January 2011
Dear All
Hopefully you will find Missive 26 attached. Christmas was a time for family and friends, which leads rather neatly into this missive.
Those we saw over the festive season, will know we were coming back to look at a possible house purchase, in the village and that had been on the market for some time. Unfortunately, someone beat us to it and we’re back to square one, and as you will see from this missive, as we are beginning to really put down some tentative shoots, we’ve decided we would like to stay in the village – so we’re back to the waiting game!!! I wasn’t so calm and collected at the time!!!
In the meantime, we’re off in the caravan, heading south and hopefully somewhat warmer climes, towards the end of this week for about three weeks. On our return I’ll officially be an “early” pensioner and we will be looking forward to welcoming our first visitors of the year! Then, apart from the visitors, who knows what our return may bring!!
And finally ......
Happy New Year! ~ perhaps a little belatedly!!
Love
Roger
Mes chers amis
Friends Along the Way ~ Missive 26
“To forget a friend is sad. Not everyone has had a friend. And if I forget him I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures!
From “Little Prince” by French writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery
“In the New Year, may your right hand always be stretched out in friendship, never in want.”
Old Irish Toast
The first of these quotes comes from a writer who has an uncanny knack of seeing things through the eyes of a child, or in this case his Little Prince – it’s almost a case of “out of the mouths of babes and sucklings” except the author was adult when he wrote it! He must have had a very good memory or time to sit and watch, but how very true this statement is today, in the competitive world we live in!
The second one reminds me of a good friend – a lay preacher, who is not adverse to pinching you, in public usually the middle of Stroud High Street, in a very delicate place and greeting you, exceedingly loudly, in a none too delicate or indeed polite way – you know who you are Brian!! Well, some years ago he was due to take Midnight Mass, and knowing what I do about him, I was intrigued sufficiently to forgo some of the Christmas Eve festivities and delay the traditional wrapping of my presents until an even later hour and go and see him in action. Initially, indeed throughout most of the service, he wasn’t the man we knew and “loved?” The delivery was polished, albeit possibly a little staid, but he had the little old ladies eating out of his hand! Only at the final blessing did the glint in the eye appear and the Brian we all know came out, as the blessing started with the line “May all you ewe’s be pregnant!” and carried on for some time in a similar vein. The Irish have a lot to answer for, as well as the gift of the gab, and this was a traditional Irish blessing! And before you ask no, I’m not Irish, but you might not be surprised to hear I have kissed the Blarney Stone!!
Friends along the way
Shortly after we arrived in the Vendée, we noticed that there were a lot more English people around than we were expecting, and that was before the summer invasion! We even found details of a monthly English film show at one of the nearby towns, and the more alert amongst you will remember we got to see “Slum Dog Millionaire” in English but with French sub-titles, where the characters were talking in Hindi!! As we sat in the cinema waiting for the film to start we were surrounded, for the first time in many weeks by English people and unfortunately, many the type of ex-pats that at best don’t make any attempt to integrate and worst expect everything to be very English and everyone, including the locals to be able to speak perfect English, to make their life easier!! One such ...... person, we’ll call them as this blog has a family following, we encountered once on the ferry returning to England, in the early days of our adventure! He was heard to answer, in response to a question from a young couple, with young children who were about to move to France, whether he could speak French. His reply sums up the latter category “I spoke no French when I moved here five years ago, I speak no French now and I bloody well (sorry for the family readers, but a necessary verbatim quote!!) don’t intend to learn!!”
So it was when we had watched the highly enjoyable and at times rather harrowing film, but certainly a true portrayal of India as we remember it, we came out into the fresh French air and simultaneously turned to each other and said “we’re not getting into that scene!”
That’s not to say we haven’t made English friends, there are three or four couples we have met and get on very well with, but they have all moved out here “lock, stock and barrel” selling up completely in England and all trying to integrate slowly into the local culture, whilst still retaining English friends. It could be a very lonely existence otherwise, particularly if, like us your French leaves much to be desired!! You could end up going for long periods not “talking” to anyone other than the odd hello, goodbye or restaurant order! On the latter, those ex-pats determined not to make the effort, become very much the embarrassing and cringe-worthy English person abroad – shout loudly, wave their arms around and expect the natives to not only understand, but jump to it quickly! And on this note that leads neatly into the next section:
Christmas Party
Sorry you weren’t all invited, but having not had a Parrot House Christmas Party for a couple of years we had begun to have withdrawal symptoms!! So as we were going to be in France for Christmas, we decided to invite the few good English friends we have made, but saw it as a good opportunity to invite the local farmer, his wife and son, who have over the time we have been here helped us out on a number of occasions, as the farmer acts as caretaker for the chateau and is first port of call should we have a problem. Just recently, we had occasion to call the farmer as we were having another problem with our, at times rather temperamental, fosse septique, or septic tank, and without putting too fine a point on it, he had quite literally ended up with his arm up to the elbow in “notre merde!!” If anyone needed an invite to the party and thanks for helping us out, he did – at the time I was sure that was over and above the call of duty, but the builder who he called in the next day did the same thing, but did ask for a bowl of water and soap before he started!! I then felt very guilty that the farmer had very matter of factly, simply rinsed off in the nearby water trough, with not a bar of soap in sight!! But, enough of this s__t!!, back to the party!!
Some of the English friends mentioned above have lived here for much longer than us and have a much better grasp of the lingo, and so could be fairly crucial should the French contingent arrive, who between then speak really no English at all, and quite rightly don’t expect to have to!! So we phoned around them first and made sure that they were available, before finalising the evening for the soirée. We then sent the farmer and son Christmas cards to thank them for their help over the year and enclosed a party invite, saying we were having a few friends around for some Christmas drinks and would be delighted if they would like to join us and then popped them into the post-box at the end of their drive and hoped they would come.
During the winter, when there is less to do in the fields, we see less of the farmers, and had not seen them before the day of the party and hoped that as they hadn’t responded to the contrary they would put in at least a brief appearance, join us for a drink and have allowed us to use the festive season to thank them. So, with preparations almost complete and Linda barely out of the shower, I went outside half an hour before the party was due to start to light some candles and make the front look welcoming and came face to face with the farmer, his wife and son getting out of the car in party mood. I managed to hide my panic that they were early, as well as stopping myself from commenting on how unlike the French it is to be punctual, let alone early, for anything!!, and loudly showed them in, in case Linda was still dressing after her shower and went to finish lighting the candles. At this point monsieur the farmer with a glint in his eye presented me with what at first glance seemed to be a litre bottle of whisky. I was just about to tell him it really wasn’t necessary and was certainly too much, when touched my arm – something he does when he wants to make sure he has your full undivided attention – and drew my attention to some writing on the label which said “Pineau” a local aperitif, and this he told me was one he had made himself, as he unscrewed the top for me to smell, and mighty good it smelt, although the tasting had to wait (and proved to be worth the wait) as he had bought it for us for Christmas to share with our son who I had told him some weeks before was visiting us over Christmas.
When I came back from lighting the candles the family had made themselves at home, Monsieur on the settee, his wife; a very large but short and jovial lady on a dining chair next to him and their son on a comfy chair opposite. I saw that Linda had sorted out the drinks, but was somewhat dismayed to see the parents drinking water, although the son did have a glass of red wine, which we knew from previously to be his chosen tipple. Panicking slightly, I thought perhaps I had misunderstood what Monsieur had said and that he was expecting to have some of the pineau with his water, but no water was fine! I hastily put on the mulled wine (vin chaud as it called around here and a common winter drink) to mull and there followed at interesting 40 minutes or so before the next guests arrived! But, partly thanks to our digital photo frame that shows various members of the family we managed to cover a lot of ground with a little help from a dictionary. Then when a picture of Max came up the son, who’s 40, was visibly sad to see the picture, although try as he might he had never been able to really make friends with Max, who he came for the cows drinking water from the trough at the front of the house, always needed to be seen off by Max! There are also some arty shots of some of the farmer’s Charolais cattle and every time one came up the son announced in a loud voice to everyone “Ah les vaches!!”
The others did finally arrive, and I did finally manage to persuade Monsieur and his wife to try the mulled wine of which they both approved and came back for more, Monsieur several times, although on each offer initially refusing, but the twinkle in his eye saying otherwise! So the multiple refills, became each time – well, perhaps just a little more as it is Christmas!! They also tucked in heartily to the various nibbles including some English Mince Pies and Coconut tarts and a very rich chocolate cake bought my one of the other guests for us to sample and mark out of ten!! He has just got into making cakes and other sweet things and there’s now no looking back!!
Finally, nearly four hours later and after lots of flowing conversation and a vast amount of entente cordiale, the majority in French, our French friends left in a very much friendlier manner than they had arrived. Their arrival had been friendly enough, but was rather formal handshakes all around, but departure was plenty of kissing and lots of emphasis on what a great time they had had. The party continued for several hours afterwards, and once everyone had left and we were tidying up we agreed that it had been a very worthwhile evening and was just another event that had made us more determined than ever to, when we finally buy a house, to stay in the area as obviously the last two years haven’t been wasted and our French has obviously started to improve albeit slowly!
Hello my Friend
Or should I say “Bonjour mon ami!” This was the greeting that I was met by the other day when I went to the end of the drive to see what all the commotion was. The hunting season or “chasse” is well and truly underway at the moment and not just on the traditional Sunday and maybe one or two other days a week. Almost daily you can hear the horns blowing, the hounds howling and see small convoys of predominately battered old white van tearing around the place!
That was exactly what was happening today, a convey had just gone down the road, at breakneck speed; all the more worrying as you will read later on, and then hurtled back up the road as I wandered over to do my daily check on the garden and the few bits of produce still doing battle with the local wildlife. With a screech of brakes the first two vehicles came to a stop jumped out and despite the rush gave me a cheery bonjour, just as the next couple of vehicles arrived, one containing the farmer’s son, who jumped out waved to me with the cheery greeting “Bonjour mon ami!” and proceeded to tell me that they had lost the dogs and had I seen them. Being unable to help and with no dogs visible or indeed audible, they jumped back in the cars and sped about fifty yards down the road before the lead car, spotting something far across the field, once more screeched to a stop with the following cars very close behind and out they jumped bellowing and horn blowing at one of the dogs they had espied. This dog ran across the field jumped into the opened back of one of the vans and the whole convoy swiftly hit the road once more! Had there not been a fair amount of rain recently, I would have been left choking in the dust they left behind, but barely had they gone than I heard a distant howl and looking down the green avenue opposite our house, noticed two dogs, who noticed me and came running towards me obviously thinking I was part of the proceedings!
I should mention here, that we are not talking great packs of hounds charging over the fields followed by hooray Henry’s in full hunting livery, but a motley collection of both hounds and hunters, in all different shapes and sizes, again both the dogs and predominately men, all out for a jolly good time, with all the kit and some impressive looking weapons, which in fact they barely discharge, the fun seeming to be in the camaraderie, chase, shouting and horn blowing, with the occasional kill for the pot. It actually never ceases to amaze me, when enquiring about how successful the hunt has been, that normally I’m told that they got away and all they saw was a fleeting glimpse. They make so much noise; I’m surprised they get near enough for a glimpse!!
Well, these two dogs ran down to me, realised I wasn’t either a hunter or a deer, one of them was rather old and probably short sighted!, and ran off again back to where they had started with the odd sounding howl, usually reserved for when they get a scent, but this time seeming to say “Wait for us we’re over here!”
I went back in the house to change into my wellies and see if the dogs and hunters had been reunited. On rounding the corner at the end of the drive, I was confronted by a convoy of five vehicles, thankfully stationary, with all the occupants standing in a circle drinking! The farmer’s son saw me, beckoned me over and having enquired about the dogs and been assured they had been found, done the customary round of hand shaking, Mickael drained his glass, passed it over to me and instructed the pourer to pour me a drink. So, I found myself, at 11 o’clock in the morning with a large glass of something poured from one of several unlabelled old battered plastic squash bottles, but obviously of higher alcoholic content than your average “Fruits of the Forest!” With a “bon année” to the assembled company, about eight men and one woman, I fairly hastily drained the glass as the refreshments were obviously over and the chase was about to resume, wished them a “bon chasse” and quickly sought a safe place to wave them on their way, as the convoy once more took to the road. It was fairly obvious, not only from their general bonhomie and the half empty bottles, but also the increasingly erratic driving, that this hadn’t been the first refreshment stop of the morning.
I was particularly careful when going out later for my afternoon stroll, as by then they had spent a couple of hours in the hunting lodge at the end of the barn and was a bit worried that if the convoy came speeding past they might not by now be able to see me. However, it did bode well for the wildlife, because I’m sure that any kill that afternoon would have been more by luck than judgement, if not one of their friends. Comical as the picture may appear, there are always a number of such tragic accidents in France during the hunting season each year, so I was careful not to become one of this year’s statistics!
La ceremonie des voeux
And, indeed “le verre de l’amitié” along the way! It’s that time of year again, the “AGM of the Parish Council” and like many things parochial in France, in the broadest sense, it’s one of the highlights of the local social calendar. I can almost hear the groans of derision from where I’m sitting, but I jest not, the salle communal was once more packed, and it’s a fair sized room, as a conservative estimate there must have been 150 people (getting on for half the population of the commune / parish), young and old alike, not including M. le Maire and the members of le Conseil Municipal, and even M. Joël Sarlot, Vice-President of the Council General of the Vendée and President of the Departmental Committee of Tourism, puts in an appearance at these parish events!!
