag full of something gleaned from the hedgerow, be it walnuts, sweet chestnuts, apples, pears, hazel nuts or blackberries, or sometimes a pin-pointed site to return to with the car and with further willing gatherers. Such items have helped to provide many a tasty morsel and recently whilst finishing off our evening meal the telephone rang, the caller checking that we weren’t in the middle of eating, to which I responded that we had just finished a delicious “ditch apple” pie!
All this walking is perhaps why the time seems to be flying by, as the old French proverb that titles this section simply means: “Walk a day, live a week!,” but I don’t think it means it quite like that!!
“Clever Words”
• Rather topical after the horrendous ferry crossing we have just made: “A sure cure for seasickness is to sit under a tree!” Spike Milligan
• With walking, and perhaps life in general, in mind: “I came to a fork in the road, so I took it” Yogi Berra
• Topical when strolling in our 12 acre private woodland and in similar vein to the last one, about decisions!!! “In the woods we return to reason and faith” Ralph Waldo-Emerson
• And finally, a lovely one spotted outside a New York Irish bar: “There are no strangers here, only friends who haven’t yet met!”
My original “day’s thought!”
Carrying on the walking theme, and as I’ve always thought that I do my best thinking when out walking, many a problem has been sorted out following this maxim!:
“I walk, therefore I think. I think, therefore I do!”
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger, Linda and Max
(“It’s great to be back, but we seem to be suffering from ‘winter isolation,‘ been back over three days and apart from one visit by the post van, which I missed altogether, NOTHING, not even a tractor, has come down the road for me to chase!! Mind you, I’ve heard them talking about another trip over the water, it will be good to catch up with friends, but let’s hope for a considerably smoother crossing next time! Wouf!)
End piece: (P.S.) Nearly midday Saturday before the isolation finished and Michel, the farmer, came to fetch water and allow me to keep up the French quest!! True to form we covered; welcome back, the weather (two weeks of solid rain whilst we were away accounts for the ponds filling up) and how good it is that the ponds have filled up, distance we had travelled, had we had a good visit and party for mon parents (on being told about their 60th wedding anniversary before we left he had simply said “soixantième... phew!!!”), and how old are my parents. On being told they were both 84 he commented on their visits to see us and their bon forme, which on reflection he changed to superbe forme (shape)! All I hasten to add in French, well in my case “pigeon French!!”
And maybe to come next time? “A glass half full or half empty!” “Wild Gourmet” “Toi Moi” “Keith Floyd and Eddie Izzard!!” “Tupperware” and maybe some more bureaucracy!!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Nothing heavy this time! ~ Missive 11
9th October 2009
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 11 attached and after the last one’s somewhat heavy content, this one promises a return to the more light-hearted!! However, I will say that the last missive generated more comments than normally, so maybe I’ll get philosophical again in due course!! However, it’s rather on the lengthy side, but with Monsieur from the chateau awae (tell I’ve been to Scotland!!) back to Spain, life might become less interesting – read on!!!
My flying visit to Edinburgh at the end of last month for a Warden Conference, has been and gone and despite pointing out that living in French might not be the best thing for the Association’s Chairman, I have been returned unopposed! I wonder whether it’s a vote of confidence or that nobody else wanted it!!
Don’t forget we’re back in the UK from 28th October until 16th November for my Mum and Dad’s 60th Wedding Anniversary. We’re in Stroud for the first few days and hope to catch up with some of you then!
Love
Roger
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 11 attached and after the last one’s somewhat heavy content, this one promises a return to the more light-hearted!! However, I will say that the last missive generated more comments than normally, so maybe I’ll get philosophical again in due course!! However, it’s rather on the lengthy side, but with Monsieur from the chateau awae (tell I’ve been to Scotland!!) back to Spain, life might become less interesting – read on!!!
My flying visit to Edinburgh at the end of last month for a Warden Conference, has been and gone and despite pointing out that living in French might not be the best thing for the Association’s Chairman, I have been returned unopposed! I wonder whether it’s a vote of confidence or that nobody else wanted it!!
Don’t forget we’re back in the UK from 28th October until 16th November for my Mum and Dad’s 60th Wedding Anniversary. We’re in Stroud for the first few days and hope to catch up with some of you then!
Love
Roger
La Loge, rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Nothing heavy this time! ~ Missive 11
Great it’s raining cats and dogs (as I’m avoiding heavy!!), perhaps a strange sentiment but the gardens and fish in the ponds desperately need it and apart for some isolated heavy showers about a week ago, I can’t remember the last rain we had (except on our soggy July visit to England!). Apologies however, to our friends from Stroud, who should have just landed on French soil, hopefully, the soil won’t be too soggy and it will get it out of the system before they arrive with us! I am reminded though of when I used many years ago to visit my grandmother, in her sleepy village on the edge of the Forest of Dean, twixt Wye and Severn, although in those days; we’re talking black and white televisions, no mobiles or personal computers and street lights had yet to reach the village, we weren’t allowed to call it “The Forest” as it didn’t fall within the Hundred of St. Briavels!
More night sky gazing
Perhaps inspired by the section in the last missive – What a Shower! – Victoria was determined to make the most of our amazingly clear and unpolluted night skies, on her recent visit. So desperate was she to see a shooting star, that on several evenings we could be found sitting outside the house lying back in the reclining chairs scanning the amazing night sky, before the waning moon rose and still proved to be bright enough to upset our viewing.
Shooting stars proved somewhat elusive or at best very faint and very short-lived, but we were treated to a wealth of satellites that seemed to be crossing the sky in every direction and varying from the very faint to the extremely bright.
But the most amazing of all, was something that in all my time walking and sky gazing at night, I had never experienced before, and no for those of you who know me well it didn’t involve any aliens!! Instead, an inordinately bright satellite appeared, travelling at a fair speed from west to east over the top of our house. Then barely had it come into sight than it was followed by a further dimmer satellite and in a perfect line and perfectly spaced a further dim satellite and the line ended with another very bright one. The line, like a row of racing cars, travelled across the sky and was out of sight almost before we realised what we had seen. Imagination raced and thoughts of star wars or indeed alien invasion came to mind, and I even noted down the time, date and location (9.45 p.m., 10th September 2009, Southern Vendée, so when it hit the news, I could say “I saw that!” But Victoria being ever practical came inside, Googled “four satellites in a row” and in moments found out that the “strange phenomena” was nothing less than a series of well documented weather satellites!!
Joie de vie
It’s another case of gazing skywards, not this time cloud or star watching, but drawn by the unmistakable mewing call of a very close buzzard, Jean Brun, as they are known in the Dordogne, a little south of here or buse in French. It swooped into view low over the nearby avenue of trees, unflapping wings stretched out wide and proud. As it glided passed the barn and out into the cow field opposite it hit a thermal and gracefully circled, gliding higher and higher with not one beat of its wings, until it was lost out of sight in the vast blue expanse of the sky.
Not once had it needed to flap its wings and all for the sheer pleasure, as surely even with its extremely keen eyesight it couldn’t have spotted any prey from such a height?
Then, the very next day two buzzards mewing and similarly soaring over the next door lake, not so high but still obviously enjoying the freedom of flight and periodically folding back their wings to swoop low before once more banking upwards their mewing almost changing to whoops of joy!!
Amazement at the Hotel de la Poste
On our second visit to the area last year, to look at houses and generally check out the area, had found us staying at Hotel de La Poste, you’ve guessed it next door to the Post Office, in La Châtaigneraie. It is a very typical old fashioned French hotel, off one of the main thoroughfares through the town, through a frosted glass door by the side of a typical bar invariably frequented just by men, except when we stayed, the whole concept of “men-only” bars being a little like a red rag to a bull, as far as Linda was concerned.
The room was comfortable enough, sparsely furnished with an array of old heavy furniture, no two items, including the bedside tables matching! The unevenness of the floor hinted at a very old building and as you went down the sloop into the bathroom, the plumbing confirmed this. It’s interesting how France seems to have two distinct camps, diagonally opposed, when it comes to la salle de bain; très élégant with everything automatic (lights, taps, flush) or primitive (no shower cubicle / curtain and only a hand held shower head and a cistern that seems to be forever filling up!) and this was clearly in the latter category!
But fortunately, the restaurant and food were altogether far superior to the bedroom and particularly the plumbing! However, it didn’t pay to be in a hurry as you were certainly unrushed, if at times almost feeling ignored, but it was worth waiting for and as our bedroom was, quite literally, just above the dining room, we didn’t have far to go!
It was the quality of the food and the very homely French feel about the place that made us, despite worries about how long it would take to eat and our bed being a good twenty minute drive away, that made us return. Fortunately, the service did seem to have speeded up, without rushing and it made us wonder if it hadn’t been that long before, just this time we had other people to talk too, whereas before it was just Linda and I and after a busy day together we were tired and had run out of things to say!
So we have visited the restaurant fairly regularly, with many of our visitors from the last few months, and on every occasion even on a fateful evening when the regular menu was replaced by a simpler hand written – beef (bœuf) , pork (porc) and fish (poisson) without the interesting sauces and served plainly with chips (frites) the food and service has been excellent and the older lady who seemed to run the place has started to recognise us, and although knowing we live fairly locally, can never remember and asks each time. She also likes to sort out just who is who and where they all come from! We think on the evening of the simplified menu, it was either the chef’s night off or as there was a very large table obviously set up ready for the next day they were busy preparing for a big party the next day? It therefore seemed the obvious choice for a last night dinner for my Mum and Dad, Chris, Chris and Sara (my brother’s family), Victoria (daughter) as well as Linda and myself.
Nothing heavy this time! ~ Missive 11
Great it’s raining cats and dogs (as I’m avoiding heavy!!), perhaps a strange sentiment but the gardens and fish in the ponds desperately need it and apart for some isolated heavy showers about a week ago, I can’t remember the last rain we had (except on our soggy July visit to England!). Apologies however, to our friends from Stroud, who should have just landed on French soil, hopefully, the soil won’t be too soggy and it will get it out of the system before they arrive with us! I am reminded though of when I used many years ago to visit my grandmother, in her sleepy village on the edge of the Forest of Dean, twixt Wye and Severn, although in those days; we’re talking black and white televisions, no mobiles or personal computers and street lights had yet to reach the village, we weren’t allowed to call it “The Forest” as it didn’t fall within the Hundred of St. Briavels!
More night sky gazing
Perhaps inspired by the section in the last missive – What a Shower! – Victoria was determined to make the most of our amazingly clear and unpolluted night skies, on her recent visit. So desperate was she to see a shooting star, that on several evenings we could be found sitting outside the house lying back in the reclining chairs scanning the amazing night sky, before the waning moon rose and still proved to be bright enough to upset our viewing.
Shooting stars proved somewhat elusive or at best very faint and very short-lived, but we were treated to a wealth of satellites that seemed to be crossing the sky in every direction and varying from the very faint to the extremely bright.
But the most amazing of all, was something that in all my time walking and sky gazing at night, I had never experienced before, and no for those of you who know me well it didn’t involve any aliens!! Instead, an inordinately bright satellite appeared, travelling at a fair speed from west to east over the top of our house. Then barely had it come into sight than it was followed by a further dimmer satellite and in a perfect line and perfectly spaced a further dim satellite and the line ended with another very bright one. The line, like a row of racing cars, travelled across the sky and was out of sight almost before we realised what we had seen. Imagination raced and thoughts of star wars or indeed alien invasion came to mind, and I even noted down the time, date and location (9.45 p.m., 10th September 2009, Southern Vendée, so when it hit the news, I could say “I saw that!” But Victoria being ever practical came inside, Googled “four satellites in a row” and in moments found out that the “strange phenomena” was nothing less than a series of well documented weather satellites!!
Joie de vie
It’s another case of gazing skywards, not this time cloud or star watching, but drawn by the unmistakable mewing call of a very close buzzard, Jean Brun, as they are known in the Dordogne, a little south of here or buse in French. It swooped into view low over the nearby avenue of trees, unflapping wings stretched out wide and proud. As it glided passed the barn and out into the cow field opposite it hit a thermal and gracefully circled, gliding higher and higher with not one beat of its wings, until it was lost out of sight in the vast blue expanse of the sky.
Not once had it needed to flap its wings and all for the sheer pleasure, as surely even with its extremely keen eyesight it couldn’t have spotted any prey from such a height?
Then, the very next day two buzzards mewing and similarly soaring over the next door lake, not so high but still obviously enjoying the freedom of flight and periodically folding back their wings to swoop low before once more banking upwards their mewing almost changing to whoops of joy!!
Amazement at the Hotel de la Poste
On our second visit to the area last year, to look at houses and generally check out the area, had found us staying at Hotel de La Poste, you’ve guessed it next door to the Post Office, in La Châtaigneraie. It is a very typical old fashioned French hotel, off one of the main thoroughfares through the town, through a frosted glass door by the side of a typical bar invariably frequented just by men, except when we stayed, the whole concept of “men-only” bars being a little like a red rag to a bull, as far as Linda was concerned.
The room was comfortable enough, sparsely furnished with an array of old heavy furniture, no two items, including the bedside tables matching! The unevenness of the floor hinted at a very old building and as you went down the sloop into the bathroom, the plumbing confirmed this. It’s interesting how France seems to have two distinct camps, diagonally opposed, when it comes to la salle de bain; très élégant with everything automatic (lights, taps, flush) or primitive (no shower cubicle / curtain and only a hand held shower head and a cistern that seems to be forever filling up!) and this was clearly in the latter category!
But fortunately, the restaurant and food were altogether far superior to the bedroom and particularly the plumbing! However, it didn’t pay to be in a hurry as you were certainly unrushed, if at times almost feeling ignored, but it was worth waiting for and as our bedroom was, quite literally, just above the dining room, we didn’t have far to go!
It was the quality of the food and the very homely French feel about the place that made us, despite worries about how long it would take to eat and our bed being a good twenty minute drive away, that made us return. Fortunately, the service did seem to have speeded up, without rushing and it made us wonder if it hadn’t been that long before, just this time we had other people to talk too, whereas before it was just Linda and I and after a busy day together we were tired and had run out of things to say!
So we have visited the restaurant fairly regularly, with many of our visitors from the last few months, and on every occasion even on a fateful evening when the regular menu was replaced by a simpler hand written – beef (bœuf) , pork (porc) and fish (poisson) without the interesting sauces and served plainly with chips (frites) the food and service has been excellent and the older lady who seemed to run the place has started to recognise us, and although knowing we live fairly locally, can never remember and asks each time. She also likes to sort out just who is who and where they all come from! We think on the evening of the simplified menu, it was either the chef’s night off or as there was a very large table obviously set up ready for the next day they were busy preparing for a big party the next day? It therefore seemed the obvious choice for a last night dinner for my Mum and Dad, Chris, Chris and Sara (my brother’s family), Victoria (daughter) as well as Linda and myself.
Fortunately, there was a table for us and the “interesting” menu was on and we were served by a half-English waitress, who despite having a sound grasp of English, was as the dining room wasn’t too full, quite happy to converse and take our order in French, even if this did end up taking a little longer! It seemed that the waitress, who we hadn’t seen before, was on trial as Madam, wearing her slippers, regularly bristled in in a rather shuffling manner from the bar, where it appeared the “men-only” rule didn’t apply to those behind the bar! So it was after a most enjoyable and very tasty evening, having only cursorily exchanged pleasantries earlier with Madame, that she came in towards the end not only to sort out the bill but also to sort out who was who. She remembered Linda and I, but again had to ask where we lived, and has always been surprisingly generous in her praise for my limited command of the French language, on more than one occasion saying “Vous parlez très bien français, Monsieur!” She had obviously not got us totally sorted out in her mind and had mistaken me for someone else, on more than one occasion!!
Well, as best I could I introduced Linda as my wife, Victoria as my daughter, Chris as my brother, Chris as his partner and she wanted to know how old Sara was, amazed at how tall she was compared to her own grand-daughter of a similar age and she fussed over her, stroking her long hair and saying how grown up she seemed. At this point my mother had gone to spend a penny, as her generation tend to say, albeit now often twenty pennies, but that somehow doesn’t have the same ring to it, when Madame turned to my father and said “Monsieur, autre frère?” and was astonished to be told no, this was Papa, who was 84 and had not only driven here from England, to which she was suitably impressed, but incredulously, stood back in amazement went told he was also towing a caravan. All she could manage was a heart-felt and reverential “Superb!!” At this point, with Madame still in wide eyed amazement, my mother reappeared, and Madame indicated that she was the only member of the party she hadn’t had placed and visibly took a step back when I introduced Maman and rather dreamily uttered “tres chic,” and on being told that on Sunday she was also turning 84, stepped forward, told her hand and shook it warmly with a deferential “Bon Anniversaire!”
It rather wonderfully finished off, particularly for my parents who are celebrating their 60th (diamond) wedding anniversary next month, what had been an excellent evening, as Madame saw us out still rather incredulously shaking her head, having just in her amazement and as we were the final customers of the night managed to turn the light off and lock Chris in the loo!!! Joyeux anniversaire!
“Clever Words”
· Seen on a banner held by a fan at George Best’s funeral: “Maradonna Good, Pelé Better, George Best!” (Dec 2005)
· “good friends are like stars. you don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there!” Seen on a card in a New York shop (Feb 2006)
· Des Lynam in a T.V. tribute to the late Fred Perry: “When Fred came into a room, all the lights came on!”
· “An eye for an eye, makes the whole world blind!” Tolstoy
· "A man who has no imagination, has no wings!” Muhammad Ali
I’ll stop there for fear of becoming too profound if not heavy and starting to fly!!
Tea fit for a King!
Monsieur from the Chateau was around the other day, as with his departure back to his beloved Spain looming rapidly, he was trying to tie up loose ends and get the barn roof fixed.
Some months earlier I had been writing an earlier missive in the wee small hours (you can tell I’ve been to Scotland recently!!), when suddenly outside there was a tremendous crash. With a degree of trepidation, and certainly sending the intrepid Max out first, Linda by now sound asleep, although I was a little surprised that the loud deafening noise outside hadn’t woken her up, I ventured out into our courtyard. The outside light and bright torch didn’t at first show any obvious cause of such a commotion and it was only as Max reached far enough down the courtyard to turn on the automatic security light that a large pile of woodwork and tiles, some it transpired amazingly intact, could be seen having fallen from the eaves of the barn some ten or more metres above, leaving a gaping hole.
Each time we had subsequently spoken to Monsieur he had mentioned the need for a repair, often at the same time as complaining that when in France it seemed to be nothing but writing cheque after cheque. Finally, he had got his local roofing contractor in, the one that seemed to do annual checks on all the roofs and who had come a fixed a leak in the roof shortly after we had arrived. Long discussions, both inside and out of the barn ensued and after a good degree of puffing from Monsieur about all the extra expense, and having seemed to originally say that the whole enormous roof needed to be redone, it was agreed that simply the eaves would be cut back and the roof would finish flush with the wall in much the same way as the end pitch of the house.
As the roofing contractor left with the customary good-byes, handshakes and other parting comments, Monsieur turned to Linda and I who were sitting outside in the late summer sunshine and said “Now I pay you a visit, as I am leaving soon and need to tell you what is going on!”
So Monsieur accepted both the offer of a chair and also a cup of tea, having told me a couple of days earlier that he loved a cup of English tea in the middle of the afternoon, so the timing was just right.
Having put the kettle on, set a tray with cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl and teapot, as it seemed wrong somehow to make the tea with a teabag in a mug, I joined them outside in time to hear what was being done to the roof and further moans about all the expense that he always seemed to incur when visiting France, notably a re-run of the water saga and how some of the pipe was having to be redone. He said that when in France it was spend, spend, spend, but in Spain he “Lived like a King” with no thoughts of France or the Chateau, safe in the knowledge that Monsieur Michel, the local farmer, would be looking after his affairs in France. But then added, that sitting having a cup of English tea made by an Englishman, in the Vendée sunshine would at least for a while suspend his French woes and he could for a while “Live like a King in Spain!” No pressure then!!
The kettle boiled, the pot carefully warmed and just the right number of teabags added and the water, just off the boil added, and I carried the tray outside as “His Majesty!” visibly sank into his chair in anticipation. It felt that much hung on this cup of tea and if it didn’t come up to expectation, a rent rise might be on the cards!! As the tea brewed, conversation turned to the pleasures of sitting surrounded by such a beautiful “English” garden (luckily we had recently done some weeding and dead headed the roses and geraniums, and those geraniums that Linda had recently taken as cuttings were beginning to bloom, and indeed everything in the garden did look rosy. I had even strimmed one side of the front yard that sent Monsieur into raptures about the English, their love of beautiful “louns” (lawns) and how the English “louns” are the greatest in the whole world! He even cast a loving eye over the close cropped weeds and straggly grass, growing along the side of our gravel courtyard, that I had tried my best to make at least presentable, but it certainly a long way from the manicured lawns of Middle England!!
The tea now brewed and I ventured the all important question “Milk in first?” A surprised Monsieur was at first flustered, realising that for years he had been doing it wrong and then perhaps by way of cover, asked if it made a difference? Having been assured that it did and it was all something to do with the relative temperatures of the tea and milk, or something like that I remember reading once!, I somewhat tentatively proffered the tea, that had somehow been built up so much you would have thought that I was giving him the “elixir of life,” perhaps fitting for someone who thinks so much about death. But more of that in a bit, more crucial at the moment was the vital question; “How is your tea?” To which I got the reply “Ah, perfect English tea, now I can go to bed tonight and sleep with the angels, and when I get up in the morning, stand by my bed and sing ‘God save the Queen!!,” never before has one of my cups of tea had such a profound effect, and it was even made in a cheap, badly pouring stainless steel teapot, our proper porcelain one packed away somewhere in Stroud. I must say that it never ceases to amaze me that we have managed to put a man on the moon, but fail miserably to make a stainless steel teapot that pours properly. But I suppose on the plus side, it does keep those trolley dollies at Motorway Services in work, as they constantly should be swiftly manoeuvring their trolleys laden with every type of cleaning material to spray the offending spill with the latest “health and safety” product, passed by the management, carrying the necessary warnings for every eventuality, including the fact that the delivery lorry may have passed a shop that may have been selling nuts!! The fact that the “Spillage Removal Operative” is nowhere to be seen, probably out back having a swift drag, is of little consequence when, the spillage is finally removed and the table wiped down after being spray sanitised, with a cloth that could at best be described as “seeing better days” and at worst as being disgustingly filthy!!
But, I digress; perhaps it’s the effect of being in the presence of “royalty” and the thought of what the citation might say on being awarded in the next honour’s list – “For services to the tea industry and the manufacture of ‘The Perfect Cup of English Tea!”
By now Monsieur had relaxed, thoughts of money far from his mind, how therapeutic is a cup of tea, and conversation turns back to gardening and our obvious way with plants, not sure if he didn’t say “Green Hands!” but I think I was still back at the “Arise Comte and Comtesse ‘iggs” stage!! But he was saying how good it would be to have some Virginia Creeper or Ivy to cover up the old rustic stone walls of the barn and dependencies (outhouses) and the weathered weather boarding of the garage, and would we try and take cutting from the creeper around his stable blocks and plant them to hide what we see as rustic charm and he obviously sees as unrendered, and indeed expensive to render, stone walls!!
We then talked about various things, including the visitors (sister, partner and one of her sons) he had recently had, and how he was always pleased to have the place to himself again, as though there aren’t enough rooms in the chateau to hide away and have your own space. We then talked about our own family and how Victoria had just returned from a cheap break in a rich Middle Eastern tourist hotspot, Dermot having been put up in a five star hotel, one of very few perks I guess you get for being a submariner, having to pay a supplement of £10 a night for double occupancy of the room, not bad for a £200 + a night room!
Talk of this place reminded him of a previous good friend, who in his early thirties had built up what must have been a very prestigious architectural business, and having just been commissioned to design and build a new mega-complex here; mosque, shopping mall and seventy luxury houses, died before its completion. This he said had made him very sad, determined to live life to the full, hence I guess the new sport of kite surfing that he had just taken up, but also made him “think every day about death!”
To change the subject more than anything, Linda asked if he had managed to rent out the gîte long term, rather than just for the summer season? Rather bashfully, he admitted that after 13 years with the same company “Budget Gîtes,” he had something of a soft spot for the English husband and wife who ran the company and so when they had asked about the following year, he hadn’t the heart to say “Not this year, I’m renting it out long term!” So, sadly he would have to spend another summer in France, welcoming visitors to his estate, rather than being able to step out of his penthouse flat onto the beach near Benidorm and spent his day kite surfing across the bay! But he went on to tell us about the “Budget Gîtes” couple and how in the early days they used to tell him off for saying he was old, but had now started to call him an “old man!!” Pre-empting that the conversation might be returning into the realms of death and we might be about to get at least our fourth invite to his funeral, he really does think about death a lot despite seeming to be a very healthy 68 year old who has just taken up kite surfing, to lighten the mood once more I suggested that he should get “Budget Gîtes” to sponsor his funeral. Fortunately, he thought this was hilarious, and through his booming laugh, said he couldn’t wait to share the joke with the company. For a minute I thought he was going to leave straight away and phone them up!! Well, I did say nothing heavy!!
But no, with a second cup of “perfect tea” poured, conversation returned to family matters and where in England I had gone to university. When I said Leeds, he chuckled and said that the family used to have good friends, mill owners who had lived and worked in Leeds and proceeded to tell us how they had met, many years ago when it was unusual to see an English car in deepest Vendée. He had been driving with his parents, in their rather old “rust bucket” (he liked that one!) of a car, to go to an agricultural show, when they came across this English car and family who had crashed into a ditch. He pleaded with his parents to stop and help them, which they duly did, ending up taking them with them to the show and then taken them home whilst their car was rescued and repaired. To this day he remembers well, and it’s a long time ago “I expect they’re dead now!,” the look of amazement when his father turned the battered old car into the front drive of a rather nice chateau!!
After several attempts of “I leave now and leave you alone!,” with other conversations kicking in and covering huge tracts of land, finally Monsieur did rise rather stiffly from his chair as we had been sitting for so long, and bade me a hearty good-bye as he wouldn’t see me before I left for my Edinburgh trip and would be gone after my return. Said to Linda that he would give her some unused food that he didn’t want to take back to Spain, and remembering he must phone “Budget Gîtes” to arrange sponsorship, said “I go now, having drunk your tea, and tonight I lie in a bed of roses without thorns!!” and he turned and with Tottoon, who throughout had been lying peacefully at his feet, trotting behind him and beseeched us to “Be happy!” and left with good-byes, au revior’s, despedida’s, lebewohl’s, arrivederci’s and sbohem’s flying randomly over his shoulder!! He turned the corner and was gone, leaving us as always exhausted by the far ranging and rapid conversation we had just had!! Postscript: How apt, my French word for the day on my google homepage has just come up and is tombe – grave!!
My original “day’s thought”
“Glory be, we’ve found Religieuse!”
Sorry, to those of you who have started to get excited and think we’ve been saved and now spend Sunday morning visiting the local église! No it’s more likely that we will be communing with nature by walking the green aisles beneath the lofty cathedral-like boughs of the chateau wood, in order to walk off the previous evening’s excess – a “Religieuse” is a decidedly wicked French dessert – basically a large profiterole filled with fondant coffee cream, topped with coffee or chocolate icing and piped butter cream around the base of a second smaller, similarly filled and adorned profiterole sometimes topped with a chocolate coffee bean, that sits on top of the first! Pure decadence and with a calorie count that should make the consumption about as infrequent as our visits to the place of worship they are supposed to represent – rather more like the onion domes of a distant Russian church (designed that way to shed rain water and prevent the build up of snow so Google tells me!!) than the ornate, and usually at night, beautifully floodlit spires of the local churches. The only trouble is, it really is something that all our visitors should experience!!
End piece
Well the title said nothing heavy this time, hopefully I’ve achieved that? Linda thought the last missive missed the light hearted banter of previous ones, but I guess I needed to say it, to prove I wasn’t totally vegetating and maybe it had something to do with biorhythms, but I’ll stop there as I’m in danger of getting heavy again!!
Well, as best I could I introduced Linda as my wife, Victoria as my daughter, Chris as my brother, Chris as his partner and she wanted to know how old Sara was, amazed at how tall she was compared to her own grand-daughter of a similar age and she fussed over her, stroking her long hair and saying how grown up she seemed. At this point my mother had gone to spend a penny, as her generation tend to say, albeit now often twenty pennies, but that somehow doesn’t have the same ring to it, when Madame turned to my father and said “Monsieur, autre frère?” and was astonished to be told no, this was Papa, who was 84 and had not only driven here from England, to which she was suitably impressed, but incredulously, stood back in amazement went told he was also towing a caravan. All she could manage was a heart-felt and reverential “Superb!!” At this point, with Madame still in wide eyed amazement, my mother reappeared, and Madame indicated that she was the only member of the party she hadn’t had placed and visibly took a step back when I introduced Maman and rather dreamily uttered “tres chic,” and on being told that on Sunday she was also turning 84, stepped forward, told her hand and shook it warmly with a deferential “Bon Anniversaire!”
It rather wonderfully finished off, particularly for my parents who are celebrating their 60th (diamond) wedding anniversary next month, what had been an excellent evening, as Madame saw us out still rather incredulously shaking her head, having just in her amazement and as we were the final customers of the night managed to turn the light off and lock Chris in the loo!!! Joyeux anniversaire!
“Clever Words”
· Seen on a banner held by a fan at George Best’s funeral: “Maradonna Good, Pelé Better, George Best!” (Dec 2005)
· “good friends are like stars. you don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there!” Seen on a card in a New York shop (Feb 2006)
· Des Lynam in a T.V. tribute to the late Fred Perry: “When Fred came into a room, all the lights came on!”
· “An eye for an eye, makes the whole world blind!” Tolstoy
· "A man who has no imagination, has no wings!” Muhammad Ali
I’ll stop there for fear of becoming too profound if not heavy and starting to fly!!
Tea fit for a King!
Monsieur from the Chateau was around the other day, as with his departure back to his beloved Spain looming rapidly, he was trying to tie up loose ends and get the barn roof fixed.
Some months earlier I had been writing an earlier missive in the wee small hours (you can tell I’ve been to Scotland recently!!), when suddenly outside there was a tremendous crash. With a degree of trepidation, and certainly sending the intrepid Max out first, Linda by now sound asleep, although I was a little surprised that the loud deafening noise outside hadn’t woken her up, I ventured out into our courtyard. The outside light and bright torch didn’t at first show any obvious cause of such a commotion and it was only as Max reached far enough down the courtyard to turn on the automatic security light that a large pile of woodwork and tiles, some it transpired amazingly intact, could be seen having fallen from the eaves of the barn some ten or more metres above, leaving a gaping hole.
Each time we had subsequently spoken to Monsieur he had mentioned the need for a repair, often at the same time as complaining that when in France it seemed to be nothing but writing cheque after cheque. Finally, he had got his local roofing contractor in, the one that seemed to do annual checks on all the roofs and who had come a fixed a leak in the roof shortly after we had arrived. Long discussions, both inside and out of the barn ensued and after a good degree of puffing from Monsieur about all the extra expense, and having seemed to originally say that the whole enormous roof needed to be redone, it was agreed that simply the eaves would be cut back and the roof would finish flush with the wall in much the same way as the end pitch of the house.