The evening starts with the somewhat lengthy hello’s, where everyone shakes hands with everyone else and generally enquires about their health and if they don’t recognise you; who you are, where you live and where you fit in with the general scheme of things. But there is the added confusion, that grows the more we are around and that is “to kiss or not to kiss,” at this stage only the opposite sex, but in time who knows!! Even the kissing isn’t straight forward, as an absolute minimum is one kiss on each cheek, but depending on “rules” that seem to change dependant on different circumstances, it could be three, four or even more!! At the moment, two seems appropriate where required, but that isn’t always too clear, and four or more it seems is just for close family or if you are Parisian, in Paris or to another Parisian. Paris is held in high regard across the whole of France, but as for Parisian’s, they’re the butt of many a joke, certainly more cruel that our own Irish jokes and often followed by a stream of phlegm! In reality, you just have to mention Parisians and you’ll be guaranteed a bout of mass expectoration!!
But back to the meeting, eventually, when the councillors deem it time, they flow gently towards their seats at the front, being sure to greet anyone they missed in the general melee before, and then all in good time the mayor is introduced and takes the stage for his annual report and to welcome newcomers to the village. This year M. le Maire was considerably more relaxed, albeit it rather bleary eyed as his wife had just a day or two before given birth to their third child – a little girl after two boys before. He had also bought a new suit, as last year he wore his wedding suit complete with long jacket, and had obviously lost weight since the occasion! But, with the greater confidence that experience brings, he started by thanking every one for coming, thanking them for their good wishes on the birth of his daughter and even joked about how he and his wife were doing their bit to keep the population of the village up! He followed this up with the suggestion that this might be an example to one or two other younger members of the council!
Much of the rest of his report went above my head, with just snippets making sense, such as talk of the restoration of the church roof and the sale of a further two or possibly three of the newly serviced building plots that the commune has for sale. Then there was much talk, in large figures, which the 4½ hours of Lotto (Bingo) in French and with numbers between 1 and 90, in the same equally packed hall the previous week, did little to prepare me for!! I’m alright on the odd thousand or so, as every time we go away, the farmer’s son wants to know how many kilometres we have done and it’s often “trois mille cinq cent kilometre” by the time we have done all the folks back home. But my pronouncement never fails to receive a long drawn out whistle, from a local lad who for his very occasional week’s holiday ventures to Normandy with the lads!
Then, at the end of his presentation it is time for M. le Maire to welcome the newcomers to the village and present them with, this year the same “Gardens of the Vendée” book we received last year and that had been specially produce by the Vendée Council for this purpose. Sadly, although there were 8 new households in the village last year, only two had attended and a third sent their apologies as they were at work, despite receiving personal invites from the mayor. I guess it might be a sign of the times, but hopefully it will be a long time before such events are so badly attended as to make them almost superfluous.
The formal part of the evening over, and most people rose, not to rush off, but to stack the chairs and make room for some mingling, more greeting and kissing and to allow the members of the council and their partners to bring around large trays of nibbles – rounds of bread with paté or sausisson and large quantities of the local flat garlic bread, prefou, which quite literally oozes and drips strong liquid garlic butter, down your chin and makes the kissing even more interesting. We now caught up with one English friend and a number of French friends, no longer simply acquaintances as they now expect at least two kisses, one on each cheek!
Balancing drink and nibbles and trying to avoid too much garlic butter on the chin, was interesting to say the least, and still the greetings continued. It was then that a lady came up to say hello, she’s the best friend of the farmer’s daughter-in-law and with her husband looks after the other chateau in the village. She also is often around during the hunt, sometimes bringing the lunchtime food for the men, but was the sole female amongst the group of hunters who I had greeted and had a “bon année” glass with the previous Sunday, when having initially lost some of their dogs, found them and decided (at eleven o’clock in the morning) that another drink was needed to help with the proceedings. Initially, thinking that only a handshake was needed I was juggling drink and nibbles around to free up my right hand, when said lady uttered something that in Yorkshire would have translated as “Bugger that give me a kiss!” With a kiss on both cheeks she wished me “Good Evening” and turning to Linda repeated the greeting, but this time adding a “bon année” and further adding that she didn’t have to wish me a Happy New Year, because she had already done it last week with the lads the whole thing accompanied by plenty of bonhomie!
We stayed a little longer, went onto the pamplemousse (grapefruit) troussepinette, a favourite local aperitif, which comes in a variety of flavours and proved to be much drier than the horrendously sweet sangria we had originally mistaken for red wine. It was so sweet that it was impossible to disguise the shock on the first sip, and many of the French around us concurred with us when we told the member of the council who was serving the drinks how much better the troussepinette was to the drink we had previously mistaken. Mind you it had been a good excuse to have another soggy piece of prefou – if only to take the taste of the sugar away!!
A further very enjoyable evening and yet another example of beginning, very slowly after two years, to become a part of the community and for roots to be growing just a little. Who knows, another twenty years and maybe not only will we be speaking the language like the locals, patois and all, but maybe we’ll no longer be “the newcomers” or “les anglais”, I wouldn’t be presumptuous enough to say one of the locals – that I’m sure takes a lifetime and probably has to start from birth!!
New Year Resolutions ~ with a twist!
A little more of what I call and maybe others too: “free form” or “as it happens” poetry, something of a none rhyming slow rap, and in this case inspired by a recent TV holiday ad!! With not having a television in France, it’s surprising what you end up glued to when you get your hands on a remote!!
New Year Resolutions, for longer than the 5th Jan!
I want to ......
watch a thousand stars in a dark sky
eat fresh food under a French apple tree
wander, at will through the green lanes of France
grill freshly caught fish in the summer sunshine
for friends who have sought us out
hear the hoot of owls at night
and the jubilant chorus at dawn – sometimes!
my times ......
have the noise of a crowded beach
fringed with an azure sea, breaking gently on
warm sand or crashing noisily on the rocks
or the quiet of the deepest countryside
dappled or damp as the season dictates
have time to put my thoughts on paper
have time to find that bird in the book
have time for friends to share
have ...... quality time
to watch the hare startled in the car headlights
and stop to watch it cross the moon-beamed field
I do ......
I don’t want to ......
have the stars washed out by neon lights
rush dinner under a pile of paperwork
sit in interminable lanes of solid traffic
rush round the 24 hour supermarket
with brief encounters over the fish counter
hear the hoot of car horns late at night
and the grind of the rush hour traffic – never!
at no time ......
have the noise of a crowded shopping mall
fringed with all manner of rubbish and waste
blowing idly like a late night film
of a deserted city street
dreary, damp, depressing
just think fleetingly, and ephemerally
barely see the bird that remains unknown
not enough time to go around
watch ...... the clock
hare around adding to the wanton road kill
petrified by the beam sweeping the dark lane
I don’t ......!
“Ici devant nous!”
This time two years ago I was in the middle not only of packing up the house ready for storage and renting out the house, but also undertaking a mega-sort. I was so busy, that there were several times that I thought being back at work, oiling the wheels of education, was a calmer and less tiring option, but as the 25 missives in between will confirm – I was wrong!! It was all worthwhile, even if it didn’t seem it at the time, and our sanity was maintained at the time by many good friends, who realising that our departure was imminent invited us for a farewell dinner. I don’t think I have ever eaten out, or indeed so well, in a period of a month, but if nothing else, it made us stop for a while and recharge the batteries, even if after we had been fed and watered we often returned for the night shift and more boxes to sort and to pack!!
The sorting was very like one of those “clear out the clutter” TV programmes, and was made all the easier as so much can now be recycled or taken to charity shops. For a bit of light relief, late at night when I needed to sit down, but felt I couldn’t be inactive, I sorted through seemingly huge mountains of old magazines: Caravan Club, Wildlife Trust, Country Walking to name a few. Loathed to part with them, but needing to prune down our accumulated life, I flicked through them quickly and tore out interesting articles for future reading or reference, so the mountains slimmed down to a document wallet or three.
Having moved finally into the French house, albeit still only rented, the document wallets found their way in some sort of order into the filing cabinet. Well, with a week or so to go before setting off once more for an adventure in the caravan and the weather and other circumstances not being conducive to outside work, I decided for old time’s sake to have a sort out and see what was there. In many ways it was like finding old friends, but more excitedly many of the wildlife / nature cuttings I rediscovered related to things common in our neck of the Vendée, the very first article relating to a splendid summer resident the Libellule déprimée, or Broad bodied chaser as you may know it as. These are simply quite enormous (body 5 cm and as you may have guessed broad with a wing span of about 8cm) and rather noisy dragonflies, their wings brushing together to make an audible clatter – you hear them coming.
Having spent two or three years as a “gothic-looking, mud coloured, slow moving gargoyle” of a nymph, skulking around hidden in the depths of the local pond, in amongst the water weeds, they emerge as a “fairy-winged dragonfly” the males with a powder blue body and the females a cleaner than the nymphs, almost glossy brown, both edged with a pale yellow. They are supposedly common in the UK, but I can’t particularly recall seeing them in profusion, but here the males at any rate are everywhere during the summer. Perhaps, it’s just that it’s easier to spot the brighter males, but the females certainly seem much scarcer, or at least know their place, back at the kitchen sink – oh dear there goes the keyboard again running away with inexcusable sexist comments, good job I don’t work for Sky News (just to let you know although we’re out in the sticks we do keep up with current affairs!!).
The males are fiercely territorial, flying around their patch and often using the same perches to keep an eye on things, so it is easy to stand and watch for them coming back, often hearing them before you see them! Having mated the females fly far away in search of pastures, well ponds, new and will often be the first insects to colonise newly dug ponds – this might also explain the lack of females around these ‘ere parts. Our ponds are obviously male territory!
Well, this week the woodpeckers have started hammering again, there are celandines coming out in the chateau park and the violets and primroses have been out for some time, so the seasons are doing it again and coming around, despite the rather cold biting wind we have today, and hopefully it won’t be too long until the sun warms and the dragonflies start to clatter!
My original “thought!” or two!
Brief and totally not to the point, at least with the first thought! Linda, before the festive season and at other times last year, became an avid and rather accomplished furniture restorer. First the beds and dressing table that belonged to my Nana, which now elegantly grace the guest room cum study, and matching the other pieces of furniture in the room – all very “Homes and Gardens!” Then, we acquired a “mini dresser” comprising an old floor standing meat safe with a shelf unit on top that in a previous live had consisted of a number of detachable trays used for storing and distributing hymn books in a church and now a lovely looking addition to our increasing number of kitchen items.
This finished and the old school dresser, we purchased some years ago in an antique shop in Nailsworth, near Stroud and that had for years sat in the hallway of The Parrot House, collecting amongst other things piles of Christmas cards for party goers at the annual Parrot House Christmas party and now is used as our crockery cupboard, started to look a little shabby!! This is no longer the case, as it is now cleaned, sanded, varnished with a smart new tongue and grove back and competing admirably with the meat safe and top!!
Then, there were the old chairs we had acquired from Linda’s Mum and Dad’s house in York. Many years in the sunny conservatory, had taken their toll on the fabric which was perishing badly. So we acquired some old wooden framed chairs, that had belonged to my Aunt, which although serviceable, needed refreshing and have subsequently been stripped down and recovered, and now Linda is eying up the first chairs and planning to reupholster them on our return from our forthcoming holiday in the caravan.
All this renovation got me thinking – maybe she’s going to renovate me next!! On second thoughts maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, as if look it up in the thesaurus, it means: to make better, enrich, enhance, touch up .... the list goes on and on!!!!!! So, maybe the next time you see me, it won’t be me but the new improved me, and you might not even recognise me!!
But my final thought for this time, is I hope that I’ve not forgotten any of our friends and not wished them a Happy New Year!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? The next missive will probably come under the title of “A Thought popped into my Head!” with thanks to Alain de Botton and his book “The Art of Travel” which for anyone who shares his, and indeed my love, of motorway services or airport terminals in the dead of night, it’s a must!! It is also, something of a departure from earlier missives, as some of it regresses ......
back to my childhood!!
Monday, January 31, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
Missive 25 ~ Count our Blessings!
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Count our Blessings! ~ Missive 25
“One of the greatest mistakes of our time is to act your age”
Billy Connelly
“One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
“There are aristocrats and the riff-raff” (I think we fall into the former – see below!)
“Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
Monsieur Le Comte
Sorry, there are four quotes this time and there could be, and indeed may be below, many more, when you read on about a summer of eccentric madness, during which at least for much of the time “acting your age” was out of the question, whilst trying to maintain an aristocratic bearing, often in very difficult circumstances!!
If you haven’t twigged already, this missive isn’t going to be yet more of “How lucky we are,” but will, largely relate to a friendship made during a quite remarkable summer which went by almost too quickly in a whirl of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, with nearly our youngest visitors to date and our landlord back from Spain, although for the first week he was back we saw nothing of him and were beginning to think it was something we had said. We were relieved to find he had been busy cleaning the house and getting it ready for the summer, and what a summer it was to end up as. I recently, part way through the summer you are about to read about, came across the following passage in an article, by Alan Franks, about Ray Davies, songwriter and member of The Kinks: ‘ “I’m sorry” he (Ray Davies) says again. “I’m a lonely adult. I was a lonely child. When I’m busy I have tunnel vision. I give off signals that I don’t want to see people, but all they have to do is knock on the door. That’s what they should be doing. They think I don’t want to talk to them, but they’re wrong.” He’s right.’ It sort of struck a chord, and I’m so glad we “knocked on the door” metaphorically speaking, as to get to said door would require going through two large gates with pointed tops and crossing a water filled moat, not to mention getting past the large black dog, but there were other ways and the dog proved very useful – read on!! I also sense that although this is going to be a mega-missive, there will be lots left out; as I have said before this one man and his dog are worthy of a whole book, let alone the bulk of one chapter!
Something missing and it wasn’t the sunshine!!
The something missing in our lives was quite simply Max, he had before he died got used to having us around, but it also worked the other way, he was always there for us, although towards the end we might have had to whistle a little louder as he had gone completely deaf, but surprisingly it was selective total deafness as he didn’t hear us calling him for a stroll on a hot day, but always heard the French stick slip out of the soft material of the bread bag!!
But, by and large as the weather set fair and the sun shone we forced ourselves to continue our nightly after dinner walks, paddles in the lake and had to lick out the last bit of the yogurt cartoon ourselves, we still felt something was missing!!
In the nick of time Monsieur from the chateau, forthwith simply to be referred to as Monsieur or even M, at least for the time being (!), returned from Spain, for his normal summer in the Vendée, and initially more importantly his dog, Toutoune (note we now know the correct spelling!!) came around to renew the friendship of the previous year. She didn’t obviously seem to notice Max’s absence, or was perhaps just too polite to say anything, but I suppose the previous year they had got on fine, choosing largely to accept each other, but as Max was old and slow and Toutoune younger with much more energy on our nightly walks they rarely met each other, unless it was a there and back walk, as Toutoune liked to lead from the far distance, and Max trailed behind, until he knew we were heading for home and a comfy bed, then led just far enough ahead to make sure we went the quickest way back!!
But there was something rather comforting when sitting outside for our evening meal, silently the big black shaggy and at times quite pongy Toutoune would appear and keep guard whilst we ate, occasionally chasing things that passed on the distance road, which was much better, because she never got to them, had it been our road we might have had to explain that she wasn’t our dog, despite her sitting quite “at home” on the gravel at the front of the house! Patiently waiting for the evening stroll, and like her master adept at languages, knowing “walk” in at least English, French and Spanish, and with the most alluring eyes you have ever seen – almost out of keeping with the rest of the shaggy mutt, to the manor “born” (well adopted!) but certainly with no airs and graces! The moment we had finished and cleared the plates away she would be ready for the off and willing us to go for a walk!
Or, if the people in the gîte were more generous and slipped her the odd morsel – we, as they were, were under strict instructions not to give her titbits, but as you know
Mes chers amis
Count our Blessings! ~ Missive 25
“One of the greatest mistakes of our time is to act your age”
Billy Connelly
“One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
“There are aristocrats and the riff-raff” (I think we fall into the former – see below!)
“Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
Monsieur Le Comte
Sorry, there are four quotes this time and there could be, and indeed may be below, many more, when you read on about a summer of eccentric madness, during which at least for much of the time “acting your age” was out of the question, whilst trying to maintain an aristocratic bearing, often in very difficult circumstances!!
If you haven’t twigged already, this missive isn’t going to be yet more of “How lucky we are,” but will, largely relate to a friendship made during a quite remarkable summer which went by almost too quickly in a whirl of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, with nearly our youngest visitors to date and our landlord back from Spain, although for the first week he was back we saw nothing of him and were beginning to think it was something we had said. We were relieved to find he had been busy cleaning the house and getting it ready for the summer, and what a summer it was to end up as. I recently, part way through the summer you are about to read about, came across the following passage in an article, by Alan Franks, about Ray Davies, songwriter and member of The Kinks: ‘ “I’m sorry” he (Ray Davies) says again. “I’m a lonely adult. I was a lonely child. When I’m busy I have tunnel vision. I give off signals that I don’t want to see people, but all they have to do is knock on the door. That’s what they should be doing. They think I don’t want to talk to them, but they’re wrong.” He’s right.’ It sort of struck a chord, and I’m so glad we “knocked on the door” metaphorically speaking, as to get to said door would require going through two large gates with pointed tops and crossing a water filled moat, not to mention getting past the large black dog, but there were other ways and the dog proved very useful – read on!! I also sense that although this is going to be a mega-missive, there will be lots left out; as I have said before this one man and his dog are worthy of a whole book, let alone the bulk of one chapter!
Something missing and it wasn’t the sunshine!!
The something missing in our lives was quite simply Max, he had before he died got used to having us around, but it also worked the other way, he was always there for us, although towards the end we might have had to whistle a little louder as he had gone completely deaf, but surprisingly it was selective total deafness as he didn’t hear us calling him for a stroll on a hot day, but always heard the French stick slip out of the soft material of the bread bag!!
But, by and large as the weather set fair and the sun shone we forced ourselves to continue our nightly after dinner walks, paddles in the lake and had to lick out the last bit of the yogurt cartoon ourselves, we still felt something was missing!!
In the nick of time Monsieur from the chateau, forthwith simply to be referred to as Monsieur or even M, at least for the time being (!), returned from Spain, for his normal summer in the Vendée, and initially more importantly his dog, Toutoune (note we now know the correct spelling!!) came around to renew the friendship of the previous year. She didn’t obviously seem to notice Max’s absence, or was perhaps just too polite to say anything, but I suppose the previous year they had got on fine, choosing largely to accept each other, but as Max was old and slow and Toutoune younger with much more energy on our nightly walks they rarely met each other, unless it was a there and back walk, as Toutoune liked to lead from the far distance, and Max trailed behind, until he knew we were heading for home and a comfy bed, then led just far enough ahead to make sure we went the quickest way back!!
But there was something rather comforting when sitting outside for our evening meal, silently the big black shaggy and at times quite pongy Toutoune would appear and keep guard whilst we ate, occasionally chasing things that passed on the distance road, which was much better, because she never got to them, had it been our road we might have had to explain that she wasn’t our dog, despite her sitting quite “at home” on the gravel at the front of the house! Patiently waiting for the evening stroll, and like her master adept at languages, knowing “walk” in at least English, French and Spanish, and with the most alluring eyes you have ever seen – almost out of keeping with the rest of the shaggy mutt, to the manor “born” (well adopted!) but certainly with no airs and graces! The moment we had finished and cleared the plates away she would be ready for the off and willing us to go for a walk!
Or, if the people in the gîte were more generous and slipped her the odd morsel – we, as they were, were under strict instructions not to give her titbits, but as you know
when on holiday standards slip and even with us; our missing bread dancer, the fac
t that she lodged with us a few times and those eyes made it difficult if not impossible at times!! – then having finished supper a loud whistle of two and quick as a flash there was the thunder of hooves, well pads actually, on the chateau drive and she was round the corner and raring to go! In case you’re wondering she’s a Griffon Vendéen, and from the picture you’ll see what I mean about the eyes, or “eyeses” as Monsieur refers to them – an English word he just doesn’t seem able to get his head around!! This picture is supposed to feature on M’s Christmas cards this year, but ours hasn’t arrived yet!!
Sometimes, if dinner went on a bit and the evening stroll got late, and as she now seemed to treat us like a second home, particularly after she had stayed a couple of nights when Monsieur had to go into hospital for a small op, and came back with us after the walk, rather than going home as she had done the previous summer. Knowing that Monsieur kept different hours to us, early to bed and early to rise, we were worried that if she didn’t get home she would be locked out so I started to walk her to the front chateau gate, and say “Bon nuit” to her, and reluctantly she would go home, but with never a backwards glance, she seemed to know that the time had come and that was that! Mind you as the summer wore on and I started to walk down the drive to send her home, she sensed it like a recalcitrant child would drag her heels all the way to the gate, before realising the game was up and she’d be under the hedge trotting down the drive and home to bed!!
But, she was only ever going to be temporary therapy, as when she was left with us on a few occasions, when Monsieur left she would always go looking for him, on the first occasion sitting forlornly on the steps of the chateau’s front door, until we whistled and promised a walk and used a couple of dog biscuits as a bribe. Then, when M returned the warmth of her welcome for him and the subsequent staying close to check he didn’t go off again, certainly reciprocated Monsieur’s oft to be heard “She is my partner, my wife, my daughter, my princess, my everything,” or variations on a theme. When my parents were staying my mother complimented Monsieur on his lovely dog and said that perhaps she would have to smuggle her home when she left, to which with that faraway twinkle in his eye, he said “you can have all my jewels, all my money, everything, except my Toutoune!!”
The little house at the end of the drive
Having broken the ice the previous year with a couple of tea parties, well “real English tea, made by a real Englishman” and a piece of cake; you may remember a previous story about how, after the tea he was going to go home happy, sleep soundly and get up in the morning and stand by his bed and sing “God Save the Queen!” Well, although I say it myself I do make a “damn fine cup of tea!” although never before causing a reaction quite like this. But, it did mean if nothing else our shared love of a good cup of tea in the afternoon, was an opening to use and knowing Monsieur better, and his worries about intruding, meant that now instead of asking him if he would like a cup of tea, more often than not, I would say “You’ll have a cup of tea won’t you” or “I’m just making tea I’m sure you’re ready for a cup” and I would see that glint in his eye and know that a cuppa and a chat was just what he could do with and he knew I wouldn’t take no for an answer!!
As the summer progressed, we started to see much more of Monsieur and found many interests in common. He loves nature and his garden (Over tea one day he said “Your garden is so ..... so ..... English, the English have the best gardens in the world – little did he know most of the flowers and plants are cuttings and transplants from the park and verges around!!), surfing the web, eating food and collecting quotes, each of us having a notebook to hand, where we jot down any sayings and quotes that appeal. Indeed, eventually, Monsieur decided that he and I “were like twins,” except, as I pointed out “No you live in the big house and we live in the little house at the end of the drive!” But still he pronounced that “Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
The only problem we really encountered during the summer was how to communicate as Monsieur is not always good at answering his telephone and can be a little forgetful. So when we made an arrangement to call at the chateau for tea, he said “Give me a trumpet call to remind me!” In the absence of a trumpet I decided that Toutoune would make a good messenger service and attached a picture of a trumpet to her collar with a reminder of the tea appointment. As with much that happened during the summer he found this hilarious, put the message in pride of place on a marble statue in the hall, where it stayed all summer and he said he was going to phone his sister and tell her all about it.
Having on numerous occasions spend many an hour putting the world to rights, tea at the chateau above went on for four hours, he announced one day that “The world is made up of Aristocrats and Riff Raff!” Politicians definitely fall into the latter, but I’m pretty certain that we’ve been elevated to the ranks of the aristrocracy!! Thought it must be something to do with us becoming Computer Technician and Official photographer to a Count, but the difference is apparently down to honesty!
Oh no! Children on the horizon, and they speak a funny language!!
In catching up with old friends from when we lived in Huntingdonshire, as it became part of Cambridgeshire, only to revert once more to Huntingdonshire – hope you’re keeping up, but that’s to show it really was a very long time ago!! – we made two new friends – Kirsten and Hannah, youngest daughter and her cousin of the aforementioned friends. Friends who we last saw regularly around the time that Victoria was born – yes that long ago, and too far back to have met Kirsten (12) and Hannah (10), and although we heard quite a lot about them, most of it true I hasten to add, I’m not sure if our little sleepy backwater was quite ready for them.
What we had got wrong about them, was their age and Linda had spent some time worrying what two 14 year old girls would find to do in these here parts, as well as us both worrying about language difficulties, after a phone call to George, Kirsten’s Dad, when after all the intervening years we had forgotten just how difficult he is to understand, particularly when he becomes animated – did I mention they’re from Scotland! So it was a bit of a shock when first two much younger girls got out of the car, and second that the intervening years simply fell away and we found ourselves picking up where we left off and able to understand our visitors – well most of the time and where spoken language was concerned; there were to be times when we didn’t understand the “girls,” as I shall refer to them as from now on, but then people say women are hard to understand!!
We had just a couple of days before had a conversation with Monsieur, who despite arguing to the contrary, is a superb master of six languages and is learning Czechoslovakian, to be able to speak with his brother in law, who appears to speak French, English and Monsieur’s language of choice – Spanish anyway!!, about how difficult it is sometimes to understand people with regional accents. He had found it difficult to understand some of his guests in the gîte despite them speaking English and his amazing command of the language. It had worried him, he said he must be out of practice despite often speaking with English friends when in Spain, until we explained it was a little like the patois that the locals slip into in many parts of France and then he felt better! But, it was noticeable that having mentioned our Scottish visitors and the trouble we might have understanding them, he kept out of the way, was it his deep seated worry about intruding or concern about the language!?!
We ended up having a riotous couple of weeks, the girls mostly managing to entertain themselves, with a bit of help(!) and I was reminded of just how untidy young girls can be; losing everything usually somewhere in the piles of assorted clothes, cosmetics, shoes, towels, sweets, presents, books, games, bedding that adorned the once tidy guest room!! They even managed to change into clean clothes just before they knocked over the drink or split the pasta sauce down their fronts!!
Then, there were the evening walks, the girls at an age where they were glad to join us, rather than whining – “Do we have to!?!” Mind you there was plenty of other whining, particularly when asked to tidy their rooms or finish the food piled onto their plates. It was good to see that they enjoyed their food, but sometimes their eyes seemed bigger than their bellies, until they were told the house rule!! “Clean plates – if you put it on your plate it means that you want it!” There were some exceptions to this rule when they were trying something new, which to their credit they did do sometimes and even occasionally found something they liked!!
But the whining reached a new level, when on one of the evening walks we went along the avenue, only to discover that when the cows had been moved earlier, they had appeared to quite simply poo all the way down the road and we had to try and avoid it as we walked along. So was born the first of several little ditties, modelled on two girls who tiptoed between the piles whilst whining “Err, we can’t walk down there” Well, they do live in town and weren’t too familiar with farm animals or indeed the proliferation of creepy crawlies that seem happy to share our living accommodation with us, even if at times the feeling isn’t mutual!! The ditty, with suitable mincing actions, went along the lines of “A one, a two a one two three. A one, a two a one two three. It’s the walk of the POOOOOOO!” Repeated several times, as loudly as possible!! I know, little things please little minds, it was a bit like being back at school, but it was just as well we live well away from civilisation and, so we thought, out of earshot!!