As the roofing contractor left with the customary good-byes, handshakes and other parting comments, Monsieur turned to Linda and I who were sitting outside in the late summer sunshine and said “Now I pay you a visit, as I am leaving soon and need to tell you what is going on!”
So Monsieur accepted both the offer of a chair and also a cup of tea, having told me a couple of days earlier that he loved a cup of English tea in the middle of the afternoon, so the timing was just right.
Having put the kettle on, set a tray with cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl and teapot, as it seemed wrong somehow to make the tea with a teabag in a mug, I joined them outside in time to hear what was being done to the roof and further moans about all the expense that he always seemed to incur when visiting France, notably a re-run of the water saga and how some of the pipe was having to be redone. He said that when in France it was spend, spend, spend, but in Spain he “Lived like a King” with no thoughts of France or the Chateau, safe in the knowledge that Monsieur Michel, the local farmer, would be looking after his affairs in France. But then added, that sitting having a cup of English tea made by an Englishman, in the Vendée sunshine would at least for a while suspend his French woes and he could for a while “Live like a King in Spain!” No pressure then!!
The kettle boiled, the pot carefully warmed and just the right number of teabags added and the water, just off the boil added, and I carried the tray outside as “His Majesty!” visibly sank into his chair in anticipation. It felt that much hung on this cup of tea and if it didn’t come up to expectation, a rent rise might be on the cards!! As the tea brewed, conversation turned to the pleasures of sitting surrounded by such a beautiful “English” garden (luckily we had recently done some weeding and dead headed the roses and geraniums, and those geraniums that Linda had recently taken as cuttings were beginning to bloom, and indeed everything in the garden did look rosy. I had even strimmed one side of the front yard that sent Monsieur into raptures about the English, their love of beautiful “louns” (lawns) and how the English “louns” are the greatest in the whole world! He even cast a loving eye over the close cropped weeds and straggly grass, growing along the side of our gravel courtyard, that I had tried my best to make at least presentable, but it certainly a long way from the manicured lawns of Middle England!!
The tea now brewed and I ventured the all important question “Milk in first?” A surprised Monsieur was at first flustered, realising that for years he had been doing it wrong and then perhaps by way of cover, asked if it made a difference? Having been assured that it did and it was all something to do with the relative temperatures of the tea and milk, or something like that I remember reading once!, I somewhat tentatively proffered the tea, that had somehow been built up so much you would have thought that I was giving him the “elixir of life,” perhaps fitting for someone who thinks so much about death. But more of that in a bit, more crucial at the moment was the vital question; “How is your tea?” To which I got the reply “Ah, perfect English tea, now I can go to bed tonight and sleep with the angels, and when I get up in the morning, stand by my bed and sing ‘God save the Queen!!,” never before has one of my cups of tea had such a profound effect, and it was even made in a cheap, badly pouring stainless steel teapot, our proper porcelain one packed away somewhere in Stroud. I must say that it never ceases to amaze me that we have managed to put a man on the moon, but fail miserably to make a stainless steel teapot that pours properly. But I suppose on the plus side, it does keep those trolley dollies at Motorway Services in work, as they constantly should be swiftly manoeuvring their trolleys laden with every type of cleaning material to spray the offending spill with the latest “health and safety” product, passed by the management, carrying the necessary warnings for every eventuality, including the fact that the delivery lorry may have passed a shop that may have been selling nuts!! The fact that the “Spillage Removal Operative” is nowhere to be seen, probably out back having a swift drag, is of little consequence when, the spillage is finally removed and the table wiped down after being spray sanitised, with a cloth that could at best be described as “seeing better days” and at worst as being disgustingly filthy!!
But, I digress; perhaps it’s the effect of being in the presence of “royalty” and the thought of what the citation might say on being awarded in the next honour’s list – “For services to the tea industry and the manufacture of ‘The Perfect Cup of English Tea!”
By now Monsieur had relaxed, thoughts of money far from his mind, how therapeutic is a cup of tea, and conversation turns back to gardening and our obvious way with plants, not sure if he didn’t say “Green Hands!” but I think I was still back at the “Arise Comte and Comtesse ‘iggs” stage!! But he was saying how good it would be to have some Virginia Creeper or Ivy to cover up the old rustic stone walls of the barn and dependencies (outhouses) and the weathered weather boarding of the garage, and would we try and take cutting from the creeper around his stable blocks and plant them to hide what we see as rustic charm and he obviously sees as unrendered, and indeed expensive to render, stone walls!!
We then talked about various things, including the visitors (sister, partner and one of her sons) he had recently had, and how he was always pleased to have the place to himself again, as though there aren’t enough rooms in the chateau to hide away and have your own space. We then talked about our own family and how Victoria had just returned from a cheap break in a rich Middle Eastern tourist hotspot, Dermot having been put up in a five star hotel, one of very few perks I guess you get for being a submariner, having to pay a supplement of £10 a night for double occupancy of the room, not bad for a £200 + a night room!
Talk of this place reminded him of a previous good friend, who in his early thirties had built up what must have been a very prestigious architectural business, and having just been commissioned to design and build a new mega-complex here; mosque, shopping mall and seventy luxury houses, died before its completion. This he said had made him very sad, determined to live life to the full, hence I guess the new sport of kite surfing that he had just taken up, but also made him “think every day about death!”
To change the subject more than anything, Linda asked if he had managed to rent out the gîte long term, rather than just for the summer season? Rather bashfully, he admitted that after 13 years with the same company “Budget Gîtes,” he had something of a soft spot for the English husband and wife who ran the company and so when they had asked about the following year, he hadn’t the heart to say “Not this year, I’m renting it out long term!” So, sadly he would have to spend another summer in France, welcoming visitors to his estate, rather than being able to step out of his penthouse flat onto the beach near Benidorm and spent his day kite surfing across the bay! But he went on to tell us about the “Budget Gîtes” couple and how in the early days they used to tell him off for saying he was old, but had now started to call him an “old man!!” Pre-empting that the conversation might be returning into the realms of death and we might be about to get at least our fourth invite to his funeral, he really does think about death a lot despite seeming to be a very healthy 68 year old who has just taken up kite surfing, to lighten the mood once more I suggested that he should get “Budget Gîtes” to sponsor his funeral. Fortunately, he thought this was hilarious, and through his booming laugh, said he couldn’t wait to share the joke with the company. For a minute I thought he was going to leave straight away and phone them up!! Well, I did say nothing heavy!!
But no, with a second cup of “perfect tea” poured, conversation returned to family matters and where in England I had gone to university. When I said Leeds, he chuckled and said that the family used to have good friends, mill owners who had lived and worked in Leeds and proceeded to tell us how they had met, many years ago when it was unusual to see an English car in deepest Vendée. He had been driving with his parents, in their rather old “rust bucket” (he liked that one!) of a car, to go to an agricultural show, when they came across this English car and family who had crashed into a ditch. He pleaded with his parents to stop and help them, which they duly did, ending up taking them with them to the show and then taken them home whilst their car was rescued and repaired. To this day he remembers well, and it’s a long time ago “I expect they’re dead now!,” the look of amazement when his father turned the battered old car into the front drive of a rather nice chateau!!
After several attempts of “I leave now and leave you alone!,” with other conversations kicking in and covering huge tracts of land, finally Monsieur did rise rather stiffly from his chair as we had been sitting for so long, and bade me a hearty good-bye as he wouldn’t see me before I left for my Edinburgh trip and would be gone after my return. Said to Linda that he would give her some unused food that he didn’t want to take back to Spain, and remembering he must phone “Budget Gîtes” to arrange sponsorship, said “I go now, having drunk your tea, and tonight I lie in a bed of roses without thorns!!” and he turned and with Tottoon, who throughout had been lying peacefully at his feet, trotting behind him and beseeched us to “Be happy!” and left with good-byes, au revior’s, despedida’s, lebewohl’s, arrivederci’s and sbohem’s flying randomly over his shoulder!! He turned the corner and was gone, leaving us as always exhausted by the far ranging and rapid conversation we had just had!! Postscript: How apt, my French word for the day on my google homepage has just come up and is tombe – grave!!
My original “day’s thought”
“Glory be, we’ve found Religieuse!”
Sorry, to those of you who have started to get excited and think we’ve been saved and now spend Sunday morning visiting the local église! No it’s more likely that we will be communing with nature by walking the green aisles beneath the lofty cathedral-like boughs of the chateau wood, in order to walk off the previous evening’s excess – a “Religieuse” is a decidedly wicked French dessert – basically a large profiterole filled with fondant coffee cream, topped with coffee or chocolate icing and piped butter cream around the base of a second smaller, similarly filled and adorned profiterole sometimes topped with a chocolate coffee bean, that sits on top of the first! Pure decadence and with a calorie count that should make the consumption about as infrequent as our visits to the place of worship they are supposed to represent – rather more like the onion domes of a distant Russian church (designed that way to shed rain water and prevent the build up of snow so Google tells me!!) than the ornate, and usually at night, beautifully floodlit spires of the local churches. The only trouble is, it really is something that all our visitors should experience!!
End piece
Well the title said nothing heavy this time, hopefully I’ve achieved that? Linda thought the last missive missed the light hearted banter of previous ones, but I guess I needed to say it, to prove I wasn’t totally vegetating and maybe it had something to do with biorhythms, but I’ll stop there as I’m in danger of getting heavy again!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Good job I’m “très sourd” (very deaf) or I’d have been terrified when he sent me out to check out the loud crash the other night – however, I’m finding my feet and getting braver and now realise that the yellow van that comes to the bottom of the yard is La Poste and une bonne chasse !!)
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Good job I’m “très sourd” (very deaf) or I’d have been terrified when he sent me out to check out the loud crash the other night – however, I’m finding my feet and getting braver and now realise that the yellow van that comes to the bottom of the yard is La Poste and une bonne chasse !!)
And to come next time, who knows, may be the weather will break, the rain lash down and fill up the empty ponds, on the other hand that could be when we return to England at the end of October!!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Time on my hands ~ Missive 10
14th September 2009
Dear All
You will find attached Missive 10, now becoming something of a monthly affair, which will also now be on the blog, and sorry it’s been a while coming – hurrah I hear you say!! – but we’ve had lots of visitors again and in the words of the Fairport Convention song “Who Knows Where The Time Goes!,” spring to mind.
Dear All
You will find attached Missive 10, now becoming something of a monthly affair, which will also now be on the blog, and sorry it’s been a while coming – hurrah I hear you say!! – but we’ve had lots of visitors again and in the words of the Fairport Convention song “Who Knows Where The Time Goes!,” spring to mind.
I have quite literally, a flying visit to Edinburgh at the end of the month for a Warden Conference, leave Wednesday and back Sunday, but considerably cheaper that ferry, petrol, vet fees etc. Less than €60 return!, and yes I’m planting trees to offset my carbon footprint!
Were back in the UK from 28th October until 16th November for my Mum and Dad’s 60th Wedding Anniversary. We’re in Stroud for the first few days and hope to catch up with some of you then!
Love
Roger
La Loge, FRANCE
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Time on my hands! ~ Missive 10
Well luvvies, I finished the last blog in theatrical mode so I continue in that vein, sobbing overdramatically as; they have called, the right platform has been found and, if you haven’t already seen Linda and I smiling out at you from the Stroud Life newspaper, I’ve been launched on the unsuspecting Stroud public. However, I’m not letting it go to my head, as 10 days in, two blog entries down and to date not one single comment! The discerning public are too busy commenting and making the most dreadful puns about a woman who was attacked by a cow on the common! So come on Mooove over!! Heady stuff, and I’m sure in this case terrifying for the lady concerned, but don’t you just love provincial newspapers and some of the amazing headlines and earth shattering stories that often make the front page!! ~ “Kids make nutritious snacks,” “Grandmother of eight makes hole in one” and “Drunk gets nine months in violin case!” I rest my case!!
Refund
Remember in the last missive I told you we don’t have a television now, and how “Phonezilla” told us our package comes complete with 40 FREE channels. Well, surprise surprise, perhaps they are not FREE after all, as totally out of the blue we have just received a refund for not having them – confused? So were we!!, but even more of an incentive to avoid putting ourselves through the trauma of subtleties lost in the translation!
Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink- nearly! or
“When the cat’s away the mice will dance!”
Perhaps a strange title as we are in the middle of a severe drought, reservoir levels plummeting and field ponds drying up, marooning large numbers of fish that are simply keeling over or becoming easy pickings for the numerous herons. At our recent family weekend, the intrepid few did manage to precariously wade into the mud, rescue a couple of dozen large carp and release them into a nearby lake. This operation ended up going on late into the night, as someone had the bright idea that they could do with a period in the clear water of our cattle trough, but decanting them into it stirred up the mud on the bottom and introduced even more mud. In the end the trough had to be nearly drained (we did recycle the water and use it for the garden!!), to find the fish, as the fish needed to be removed before the farmer came, possibly at crack of dawn, to draw water for the various drinking troughs dotted around the fields. It was felt that our French wasn’t up to explaining why the trough had, overnight, become a fresh water aquarium!!
However, a couple of days later he said how sad it was that the fish were dying and we told him about the rescue, missing out the bit about the cattle trough! He also did put a couple of full water trailer loads into the pond, but all it really did was dampen the dry mud. I couldn’t help but wonder if his concern was totally humanitarian or at least in part culinary, we are in France after all!! (Postscript: Just been for a walk and when we went to retrieve some of the planks the rescue party had used on the soft mud, Max decided he had read somewhere that hot thick squidgy and sticky mud was good for aged bones and got himself stuck!! He stood there casually drinking the green slimy water, whilst I undertook his rescue, whilst at the same time trying out the healing properties of the hot thick squidgy and sticky mud!! Needless to say we have found another use for the cattle trough – washing filthy hounds!! Perhaps he has also heard about the beneficial effects of hydrotherapy, as he didn’t complain too much, and the swim cooled him down!!)
But, back to the water or should I say lack of it, as a week or so before the family weekend, there was a degree of frantic activity and raised voices, due to the deafness of the people rather than at this time in anger, and we noticed that the trough had duly be emptied to supply the nearby cows, but the tap that normally remains on at a trickle to refill said trough was not running despite being turned on. After, continued activity and much coming and going of cars, slamming car doors and continued shouting, Monsieur appeared to tell us the water had stopped flowing from the well, although the well had thankfully not run dry, and please would we be careful as although we have a large supply tank, it was currently not being refilled as we used water.
This activity carried on for three days, with the occasional update from an increasingly worried Monsieur, who on the second day thought the problem had been solved as tree roots had been discover breaching the supply pipe, which we were informed had been completely re-laid only a couple of years ago. At this point, we were told that the supply would be on in a couple of hours, but night fell and although the water in the house continued to flow the cattle trough tap stubbornly refused, so presumably our tank was also not refilling!
The next morning a by now anxious and unshaven Monsieur, who we have discovered to be one of life’s worriers and who regularly loses sleep and doesn’t eat properly over such problems, did much pacing about and worrying about how he would supply water to his gîte customers and us. In Spain it wouldn’t be a problem, but here – bouf!!
It all went quiet for some time as Monsieur and the farmer disappeared to the well, and it was some hours later that water was restored and things went noisy again. An extremely agitated Monsieur came to tell us that the problem had been resolved but he was furious, the proverbial steam rising thick and fast. Thanking God, quite literally, he recounted how a water diviner had come to the rescue, not interestingly as you might expect with twitching hazel bough, but rather with information that they had noticed a growing puddle of water in a nearby field where one of Monsieur’s tenant farmers had recently done some work. Quite where the water diviner had come from isn’t clear, as from Monsieurs somewhat cynical reaction to the ancient art, I don’t think he had called in their services.
Anyway, briefly, the tenant farmer had been given permission to tap into the supply pipe and had duly unburied it, done the necessary work but left the pipe lying on the surface. The grass had in time grown up and hidden the pipe so that when one of the farmer’s employees was sent to cut the grass, he inadvertently and unbeknown to them cut the pipe and terminated its onward flow.
Standing in the shade, as temperatures were soaring into the 30’s, Monsieur fumed and raved about how “When the cat was away the mice would dance!,” an interesting change to our own saying. He told us, several times that the matter was in the hands of his Notaire (Solicitor) and the farmer was being summoned to explain himself and would certainly not be receiving the lunch invite that was customary. The money Monsieur saved, instead being put towards the cost of repairs and the possible replacement of the water pump at the gîte, which due to lack of water he feared had burnt out. We ended up having to calm him down, suggest he went back to the Chateau and had a steadying drink of water – the only thing he drinks, have a hearty meal to make up for missed meals and then an early night to catch up on lost sleep. When he finally left he had calmed a little, remaining very angry. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall at the meeting with the farmer and Notaire!
Unfortunately, since this incident the water pressure seems to have changed and now our water pump is beginning to make funny noises!
What came first – the trolley or the trap?
Just a quick throwaway item, based on an observation when out walking recently with a friend. I am finding the French farmers to be very inventive and recently stumbled across what looked like a supermarket trolley serving a very useful function as an animal track – lift up the back flap, cover the top and bait the trap and hey presto you’ve caught a coypu, badger, fox or small sangier (wild boar). Then I got to thinking, perhaps when the farmer stacked up the traps in the barn, he suddenly had a brain wave – perhaps with wheels and without the top this would make a great “chariot” for putting the shopping in and with a trap door at the back they could be pushed together and take up less valuable car parking space and use less materials in constructing a suitable trolley park to keep them dry should it rain!!
It’s a chicken and egg situation and will we ever know the answer!?! Time on my hands!!
Something good from Swaziland
Many of you will know that Victoria has just finished her Master’s Dissertation, looking at the Political Economy of AIDS OVC (Orphans And Vulnerable Children) in Swaziland, where she travelled to do her research and subsequently came out to “chill” in the Vendée sunshine, the worry of getting it just right now receded and the mark eagerly awaited. She has taken after her father, something she does in many ways, and started her own blog on which she has posted her dissertation for anyone to read, and despite having something of a vested interest, it is a good read - illuminating and at times disturbing. It can be accessed on http://politicaleconomyofaidsovc.blogspot.com/ , and two rather splendid quotes lead rather neatly onto this missive’s philosophical section that follows:
· Barnett and Whiteside (2002) address how the emotions of a child cannot be quantified, for example “what is the cost of a cuddle foregone?”
· NPA (2006) (National Plan for Action) for OCV (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) “what all children need is love, without love, children have minimal hope for the future, which no provision of basic services can replace.”
I can’t help feeling that these sentiments apply equally well worldwide, not just in Sub Saharan Africa, although they may be more difficult to address there.
Children
Having time on my hands, has got me thinking and as from the back of beyond I try to keep up with news in the education field, (I suppose once a teacher always a teacher!), I continue to be dismayed by what is going on in the UK and thinking what a lucky escape I have had. The news of a day or two ago, that the two major teacher unions are squaring up about whether SATS should remain, in view of the proposed alternatives, which I have to admit raise a wry chuckle!!
What a shame that Education has to be a political animal, and as the adults slug it out with each other, in true playground brawl fashion, it is so often the children who should be at the very core of all that is done, who are forgotten, as the “grown-up” factions try to score points off each other. Any of you who are familiar with school life, can’t fail to notice that in a similar situation between children in a school playground, school staff mediate often finding some middle ground and compromise. What a shame the teaching profession has so many different unions.
I’m also reminded of the dichotomy of how we are all told, and know it to be true, that “a child who lives with encouragement – learns confidence,” yet OFSTED can be hostile and criticise often with little encouragement:
“When the cat’s away the mice will dance!”
Perhaps a strange title as we are in the middle of a severe drought, reservoir levels plummeting and field ponds drying up, marooning large numbers of fish that are simply keeling over or becoming easy pickings for the numerous herons. At our recent family weekend, the intrepid few did manage to precariously wade into the mud, rescue a couple of dozen large carp and release them into a nearby lake. This operation ended up going on late into the night, as someone had the bright idea that they could do with a period in the clear water of our cattle trough, but decanting them into it stirred up the mud on the bottom and introduced even more mud. In the end the trough had to be nearly drained (we did recycle the water and use it for the garden!!), to find the fish, as the fish needed to be removed before the farmer came, possibly at crack of dawn, to draw water for the various drinking troughs dotted around the fields. It was felt that our French wasn’t up to explaining why the trough had, overnight, become a fresh water aquarium!!
However, a couple of days later he said how sad it was that the fish were dying and we told him about the rescue, missing out the bit about the cattle trough! He also did put a couple of full water trailer loads into the pond, but all it really did was dampen the dry mud. I couldn’t help but wonder if his concern was totally humanitarian or at least in part culinary, we are in France after all!! (Postscript: Just been for a walk and when we went to retrieve some of the planks the rescue party had used on the soft mud, Max decided he had read somewhere that hot thick squidgy and sticky mud was good for aged bones and got himself stuck!! He stood there casually drinking the green slimy water, whilst I undertook his rescue, whilst at the same time trying out the healing properties of the hot thick squidgy and sticky mud!! Needless to say we have found another use for the cattle trough – washing filthy hounds!! Perhaps he has also heard about the beneficial effects of hydrotherapy, as he didn’t complain too much, and the swim cooled him down!!)
But, back to the water or should I say lack of it, as a week or so before the family weekend, there was a degree of frantic activity and raised voices, due to the deafness of the people rather than at this time in anger, and we noticed that the trough had duly be emptied to supply the nearby cows, but the tap that normally remains on at a trickle to refill said trough was not running despite being turned on. After, continued activity and much coming and going of cars, slamming car doors and continued shouting, Monsieur appeared to tell us the water had stopped flowing from the well, although the well had thankfully not run dry, and please would we be careful as although we have a large supply tank, it was currently not being refilled as we used water.
This activity carried on for three days, with the occasional update from an increasingly worried Monsieur, who on the second day thought the problem had been solved as tree roots had been discover breaching the supply pipe, which we were informed had been completely re-laid only a couple of years ago. At this point, we were told that the supply would be on in a couple of hours, but night fell and although the water in the house continued to flow the cattle trough tap stubbornly refused, so presumably our tank was also not refilling!
The next morning a by now anxious and unshaven Monsieur, who we have discovered to be one of life’s worriers and who regularly loses sleep and doesn’t eat properly over such problems, did much pacing about and worrying about how he would supply water to his gîte customers and us. In Spain it wouldn’t be a problem, but here – bouf!!
It all went quiet for some time as Monsieur and the farmer disappeared to the well, and it was some hours later that water was restored and things went noisy again. An extremely agitated Monsieur came to tell us that the problem had been resolved but he was furious, the proverbial steam rising thick and fast. Thanking God, quite literally, he recounted how a water diviner had come to the rescue, not interestingly as you might expect with twitching hazel bough, but rather with information that they had noticed a growing puddle of water in a nearby field where one of Monsieur’s tenant farmers had recently done some work. Quite where the water diviner had come from isn’t clear, as from Monsieurs somewhat cynical reaction to the ancient art, I don’t think he had called in their services.
Anyway, briefly, the tenant farmer had been given permission to tap into the supply pipe and had duly unburied it, done the necessary work but left the pipe lying on the surface. The grass had in time grown up and hidden the pipe so that when one of the farmer’s employees was sent to cut the grass, he inadvertently and unbeknown to them cut the pipe and terminated its onward flow.
Standing in the shade, as temperatures were soaring into the 30’s, Monsieur fumed and raved about how “When the cat was away the mice would dance!,” an interesting change to our own saying. He told us, several times that the matter was in the hands of his Notaire (Solicitor) and the farmer was being summoned to explain himself and would certainly not be receiving the lunch invite that was customary. The money Monsieur saved, instead being put towards the cost of repairs and the possible replacement of the water pump at the gîte, which due to lack of water he feared had burnt out. We ended up having to calm him down, suggest he went back to the Chateau and had a steadying drink of water – the only thing he drinks, have a hearty meal to make up for missed meals and then an early night to catch up on lost sleep. When he finally left he had calmed a little, remaining very angry. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall at the meeting with the farmer and Notaire!
Unfortunately, since this incident the water pressure seems to have changed and now our water pump is beginning to make funny noises!
What came first – the trolley or the trap?
Just a quick throwaway item, based on an observation when out walking recently with a friend. I am finding the French farmers to be very inventive and recently stumbled across what looked like a supermarket trolley serving a very useful function as an animal track – lift up the back flap, cover the top and bait the trap and hey presto you’ve caught a coypu, badger, fox or small sangier (wild boar). Then I got to thinking, perhaps when the farmer stacked up the traps in the barn, he suddenly had a brain wave – perhaps with wheels and without the top this would make a great “chariot” for putting the shopping in and with a trap door at the back they could be pushed together and take up less valuable car parking space and use less materials in constructing a suitable trolley park to keep them dry should it rain!!
It’s a chicken and egg situation and will we ever know the answer!?! Time on my hands!!
Something good from Swaziland
Many of you will know that Victoria has just finished her Master’s Dissertation, looking at the Political Economy of AIDS OVC (Orphans And Vulnerable Children) in Swaziland, where she travelled to do her research and subsequently came out to “chill” in the Vendée sunshine, the worry of getting it just right now receded and the mark eagerly awaited. She has taken after her father, something she does in many ways, and started her own blog on which she has posted her dissertation for anyone to read, and despite having something of a vested interest, it is a good read - illuminating and at times disturbing. It can be accessed on http://politicaleconomyofaidsovc.blogspot.com/ , and two rather splendid quotes lead rather neatly onto this missive’s philosophical section that follows:
· Barnett and Whiteside (2002) address how the emotions of a child cannot be quantified, for example “what is the cost of a cuddle foregone?”
· NPA (2006) (National Plan for Action) for OCV (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) “what all children need is love, without love, children have minimal hope for the future, which no provision of basic services can replace.”
I can’t help feeling that these sentiments apply equally well worldwide, not just in Sub Saharan Africa, although they may be more difficult to address there.
Children
Having time on my hands, has got me thinking and as from the back of beyond I try to keep up with news in the education field, (I suppose once a teacher always a teacher!), I continue to be dismayed by what is going on in the UK and thinking what a lucky escape I have had. The news of a day or two ago, that the two major teacher unions are squaring up about whether SATS should remain, in view of the proposed alternatives, which I have to admit raise a wry chuckle!!
What a shame that Education has to be a political animal, and as the adults slug it out with each other, in true playground brawl fashion, it is so often the children who should be at the very core of all that is done, who are forgotten, as the “grown-up” factions try to score points off each other. Any of you who are familiar with school life, can’t fail to notice that in a similar situation between children in a school playground, school staff mediate often finding some middle ground and compromise. What a shame the teaching profession has so many different unions.
I’m also reminded of the dichotomy of how we are all told, and know it to be true, that “a child who lives with encouragement – learns confidence,” yet OFSTED can be hostile and criticise often with little encouragement:
Children Learn What They Live
By Dorothy Law Nolte
If children live with criticism, They learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility, They learn to fight.
If children live with ridicule, They learn to be shy.
If children live with shame, They learn to feel guilty.
If children live with encouragement, They learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance, They learn to be patient.
If children live with praise, They learn to appreciate.
If children live with acceptance, They learn to love.
If children live with approval, They learn to like themselves.
If children live with approval, They learn to like themselves.
If children live with honesty, They learn truthfulness.
If children live with security, They learn to have faith in themselves and others.
If children live with friendliness, They learn the world is a nice place in which to live.
If children live with friendliness, They learn the world is a nice place in which to live.
Copyright © 1972/1975 by Dorothy Law Nolte
This is the author-approved short version.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
Rudyard Kipling 1910
In short, in this the 20 anniversary year of the UNICEF’s Convention on the Rights of the Child, perhaps we should look back at what was written. These two “Articles” seem particularly pertinent:
In short, in this the 20 anniversary year of the UNICEF’s Convention on the Rights of the Child, perhaps we should look back at what was written. These two “Articles” seem particularly pertinent:
Article 3 (Best interests of the child): The best interests of children must be the primary concern in making decisions that may affect them. All adults should do what is best for children. When adults make decisions, they should think about how their decisions will affect children. This particularly applies to budget, policy and law makers.
Article 29 (Goals of education): Children’s education should develop each child’s personality, talents and abilities to the fullest. It should encourage children to respect others, human rights and their own and other cultures. It should also help them learn to live peacefully, protect the environment and respect other people. Children have a particular responsibility to respect the rights of their parents, and education should aim to develop respect for the values and culture of their parents.......
Why don’t we all, as adults, practise what we preach and get back to genuinely thinking about the needs of the child, and having them at the centre of what we do – isn’t that what child-centred education is all about? Maybe, the government (or better still a Non-Government Education Organisation) could then spend all the money they save from trying to outdo their opposition on addressing issues of family life. I guess what I am really saying is that we should get back to basics and teach children key skills, give them love and work to build their confidence, respect of themselves and others and their imagination:
Confronted with a class of children, hold up a small piece of dull, unremarkable stone and ask the children to imagine it is a diamond – isn’t the struggle won when, most of the class can and the odd doubting Thomas is shouted down, or better still convinced by the others! The excitement and mutual respect is self evident.
For me the beginning of the end I think started, when reviewing the school’s Vision Statement, and against my better judgement, it was voted on to remove the word “love!”
My original (as far as I can ascertain) “day’s thought”
“A good book is like an old friend, you’re sad when they’ve gone!”
More help needed!
Many thanks for those of you who made our life a little easier, by suggesting courgette recipes and contrary to “mother knows best” and having been told – Roger don’t be so silly! - it wasn’t possible to make a courgette cake, well Nigel Slater writing in the Guardian food section came to the rescue and on her last visit (3 so far this year but more later) she thoroughly enjoyed the “Impossible Cake” as I have christened it!!
Indeed, someone who will remain nameless but is our female offspring!, was enterprising enough to add some courgette muffin recipes as a comment on the Blog (In case I forget to mention it anywhere else don’t forget you can get all the missives and much more on the Blog!! – “It happened one Thursday in February”). I can vouch for the chocolate ones, they were delicious, but fortunately Linda was a bit wary of putting in the mentioned tablespoon of ground pepper, and erred on the cautious side!! But, as I said, they were delicious once you had got over the strange tingling after burn, or cooled them down with a drop of crème anglais! On checking with said offspring, the correct quantity should read teaspoon! This has now been corrected, but hopefully nobody tried them before the amendment, or if they did hopefully they served them up after a hot curry, it would have masked the tingling sensation!!
Whilst on the subject of courgettes, amazingly they continue to grow with more flowers regularly appearing – 124 from small to 20 or so of marrow size and we’re still counting – thank you Dave! (see Missive 8)
But now it’s peaches! Not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but what we initially thought were 4 almond trees growing between our newly dug borders, are in fact peach trees – an easy mistake to make I’m told as they are from the same family! Early on in the season the dry weather seemed to be going to ruin the crop, with the fruit falling off by the bowlful, but then the remaining fruit clung on tenaciously, expanded whilst remaining very solid and filled the trees again. Discovering they were peach trees, we included them in our watering regime and suddenly, although still rather small due to the drought, they have ripened and become sweet, succulent and juicy, but have also started to fall off the trees by the bucketful! They have been frozen in halves and as stew, jammed, chutneyed, eaten whole, made into crumble and still they come – so once again any pet recipes gratefully received, but please go carefully on the seasoning!!