So I was a little surprised when several days later, having really perfected the Poo Ditty the previous evening, and our visitors had gone off to the seaside for the day, giving us a chance for some peace and quiet – we tried to explain that where we live that’s what we get most of the time, but it did give us a chance to catch up on a few chores in the house and garden, we met Monsieur checking his mail and despite his deafness he had obviously heard our singing, as he asked me if I had heard the singing beyond the woods the previous evening?! Well, I had to come clean and explain that it was our visitors, well the younger ones practicing a song I had taught them, to make the evening walk more enjoyable. I should have know that being an inquisitive sole, and enjoying a wide and at times surprising repertoire of music he was bound to ask, and ask he did in all innocence (his hearing definitely isn’t that good) what the song was about. Well, as best I could I explained (thinking that if I didn’t tell him for real, he might want to come around for a sing song!), that the cows had left their deposits along the road – saying that I believed in French slang it might have been called “merde,” to which he responded yes, but there is another word for it, but fortunately when I clarified the origins of the ditty, saw the funny side and was glad that the youngsters were enjoying their stay!!
But, the two weeks just flew by, and we couldn’t believe how quickly departure loomed, but were once again amazed at how quickly you pick up on friendships, even when for many years contact had been the occasional telephone call and cards at Christmas. It was surprisingly quiet after they left, and even after all the intervening years Mary and George, Kirsten’s Mum and Dad and Hannah’s Auntie and Uncle, were not particularly noisy!!!
Sophistication and naivety!
Monsieur, in some ways leads a privileged life – chateau in France, penthouse flat in Spain and various other properties, but although the Chateau and estate and other property has been inherited, he has had to do his military service (ending up as an aide to Charles de Gaulle) and work for a living, earning money as opportunities arose – in the distant past he was, at a time when he was a big whisky drinker, on a TV advert extolling the virtues of bottled water (the irony certainly wasn’t lost on him). But, having inherited what he has, he feels it is his duty to maintain it and improve it, as he sees fit, using his own money and very aware that when he passes it on to the next generation, when he “finally goes upstairs” it will duly be sold. But, whilst in his possession he remains very firmly principled, that despite not being a millionaire, it must be looked after out of respect for those who left it to him.
The idea of being a millionaire quite appeals to him, see Dreams and Schemes below, and having got on so well during the last summer, several times when conversations turned to the fact that it was unlikely that we would stay where we are for much longer, he would wistfully say “If I was a millionaire you could stay here for nothing for ever!!” and I would, when he was out of earshot say to Linda, what a pity he isn’t, because although we love his “little house at the end of the drive” it’s not ours and therefore we can’t do things to it that we would like – not least, with the current cold weather prompting this, fit a wood burning stove. If we were able to have one, unfortunately the chimney is condemned; there would certainly be no shortage of firewood, in “our” 12 acre back garden!!
But money aside, Monsieur is an extremely well read and informed eccentric, fluently speaking about 6 ½ languages and able to talk very knowledgeably about a very wide and diverse range of subjects, including rather to our chagrin, English history and particularly politics and the monarchy, to the point that he often looses us completely. There was however a thread immerging in his interests: The Shakespeare debate, Francis Bacon, Rose-Croix (accounting for his teetotal and vegetarian Lifestyle), Science of the Sacraments, Astrology and elements of the occult, that direct him in life and the way he lives it. All very sophisticated and at times rather heavy stuff, particularly when discussing “Life after Death” or topically for this time of year “The meaning of Christmas.” But, apart from the odd dark days when lamenting the state of the world; it’s inhumane occupants, rogues of politicians the world over, poverty, cruelly to animals etc. etc., things that he claims to think about everyday and says “It’s terrible, it’s terrible, I will thanks (sic) God when I finally go upstairs!”, he more often than not quickly regains the twinkle in his eye and quickly concurs, that really he is nothing but “A dictator, scoundrel and (always bringing up the rear!) ...... a gentleman!” One who at 70 remains quick witted, keen to learn and with plenty of energy, last year he took up kite surfing!!
However, I guess it’s something to do with the eccentricity, there remains a certain naivety that at first can be quite disconcerting. Three things stand out, the first when having admired our solar lights felt he must get some to put in the border in front of the chateau, so that it “seems like the stars had fallen from the sky and twinkled amongst the roses!” Having dutifully purchased four from the local town, several times he expressed his disappointment that they didn’t work, and blamed the fact that they were made in China and were obviously shoddy – did I mention he is very out spoken! – and would I mind having look at them as he couldn’t figure out the problem. I returned with him and Linda came “on call” for another computer problem, and on removing the top of one of the lights pointed out that the switch marked “On – Off” and set at off just might explain the fact they weren’t working. I went on to test them by putting my hand over the light sensor and the light twinkled into life and from the look on Monsieur’s face you would have thought he had seen the light!!! He did see the funny side of it however, and blamed not having his glasses on. I’m more inclined to blame the time he spends reading learnèd texts and doing astrology readings, making no time to read instruction manuals, which was certainly the case with his car radio!! He had to have a new battery and when he got the car back the radio / CD wouldn’t work, it needed the code putting back in. Panic stations and thoughts that it would have to go back to the garage to be fixed, until Linda asked if he had the manual, which he found and Linda was able to understand sufficient of it, it was in Spanish, to point out to him the short passage that explained what needed to be done! No it would have to go back, in the morning at great inconvenience to the garage; he had hoped to go to the seaside for the day! Linda ended up with the manual, translated the relevant short passage and was quickly able to reset the code on his return from the seaside, after a minor mishap, where against strict instructions he turned the engine off and had to turn it on and wait for half an hour before it would accept the code – just long enough for a calming cup of tea!
Finally, one day whilst having another cup of tea, and Toutoune sticking close to M, partly to have her ears tickled, but also to receive a fairly regular supply of titbits, the end of each biscuit or scone seems the order of the day (he once asked Linda if it was better to give her sugar or candy!?!), he asked us in all innocence – what does it mean when a dog licks you? He almost seemed surprised when we said it was a sign of affection, “Yes, I suppose it must be,” he said!
One day we told him we had had a dream, and although in many ways we never expected it “to come true” it had and we were now living in France, with time to do what we want and not to be constrained by work and deadlines. It happened to be another of the “well it was like that for me moments, making us twins once more. Yes, he said it was like that for him too and his life as he now lived in, part in France, but mostly in Spain.
This led on to another scheme, which in turn came out of one of many conversations, that started very seriously and earnestly, about the state of the world and in particular, on this occasion how many European countries were suffering from serious financial problems and were in some cases in danger of going bankrupt. In all seriousness Monsieur, with one of his worried expressions, asked me what would happen then, if a country simply ran out of money! I said that they would probably just print some more, and his response to this was “wouldn’t that be great, just to be able to print money when you needed some!”
At the time we were standing outside the front of our house, next to Monsieur’s derelict barn, which needs serious attention to avoid the roof falling in (see other schemes below!), and I suggested that perhaps that was an idea use for a counterfeiting operation, under the cover of a semi-derelict barn. He bit on the idea and as always at such times we were on a roll!! His excitement at such times is like an excited school boy, and it’s a case of “Yes let’s!!” “Why not, underneath I’m nothing but a scoundrel!” “You’re in it with me!” However, it transpired that he’s what they might call in Yorkshire “A canny scoundrel” as before I knew it I was to be in the barn, sleeves rolled up running the press and doing not only the hard work, but the illegal bit, whilst he reverted to his “gentleman” status and provided the “folding screen,” just occasionally his English lets him down, he met cover!! “Well, officer there must be some mistake, the barn is nearly falling down and hasn’t been used for many years, can’t think what’s given you the idea that it’s being used for criminal activity!!”
As he claims to be deaf and consequently speaks several decibels louder than most people, hence warning us in the barn of imminent danger and could also, no doubt, keep the conversation going for some time, along the lines of; didn’t you know my father, how is your father, didn’t I go to school with your brother, basically anything like that to buy a little time for incriminating evidence to be disguised and the operation temporarily shut down!! I couldn’t help but feel that what he wouldn’t do was to turn me in and claim no knowledge of what was going on, but rather admit it was a “fair cop,” even if then he were to drop various names into the conversation, as I’m sure he must have a cousin high up in the justice department, as well as family links with most, possibly all of the European Royal Families, or what is left of them!!
Other schemes along the way have been to; bottle and sell his personal spring water and make a million, hadn’t thought of it before but the advertising could include “As passed by the Count!”, to flood a daily current affairs programme on Spanish TV with choice political quotes and statements, which they then broadcast on a running banner along the bottom of the screen, with a view to bringing down the Spanish Government and a Roofing Party to re-roof his dilapidated barn, that he was worried was going to cost too much money to save! As the local farmer, family and friends had recently re-roofed their own barn just across the road and done a very professional looking job on it, I suggested having a party, inviting everyone on the proviso they did the roof first and then he would lay on the drinks. At this suggestion, his eyes lit up and he said: “If they mend my roof I’ll provide enough wine to fill the Seine!” I couldn’t help but think it might have been cheaper to pay a “Macon,” but this section is called “Dreams and Schemes!!”
One dream of a scheme that failed miserably, was to persuade Monsieur that there is more to cooking than omelettes and mashed potatoes, as he leads something of a frugal life in terms of food, mainly because he sees its preparation as a waste of time: “you spend ages preparing food and its gone in an instant!” Now we see eye to eye on many things, although I have told him that although he firmly believes certain things like “The great Shakespeare debate,” I will make up my own mind and when it comes to food I’m firmly with Harriet Van Horne (feted American journalist) who says “Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” And just to make sure, I’ve made the point forcefully enough, a couple of quotes from Julia Child (celebrated chef who introduced French cuisine to the Americans!): “Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need.” and “In France, cooking is a serious art form and a national sport.” So feeling that a Frenchman, albeit one who regards himself more as a Spaniard, should have a better attitude to food, during one of a couple of dinner parties during the summer, when Monsieur informed me that he couldn’t cook anyway, so it was silly to try, I rather unnerved him by saying “You can read, you can use your hands, you can cook!” First there was a slightly puzzled look on his face, until I explained my point, that his personal abilities made it very easy to read a recipe, manipulate the utensils to concoct a sumptuous supper, even if only for one. However, the look of puzzlement was quickly replaced by a look of sheer panic, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried I was about to give him a cookery lesson, or I was expecting him to invite us to the chateau for said sumptuous supper, in the not too distant future. The look of abject horror was sufficient for me to let it drop; otherwise it might have spoilt the evening!!
Monsieur becomes Madame ~ Le coqueluche du village!
At the second dinner party, a curry evening towards the end of Monsieur’s summer stay, hatched as he informed us that he “adored” spicy food, when we told him of our love for Indian cuisine. It then came as something of a surprise as we sat down to start the meal, which included some seriously spicy dishes and he told us that he had never eaten Indian food before! Fortunately, he loved it and his healthy appetite did the spread justice, as he kept coming back for just one more little bit, but only if I would keep him company!! I ended up eating far more than I needed and out of courtesy there was no beer, or indeed alcohol, to wash it down!!
Conversation flowed about the summer and Linda’s help with his computer and my photographic endeavours of his family portraits and more, and he asked just one more photographic favour, if he put the floodlights on the chateau tomorrow evening would I take some photographs, as he had always wanted a floodlit photo. I was only too pleased to agree, as we had never seen the chateau lit up before and would therefore be a great photo opportunity, so it was fixed for 21.00 hrs the following evening, just as darkness was beginning to fall.
Talk then moved on, as always covering many subjects, some revisited such as politicians and rogues being largely one and the same, but then we got on to first impressions and how important they can be and also how when talking to someone on the telephone, you build up a mental picture of how you expect them to look. Sometimes then, the reality can be quite a shock! It was the opening I had been waiting for and grasping the bull by the horns I said “Well, actually when we first met you we had a terrible shock!” This was met by one of Monsieur’s best quizzical fronds and the question Why? I then explained that when we first saw the house and decided that we wanted to rent it, we were told by the immoblier, estate agent that he would have to check that Madame, who lived in Spain, agreed to our tenancy. So, the long and short of it was that when we first met Monsieur, we were very surprised because we had been told he was Madame!!!
He was hugely puzzled, but more importantly highly amused but this and for the rest of the evening slipped into a female persona, ending the evening by saying how much Madame had enjoyed herself, and was looking forward to seeing us the following
evening, when Madame would have a little surprise for us!! So, the following evening, punctually, at nine with camera and tripod, we presented ourselves at the chateau, somewhat surprised not to be met at the gate by Monsieur, who is a stickler for punctuality. The normally locked gate was open and as we approached the front door, loudly greeted by Toutoune, noticed the hall was in darkness but the door slightly ajar, but no sign of Monsieur. I knocked on the door, and a squeaky female voice bade us “Come in” and as we entered we noticed that the sitting room light, to the left through the library, was on and started to head that way thinking that was where the voice had come from. Here, perhaps it is worth reiterating that Monsieur lives in the chateau all alone save the dog!!
Well, a couple of steps across the hall and the same squeaky voice wished us a good evening and welcomed us, a voice altogether closer that the illuminated sitting room! Then, we saw half hidden behind the giant fern in the middle of the hallway, back lit by a small table lamp, an old lady in mop cap and white pinny, who started giggling and revealed themselves to be none other than Monsieur in drag!! From then on, for the rest of the summer, Monsieur was usually Madame, in name if not in dress! But I’ve the pictures to prove it, but that’s perhaps just a shutter click too far!!, and emails where Madame is delighted by the photographs and refers to me as the as the “Cecil Beaton of the Vendée,” praise indeed but I guess lost on anyone under a certain age!!
Once he had returned to Spain, after a short break we received an email from Monsieur about some maintenance work that was due to be carried out, and subsequently several emails have gone back and forth, and those from him are now signed “Madame, le coqueluche du village!” Coqueluche? Take your pick, as the dictionary lists the following translations: the rage, darling, favourite, reigning fancy or whooping cough!!! Somehow don’t think it’s the last one, but have settled myself on “darling!” But, I haven’t managed to bring myself to start my emails to him with “Darling!”, I’m sure in times past addressing a Count like that could have led to a “rendez-vous avec Madame Guillotine!!”