Marker signs have just gone up outside the house for an organised long distance Randonnée (walk and bike ride) and at almost the same time Linda and I thought that if it stays hot tomorrow, the day of the walk, we could offer walkers a bowl of refreshing and revitalising peaches!!
Quotes ~ powerful stuff eh?
For some years I have been a collector of what I like to call “Clever Words,” collected from anywhere – a book I’m reading to the wall of the Gents in the pub I’m visiting. Here’s some to be going on with:
Confronted with a class of children, hold up a small piece of dull, unremarkable stone and ask the children to imagine it is a diamond – isn’t the struggle won when, most of the class can and the odd doubting Thomas is shouted down, or better still convinced by the others! The excitement and mutual respect is self evident.
For me the beginning of the end I think started, when reviewing the school’s Vision Statement, and against my better judgement, it was voted on to remove the word “love!”
My original (as far as I can ascertain) “day’s thought”
“A good book is like an old friend, you’re sad when they’ve gone!”
More help needed!
Many thanks for those of you who made our life a little easier, by suggesting courgette recipes and contrary to “mother knows best” and having been told – Roger don’t be so silly! - it wasn’t possible to make a courgette cake, well Nigel Slater writing in the Guardian food section came to the rescue and on her last visit (3 so far this year but more later) she thoroughly enjoyed the “Impossible Cake” as I have christened it!!
Indeed, someone who will remain nameless but is our female offspring!, was enterprising enough to add some courgette muffin recipes as a comment on the Blog (In case I forget to mention it anywhere else don’t forget you can get all the missives and much more on the Blog!! – “It happened one Thursday in February”). I can vouch for the chocolate ones, they were delicious, but fortunately Linda was a bit wary of putting in the mentioned tablespoon of ground pepper, and erred on the cautious side!! But, as I said, they were delicious once you had got over the strange tingling after burn, or cooled them down with a drop of crème anglais! On checking with said offspring, the correct quantity should read teaspoon! This has now been corrected, but hopefully nobody tried them before the amendment, or if they did hopefully they served them up after a hot curry, it would have masked the tingling sensation!!
Whilst on the subject of courgettes, amazingly they continue to grow with more flowers regularly appearing – 124 from small to 20 or so of marrow size and we’re still counting – thank you Dave! (see Missive 8)
But now it’s peaches! Not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but what we initially thought were 4 almond trees growing between our newly dug borders, are in fact peach trees – an easy mistake to make I’m told as they are from the same family! Early on in the season the dry weather seemed to be going to ruin the crop, with the fruit falling off by the bowlful, but then the remaining fruit clung on tenaciously, expanded whilst remaining very solid and filled the trees again. Discovering they were peach trees, we included them in our watering regime and suddenly, although still rather small due to the drought, they have ripened and become sweet, succulent and juicy, but have also started to fall off the trees by the bucketful! They have been frozen in halves and as stew, jammed, chutneyed, eaten whole, made into crumble and still they come – so once again any pet recipes gratefully received, but please go carefully on the seasoning!!
Marker signs have just gone up outside the house for an organised long distance Randonnée (walk and bike ride) and at almost the same time Linda and I thought that if it stays hot tomorrow, the day of the walk, we could offer walkers a bowl of refreshing and revitalising peaches!!
Quotes ~ powerful stuff eh?
For some years I have been a collector of what I like to call “Clever Words,” collected from anywhere – a book I’m reading to the wall of the Gents in the pub I’m visiting. Here’s some to be going on with:
· “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” John Lennon 1940 - 1980
· “Poets don’t draw. They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up again, but differently.” Jean Cocteau 1889 – 1963
· Michael Palin on writing: “It’s the nearest thing to whispering in someone’s ear.”
Hope I’ve manage to whisper in your ear!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max (“Resting after the onslaught of all the recent visitors – not so much all the walks and all the extra feet to avoid, but rather the extra hands that feed me – I’m not proud I’ll take food from anyone, think I now need some therapy!!”)
Roger, Linda and Max (“Resting after the onslaught of all the recent visitors – not so much all the walks and all the extra feet to avoid, but rather the extra hands that feed me – I’m not proud I’ll take food from anyone, think I now need some therapy!!”)
And to come next time, maybe: “Amazement at the Hotel de la Poste,” more “Clever Words,” “Joie de vie” and “More night sky gazing!”
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
WET, WET, WET! ~ Missive 9
18th August 2009
Dear All
You will find attached Missive 9, which will also be on the blog now, and amazingly for once I think the missive says it all!!
Hope you're having a good summer and the weather has picked up from our visit to the UK.
Love
Roger
Mes chers amis
WET, WET, WET! ~ Missive 9
Once again, it’s some time since the last missive, partly due to us having been in England for a couple of weeks and also see the profound thought for the “day” at the end.
Why “Wet, Wet, Wet? I hear you collectively ask, and I’m sure you’d be partly right! Yes, we chose to return to England that fortnight, and for the fifteen days we were on English and briefly Welsh soil, it rained heavily for 14 of the days, at its worst it seemed when we were travelling. So with journeys from Dover to Stroud and back, Stroud to The Forest of Dean, Stroud to Broadway and back, to York and back, in total well over 2000 miles, of which only 800 was in France, the windscreen wipers were given a good work out.
The rain even had the cheek to follow us back over La Manche, and for the first hundred or so miles, 160 km now we were back in France, the rain lashed down. But on our return the only sogginess now is caused by sweat, or perspiration for the sensitive amongst you, as temperatures soar into the 30’s!! And, when you look around at the numerous reservoirs in the area that are becoming seriously low and some of the less hardy / less deeply rooted trees have already started their autumn, and it’s only the beginning of August!! We’re in a drought big time, but more about that in the next missive.
The Moon’s in “A”
For some year’s now, Victoria (my daughter) and I have “communed,” or perhaps that should be “commooned!,” through the moon and its various phases! I guess it all started when Victoria, Daniel and I would walk on Rodborough Common, on the night of the full moon, in order to wave to the man in the moon!! I should point out that was some time ago, when the children were only little, but Victoria, now 22, is still known to do it now – a girl after my own heart!!
Just before Victoria finished her “A” levels and then afterwards, with almost undue haste, jetted off for adventures in South Africa and Swaziland, I was watching a fascinating programme about the moon and there was this amazing, although when you think about it unsurprising, revelation that in the Southern Hemisphere the moon is upside down, well at least you see it the other way up to how we do in England. I suppose really, it’s you the observer who is upside down!
So on a moonlit walk prior to her departure, no doubt after a glass or two, we decided to view the moon “African” style, by standing legs apart and looking through our legs at the moon! Then it sort of stuck and rarely a full moon goes by without us contacting each other and reaching out – commooning, across the sometimes thousands of miles that separate us, sort of secure in the knowledge that we can both see the same view, clouds permitting!
Why am I telling you this now you may wonder, well as some of you may know, for her dissertation research, looking at the effects of the Aids pandemic on orphans and vulnerable children (OVC) in Sub-Saharan Africa (SSA), (you can tell I’ve been reading through the first draft of her dissertation!!) she has recently returned to Swaziland. After, her first visit she has rarely stopped talking, sometime in SiSwati, about the country and particularly the people and orphans she worked with, in a country that has become very dear to her heart. So to build her dissertation around research to be carried out in Swaziland, whilst hopefully catching up with people she had met previously seemed a good idea, and I can only imagine at some of the squealing that must have gone on when she met Ziyanda and her new youngish child, Esphile who Victoria hadn’t met, the intensity no doubt increasing when she found out another was on the way!!
Well, the night of the full moon coincided with both her visit to Swaziland and us having friends to stay from York. The day before, right on clue, she beat me to it and texted me to say don’t forget to look at the African moon tomorrow night! So, to cut a long story short, at gone 11 o’clock the following night, in near perfect moon watching conditions; a clear sky and a warm still night, we have photos to show Linda and I, with our friends from York, legs wide and looking through them at the moon that is clearly visible in the background!!! Then, by the wonders of modern technology, we were able to first text some pictures to Victoria, much to the amusement of her friends in the bar, and later email some better pictures from the camera, so the tradition continues!
The title, The Moon’s in “A,” well it started life as the title of a song by Decameron, a popular Folk / Rock group from the late 60’s / early 70’s, but seems rather fitting when viewing the moon in “A” for Africa!!
Blog UK
This section was going to “dish the dirt,” as it were, on those friends we met up with on our recent UK visit, news of those particularly who haven’t ventured Vendée way and therefore not had the opportunity to feature in a missive or on the blog!!
Sadly, maybe due to the soggy weather putting a dampener on things, there’s little scandal to report. We did however catch up with a few friends and quite a lot of the family, finding people in good spirits despite the weather. Daniel’s kitchen is all but finished and he was getting ready to spend a week at The Wilderness, an outdoor pursuit’s centre in the Forest of Dean, completing his Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award, which we are both very proud to say he has now successfully finished. My Mum and Dad returned from their second trip to France with the caravan, just after we came back, we had seen them at the beginning of this holiday, and they were busy unpacking and getting the caravan ready for their third trip to France (there was a time when I would have said “It’s alright for some!) to holiday with my brother and his family and end up here once again for our annual Family Weekend, which this year – is it the pull of the sunshine (fingers crossed!), cheese, wine, oysters ........ or do they want to see us!?!
Victoria returned from Swaziland so we were able to catch up with all her news, and we met several friends who have threatened to come us see us – but so far only the Chalford contingent have booked up, the rest we are awaiting the call! Seriously though, visitors are actively encouraged, we’re not just saying that, we are delighted to see people, otherwise we only have each other, and the neighbouring herd of cows to talk to!!!
In York, we were able to meet the latest edition to the family, baby Jack who entered the world in March and is a happy soul, who if he isn’t giggling or smiling is eating or sleeping. Victoria has just met him and her “He’s adorable!” pretty well sums him up!
The nearest to scandal, was when I briefly met one of the many Ann’s I know, India Ann, who works on the customer services desk on Sunday in one of the Stroud supermarkets. I popped in waited for her to finish serving a customer, and in my best French greeted her warmly, hugged her and kissed her in the French style on both cheeks. Not, I should add here, with a French kiss, as one of our recent visitors announced on arrival and after the customary peck on both cheeks – Oh! French kissing! It’s at times like that that we are grateful not to have any close neighbours!!! Well, after the initial shock of my appearance, India Ann quickly composed grabbed me tightly and nearly pulled me across the counter, I remember thinking, I hope there is not one of those automatic security grids that come down when a panic button is pressed, as the young “Saturday lad” also at the counter looked decidedly worried, a look that changed to one of utter astonishment when, Ann finally released me and turned to him and said “I’ve no idea who this is!!!”
Then it was back, as they say after a holiday, to reality, except we’re not really sure what that is anymore!!!
Why’s that jogger up in the sky?
The more observant amongst you may well have viewed the video piece called “Blue Sky Thinking” on my blog (“It happened one Thursday in February,” just in case you’ve forgotten!!). On this you get an idea of my delight for gazing skywards and seeing what shapes the clouds, or indeed the silhouetted trees, particularly at night, appear as.
I’m reminded of a time a couple of years ago, when camping with the children from school. They had all gone to bed and all was quiet, that’s wishful thinking for a start!, and the adults were relaxing around the campfire, swopping stories and having a well deserved rest, when suddenly, I announced “Look there’s a jogger!” The other adults, I’m sure not for the first time, thought I had gone mad, until I drew attention to the old gnarled tree at the bottom of the field, standing starkly in front of the darkening sky. Indeed, before the end of the evening the tree had taken on many forms, finally stopping at a footballer, with a remarkable resemblance to David Beckham, volleying a football towards a certain goal, or perhaps that should be volleying a ball well over the top of the cross bar!
Shortly afterwards I found a fantastic book, published by “The Cloud Appreciation Society” (www.cloudappreciationsociety.org) called The Cloudspotter’s Guide by Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of the society, and subsequently another book “A Pig with SixLegs and other clouds” edited by the same person.
In the words of W.H. Davies, who spent the last years of his life in the Stroud Valleys at Nailsworth ~ “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?” I commend both the Cloud Appreciation Society and the poems of William Henry Davies, to give him his rarely seen full name. Also, why only stop at the first two lines of his famous poem ~ it really is rather apt, and in keeping with a framed quote I always rather liked, that hung in the gents at a conference venue used regularly by the Gloucester School’s Partnership Headteachers. Indeed, when I left this august body, I received a framed copy of the quote: “Be not so busy making a living that you forget to make a life!” printed with the background of a rather splendid sunset.
Leisure
WHAT is this life if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth canEnrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare.
Dear All
You will find attached Missive 9, which will also be on the blog now, and amazingly for once I think the missive says it all!!
Hope you're having a good summer and the weather has picked up from our visit to the UK.
Love
Roger
Mes chers amis
WET, WET, WET! ~ Missive 9
Once again, it’s some time since the last missive, partly due to us having been in England for a couple of weeks and also see the profound thought for the “day” at the end.
Why “Wet, Wet, Wet? I hear you collectively ask, and I’m sure you’d be partly right! Yes, we chose to return to England that fortnight, and for the fifteen days we were on English and briefly Welsh soil, it rained heavily for 14 of the days, at its worst it seemed when we were travelling. So with journeys from Dover to Stroud and back, Stroud to The Forest of Dean, Stroud to Broadway and back, to York and back, in total well over 2000 miles, of which only 800 was in France, the windscreen wipers were given a good work out.
The rain even had the cheek to follow us back over La Manche, and for the first hundred or so miles, 160 km now we were back in France, the rain lashed down. But on our return the only sogginess now is caused by sweat, or perspiration for the sensitive amongst you, as temperatures soar into the 30’s!! And, when you look around at the numerous reservoirs in the area that are becoming seriously low and some of the less hardy / less deeply rooted trees have already started their autumn, and it’s only the beginning of August!! We’re in a drought big time, but more about that in the next missive.
The Moon’s in “A”
For some year’s now, Victoria (my daughter) and I have “communed,” or perhaps that should be “commooned!,” through the moon and its various phases! I guess it all started when Victoria, Daniel and I would walk on Rodborough Common, on the night of the full moon, in order to wave to the man in the moon!! I should point out that was some time ago, when the children were only little, but Victoria, now 22, is still known to do it now – a girl after my own heart!!
Just before Victoria finished her “A” levels and then afterwards, with almost undue haste, jetted off for adventures in South Africa and Swaziland, I was watching a fascinating programme about the moon and there was this amazing, although when you think about it unsurprising, revelation that in the Southern Hemisphere the moon is upside down, well at least you see it the other way up to how we do in England. I suppose really, it’s you the observer who is upside down!
So on a moonlit walk prior to her departure, no doubt after a glass or two, we decided to view the moon “African” style, by standing legs apart and looking through our legs at the moon! Then it sort of stuck and rarely a full moon goes by without us contacting each other and reaching out – commooning, across the sometimes thousands of miles that separate us, sort of secure in the knowledge that we can both see the same view, clouds permitting!
Why am I telling you this now you may wonder, well as some of you may know, for her dissertation research, looking at the effects of the Aids pandemic on orphans and vulnerable children (OVC) in Sub-Saharan Africa (SSA), (you can tell I’ve been reading through the first draft of her dissertation!!) she has recently returned to Swaziland. After, her first visit she has rarely stopped talking, sometime in SiSwati, about the country and particularly the people and orphans she worked with, in a country that has become very dear to her heart. So to build her dissertation around research to be carried out in Swaziland, whilst hopefully catching up with people she had met previously seemed a good idea, and I can only imagine at some of the squealing that must have gone on when she met Ziyanda and her new youngish child, Esphile who Victoria hadn’t met, the intensity no doubt increasing when she found out another was on the way!!
Well, the night of the full moon coincided with both her visit to Swaziland and us having friends to stay from York. The day before, right on clue, she beat me to it and texted me to say don’t forget to look at the African moon tomorrow night! So, to cut a long story short, at gone 11 o’clock the following night, in near perfect moon watching conditions; a clear sky and a warm still night, we have photos to show Linda and I, with our friends from York, legs wide and looking through them at the moon that is clearly visible in the background!!! Then, by the wonders of modern technology, we were able to first text some pictures to Victoria, much to the amusement of her friends in the bar, and later email some better pictures from the camera, so the tradition continues!
The title, The Moon’s in “A,” well it started life as the title of a song by Decameron, a popular Folk / Rock group from the late 60’s / early 70’s, but seems rather fitting when viewing the moon in “A” for Africa!!
Blog UK
This section was going to “dish the dirt,” as it were, on those friends we met up with on our recent UK visit, news of those particularly who haven’t ventured Vendée way and therefore not had the opportunity to feature in a missive or on the blog!!
Sadly, maybe due to the soggy weather putting a dampener on things, there’s little scandal to report. We did however catch up with a few friends and quite a lot of the family, finding people in good spirits despite the weather. Daniel’s kitchen is all but finished and he was getting ready to spend a week at The Wilderness, an outdoor pursuit’s centre in the Forest of Dean, completing his Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award, which we are both very proud to say he has now successfully finished. My Mum and Dad returned from their second trip to France with the caravan, just after we came back, we had seen them at the beginning of this holiday, and they were busy unpacking and getting the caravan ready for their third trip to France (there was a time when I would have said “It’s alright for some!) to holiday with my brother and his family and end up here once again for our annual Family Weekend, which this year – is it the pull of the sunshine (fingers crossed!), cheese, wine, oysters ........ or do they want to see us!?!
Victoria returned from Swaziland so we were able to catch up with all her news, and we met several friends who have threatened to come us see us – but so far only the Chalford contingent have booked up, the rest we are awaiting the call! Seriously though, visitors are actively encouraged, we’re not just saying that, we are delighted to see people, otherwise we only have each other, and the neighbouring herd of cows to talk to!!!
In York, we were able to meet the latest edition to the family, baby Jack who entered the world in March and is a happy soul, who if he isn’t giggling or smiling is eating or sleeping. Victoria has just met him and her “He’s adorable!” pretty well sums him up!
The nearest to scandal, was when I briefly met one of the many Ann’s I know, India Ann, who works on the customer services desk on Sunday in one of the Stroud supermarkets. I popped in waited for her to finish serving a customer, and in my best French greeted her warmly, hugged her and kissed her in the French style on both cheeks. Not, I should add here, with a French kiss, as one of our recent visitors announced on arrival and after the customary peck on both cheeks – Oh! French kissing! It’s at times like that that we are grateful not to have any close neighbours!!! Well, after the initial shock of my appearance, India Ann quickly composed grabbed me tightly and nearly pulled me across the counter, I remember thinking, I hope there is not one of those automatic security grids that come down when a panic button is pressed, as the young “Saturday lad” also at the counter looked decidedly worried, a look that changed to one of utter astonishment when, Ann finally released me and turned to him and said “I’ve no idea who this is!!!”
Then it was back, as they say after a holiday, to reality, except we’re not really sure what that is anymore!!!
Why’s that jogger up in the sky?
The more observant amongst you may well have viewed the video piece called “Blue Sky Thinking” on my blog (“It happened one Thursday in February,” just in case you’ve forgotten!!). On this you get an idea of my delight for gazing skywards and seeing what shapes the clouds, or indeed the silhouetted trees, particularly at night, appear as.
I’m reminded of a time a couple of years ago, when camping with the children from school. They had all gone to bed and all was quiet, that’s wishful thinking for a start!, and the adults were relaxing around the campfire, swopping stories and having a well deserved rest, when suddenly, I announced “Look there’s a jogger!” The other adults, I’m sure not for the first time, thought I had gone mad, until I drew attention to the old gnarled tree at the bottom of the field, standing starkly in front of the darkening sky. Indeed, before the end of the evening the tree had taken on many forms, finally stopping at a footballer, with a remarkable resemblance to David Beckham, volleying a football towards a certain goal, or perhaps that should be volleying a ball well over the top of the cross bar!
Shortly afterwards I found a fantastic book, published by “The Cloud Appreciation Society” (www.cloudappreciationsociety.org) called The Cloudspotter’s Guide by Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of the society, and subsequently another book “A Pig with SixLegs and other clouds” edited by the same person.
In the words of W.H. Davies, who spent the last years of his life in the Stroud Valleys at Nailsworth ~ “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?” I commend both the Cloud Appreciation Society and the poems of William Henry Davies, to give him his rarely seen full name. Also, why only stop at the first two lines of his famous poem ~ it really is rather apt, and in keeping with a framed quote I always rather liked, that hung in the gents at a conference venue used regularly by the Gloucester School’s Partnership Headteachers. Indeed, when I left this august body, I received a framed copy of the quote: “Be not so busy making a living that you forget to make a life!” printed with the background of a rather splendid sunset.
Leisure
WHAT is this life if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth canEnrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare.
Both sort of sum up the way the missives, the wider blog and life generally is shaping up!! I now have quality time, energy and passion to become philosophical, observant and to think!
The silent wolf!
I’m sure that on an earlier blog, I’ve mentioned our close proximity to the 16th century wolf pit, deep in the chateau woods. Well, back then in the 16th century the servants of the good people of the chateau, plagued it would appear by a proliferation of wild wolfs, preying on their livestock and who knows, perhaps the odd unwary human ambling peacefully in the wood, dug a deep pit with sheer stone-lined sides and would bait it, cover it in twigs and leaves and hopefully trap and kill the unwary beasts.
Enter Tottoon, the chateau hound, a large shaggy black beast who pads silently around coming up when least expected! You might be bent over weeding the garden and suddenly you’re aware of being watched, and sure enough after the initial shock of thinking wolves are still around, you realise its Tottoon come to call. Other than looks that where the resemblance to a wolf stops ~ she’s quite a charming, happy, self contained soul, who seems to like nothing better than accompanying us on our evening walks, padding silently on ahead, as Max sniffs along behind, stopping every so often to check we’re still there, and on our return she’s off without a backward look, to go and check up on Monsieur!
The egret has landed
Strictly, I suppose this should be the “egrets” have landed, but that’s not how it was for Neil Armstrong or Michael Caine in the film of book with the “similar” name, by Jack Higgins!!
We had first properly encountered (I had seen them from afar, amongst a herd of cattle a couple of days previously) what was a rather large flock of these brilliantly white and excruciatingly shy birds, when they had taken up residence on the low trees surrounding Monsieur’s grand lac (large lake). Here they were hung haphazardly like the incredibly white washing, pummelled in the muddy water of an Indian river and spread over the surrounding bushes to dry. I often ask myself the question – just how do they get the washing so white? You could similarly ask how the egrets stay so pristine, when surrounded by murky water, muddy foreshore and the increasingly dusty banks of drought affected ponds and lakes.
However, before we even broke cover the egrets had flown and were heading over the distance trees to drape themselves on some other waterside location. However, not to be daunted we returned the following night complete with camera and telephoto lens, found they had returned, and crept up on them altogether more quietly, only to be thwarted once more by an alert bird giving a warning and the others going into flight mode so quickly as to only be able to get one clear photo opportunity, through the trees, before they were gone. Slightly disgruntled we left, wondering whether we would have to resort to some sort of camouflage or hide to get sort good shots, but didn’t really give it much thought for a day or two.
Imagine then our surprise, when returning from a shopping trip, through the back way, we found that they had moved in with our neighbouring herd of cows, and as the cows nonchalantly grazed their way across the field they seemed to be chaperoned by one or two of these magnificent birds, looking I guess for rich picking amongst the dung!! No sooner had the car come into sight than these shy birds took to the air and disappeared far away over the distant trees, we thought never to be seen again. But, as the days have gone by they have come back and even begun to stay grazing in the field as we walk by, if they are not too close to the fence, and if they do fly it seems now they do a quick circuit and return when we are safely past.
The photos? Well all that talk of camouflage and hides was somewhat premature, as some of the best shots I have got sitting at the table after tea, in comfort, with a glass of wine to hand –isn’t this called being an “armchair naturalist,” or is that only when the wonderful natural world unfolds in front of you on a small scene!?!
What a shower!
Not in this case relating to the glass cubicle in the bathroom, which it could quite easily, as the other day I heard Linda informing someone that “It’s quite simply the best shower we have ever had!” So there you have it –praise indeed!
No in this case, I’m referring to the Perseid shower, an annual occurrence that brings an even greater majesty and wonder to our night skies, and yes before you ask, unlike the African sky in “The moon’s in “A,” our Vendéen night sky is much the same as that in old England, albeit suffering from no light pollution from street lights or the like, except if Max goes out and turns on the automatic security light, by walking underneath it, not by dexterity of paw, you understand!!
During the course of said evening, several times I ventured outside, and as suggested lay back in a reclining chair and enjoyed. It was a perfect night for star gazing, so often not the case when the evening weather-person tells us what a great sight we are in for, later in the night – weather permitting, and it rarely seems to! I sat feeling very small with the vast firmament that seemed to be pressing down, so intense was the light and the sheer number of stars and I thought about early man and their need to worship the “heavens.” I also couldn’t help feeling that somewhere, just somewhere, there must be life out there, we can’t be that special and unique and how unimaginable it is that it just goes on infinitely – powerful stuff !!
Then as the near quarter moon rose, as the shower lived up to expectations, at times not short of a firework display, I found myself reminiscing, and two incidents came back. The first a similar if not quite as warm (it was still 20°C at 1.30 in the morning) Welsh evening, sitting late at night in a field outside Brecon on an annual Gastrell’s Ramblers weekend, and as the stars started shooting, one of the assembled company was astonished – he thought shooting stars only happened in the southern hemisphere – how easy it is to pick up the wrong message I thought.
The second, with also a Welsh connection, was sitting late at night on the common above Stroud with my boss, and her husband I hasten to add, hoping to snatch a promised glimpse of the Northern Lights only to be thwarted by the clouds. But we sat on a chilly evening with cars parked next to each other chatting through the open windows. But, being more that the permitted 15 yds from the road a passing police car drove over to ask what we were doing! I can’t remember if the boss used her Welsh to baffle the policeman on that occasion or not – but see frequently did and probably continues to do so!!
A quote and profound thought of the “day!”
In a magazine I was recently reading I came across this quote from Dr. Joan Harvey from Newcastle University’s School of Psychology: “Humans adapt brilliantly to the countryside; we sense time passing differently, even the smell of the air. The countryside isn’t silent of course; what we’re enjoying is our natural ability to recalibrate to its rhythm.” I’ll like to tell you it was in some learned journal entitled “Psychology Review” or “Psychology Today” but it was actually in a Country Walking magazine! Nonetheless, how very true, and as we recalibrate, perhaps that explains why it has taken so long to send you this, the latest “Nouvelles de la Vendée,” (News from the Vendée)!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Continuing the weather gloat, whoops theme – how pleasant it is, to once more be able to lie outside in the warm sunshine and come in and out without the ignominy of having to have one’s wet paws wiped each time, as the UK gardens did seem to be rather soggy on our recent visit!!)
And to come next time, maybe: “Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink- nearly!,” or “When the cat’s away the mice will dance!,” “What came first – the trolley or the trap?,” “Something good from Swaziland” and “Children.” The “day’s thought” – a good book.
“What about the Citizen Blog?” Oh, these media people! They have been looking for the right “platform” on which to launch me to the unsuspecting people of Gloucestershire! They think they have now found it and will be in touch shortly!! They seem keen, but not sure if it’s a case of “Don’t call us, we’ll call you!,” leaving me in true “Britain’s Got Talent” fashion sobbing outside the audition room! That Simon can be so cruel(!!!!) and we don’t even watch it, in fact we don’t even have a television now, despite “Phonezilla” from the France Telecom office telling us our package comes complete with 40 FREE channels. We’re told that French television isn’t a patch on that in England. With the likes of the afore mentioned programme and others like “Big Brother” “Jeremy Kyle and “Loose Women” (included to annoy Linda!), Dieu aide les Français!
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Continuing the weather gloat, whoops theme – how pleasant it is, to once more be able to lie outside in the warm sunshine and come in and out without the ignominy of having to have one’s wet paws wiped each time, as the UK gardens did seem to be rather soggy on our recent visit!!)
And to come next time, maybe: “Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink- nearly!,” or “When the cat’s away the mice will dance!,” “What came first – the trolley or the trap?,” “Something good from Swaziland” and “Children.” The “day’s thought” – a good book.
“What about the Citizen Blog?” Oh, these media people! They have been looking for the right “platform” on which to launch me to the unsuspecting people of Gloucestershire! They think they have now found it and will be in touch shortly!! They seem keen, but not sure if it’s a case of “Don’t call us, we’ll call you!,” leaving me in true “Britain’s Got Talent” fashion sobbing outside the audition room! That Simon can be so cruel(!!!!) and we don’t even watch it, in fact we don’t even have a television now, despite “Phonezilla” from the France Telecom office telling us our package comes complete with 40 FREE channels. We’re told that French television isn’t a patch on that in England. With the likes of the afore mentioned programme and others like “Big Brother” “Jeremy Kyle and “Loose Women” (included to annoy Linda!), Dieu aide les Français!
Monday, July 13, 2009
What a Wonderful World! ~ Missive 8
Dear All
We have shortly returned from La Rochelle, where after a fabulous lunch outside a restaurant next to the old harbour, where a set price three course lunch, with loads of choices (except for me with oysters as one of the starter choices, there became no real choice!!), gives you change from £13-00!, we delivered guests 15 and 16 to the airport ready for their flight back to Stanstead and onward journey to York.
During the meal, Anne one of our guests, with a satisfied sigh, pushed her chair back, sank into said chair and somewhat dreamily said “This is the life!!” To which Linda hastily replied “Yes it is!” Which seems a good moment to remind you all that you are welcome to join us as part of this new life, and have an opportunity to see the sights and sample the food and wine! But “book” early to avoid disappointment!!
We look forward to seeing as many of you as possible, either here in the sunny Vendée or on our forthcoming visit to England, which promises to be something of a mad dash, fitting in as many people as possible (Stroud, Forest of Dean, Broadway, York and many places in between!
Love
Roger
85410, Vendee, FRANCE
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
What a Wonderful World!
It is some time since the last missive, and not only have we had other visitors (My Mum and Dad and one of their old friends, all en route for a holiday further south, and Anne and Steve, friends from York) but I’m on a mission!! And, this mission is one of those that is likely to run and run, with hopefully some sort of “holy grail” at the end, but lots of cans of worms along the way. Some of you will know that, in October I was elected as the chairman of the Association of Countryside Volunteers (ACV), formerly the Association of Countryside Voluntary Wardens (ACVW), a small national organisation that exists to bring like minded people together, set up training opportunities and "to promote effective and enjoyable work by volunteers throughout the countryside." Having then moved to France meant that carrying out this role was going to need good reliable internet access, particularly as I have set myself the task of tracking down an estimate of how many countryside volunteers operate in the UK and as a by product of this research, trying to promote the ACV and make a small organisation bigger. Well over 500 emails down the line: 15 National Parks (not good responders to date!), 48 Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty (even worse responders to date!!), Wildlife Trusts (the worst responders so far!!!), 448 Local Authorities (at present the best responders) and various other groups and organisations, the multitude of replies is keeping me busy, but providing some very interesting leads!
Mid May and warfare broke out in the surrounding fields!