Adiós mis amigos
As I said before it had a been a summer of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, but was rapidly heading towards the end, which in many ways fortunately, more or less coincided, with our first proper trip back to the UK since our “Pet Shop Boys” and “Babysitting Experiences” back in February. It would mean that we had our trip to look forward to, at a time when we might have once again felt lonely, the population of our road plunging once more down to two, from the dizzy heights of as many as 11 if the gîte was full and of course no dogs. We don’t really have anything to do with the gîte holiday makers, but we can sometimes, when sitting out in the sunshine, hear them splashing around in the swimming pool, or screaming as it can be quite cold as it is fed directly from the spring!! I know this as Monsieur invited us to use the pool before his first visitors arrived, which coincided with Hannah and Kirsten’s visit, even they found it cold, particularly on the first day, when the farmer had just finished filling it and getting it ready and kept incredulously telling us it would be freezing as it was filled from the source and hadn’t had time for the sun to warm it up – his laughter when the hardiest, or should that be most foolish of us, finally got in, together with the look of utter amazement, would I’m sure be understandable in any language as “I told you so!!”
But back to our soon to depart new found amigos, and the irony wasn’t lost on me that one of our aims of our move was to improve our French, and I had spent quite a bit of the last few weeks conversing in emails and snatches of conversation with a French aristocrat and his dog IN SPANISH!! On the last afternoon we had invited Monsieur to a cream tea, combining his passion for food with that of “real English tea made by a real Englishman,” who had earlier in the summer had to explain, sailing quite close to the wind as I wasn’t totally sure about my answers, as to why it was preferable to serve your tea MIF – Milk in First!! That said, whatever the scientific, or otherwise, explanation – I do think it makes the cuppa taste better!
He had told us a couple of evenings previously, realising that “the end was nigh” and he was going back to Spain just after we left to go back for a visit to the UK, he and his dog would be gone when we returned, that we were the first tenants that he had had a relationship with! He lingered over the tea and scones, dragged his feet a little like Toutoune as he made his way down the drive, with us seeing him to the road as he always sees us to the gate, and still the conversation flowed, none of us wanting to finally say good bye, although the previous evening Monsieur had said that all good things come to an end and if we never saw one another again we would have many happy memories of the summer of 2010. Finally, in true gentlemanly fashion he clasped Linda’s hand in his two hands and came as close to kissing her hand as he had all summer, her hand had been getting closer at each parting!! Then, turning to me he firmly shook my hand, looked me firmly in the face and said “Thank you for everything, for the conversation, the photographs, the food ..... it has been ..... fantastic!” to which I replied “Yes, it has been great!” his response, before heading off down the drive throwing back the odd Goodbye, ¡hasta la vista!, ¡adiós! and more in Spanish, Italian, Czech and who knows what!!, was “No, not great, FANTASTIC!”
As we walked back to the house, we had to agree, but also knew that on our return from England, our little house at the end of the drive, would seem very lonely again for a while, particularly as the summer visitor season would also be over!!
But, there was one other final farewell, a final walk with Toutoune (Monsieur often calls her Manoose, he says it doesn’t mean anything it’s just sweeter!) and perhaps sensing the moment Linda said “You’re not going to get all sentimental are you?!” After all these years she can read me like a book, I’d already slipped a couple of dog chews into my pocket, as we set
off around the “block!” As we walked it turned into the most staggering sunset I have ever seen, it wrapped around all 360˚ of the sky and the colours intensified into the most remarkable finale, to a most astonishing summer, and yes the final pat, the dog chew and the “Adios mon amigo, au revoir et à beintôt,” was not without a little emotion, as she waddled down the drive of the chateau, as always without a backwards glance!
“Ici devant nous!”
I’m going to go off the theme of the natural world this time and turn instead to the supernatural world, and like many good stories there’s something of a cliff hanger in this one. On that first meeting, when Madam became Monsieur!, we talked to him about how he lived most of the year in Spain, only visiting the chateau in the summer to be able to welcome his guests to the gîte. We asked if the house was therefore empty during the rest of the year, to which he replied it was and if we saw or heard anything, it would be his long gone ancestors. Funnily enough on several occasions we have heard voices or music, when nobody has been anywhere around, remember our nearest neighbours are over a quarter of a mile or heading towards 500 meters, and when we told Monsieur this rather light heartedly, he was at first quietly surprised, until he first occasion when having a cup of tea at the front of our house he also heard the voices ...... , and on another occasion the music ......!
My original “thought!”
“This has probably gone on long enough!”
But hopefully, you’ve had at least a small flavour of our wonderful “summer relationship!” we just seemed to hit it off and I’m sure there will be more along the way.
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? Maybe a report of all the festive fun, who said they don’t celebrate Christmas in France, and also we’ll have been back in the UK for a couple of weeks collecting even more stories! But, also watch out for “Frog vs Rosbeef!”
t that she lodged with us a few times and those eyes made it difficult if not impossible at times!! – then having finished supper a loud whistle of two and quick as a flash there was the thunder of hooves, well pads actually, on the chateau drive and she was round the corner and raring to go! In case you’re wondering she’s a Griffon Vendéen, and from the picture you’ll see what I mean about the eyes, or “eyeses” as Monsieur refers to them – an English word he just doesn’t seem able to get his head around!! This picture is supposed to feature on M’s Christmas cards this year, but ours hasn’t arrived yet!!Sometimes, if dinner went on a bit and the evening stroll got late, and as she now seemed to treat us like a second home, particularly after she had stayed a couple of nights when Monsieur had to go into hospital for a small op, and came back with us after the walk, rather than going home as she had done the previous summer. Knowing that Monsieur kept different hours to us, early to bed and early to rise, we were worried that if she didn’t get home she would be locked out so I started to walk her to the front chateau gate, and say “Bon nuit” to her, and reluctantly she would go home, but with never a backwards glance, she seemed to know that the time had come and that was that! Mind you as the summer wore on and I started to walk down the drive to send her home, she sensed it like a recalcitrant child would drag her heels all the way to the gate, before realising the game was up and she’d be under the hedge trotting down the drive and home to bed!!
But, she was only ever going to be temporary therapy, as when she was left with us on a few occasions, when Monsieur left she would always go looking for him, on the first occasion sitting forlornly on the steps of the chateau’s front door, until we whistled and promised a walk and used a couple of dog biscuits as a bribe. Then, when M returned the warmth of her welcome for him and the subsequent staying close to check he didn’t go off again, certainly reciprocated Monsieur’s oft to be heard “She is my partner, my wife, my daughter, my princess, my everything,” or variations on a theme. When my parents were staying my mother complimented Monsieur on his lovely dog and said that perhaps she would have to smuggle her home when she left, to which with that faraway twinkle in his eye, he said “you can have all my jewels, all my money, everything, except my Toutoune!!”
The little house at the end of the drive
Having broken the ice the previous year with a couple of tea parties, well “real English tea, made by a real Englishman” and a piece of cake; you may remember a previous story about how, after the tea he was going to go home happy, sleep soundly and get up in the morning and stand by his bed and sing “God Save the Queen!” Well, although I say it myself I do make a “damn fine cup of tea!” although never before causing a reaction quite like this. But, it did mean if nothing else our shared love of a good cup of tea in the afternoon, was an opening to use and knowing Monsieur better, and his worries about intruding, meant that now instead of asking him if he would like a cup of tea, more often than not, I would say “You’ll have a cup of tea won’t you” or “I’m just making tea I’m sure you’re ready for a cup” and I would see that glint in his eye and know that a cuppa and a chat was just what he could do with and he knew I wouldn’t take no for an answer!!
As the summer progressed, we started to see much more of Monsieur and found many interests in common. He loves nature and his garden (Over tea one day he said “Your garden is so ..... so ..... English, the English have the best gardens in the world – little did he know most of the flowers and plants are cuttings and transplants from the park and verges around!!), surfing the web, eating food and collecting quotes, each of us having a notebook to hand, where we jot down any sayings and quotes that appeal. Indeed, eventually, Monsieur decided that he and I “were like twins,” except, as I pointed out “No you live in the big house and we live in the little house at the end of the drive!” But still he pronounced that “Like God, I give you my blessing to stay here for ever!”
The only problem we really encountered during the summer was how to communicate as Monsieur is not always good at answering his telephone and can be a little forgetful. So when we made an arrangement to call at the chateau for tea, he said “Give me a trumpet call to remind me!” In the absence of a trumpet I decided that Toutoune would make a good messenger service and attached a picture of a trumpet to her collar with a reminder of the tea appointment. As with much that happened during the summer he found this hilarious, put the message in pride of place on a marble statue in the hall, where it stayed all summer and he said he was going to phone his sister and tell her all about it.
Having on numerous occasions spend many an hour putting the world to rights, tea at the chateau above went on for four hours, he announced one day that “The world is made up of Aristocrats and Riff Raff!” Politicians definitely fall into the latter, but I’m pretty certain that we’ve been elevated to the ranks of the aristrocracy!! Thought it must be something to do with us becoming Computer Technician and Official photographer to a Count, but the difference is apparently down to honesty!
Oh no! Children on the horizon, and they speak a funny language!!
In catching up with old friends from when we lived in Huntingdonshire, as it became part of Cambridgeshire, only to revert once more to Huntingdonshire – hope you’re keeping up, but that’s to show it really was a very long time ago!! – we made two new friends – Kirsten and Hannah, youngest daughter and her cousin of the aforementioned friends. Friends who we last saw regularly around the time that Victoria was born – yes that long ago, and too far back to have met Kirsten (12) and Hannah (10), and although we heard quite a lot about them, most of it true I hasten to add, I’m not sure if our little sleepy backwater was quite ready for them.
What we had got wrong about them, was their age and Linda had spent some time worrying what two 14 year old girls would find to do in these here parts, as well as us both worrying about language difficulties, after a phone call to George, Kirsten’s Dad, when after all the intervening years we had forgotten just how difficult he is to understand, particularly when he becomes animated – did I mention they’re from Scotland! So it was a bit of a shock when first two much younger girls got out of the car, and second that the intervening years simply fell away and we found ourselves picking up where we left off and able to understand our visitors – well most of the time and where spoken language was concerned; there were to be times when we didn’t understand the “girls,” as I shall refer to them as from now on, but then people say women are hard to understand!!
We had just a couple of days before had a conversation with Monsieur, who despite arguing to the contrary, is a superb master of six languages and is learning Czechoslovakian, to be able to speak with his brother in law, who appears to speak French, English and Monsieur’s language of choice – Spanish anyway!!, about how difficult it is sometimes to understand people with regional accents. He had found it difficult to understand some of his guests in the gîte despite them speaking English and his amazing command of the language. It had worried him, he said he must be out of practice despite often speaking with English friends when in Spain, until we explained it was a little like the patois that the locals slip into in many parts of France and then he felt better! But, it was noticeable that having mentioned our Scottish visitors and the trouble we might have understanding them, he kept out of the way, was it his deep seated worry about intruding or concern about the language!?!
We ended up having a riotous couple of weeks, the girls mostly managing to entertain themselves, with a bit of help(!) and I was reminded of just how untidy young girls can be; losing everything usually somewhere in the piles of assorted clothes, cosmetics, shoes, towels, sweets, presents, books, games, bedding that adorned the once tidy guest room!! They even managed to change into clean clothes just before they knocked over the drink or split the pasta sauce down their fronts!!
Then, there were the evening walks, the girls at an age where they were glad to join us, rather than whining – “Do we have to!?!” Mind you there was plenty of other whining, particularly when asked to tidy their rooms or finish the food piled onto their plates. It was good to see that they enjoyed their food, but sometimes their eyes seemed bigger than their bellies, until they were told the house rule!! “Clean plates – if you put it on your plate it means that you want it!” There were some exceptions to this rule when they were trying something new, which to their credit they did do sometimes and even occasionally found something they liked!!
But the whining reached a new level, when on one of the evening walks we went along the avenue, only to discover that when the cows had been moved earlier, they had appeared to quite simply poo all the way down the road and we had to try and avoid it as we walked along. So was born the first of several little ditties, modelled on two girls who tiptoed between the piles whilst whining “Err, we can’t walk down there” Well, they do live in town and weren’t too familiar with farm animals or indeed the proliferation of creepy crawlies that seem happy to share our living accommodation with us, even if at times the feeling isn’t mutual!! The ditty, with suitable mincing actions, went along the lines of “A one, a two a one two three. A one, a two a one two three. It’s the walk of the POOOOOOO!” Repeated several times, as loudly as possible!! I know, little things please little minds, it was a bit like being back at school, but it was just as well we live well away from civilisation and, so we thought, out of earshot!!
So I was a little surprised when several days later, having really perfected the Poo Ditty the previous evening, and our visitors had gone off to the seaside for the day, giving us a chance for some peace and quiet – we tried to explain that where we live that’s what we get most of the time, but it did give us a chance to catch up on a few chores in the house and garden, we met Monsieur checking his mail and despite his deafness he had obviously heard our singing, as he asked me if I had heard the singing beyond the woods the previous evening?! Well, I had to come clean and explain that it was our visitors, well the younger ones practicing a song I had taught them, to make the evening walk more enjoyable. I should have know that being an inquisitive sole, and enjoying a wide and at times surprising repertoire of music he was bound to ask, and ask he did in all innocence (his hearing definitely isn’t that good) what the song was about. Well, as best I could I explained (thinking that if I didn’t tell him for real, he might want to come around for a sing song!), that the cows had left their deposits along the road – saying that I believed in French slang it might have been called “merde,” to which he responded yes, but there is another word for it, but fortunately when I clarified the origins of the ditty, saw the funny side and was glad that the youngsters were enjoying their stay!!