It’s a while back now, but in mid May the peace and quiet of our rural idyll was shattered. Warfare had broken out all around us and the brown earth turned imperceptibly green as a result. Why? I hear you ask, concerned no doubt for our safety in this corner of a foreign field! But, don’t worry our lives were not at risk* from either the crops that were shooting up at an alarming rate, or from the distant gunshots, that it transpired were simply bottled gas operated bird scarers!! All we could think was “Thank goodness Max is now all but deaf,” that’s unless you count being able to hear a baguette being drawn from a cotton bread sack and the subsequent cutting up!!
*However, the numerous coypu (see below) might not be so lucky!!
Also, shortly afterwards, we seemed to be under siege each evening when we went out and walked down the inner avenue of lime trees, towards the moat that surrounds the tightly shuttered chateau. We were followed and surrounded by a strange hum, not some strange new doodlebug weapon designed to eradicate the coypu population, or indeed the “incomer” population, or caused by a lack of showering during the preceding hot sweaty weather!
No, but it was an invasion! As the lime trees came into flower, the bees set to work collecting the pollen, if you stopped and focussed on the fair sized trees surrounding you, you were indeed surrounded by the busy bees from miles around, the whole outer edge of the tree buzzed and moved, as the bees frantically collected pollen from the multitude of insignificant flowers that proliferated on each tree. Fortunately, our own body smell that had developed since our last shower was not at all attractive to the thousands upon thousands of bees we found ourselves in close proximity with!
Wildlife Watch
One of the great things about living in the deepest countryside is that we are privileged to share it with some incredible wildlife, and as the weeks go by the list of “hidden glimpses of our secret nature” keep on growing:
The list of deer sightings continues from the first distant fleeting glance to a better view when Linda and I were walking quite noisily back from St Laurent, on our evening amble. We passed a line of trees to be confronted by a deer grazing in the field. Not sure who was most surprised the deer or us, but certainly the deer moved fastest, after the initial shock, nimbly leaping into the nearby trees. Then, close by the same spot, when walking with my mother, we again disturbed a deer that took flight, not into the nearby wood, but jumping wildly and high as it made its way across a wide field of standing grain into the cover of a distant wood.
On another occasion, when on the search for the last few elderflowers to make another batch of cordial, I took off on my own on one of the circular walks from our house and taking in a number of grassy green lanes. Walking along minding my own business, I passed a break in the trees that opened into the middle of the wood, and had all but gone passed when I thought to myself that one of the tree trunks didn’t look quite right and stopped, took a step back and came face to face with a roe deer, frozen and watching, thinking it had got away with it. I then froze and for a fleeting moment or two we stared at each other, before it realised that it hadn’t got away with it and with surprising agility and surprisingly quietly, it leapt away from me through the dense undergrowth of the surrounding woodland. And, finally for now the latest sighting, deep in the chateau woodland and close to the wolf pit, showed the remarkable jumping ability that deer’s have. Along the path in front of us a deer that had probably gone to ground and then realised we were getting too close for comfort, broke cover and ran down the wide woodland path leaping quite two metres in the air and twisting backwards and forwards in case the excited finger pointing it out was a gun being levelled to the shoulder, and in a flash it was gone bounding through the dense surrounding woodland.
They’re big rodents, or rats, but there is something rather endearing about the huge number of coypu who seem to frequent any patches of water, and there are lots of those, in the area. I guess it’s the British Wind in the Willows syndrome, as we get up early, make special journeys to and stand for long periods to watch and shoot these engaging creatures, with a camera I hasten to add, whilst the natives, who really are very friendly, try to capture them and shoot them in a totally different manner! One evening amble, or dodle as we tend to call it, courtesy of M. Chateau, strolling as if we own the place down the grassy tree-lined avenue, there was a scurry of activity as first one then two, three, and four young coypu followed by mum ran back to the safety of their pond and close proximity to their burrow, before stopping to look at us and posing long enough to allow Linda time to get out her camera and take a photo.
Then, early one morning, the rising sun beckoned and I quietly walked to the lake just up the tree-lined road and spent a little while watching and photographing a swimming coypu, that was obviously oblivious to my presence, a convenient clump of brambles providing useful cover over which to poke the telephoto lens! Such encounters are all the more satisfying knowing that you have glimpsed the animal’s secret world, without disturbing them and frightening them away, or indeed them knowing that you were even there.
As we walk along the many tracks and green lanes that surround us, there are often scurrying noises from the undergrowth, as animals that hear us coming and go to ground, decide that we are too close for comfort and make a dash for it. Often these frantic sounds of escape are no more than that, and the animal; mouse, rat, coypu, lizard or whatever, remains hidden and unobserved and on the occasion I thought the snuffling sounds might have come from a foraging sangier, or wild boar, I was quite relieved not to be confronted!! But just occasionally, the cover is broken and we are rewarded with a tantalising and exhilarating glimpse, like when with a loud and hurried flapping of obviously very large wings just the other side of the hedge revealed, as it lifted off, an enormous buzzard with trailing bright yellow legs and enormous talons – thankfully I was too large a prey!
Whilst on our feathered friends; there was the family of goldfinches, like a group of excited children on an outing, chattering as they flew hurriedly around, seeming to chase one another as they searched the thistles for seeds but also flew hither and thither for the pure joy of it, twittering noisily as they went. Then, whilst lunching on the terrace one day the peace was shattered by an altogether different, more persistent and urgent tweeting, and looking up we were confronted by three young swallows precariously and not very proficiently clinging to our telephone wire, indeed one of them seemed so nervous that it was very reluctant to leave the safety of the bracket that holds the wire to the post. As we looked at them the excited tweeting had all but stopped, until one of the long suffering and hard working parents were spied by one of the youngsters, who all continually scanned the sky, whilst clinging on to their wobbly claw holds. At the time they were spotted and food was imminent then all hell let loose, seeming at first that the chick that could tweet the loudest would get the next tasty morsel. But, further watching showed that both parents were very fair and shared the food they constantly gathered, with little time for themselves to take a bite. These carefully choreographed antics went on for some time, with the tweet crescendo followed by the careful watching, until with some unseen sign the parents coaxed their offspring off the wire and into the air, albeit initially rather shakily.
Sometime later in the afternoon, the lunchtime performance all but forgotten, a less frantic tweeting made me look skyward and there were the three youngsters and their parents performing an incredible aerobatic display as if to say “look at us now!” indeed, so proficient had the three timid chicks of earlier become, that it was impossible to tell them apart from their parents, who were obviously seasoned fliers as well as great travellers, returning to this corner of France to rear their young before flying back thousands of kilometres to somewhere in North Africa – a mind boggling feat and for me one of the natural world’s greatest secrets, just how do they find their way and above all keep going without stopping! In honour of today’s maiden flight and with a huge amount of respect for the speed with which the youngsters had progressed, I found myself laughing out loud and giving the family a cheery wave, to which I’m sure they dipped their wings in acknowledgement –it reminds me of those famous words of W.H. Davies, famous poet who spent his last days in Nailsworth, close to Stroud: “What is this life, if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.” It also reminds me of home and how so often when “full of care” I didn’t have the time to “stand and stare.”
See the blog “It happened one Thursday in February,” and in particular the slide show called “Blue Sky Thinking,” to see that time isn’t now at such a premium. Also, watch out for the next missive – see below!!
Then there are the hares, sightings of which are too numerous to mention, suffice to say; they’re huge, incredibly fast over long distances and by far the best stolen moment was when one grazing on the chateau lawn outside out sitting room window, being oblivious to our presence, sauntered right up to the roses outside our window, nearly close enough to touch, before unhurried and certainly unafraid went about it’s daily business.
Then there’s: The Red Cage ~ Strange or what? See below:
Fortunately, the natives are friendly!
As I write this the natives are partying by the lake, it’s Bank Holiday Weekend and it seems that M. Joe’s family are celebrating, or as we now know M. Jode’s family. It seems to happen a lot around here, no not the partying, although the French are good at that too, but rather the changing of identity, remember Madam becoming Monsieur? I think I also missed out on an invite to join them, as I wasn’t sure if when I waved and shouted Bonjour, if the raised hands were a greeting or a bottle and glass being proffered!?
Well, we recently greeted a walker passing with her two dogs in our best French, but on her return I forgot where I was and called Max back, from seeing off her dogs, in English, at which point she said “Oh, you’re English!” So we must be making some progress with the language and trying to blend in, although I would have thought that the English car parked at the front might have been a give away, but even that is soon to change as we have had to reregister the car in France to obtain insurance. The new number will be going on when we return from England in a couple of weeks time. It seems a bit strange going on holiday to England. So it transpired that the English woman lived in La Goupillaire, our nearest very small hamlet and in the two years that she has been there has begun to sort out who is related to who, and many of the families seem to have a Jode connection! So our detective work was advanced some way with one short conversation, and we’ve been invited for coffee so may be able to find out even more!!
But, I’m jumping ahead of myself as I need to go back to when we first moved in. From that very first day, when suddenly the normally quiet road seemed to have a constant flow of traffic, heads turned our way as they passed and waving vigorously if we happened to be in sight, the natives, or perhaps locals would be better, have been very friendly. And, even after the initial surge of interest, any walkers, joggers, cyclists or the occupants of vehicles that chance to stray off the beaten track and down our way all wave and greet us in the most friendly of manner – no simple nod or raised hand but a real backwards and forwards friendly wave, as though they really mean it! We did for a while wonder if there was a local sweepstake to see who could get the incomers to wave at them the most!!
But even out walking, cars were passing us and all the occupants energetically waving, with even the driver turning so obviously towards us that they were in danger of leaving the road! It’s also not uncommon for a car to stop and the occupants to pass the time of day, as when we were waiting for my brother and heard a car pull up outside the chateau. Thinking they had arrived and were admiring the chateau before turning into our drive, Linda and I both strode out to be confronted by a strange French car, with a couple in it who wound down the window and chattered happily for some time, even telling us about all the English people who had moved into their village.
M. Jode, as we now know him and it wasn’t the rather bemused man that Linda had accosted some weeks previously and asked if he was M. Joe. At the time he agreed he was, perhaps to appease the mad English woman, but there again he may simply have been one of the Jode’s boys as there seem to be a lot of them around, but not M. Charles’ guardian or caretaker, who with his round smiley face waves like a long lost friend whenever we see him, at times leaning precariously out of the ancient tractor that he often drives! His son, Michel, is the farmer who usually collects the water from the trough outside our house, to fill up the cow troughs out in the fields, and he always makes a point of coming over, shaking hands and passing the time of day, even if it is only a comment about the weather! But when my brother and family were here he was passing as they were in the car about to drive off and he speeds up, screeching to a stop in his battered old tractor, emulating his father and leaning out and waving through the car window to then wishing them “Au revoir et bon retour!” Good bye and good return journey!
Then, seemingly at pains to make sure we were invited on the annual parish walk, we had two albeit rather vague invites, pushed into our letterbox – buts that’s for another missive.
They are also obviously beginning to feel comfortable with us being around, as the other day, admittedly something of a scorcher, Michel arrived stripped to the waist and in a pair of baggy shorts, as well as heavy work boots and a baseball cap, certainly not a pretty sight!! After the initial pleasantries, talk turned to the heat and how he needed his hat today. As I was wearing mine I agreed and indicated how important it was when you had little hair on top, although mine continues to grow back! With a chuckle, he removed his cap and indicated his own, somewhat smaller, bald patch!!
Any ideas for courgettes!?!
Well, the baby courgettes have grown and generally seem set to take over the world, well perhaps our little part of the Vendée! It’s a long story, but in a nutshell, some of the first plants that we put in the garden were ten healthy looking courgette plants, but conditions; hot very dry weather and a long journey with the watering can, meant that although they flowered quickly, by the time that our first vegetable expert visited they were looking rather sad for themselves, despite a stern talking to each morning! So the expert decided that we needed some new plants and another batch of ten, the label promising them to be prolific producers of wonderfully flavoured and beautifully coloured courgettes, were duly planted. However, at the same time Linda, under the guidance of the expert, gave the first lot of plants a bit of TLC and some compost.
Now whether it was the TLC, compost, stern talking to or the desire not to be outdone by the new-comers, as the new-comers romped upwards, most of the first batch decided to keep pace and so two or three weeks of picking has seen us harvest over seventy courgettes, ranging from mini pan-fried and too young to be taken from their mothers to monster, size fours, well stuffed with lentils, rice, onions and French beans (both from the garden) as well as some further cunningly disguised grated courgette to bulk it up a bit and get rid of some more courgette.
Fortunately, courgettes are versatile, and our present visitors are partial to a courgette or six!! But, despite frying them, grating them into stews and raw in salads, adding them to casseroles, lasagne and ratatouille, barbecuing them, making them into crepes, pickling them and generally stretching their versatility to the limit, they continue to grow and grow, and you can almost see them sneering at you as they stretch a little more between trips to the tap with the watering can, and muttering under their breath “That will teach you to talk sternly to us!!” I’m sure that I’m not alone in having a glut of courgettes, so why not send me your favourite disguise (edible!!) for courgettes, or better still add them to the blog! “It happened one Thursday in February”
But, the gardening is repaying the initial hard work, and as well as courgettes we have harvested lots of leaves (a local type of chard), leeks, onions, shallots and handfuls of French beans, which pan-fried in some oil go with everything and I think I will never tire of! Amazing really, as we only moved in in the first week of April!
We also have tomatoes, peppers, cabbages, beetroot, carrots, potatoes and broccoli still to come, so we are hoping it rains at least some of the time when we visit England next week for a couple of weeks, in France that is!! The only things that didn’t take were two melons, which are grown locally, but didn’t rate our garden and we only got three lettuces (2 rather scrawny and the other a real whopper!) out of the eighteen we planted!! The others succumbed to a strange fate, appearing to dissolve into the soil –caused by some sort of insect we have been told – all very sci-fi, but then how about this for sinister goings on:
We have shortly returned from La Rochelle, where after a fabulous lunch outside a restaurant next to the old harbour, where a set price three course lunch, with loads of choices (except for me with oysters as one of the starter choices, there became no real choice!!), gives you change from £13-00!, we delivered guests 15 and 16 to the airport ready for their flight back to Stanstead and onward journey to York.
During the meal, Anne one of our guests, with a satisfied sigh, pushed her chair back, sank into said chair and somewhat dreamily said “This is the life!!” To which Linda hastily replied “Yes it is!” Which seems a good moment to remind you all that you are welcome to join us as part of this new life, and have an opportunity to see the sights and sample the food and wine! But “book” early to avoid disappointment!!
We look forward to seeing as many of you as possible, either here in the sunny Vendée or on our forthcoming visit to England, which promises to be something of a mad dash, fitting in as many people as possible (Stroud, Forest of Dean, Broadway, York and many places in between!
Love
Roger
85410, Vendee, FRANCE
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
What a Wonderful World!
It is some time since the last missive, and not only have we had other visitors (My Mum and Dad and one of their old friends, all en route for a holiday further south, and Anne and Steve, friends from York) but I’m on a mission!! And, this mission is one of those that is likely to run and run, with hopefully some sort of “holy grail” at the end, but lots of cans of worms along the way. Some of you will know that, in October I was elected as the chairman of the Association of Countryside Volunteers (ACV), formerly the Association of Countryside Voluntary Wardens (ACVW), a small national organisation that exists to bring like minded people together, set up training opportunities and "to promote effective and enjoyable work by volunteers throughout the countryside." Having then moved to France meant that carrying out this role was going to need good reliable internet access, particularly as I have set myself the task of tracking down an estimate of how many countryside volunteers operate in the UK and as a by product of this research, trying to promote the ACV and make a small organisation bigger. Well over 500 emails down the line: 15 National Parks (not good responders to date!), 48 Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty (even worse responders to date!!), Wildlife Trusts (the worst responders so far!!!), 448 Local Authorities (at present the best responders) and various other groups and organisations, the multitude of replies is keeping me busy, but providing some very interesting leads!