But, the two weeks just flew by, and we couldn’t believe how quickly departure loomed, but were once again amazed at how quickly you pick up on friendships, even when for many years contact had been the occasional telephone call and cards at Christmas. It was surprisingly quiet after they left, and even after all the intervening years Mary and George, Kirsten’s Mum and Dad and Hannah’s Auntie and Uncle, were not particularly noisy!!!
Sophistication and naivety!
Monsieur, in some ways leads a privileged life – chateau in France, penthouse flat in Spain and various other properties, but although the Chateau and estate and other property has been inherited, he has had to do his military service (ending up as an aide to Charles de Gaulle) and work for a living, earning money as opportunities arose – in the distant past he was, at a time when he was a big whisky drinker, on a TV advert extolling the virtues of bottled water (the irony certainly wasn’t lost on him). But, having inherited what he has, he feels it is his duty to maintain it and improve it, as he sees fit, using his own money and very aware that when he passes it on to the next generation, when he “finally goes upstairs” it will duly be sold. But, whilst in his possession he remains very firmly principled, that despite not being a millionaire, it must be looked after out of respect for those who left it to him.
The idea of being a millionaire quite appeals to him, see Dreams and Schemes below, and having got on so well during the last summer, several times when conversations turned to the fact that it was unlikely that we would stay where we are for much longer, he would wistfully say “If I was a millionaire you could stay here for nothing for ever!!” and I would, when he was out of earshot say to Linda, what a pity he isn’t, because although we love his “little house at the end of the drive” it’s not ours and therefore we can’t do things to it that we would like – not least, with the current cold weather prompting this, fit a wood burning stove. If we were able to have one, unfortunately the chimney is condemned; there would certainly be no shortage of firewood, in “our” 12 acre back garden!!
But money aside, Monsieur is an extremely well read and informed eccentric, fluently speaking about 6 ½ languages and able to talk very knowledgeably about a very wide and diverse range of subjects, including rather to our chagrin, English history and particularly politics and the monarchy, to the point that he often looses us completely. There was however a thread immerging in his interests: The Shakespeare debate, Francis Bacon, Rose-Croix (accounting for his teetotal and vegetarian Lifestyle), Science of the Sacraments, Astrology and elements of the occult, that direct him in life and the way he lives it. All very sophisticated and at times rather heavy stuff, particularly when discussing “Life after Death” or topically for this time of year “The meaning of Christmas.” But, apart from the odd dark days when lamenting the state of the world; it’s inhumane occupants, rogues of politicians the world over, poverty, cruelly to animals etc. etc., things that he claims to think about everyday and says “It’s terrible, it’s terrible, I will thanks (sic) God when I finally go upstairs!”, he more often than not quickly regains the twinkle in his eye and quickly concurs, that really he is nothing but “A dictator, scoundrel and (always bringing up the rear!) ...... a gentleman!” One who at 70 remains quick witted, keen to learn and with plenty of energy, last year he took up kite surfing!!
However, I guess it’s something to do with the eccentricity, there remains a certain naivety that at first can be quite disconcerting. Three things stand out, the first when having admired our solar lights felt he must get some to put in the border in front of the chateau, so that it “seems like the stars had fallen from the sky and twinkled amongst the roses!” Having dutifully purchased four from the local town, several times he expressed his disappointment that they didn’t work, and blamed the fact that they were made in China and were obviously shoddy – did I mention he is very out spoken! – and would I mind having look at them as he couldn’t figure out the problem. I returned with him and Linda came “on call” for another computer problem, and on removing the top of one of the lights pointed out that the switch marked “On – Off” and set at off just might explain the fact they weren’t working. I went on to test them by putting my hand over the light sensor and the light twinkled into life and from the look on Monsieur’s face you would have thought he had seen the light!!! He did see the funny side of it however, and blamed not having his glasses on. I’m more inclined to blame the time he spends reading learnèd texts and doing astrology readings, making no time to read instruction manuals, which was certainly the case with his car radio!! He had to have a new battery and when he got the car back the radio / CD wouldn’t work, it needed the code putting back in. Panic stations and thoughts that it would have to go back to the garage to be fixed, until Linda asked if he had the manual, which he found and Linda was able to understand sufficient of it, it was in Spanish, to point out to him the short passage that explained what needed to be done! No it would have to go back, in the morning at great inconvenience to the garage; he had hoped to go to the seaside for the day! Linda ended up with the manual, translated the relevant short passage and was quickly able to reset the code on his return from the seaside, after a minor mishap, where against strict instructions he turned the engine off and had to turn it on and wait for half an hour before it would accept the code – just long enough for a calming cup of tea!
Finally, one day whilst having another cup of tea, and Toutoune sticking close to M, partly to have her ears tickled, but also to receive a fairly regular supply of titbits, the end of each biscuit or scone seems the order of the day (he once asked Linda if it was better to give her sugar or candy!?!), he asked us in all innocence – what does it mean when a dog licks you? He almost seemed surprised when we said it was a sign of affection, “Yes, I suppose it must be,” he said!
One day we told him we had had a dream, and although in many ways we never expected it “to come true” it had and we were now living in France, with time to do what we want and not to be constrained by work and deadlines. It happened to be another of the “well it was like that for me moments, making us twins once more. Yes, he said it was like that for him too and his life as he now lived in, part in France, but mostly in Spain.
This led on to another scheme, which in turn came out of one of many conversations, that started very seriously and earnestly, about the state of the world and in particular, on this occasion how many European countries were suffering from serious financial problems and were in some cases in danger of going bankrupt. In all seriousness Monsieur, with one of his worried expressions, asked me what would happen then, if a country simply ran out of money! I said that they would probably just print some more, and his response to this was “wouldn’t that be great, just to be able to print money when you needed some!”
At the time we were standing outside the front of our house, next to Monsieur’s derelict barn, which needs serious attention to avoid the roof falling in (see other schemes below!), and I suggested that perhaps that was an idea use for a counterfeiting operation, under the cover of a semi-derelict barn. He bit on the idea and as always at such times we were on a roll!! His excitement at such times is like an excited school boy, and it’s a case of “Yes let’s!!” “Why not, underneath I’m nothing but a scoundrel!” “You’re in it with me!” However, it transpired that he’s what they might call in Yorkshire “A canny scoundrel” as before I knew it I was to be in the barn, sleeves rolled up running the press and doing not only the hard work, but the illegal bit, whilst he reverted to his “gentleman” status and provided the “folding screen,” just occasionally his English lets him down, he met cover!! “Well, officer there must be some mistake, the barn is nearly falling down and hasn’t been used for many years, can’t think what’s given you the idea that it’s being used for criminal activity!!”
As he claims to be deaf and consequently speaks several decibels louder than most people, hence warning us in the barn of imminent danger and could also, no doubt, keep the conversation going for some time, along the lines of; didn’t you know my father, how is your father, didn’t I go to school with your brother, basically anything like that to buy a little time for incriminating evidence to be disguised and the operation temporarily shut down!! I couldn’t help but feel that what he wouldn’t do was to turn me in and claim no knowledge of what was going on, but rather admit it was a “fair cop,” even if then he were to drop various names into the conversation, as I’m sure he must have a cousin high up in the justice department, as well as family links with most, possibly all of the European Royal Families, or what is left of them!!
Other schemes along the way have been to; bottle and sell his personal spring water and make a million, hadn’t thought of it before but the advertising could include “As passed by the Count!”, to flood a daily current affairs programme on Spanish TV with choice political quotes and statements, which they then broadcast on a running banner along the bottom of the screen, with a view to bringing down the Spanish Government and a Roofing Party to re-roof his dilapidated barn, that he was worried was going to cost too much money to save! As the local farmer, family and friends had recently re-roofed their own barn just across the road and done a very professional looking job on it, I suggested having a party, inviting everyone on the proviso they did the roof first and then he would lay on the drinks. At this suggestion, his eyes lit up and he said: “If they mend my roof I’ll provide enough wine to fill the Seine!” I couldn’t help but think it might have been cheaper to pay a “Macon,” but this section is called “Dreams and Schemes!!”
One dream of a scheme that failed miserably, was to persuade Monsieur that there is more to cooking than omelettes and mashed potatoes, as he leads something of a frugal life in terms of food, mainly because he sees its preparation as a waste of time: “you spend ages preparing food and its gone in an instant!” Now we see eye to eye on many things, although I have told him that although he firmly believes certain things like “The great Shakespeare debate,” I will make up my own mind and when it comes to food I’m firmly with Harriet Van Horne (feted American journalist) who says “Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” And just to make sure, I’ve made the point forcefully enough, a couple of quotes from Julia Child (celebrated chef who introduced French cuisine to the Americans!): “Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need.” and “In France, cooking is a serious art form and a national sport.” So feeling that a Frenchman, albeit one who regards himself more as a Spaniard, should have a better attitude to food, during one of a couple of dinner parties during the summer, when Monsieur informed me that he couldn’t cook anyway, so it was silly to try, I rather unnerved him by saying “You can read, you can use your hands, you can cook!” First there was a slightly puzzled look on his face, until I explained my point, that his personal abilities made it very easy to read a recipe, manipulate the utensils to concoct a sumptuous supper, even if only for one. However, the look of puzzlement was quickly replaced by a look of sheer panic, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried I was about to give him a cookery lesson, or I was expecting him to invite us to the chateau for said sumptuous supper, in the not too distant future. The look of abject horror was sufficient for me to let it drop; otherwise it might have spoilt the evening!!
Monsieur becomes Madame ~ Le coqueluche du village!
At the second dinner party, a curry evening towards the end of Monsieur’s summer stay, hatched as he informed us that he “adored” spicy food, when we told him of our love for Indian cuisine. It then came as something of a surprise as we sat down to start the meal, which included some seriously spicy dishes and he told us that he had never eaten Indian food before! Fortunately, he loved it and his healthy appetite did the spread justice, as he kept coming back for just one more little bit, but only if I would keep him company!! I ended up eating far more than I needed and out of courtesy there was no beer, or indeed alcohol, to wash it down!!
Conversation flowed about the summer and Linda’s help with his computer and my photographic endeavours of his family portraits and more, and he asked just one more photographic favour, if he put the floodlights on the chateau tomorrow evening would I take some photographs, as he had always wanted a floodlit photo. I was only too pleased to agree, as we had never seen the chateau lit up before and would therefore be a great photo opportunity, so it was fixed for 21.00 hrs the following evening, just as darkness was beginning to fall.
Talk then moved on, as always covering many subjects, some revisited such as politicians and rogues being largely one and the same, but then we got on to first impressions and how important they can be and also how when talking to someone on the telephone, you build up a mental picture of how you expect them to look. Sometimes then, the reality can be quite a shock! It was the opening I had been waiting for and grasping the bull by the horns I said “Well, actually when we first met you we had a terrible shock!” This was met by one of Monsieur’s best quizzical fronds and the question Why? I then explained that when we first saw the house and decided that we wanted to rent it, we were told by the immoblier, estate agent that he would have to check that Madame, who lived in Spain, agreed to our tenancy. So, the long and short of it was that when we first met Monsieur, we were very surprised because we had been told he was Madame!!!
He was hugely puzzled, but more importantly highly amused but this and for the rest of the evening slipped into a female persona, ending the evening by saying how much Madame had enjoyed herself, and was looking forward to seeing us the following
evening, when Madame would have a little surprise for us!! So, the following evening, punctually, at nine with camera and tripod, we presented ourselves at the chateau, somewhat surprised not to be met at the gate by Monsieur, who is a stickler for punctuality. The normally locked gate was open and as we approached the front door, loudly greeted by Toutoune, noticed the hall was in darkness but the door slightly ajar, but no sign of Monsieur. I knocked on the door, and a squeaky female voice bade us “Come in” and as we entered we noticed that the sitting room light, to the left through the library, was on and started to head that way thinking that was where the voice had come from. Here, perhaps it is worth reiterating that Monsieur lives in the chateau all alone save the dog!!
Well, a couple of steps across the hall and the same squeaky voice wished us a good evening and welcomed us, a voice altogether closer that the illuminated sitting room! Then, we saw half hidden behind the giant fern in the middle of the hallway, back lit by a small table lamp, an old lady in mop cap and white pinny, who started giggling and revealed themselves to be none other than Monsieur in drag!! From then on, for the rest of the summer, Monsieur was usually Madame, in name if not in dress! But I’ve the pictures to prove it, but that’s perhaps just a shutter click too far!!, and emails where Madame is delighted by the photographs and refers to me as the as the “Cecil Beaton of the Vendée,” praise indeed but I guess lost on anyone under a certain age!!
Once he had returned to Spain, after a short break we received an email from Monsieur about some maintenance work that was due to be carried out, and subsequently several emails have gone back and forth, and those from him are now signed “Madame, le coqueluche du village!” Coqueluche? Take your pick, as the dictionary lists the following translations: the rage, darling, favourite, reigning fancy or whooping cough!!! Somehow don’t think it’s the last one, but have settled myself on “darling!” But, I haven’t managed to bring myself to start my emails to him with “Darling!”, I’m sure in times past addressing a Count like that could have led to a “rendez-vous avec Madame Guillotine!!”
Adiós mis amigos
As I said before it had a been a summer of excitement, exhilaration, jollity and merriment, but was rapidly heading towards the end, which in many ways fortunately, more or less coincided, with our first proper trip back to the UK since our “Pet Shop Boys” and “Babysitting Experiences” back in February. It would mean that we had our trip to look forward to, at a time when we might have once again felt lonely, the population of our road plunging once more down to two, from the dizzy heights of as many as 11 if the gîte was full and of course no dogs. We don’t really have anything to do with the gîte holiday makers, but we can sometimes, when sitting out in the sunshine, hear them splashing around in the swimming pool, or screaming as it can be quite cold as it is fed directly from the spring!! I know this as Monsieur invited us to use the pool before his first visitors arrived, which coincided with Hannah and Kirsten’s visit, even they found it cold, particularly on the first day, when the farmer had just finished filling it and getting it ready and kept incredulously telling us it would be freezing as it was filled from the source and hadn’t had time for the sun to warm it up – his laughter when the hardiest, or should that be most foolish of us, finally got in, together with the look of utter amazement, would I’m sure be understandable in any language as “I told you so!!”
But back to our soon to depart new found amigos, and the irony wasn’t lost on me that one of our aims of our move was to improve our French, and I had spent quite a bit of the last few weeks conversing in emails and snatches of conversation with a French aristocrat and his dog IN SPANISH!! On the last afternoon we had invited Monsieur to a cream tea, combining his passion for food with that of “real English tea made by a real Englishman,” who had earlier in the summer had to explain, sailing quite close to the wind as I wasn’t totally sure about my answers, as to why it was preferable to serve your tea MIF – Milk in First!! That said, whatever the scientific, or otherwise, explanation – I do think it makes the cuppa taste better!
He had told us a couple of evenings previously, realising that “the end was nigh” and he was going back to Spain just after we left to go back for a visit to the UK, he and his dog would be gone when we returned, that we were the first tenants that he had had a relationship with! He lingered over the tea and scones, dragged his feet a little like Toutoune as he made his way down the drive, with us seeing him to the road as he always sees us to the gate, and still the conversation flowed, none of us wanting to finally say good bye, although the previous evening Monsieur had said that all good things come to an end and if we never saw one another again we would have many happy memories of the summer of 2010. Finally, in true gentlemanly fashion he clasped Linda’s hand in his two hands and came as close to kissing her hand as he had all summer, her hand had been getting closer at each parting!! Then, turning to me he firmly shook my hand, looked me firmly in the face and said “Thank you for everything, for the conversation, the photographs, the food ..... it has been ..... fantastic!” to which I replied “Yes, it has been great!” his response, before heading off down the drive throwing back the odd Goodbye, ¡hasta la vista!, ¡adiós! and more in Spanish, Italian, Czech and who knows what!!, was “No, not great, FANTASTIC!”
As we walked back to the house, we had to agree, but also knew that on our return from England, our little house at the end of the drive, would seem very lonely again for a while, particularly as the summer visitor season would also be over!!
But, there was one other final farewell, a final walk with Toutoune (Monsieur often calls her Manoose, he says it doesn’t mean anything it’s just sweeter!) and perhaps sensing the moment Linda said “You’re not going to get all sentimental are you?!” After all these years she can read me like a book, I’d already slipped a couple of dog chews into my pocket, as we set
off around the “block!” As we walked it turned into the most staggering sunset I have ever seen, it wrapped around all 360˚ of the sky and the colours intensified into the most remarkable finale, to a most astonishing summer, and yes the final pat, the dog chew and the “Adios mon amigo, au revoir et à beintôt,” was not without a little emotion, as she waddled down the drive of the chateau, as always without a backwards glance!“Ici devant nous!”
I’m going to go off the theme of the natural world this time and turn instead to the supernatural world, and like many good stories there’s something of a cliff hanger in this one. On that first meeting, when Madam became Monsieur!, we talked to him about how he lived most of the year in Spain, only visiting the chateau in the summer to be able to welcome his guests to the gîte. We asked if the house was therefore empty during the rest of the year, to which he replied it was and if we saw or heard anything, it would be his long gone ancestors. Funnily enough on several occasions we have heard voices or music, when nobody has been anywhere around, remember our nearest neighbours are over a quarter of a mile or heading towards 500 meters, and when we told Monsieur this rather light heartedly, he was at first quietly surprised, until he first occasion when having a cup of tea at the front of our house he also heard the voices ...... , and on another occasion the music ......!
My original “thought!”
“This has probably gone on long enough!”
But hopefully, you’ve had at least a small flavour of our wonderful “summer relationship!” we just seemed to hit it off and I’m sure there will be more along the way.
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? Maybe a report of all the festive fun, who said they don’t celebrate Christmas in France, and also we’ll have been back in the UK for a couple of weeks collecting even more stories! But, also watch out for “Frog vs Rosbeef!”
Monday, November 29, 2010
Christmas Missive 2010
Happy Christmas and a Great New Year or Joyeux Noël et bonne année, as they say in these parts!!
Dear All
Once more an early Christmas Missive for 2010!!
Well as for our move to France, we’re still here, don’t let the English stamps confuse you, we planned ahead purchased them during our last UK trip and a friend travelling back to the UK has posted them for us and saved us some money along the way!! Yes we’re still in France, still renting La Loge and not much further on, but I do officially become an early pensioner in February, so who knows!! This is a brief Family Christmas Missive for “more” visit the blog http://ithappenedonethursdayinfebruary.blogspot.com/
It has been a bit of a year of ups and downs, the downs to start with; both Linda and I lost an Aunt (Linda’s Auntie Phyllis and my Aunt Marg) as well as a couple of dear good friends and as many of you will know, Max our faithful brown hound went to the kennel in the sky, even now some months later we still almost expect him to be there – certainly when the French Bread is on the table. Also, the house in York was sold then wasn’t and remains unsold– hence the limbo we are in regarding long term plans. Also, on our main visit to the UK in the summer the car had to have some expensive major work done – thank goodness for a mechanic in the family!!
As for the ups, we have once again welcomed many of you to our wonderful part of the Vendée, where although this year the sun didn’t shine quite as much, the ponds did all dry up and the veg needed lots of water, and shorts and tee-shirts were the order of most days. Hopefully, the visitors will continue next year and maybe once again see some new faces! Perhaps the funniest visitors were some friends from Stroud, who unannounced popped in for a cup of tea!! They were en route from the Dordogne to Brittany where their daughter lives!! It was great to see them and luckily they caught us in – it is however best to let us know you’re coming, and it’s a good place to break your journey if travelling up or down France – about 35 miles inland from La Rochelle. We have also made some good English friends and so have a slightly greater social life, but although slowly learning the lingo and making sure we go to as many local events as possible, socialising with the French is more difficult, but has gone past the commenting solely on the weather stage – although living in a rural crop growing area it is a common topic of conversation amongst the French, not only an English phenomena!!
We also had a fantastic time getting to know our absentee landlord who spends the summer here and the rest of the year in Spain. Linda became his IT technician and I became his official photographer and we have very many happy memories of a truly gracious gentleman and eccentric – you’ll find much more about him on the blog, suffice to say here, he now signs his emails “Madame, la coqueluche du village!” Yes – “Madame!!” the rest meaning the rage / darling / favourite (take your pick!) of the village!!
Now for the family news: Linda as well as various work around the house and in the garden, walks in the countryside, weekly trips to the swimming pool and shops, has continued to fill the store cupboard with tasty jams and preserves and gone into furniture restoration and upholstery in quite a big way – it’s amazing how with a lot of elbow grease, and not a little huffing and puffing, some of our more jaded pieces of furniture have been rejuvenated!!
Daniel and Lisa continue to make improvements to their house (with a bit of help from his father!!) and by Christmas will both have newer cars, Lisa because her old one needed replacing, Daniel because some bright spark recently ran into the back of him and wrote his car off, fortunately he was alright – sods law though he had just spent a lot of money on it sorting out the brakes. They both remain very active in St John Ambulance, Lisa running the Stroud Badgers and Daniel the adult division as well as being involved in the Child Protection Team, and doing duties and training courses, he is now qualified to be an Ambulance Attendant and next step is to be able to drive the ambulance with “blues and twos” as they say!! Daniel has just been up to St James Palace to receive his Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award from the man himself, usually now the awards are made by Edward who is taking over from his father.
Victoria meanwhile, has done her 6 month stint in China, had a great time not only teaching English to children and youngsters, but also making the most of her time off to see lots of China, sometimes alone and sometimes with new found friends. Unfortunately, Dermot found he was unable to travel to China, due to his job, so they ended up meeting in Singapore / Malaya for a few days. They had a great time, including Gin Slings and a meal in Raffles Hotel (following in her father’s footsteps, but I was too young for the gin so made do with a coke and the family too poor for a meal so had to make do with a stall quite literally on the side of the road at Bedo Corner!). She also seems to have had two or three cars this year, after a false start with the first that had to go back – long story!!, but now has a small runabout to get her to college / placements. She was thrown straight into her Teaching Course on her return from China, with hardly time for her feet to touch the ground, but it is all going very well and we keep getting excited Skype calls – as a friend said the other day (she is also a retired teacher!): “She is so enthusiastic about her teaching. I think we could all suddenly see ourselves 40 years ago when we were just beginning.” Another recent excited call was to say she had just heard that she, through St John, had been awarded a “Sovereign’s Award,” one of only ten awarded annually, the excitement only tempered a little as she found out that it was Princess Anne again (She has met her on several occasions!!) and not the Queen herself making the presentation.
Linda and I have not returned to the UK so much this year, but have managed to fathom out the French Tax system, and beaten the bureaucracy and managed to register the caravan in France, allowing us a couple of short breaks to Saumur by the river and Royan by the sea. Plans are now afoot to look for some better weather early next year and head south for three weeks or so. As for me I continue with my cooking, writing, photography and have taken up sculpture!! Reviews to date range from “Well it’s interesting” to “C..p!!” Then there’s the garden, walking etc. etc. As I’ve said before “I just don’t know where the time goes!!”
Lots of love
Roger and Linda
Missive 24 ~ Did I ever tell you how lucky we are?
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Did I ever tell you how lucky we are? ~ Missive 24
“Just tell yourself, Duckie, you're really quite lucky!”
Dr Seuss, American Writer and Cartoonist
“Name the greatest of all inventors: Accident.”Samuel Langhorne Clemens, better known as Mark Twain; Author and humorist.
The first of these quotes is from Dr Seuss’ small cartoon book entitled “Did I ever tell you how lucky you are,” about an unfortunate man who has to spend his life sitting on a cactus!! Yes I’ve pinched the title (nearly) for this missive, but it’s also a book that brings back happy memories of my early teaching career, and is worthy of mention here by way of celebration! Firstly, as luckily I have never had to spend my time sitting on a cactus, despite some prickly moments along the way, but more importantly as we reach with this missive a milestone; no not quite two years of missives (that’s next month!), no not finally being able to be retired early (that’s February), no the writing of this missive will take the grand total or words to over the 100,000 mark, or indeed a medium sized novel – so all of you who complain about the length of these monthly epistles, it’s only been like reading a book over the last 23 months, if you’re too busy for that you need to look at your work – life balance!!!
That 100,000 words is just the missives, there has been plenty of other writings along the way and with a quick bit of maths, works out at approximately 4348 words a month or nearly 145 words every day!! To put that into context or “column” space that’s a little less than the paragraph before this one!! Which neatly brings me back to the theme of “How Lucky we are,” firstly to have the time to spend writing these words and perhaps feeling that a small paragraph a day is an achievement!, but also to have had the experiences we have along the way to share with you, or the time to think about issues that we deem important and sometimes impart these to you!!
Indeed, rarely does a day go by when I don’t open the shutters, look at the view and having pinched myself, go on to realise just how lucky we are, and also how right we were to make what at the time was a very difficult, and in other people’s minds perhaps brave or even foolish, decision. But as my brother said at the time “Life isn’t a dress rehearsal, you only get one chance” and although maybe it hasn’t all gone too smoothly, certainly with some hiccups along the way, nearly two years down the line I’m glad we took the chance!
So I guess no apologies for this missive once again focussing on “the good life,” after all it could have been a seat on a cactus, and then I’m sure the tone of any missive I felt inclined to write would have been altogether more prickly!! And to put the record straight, the writing doesn’t tend to be just a short paragraph each day, no it comes in fits and starts, and I’m just starting this missive (which may run to over 4000 words) with just a couple of days to go until the end of the month deadline!, with lots of other things to fill the time in between. During the rest of the month there are obviously other snippets and ideas written down ready for the mad rush near to the deadline, often just scraps of paper with a hasty note, that are later shuffled into some semblance of order!
Also, I’d like to say that I write in some sort of writer’s garret, overlooking the open fields and chateau parkland that surround us, with clear views of the weather sweeping in and the stunning flora and fauna that abounds and features frequently in the missives. But unfortunately, initially it was quite literally on my laptop on my lap, but more recently spread out on the dining table and needing to be cleared off before we can eat – that explains any parts that suddenly seem disjointed in some way –dinner was ready!!, although this doesn’t happen too often, as much of the writing is done late at night or in the early hours of the morning – I’m still something of a night owl, made all the easier as getting up early in the morning isn’t necessary!
There’s been a murder – Watch this space!!
OK a little melodramatic, and maybe not the right sort of section for a missive on “Luckiness” as obviously the victim was far from lucky, but it did happen in 1984 and at the moment for us at least remains something of a mystery. How do we know, I hear you say and that’s the interesting and indeed mysterious bit!!
We have recently had a spell of very wet weather, not always particularly cold, but those damp, miserable days that seem never to get properly daylight, punctuated with heavy showers where the sky goes black and the wind builds and buffets the showers that sweep across the fields, better for us if they come from the south, we’re a little sheltered by the chateau and its avenues of trees. Days when it is difficult to get out of the house as by the time you have togged up after the last shower, another one is bearing down on you. The sort of weather there may well have been in February 1984, when Joe ..... was arrested for homicide, and again I hear the cry going up “But how do you know!”