Mid May and warfare broke out in the surrounding fields!
It’s a while back now, but in mid May the peace and quiet of our rural idyll was shattered. Warfare had broken out all around us and the brown earth turned imperceptibly green as a result. Why? I hear you ask, concerned no doubt for our safety in this corner of a foreign field! But, don’t worry our lives were not at risk* from either the crops that were shooting up at an alarming rate, or from the distant gunshots, that it transpired were simply bottled gas operated bird scarers!! All we could think was “Thank goodness Max is now all but deaf,” that’s unless you count being able to hear a baguette being drawn from a cotton bread sack and the subsequent cutting up!!
*However, the numerous coypu (see below) might not be so lucky!!
Also, shortly afterwards, we seemed to be under siege each evening when we went out and walked down the inner avenue of lime trees, towards the moat that surrounds the tightly shuttered chateau. We were followed and surrounded by a strange hum, not some strange new doodlebug weapon designed to eradicate the coypu population, or indeed the “incomer” population, or caused by a lack of showering during the preceding hot sweaty weather!
No, but it was an invasion! As the lime trees came into flower, the bees set to work collecting the pollen, if you stopped and focussed on the fair sized trees surrounding you, you were indeed surrounded by the busy bees from miles around, the whole outer edge of the tree buzzed and moved, as the bees frantically collected pollen from the multitude of insignificant flowers that proliferated on each tree. Fortunately, our own body smell that had developed since our last shower was not at all attractive to the thousands upon thousands of bees we found ourselves in close proximity with!
Wildlife Watch
One of the great things about living in the deepest countryside is that we are privileged to share it with some incredible wildlife, and as the weeks go by the list of “hidden glimpses of our secret nature” keep on growing:
The list of deer sightings continues from the first distant fleeting glance to a better view when Linda and I were walking quite noisily back from St Laurent, on our evening amble. We passed a line of trees to be confronted by a deer grazing in the field. Not sure who was most surprised the deer or us, but certainly the deer moved fastest, after the initial shock, nimbly leaping into the nearby trees. Then, close by the same spot, when walking with my mother, we again disturbed a deer that took flight, not into the nearby wood, but jumping wildly and high as it made its way across a wide field of standing grain into the cover of a distant wood.
On another occasion, when on the search for the last few elderflowers to make another batch of cordial, I took off on my own on one of the circular walks from our house and taking in a number of grassy green lanes. Walking along minding my own business, I passed a break in the trees that opened into the middle of the wood, and had all but gone passed when I thought to myself that one of the tree trunks didn’t look quite right and stopped, took a step back and came face to face with a roe deer, frozen and watching, thinking it had got away with it. I then froze and for a fleeting moment or two we stared at each other, before it realised that it hadn’t got away with it and with surprising agility and surprisingly quietly, it leapt away from me through the dense undergrowth of the surrounding woodland. And, finally for now the latest sighting, deep in the chateau woodland and close to the wolf pit, showed the remarkable jumping ability that deer’s have. Along the path in front of us a deer that had probably gone to ground and then realised we were getting too close for comfort, broke cover and ran down the wide woodland path leaping quite two metres in the air and twisting backwards and forwards in case the excited finger pointing it out was a gun being levelled to the shoulder, and in a flash it was gone bounding through the dense surrounding woodland.
They’re big rodents, or rats, but there is something rather endearing about the huge number of coypu who seem to frequent any patches of water, and there are lots of those, in the area. I guess it’s the British Wind in the Willows syndrome, as we get up early, make special journeys to and stand for long periods to watch and shoot these engaging creatures, with a camera I hasten to add, whilst the natives, who really are very friendly, try to capture them and shoot them in a totally different manner! One evening amble, or dodle as we tend to call it, courtesy of M. Chateau, strolling as if we own the place down the grassy tree-lined avenue, there was a scurry of activity as first one then two, three, and four young coypu followed by mum ran back to the safety of their pond and close proximity to their burrow, before stopping to look at us and posing long enough to allow Linda time to get out her camera and take a photo.
Then, early one morning, the rising sun beckoned and I quietly walked to the lake just up the tree-lined road and spent a little while watching and photographing a swimming coypu, that was obviously oblivious to my presence, a convenient clump of brambles providing useful cover over which to poke the telephoto lens! Such encounters are all the more satisfying knowing that you have glimpsed the animal’s secret world, without disturbing them and frightening them away, or indeed them knowing that you were even there.
As we walk along the many tracks and green lanes that surround us, there are often scurrying noises from the undergrowth, as animals that hear us coming and go to ground, decide that we are too close for comfort and make a dash for it. Often these frantic sounds of escape are no more than that, and the animal; mouse, rat, coypu, lizard or whatever, remains hidden and unobserved and on the occasion I thought the snuffling sounds might have come from a foraging sangier, or wild boar, I was quite relieved not to be confronted!! But just occasionally, the cover is broken and we are rewarded with a tantalising and exhilarating glimpse, like when with a loud and hurried flapping of obviously very large wings just the other side of the hedge revealed, as it lifted off, an enormous buzzard with trailing bright yellow legs and enormous talons – thankfully I was too large a prey!
Whilst on our feathered friends; there was the family of goldfinches, like a group of excited children on an outing, chattering as they flew hurriedly around, seeming to chase one another as they searched the thistles for seeds but also flew hither and thither for the pure joy of it, twittering noisily as they went. Then, whilst lunching on the terrace one day the peace was shattered by an altogether different, more persistent and urgent tweeting, and looking up we were confronted by three young swallows precariously and not very proficiently clinging to our telephone wire, indeed one of them seemed so nervous that it was very reluctant to leave the safety of the bracket that holds the wire to the post. As we looked at them the excited tweeting had all but stopped, until one of the long suffering and hard working parents were spied by one of the youngsters, who all continually scanned the sky, whilst clinging on to their wobbly claw holds. At the time they were spotted and food was imminent then all hell let loose, seeming at first that the chick that could tweet the loudest would get the next tasty morsel. But, further watching showed that both parents were very fair and shared the food they constantly gathered, with little time for themselves to take a bite. These carefully choreographed antics went on for some time, with the tweet crescendo followed by the careful watching, until with some unseen sign the parents coaxed their offspring off the wire and into the air, albeit initially rather shakily.
Sometime later in the afternoon, the lunchtime performance all but forgotten, a less frantic tweeting made me look skyward and there were the three youngsters and their parents performing an incredible aerobatic display as if to say “look at us now!” indeed, so proficient had the three timid chicks of earlier become, that it was impossible to tell them apart from their parents, who were obviously seasoned fliers as well as great travellers, returning to this corner of France to rear their young before flying back thousands of kilometres to somewhere in North Africa – a mind boggling feat and for me one of the natural world’s greatest secrets, just how do they find their way and above all keep going without stopping! In honour of today’s maiden flight and with a huge amount of respect for the speed with which the youngsters had progressed, I found myself laughing out loud and giving the family a cheery wave, to which I’m sure they dipped their wings in acknowledgement –it reminds me of those famous words of W.H. Davies, famous poet who spent his last days in Nailsworth, close to Stroud: “What is this life, if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.” It also reminds me of home and how so often when “full of care” I didn’t have the time to “stand and stare.”
See the blog “It happened one Thursday in February,” and in particular the slide show called “Blue Sky Thinking,” to see that time isn’t now at such a premium. Also, watch out for the next missive – see below!!
Then there are the hares, sightings of which are too numerous to mention, suffice to say; they’re huge, incredibly fast over long distances and by far the best stolen moment was when one grazing on the chateau lawn outside out sitting room window, being oblivious to our presence, sauntered right up to the roses outside our window, nearly close enough to touch, before unhurried and certainly unafraid went about it’s daily business.
Then there’s: The Red Cage ~ Strange or what? See below:
Fortunately, the natives are friendly!
As I write this the natives are partying by the lake, it’s Bank Holiday Weekend and it seems that M. Joe’s family are celebrating, or as we now know M. Jode’s family. It seems to happen a lot around here, no not the partying, although the French are good at that too, but rather the changing of identity, remember Madam becoming Monsieur? I think I also missed out on an invite to join them, as I wasn’t sure if when I waved and shouted Bonjour, if the raised hands were a greeting or a bottle and glass being proffered!?
Well, we recently greeted a walker passing with her two dogs in our best French, but on her return I forgot where I was and called Max back, from seeing off her dogs, in English, at which point she said “Oh, you’re English!” So we must be making some progress with the language and trying to blend in, although I would have thought that the English car parked at the front might have been a give away, but even that is soon to change as we have had to reregister the car in France to obtain insurance. The new number will be going on when we return from England in a couple of weeks time. It seems a bit strange going on holiday to England. So it transpired that the English woman lived in La Goupillaire, our nearest very small hamlet and in the two years that she has been there has begun to sort out who is related to who, and many of the families seem to have a Jode connection! So our detective work was advanced some way with one short conversation, and we’ve been invited for coffee so may be able to find out even more!!
But, I’m jumping ahead of myself as I need to go back to when we first moved in. From that very first day, when suddenly the normally quiet road seemed to have a constant flow of traffic, heads turned our way as they passed and waving vigorously if we happened to be in sight, the natives, or perhaps locals would be better, have been very friendly. And, even after the initial surge of interest, any walkers, joggers, cyclists or the occupants of vehicles that chance to stray off the beaten track and down our way all wave and greet us in the most friendly of manner – no simple nod or raised hand but a real backwards and forwards friendly wave, as though they really mean it! We did for a while wonder if there was a local sweepstake to see who could get the incomers to wave at them the most!!
But even out walking, cars were passing us and all the occupants energetically waving, with even the driver turning so obviously towards us that they were in danger of leaving the road! It’s also not uncommon for a car to stop and the occupants to pass the time of day, as when we were waiting for my brother and heard a car pull up outside the chateau. Thinking they had arrived and were admiring the chateau before turning into our drive, Linda and I both strode out to be confronted by a strange French car, with a couple in it who wound down the window and chattered happily for some time, even telling us about all the English people who had moved into their village.
M. Jode, as we now know him and it wasn’t the rather bemused man that Linda had accosted some weeks previously and asked if he was M. Joe. At the time he agreed he was, perhaps to appease the mad English woman, but there again he may simply have been one of the Jode’s boys as there seem to be a lot of them around, but not M. Charles’ guardian or caretaker, who with his round smiley face waves like a long lost friend whenever we see him, at times leaning precariously out of the ancient tractor that he often drives! His son, Michel, is the farmer who usually collects the water from the trough outside our house, to fill up the cow troughs out in the fields, and he always makes a point of coming over, shaking hands and passing the time of day, even if it is only a comment about the weather! But when my brother and family were here he was passing as they were in the car about to drive off and he speeds up, screeching to a stop in his battered old tractor, emulating his father and leaning out and waving through the car window to then wishing them “Au revoir et bon retour!” Good bye and good return journey!
Then, seemingly at pains to make sure we were invited on the annual parish walk, we had two albeit rather vague invites, pushed into our letterbox – buts that’s for another missive.
They are also obviously beginning to feel comfortable with us being around, as the other day, admittedly something of a scorcher, Michel arrived stripped to the waist and in a pair of baggy shorts, as well as heavy work boots and a baseball cap, certainly not a pretty sight!! After the initial pleasantries, talk turned to the heat and how he needed his hat today. As I was wearing mine I agreed and indicated how important it was when you had little hair on top, although mine continues to grow back! With a chuckle, he removed his cap and indicated his own, somewhat smaller, bald patch!!
Any ideas for courgettes!?!
Well, the baby courgettes have grown and generally seem set to take over the world, well perhaps our little part of the Vendée! It’s a long story, but in a nutshell, some of the first plants that we put in the garden were ten healthy looking courgette plants, but conditions; hot very dry weather and a long journey with the watering can, meant that although they flowered quickly, by the time that our first vegetable expert visited they were looking rather sad for themselves, despite a stern talking to each morning! So the expert decided that we needed some new plants and another batch of ten, the label promising them to be prolific producers of wonderfully flavoured and beautifully coloured courgettes, were duly planted. However, at the same time Linda, under the guidance of the expert, gave the first lot of plants a bit of TLC and some compost.
Now whether it was the TLC, compost, stern talking to or the desire not to be outdone by the new-comers, as the new-comers romped upwards, most of the first batch decided to keep pace and so two or three weeks of picking has seen us harvest over seventy courgettes, ranging from mini pan-fried and too young to be taken from their mothers to monster, size fours, well stuffed with lentils, rice, onions and French beans (both from the garden) as well as some further cunningly disguised grated courgette to bulk it up a bit and get rid of some more courgette.
Fortunately, courgettes are versatile, and our present visitors are partial to a courgette or six!! But, despite frying them, grating them into stews and raw in salads, adding them to casseroles, lasagne and ratatouille, barbecuing them, making them into crepes, pickling them and generally stretching their versatility to the limit, they continue to grow and grow, and you can almost see them sneering at you as they stretch a little more between trips to the tap with the watering can, and muttering under their breath “That will teach you to talk sternly to us!!” I’m sure that I’m not alone in having a glut of courgettes, so why not send me your favourite disguise (edible!!) for courgettes, or better still add them to the blog! “It happened one Thursday in February”
But, the gardening is repaying the initial hard work, and as well as courgettes we have harvested lots of leaves (a local type of chard), leeks, onions, shallots and handfuls of French beans, which pan-fried in some oil go with everything and I think I will never tire of! Amazing really, as we only moved in in the first week of April!
We also have tomatoes, peppers, cabbages, beetroot, carrots, potatoes and broccoli still to come, so we are hoping it rains at least some of the time when we visit England next week for a couple of weeks, in France that is!! The only things that didn’t take were two melons, which are grown locally, but didn’t rate our garden and we only got three lettuces (2 rather scrawny and the other a real whopper!) out of the eighteen we planted!! The others succumbed to a strange fate, appearing to dissolve into the soil –caused by some sort of insect we have been told – all very sci-fi, but then how about this for sinister goings on:
This is a red cage or lattice fungus, that starts as a simple small puff ball like fungus, that shrinks, develops a honeycomb pattern before slowly splitting and revealing the red cage, up to about 8 - 10cms across, that appears irresistible to flies that devour it until it collapses!! All very Steven Spielberg!
A Question? Did Delia get an MBE because Gordon Brown mistook everyone saying how patronising she is*, for how patriotic she is!?! Many of you will know my feelings about said woman!!
(*I got no further than “This in the trade is what we call an egg!” when watching the first and last Delia TV programme that I have watched!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Off oyster shells now I’ve discovered the delights of “Moules à la Bretonne” and realised there’s something soft and delicious inside the shell!!)
And to come next time, maybe: The Moon’s in “A,” Why’s that jogger up in the sky and Blog UK?, where some of the less adventurous, who haven’t ventured to our “back of beyond!,” might feature!!
Oh, and I hear you say – “What about the Citizen Blog?” Well, it’s not forgotten, but “my Editor” (sounds rather grand doesn’t it!), tells me there is a slight delay!!
(*I got no further than “This in the trade is what we call an egg!” when watching the first and last Delia TV programme that I have watched!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Off oyster shells now I’ve discovered the delights of “Moules à la Bretonne” and realised there’s something soft and delicious inside the shell!!)
And to come next time, maybe: The Moon’s in “A,” Why’s that jogger up in the sky and Blog UK?, where some of the less adventurous, who haven’t ventured to our “back of beyond!,” might feature!!
Oh, and I hear you say – “What about the Citizen Blog?” Well, it’s not forgotten, but “my Editor” (sounds rather grand doesn’t it!), tells me there is a slight delay!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