Well, I’m coming to that shortly, but in good time! Having been cooped up in the house for too long, watching the clouds scudding across the sky and sensing that there just might be a bit of a break in the clouds and a chance to take the air and maybe a good opportunity to take some dramatic cloud shots as the next angry mass bore down on me. So off I go, coat “in case” and camera slung over my shoulder, over the terrace, across the yard and down the avenue in front of the freshly painted chateau gates, the brilliant white standing out starkly in front of the menacing black clouds that would soon be upon me, then there it was!
At this point it would be much more theatrical to say there in front of me was the body, the heavy rain having washed away the thin covering of soil from the hastily dug grave, but actually all that was there was a small piece of yellowed paper, lying by the side or the road covered in spidery French style handwriting, looking for all intent and purpose like someone’s discarded shopping list, blown on the wind to where I now found it. But two things were interesting that made me stop and pick it up, not simply in the call of litter clearing and to put it in the bin. First, it was relatively clean and not too dirty or wet, despite the weather and secondly it had not been there when I had managed to venture out very briefly earlier in the day, so had only fairly recently arrived!
Picking it up I looked at the writing and was drawn to the first word that followed a date – 7. 11. 81: Crimes, and there in front of me it became quickly apparent, was a list of crimes dated from November ’81 to April ’85. And then through a little bit of dirt in the middle of the page the word “homicide” jumped out. Closer examination revealed that the crime sheet contained minimal details – date, crime and names – of nine arrests for a total of six crimes: felony, possibly evading arrest / escaping from custody, forgery, raid and dealing (I guess stolen property - 3 villians!), theft and dealing (possibly a brother and sister) and the homicide.
And that, I’m afraid is where the trail goes cold; where it came from remains a mystery, it’s a little old I would have thought to be out of a passing policeman’s little black book, not that they pass very often, but then I guess if they wouldn’t need to if there had only been six crimes over a 3 ½ year period! My research to date, following up the dates, names etc, and unfortunately the one word I can’t really read on the piece of paper is Joe’s surname, has got nowhere, so it’s a case of “Watch this Space!” and maybe one day all will be revealed!!
The hunt is up, down, here, there and everywhere – Duck!
When we returned from the UK and turned off our quiet road and onto our yard, it was very early in the morning, still dark and something was wrong! We were not met with the blinding flash of the outside security light that usually picks up the car half way down yard. We hoped it was simply that the bulb had blown and not the main fuse that had tripped during a power cut of surge, as having been away for about a month the freezer could have been in a sorry state. We do however, have some good friends who live in the hamlet at the end of the avenue and were keeping an eye on things, including checking the electricity as there was work scheduled to be done on the supply whilst we were away.
So it was with relief that we opened up and found the lights and everything else working and indeed the house much as we had left it, although with that unlived-in slightly dampness that often prevails in houses that have been shut up for a while.
The next day, on removing the bulb, one end, it’s one of those long thin halogen style bulbs, came away in my hand, obviously the bulb was defunct! When we next went shopping we bought a new bulb and as always when buying bulbs in France marvelled at how expensive they are, that’s why whenever we return to England a nothing can get in the way visit, to a Wilkinson’s, there just don’t seem to be shops like this in our part of France and even those purporting to be discount shops often aren’t that cheap – except dear old Noz, a local seedy “end of line” free for all, with whatever happens to have come in recently into the enormous, and at the moment freezing hanger of a building, filling the shelves of whatever has recently sold out or been thrown away having collected too much dust or in the case of food stuff run out of date. They get everything, including Tesco rejects (we recently bought a couple of rolls of Tesco Value wrapping paper!), but you can never guarantee they will have what you want, but often you find something you must have and then it’s usually very cheap!! If we come up on the Lotto they even have a motor cruiser, worth well over €1,000,000, a snip at €850,000!! It’s not actually in the shop, but on a large poster by the cash desk, streaking across a very blue Mediterranean, that’s the sky as well as the water I hasten to add! Despite the chic appearance I may give of luxury items, it’s the sort of place you feel you need to wash your hands after sifting through the merchandise!!
But, you might be forgiven for thinking that the hunting mentioned in the title is about “bargain hunting,” but nothing of the sort, it’s more about that most manly of activities that is something of a national pastime, and certainly around here, although not I believe elsewhere in France, exclusively a manly pursuit, the woman being allowed to bring the food at lunchtime to the nearby barn used as a hunting lodge!! For fear of upsetting my feminist friends, I make no further comment!
But having got said bulb, come home and fitted it, and being daylight and needing the hand over the sensor to check it was working, all did not seem to be well, it wasn’t working, but as the light fitting was back together and access wasn’t very easy, I went for the easy option of waiting for night fall and then doing the walk test – which of course didn’t work either!! So, the next dry day, a few days later, I needed to investigate if we had been sold a dud bulb and if so work out the French for taking it back! But closer examination revealed that the bulb wasn’t sitting properly in the connectors and suddenly to dramatic effect sprang into light, becoming very bright even in the light of day and nearly toppling me off the chair I was standing on! And, before I get flooded with emails about Health and Safety, the proper way to change a light bulb, safe ladder usage, risk assessments etc. etc., this is France and if I fell off it was my fault, nobody else’s!!
Well, it was also suddenly very hot, not unfortunately a sudden heat wave, but rapidly heating halogen that made it very difficult with both the heat and blinding light to put back the fiddly glass front without being able to see and whilst burning my fingers!! So, with a blinding flash as it were, and a nostalgic thought about safe lone working, as Linda was somewhere else, I decided to trip the fuse whilst I sorted it out!! It certainly made it easier as I could see what I was doing, although as there was a chilly breeze I did miss the heat!! But job done, fuse reset and I came out of the cave (cellar) where the fuses are and turned the corner by the light just as there was the most almighty explosion, which initially I thought was mighty loud for a blowing light bulb, but as it was followed instantly by three or four more and accompanied by a loud rattling of lead shot on the roof of the house, that proceeded to roll noisily down the tiles and ping into the metal guttering, I realised I was under siege from the hunters in the walled garden behind the house.
With racing heart, I ducked quickly into the house, hoping that when the coast was clear perhaps together with the shot a duck or partridge might have dropped in for the pot!! Looking out of the back windows the hunters, accompanied by the local farmer went past, and they were certainly looking and pointing our way! There was never any sign of any supper, so they either missed or it was a case of “Les Anglais – ha ha!!”
The unhappy and the happy huntsmen
Once upon a time some days later, well the title does rather smack of a fairy tale!, there was a hunt in the park behind the large Chateau that seems to grow out of the lawn outside our back windows. The chateau is quite small but elegant – well proportioned you might say, and monsieur l’exploitant agricole (officially the French don’t use the word farmer!), or to be more precise agriculteur mixte, as he is both a céréalier et éleveur bovins (cereal and livestock farmer) – who said the French language was easy!! – was having one of his hunting parties. Part of the deal seems to be that for helping to maintain the estate the farmer has hunting rights, somewhat against Monsieur le Chateau’s principals as he is vegetarian, but out of sight out of mind and as he keeps reminding us when the cats away the mice will dance!
Well, they had been out for two or three hours, with lots of shouting, horn blowing and generally rushing about, and not just the dogs. Funnily enough as I said before the locals seem to be very sparing with their actual shots, preferring the social side of la chasse and only bagging the odd dead cert for the pot.
On this particular day I had decided it was safer to work in the garden than to wander in the woods, as despite not shooting much they do have large well oiled guns and I didn’t want to be on the small, but significant casualty list that was discussed recently in the French Paper, a very informative paper available across the whole of France, and I must say all the more appealing as it is written in English!! I know I should be struggling through Le Monde or Le Figaro, but the news would be so out of date by the time I got to the end, I wouldn’t feel suitably up to date and informed!!
Then, as often happened, there was a rush of dogs of all shapes and sizes, each hunter seeming to have several, along the road and always straight in through the open garden gate, obviously sensing something was there, but usually giving me little more than a casual look having run around me and decided I wasn’t a sanglier and running off again, noses on the ground ever hopeful for a more promising scent. The first time it was a little disconcerting, but they seemed happy enough with my slightly hesitant “Hello nice doggy!” in my best French of course – Bonjour, le chien beau, just in case you’re wondering, sounds better in French doesn’t it!! They were followed up the road by a fairly motley group of hunters, also in various shapes and sizes, and in the front actually looking quite resplendent in obviously brand new camouflaged hunting gear from head to toe was Alain the local fouchage man, who works hard keeping the village and the surroundings spick and span. I gave him a friendly greeting and received a friendly word back, but on enquiring if it had been a good hunt I got back a very terse and anglicised No! Further enquiries to the unhappy hunter, about what they had been hunting for today, informed me that today’s lucky prey had been partridges and pheasants and although they had put up a deer it had got away. As for hare, he seemed to tell me that it was the close season for them – perhaps they were still breeding?
The rest of the group trundled by, looking ready for a cup of coffee or something stronger, but mostly managing a reasonably cheery response to my greeting, and hobbling happily along at the rear was the old farmer who suffers badly with arthritis and walks quite slowly, but certainly it doesn’t stop him doing things, despite being long retired, after the winter storms we came across him, on his own, wielding a chain saw and chopping up some of the casualties from the gales!! However, when the family et al. recently re-roofed one of their barns, he was itching to get up on the roof and do his bit, but the sons banished him to a cage, sounds a bit harsh doesn’t it, but it was on the lift at the front of the tractor, they let him do the tiles around the edge without having to set foot on the roof!!
I got a very cheery greeting from him and when I commiserated with about the poor hunting, with a shrug, a roll of the eyes and a broad smile he said “Mais c'était une bonne marche en la nature!!” “But it was a good walk in the countryside!!” and strode, on as best he could, with his broad rather cheeky grin thinking perhaps that there was always next time! Then, just as I had finished this I had to pop out and as I was about to pull out into the road the hunters, this time in a grey car followed by two white vans were speeding up the road and there at the back, broadly grinning and waving frantically was none other than the aforementioned exploitant agricole!!
So what do we do all day?
You often hear people say that once they retired, they didn’t know how they found the time to go to work and it’s much the same with us and with no television we don’t even sit and watch the box day and night. This year’s Christmas missive touched on this, informing you that over the summer Linda became IT Technician and I became Official Photographer to Monsieur from Le Chateau, but more of that another time.
Linda, as well as some of the normal household chores, can often be found up to her elbows in the preserving pan, making the most amazing and extensive array of jams and chutneys and spends time on the scrounge for jars to put them all in, as we are constantly running out. Our cave now has one side with the drink and the other with the preserves – get locked in and you could be in a total pickle!! She has also worked very hard restoring a number of items of furniture that were looking quite jaded and now would grace the pages of Homes and Gardens!!
We both also garden, walk regularly, although on the longer ones Linda finds something else to do, she never was one for a good long walk, unless there was a reason – like a good pub at the end, she is also continuing to have some reoccurrences of her plantar fraciitis, a painful foot condition that flairs up from time to time. We also venture out about once a week to the shops (about 12 miles away) often combining this with a swim in the local pool, and in the summer go further afield for the odd picnic, vetting spots for the many visitors that are very welcome; gives me someone else to talk to, even though they keep us busy!! And then there’s the national sport of “bureaucracy bashing,” I thought India took the biscuit, usually in triplicate and repeated several times over to several people all doing the same job, but France – they want the crumbs as well, and each biscuit has a different name!!
As for me, there are the creative urges that have grown since moving here; writing, photography, singing again around the house but looking for opportunities to frighten the locals, doing lots of cooking particularly trying to perfect some of the wonderful French cuisine around us (visitors make great guinea pigs and usually seem to come back for more – one old boss who will remain nameless but is Welsh, even enjoyed a sauce so much she said she was going to lick the plate, and she did. Have you noticed how much standards slip when the British are on holiday!!), and I’ve taken to the odd bit of sculpture made mostly out of the natural things we discover around us. A bit of fun, not in the Henry Moore or Barbara Hepworth league just yet, but who knows, critical acclaim so far: “Thought provoking” “I was rendered speechless” “C_ _ p” “I’d say it was a piece of wood stuck on some dowel, but you may have made it!” And these are supposed to be my friends!! Mind you my No. 1 Critic, who being a Yorkshire girl doesn’t mince her words says they’re better than much she saw in the Tate Modern in St. Ives – mind you, you should hear what she says about those, certainly not repeatable for my sensitive readers. I’m working on a number of other Arty Projects at the moment – so watch this space!
Basically the time just goes and there’s never a dull moment!!
With apologies to the prudish amongst you - How can you tell a Great Tit?
The yard was a mass of birds, all shapes and sizes, with possibly a number of Great Tits (did I mention the birds were of the feathered variety), robins, chaffinches (a whole host of them that only the other day I had read were probably all single sex!) all swooping around and pecking in the shallow puddles. I suppose the wet weather had caused the ground to become saturated and forced the insects to the top as easy pickings.
But certainly one of the features around here is the wealth of bird life, including many of the smaller species that we so often hear are threatened and declining in numbers. It doesn’t seem to be the case in these parts and the birds sing all day, not just during the dawn chorus, and maybe early evening as seems to be the case back in the UK. At almost any time of the day and sometimes into the night, except on the very hottest of days when temperatures make any activity draining, we can go about our business, unmolested save for the barracking of the birds.
I was briefly reminded of when I used to walk down the High Street in Stroud and be regularly mobbed by flocks, or should that be cackles, of young birds!!
Oh, and the ornithologists amongst you – how do you tell a Great Tit from a Blue Tit? Answers without any mention of the current freezing cold spell, would be welcomed!
We had a vote!
We recently had an invitation to the AGM of the local Leisure Society, and in keeping with our plan to go to as many events as possible we decided to go, but gave each other strict instructions to keep our heads down and look at the floor when it came to the election of the committee, that came after the Bilan moral and Bilan financier, the first of which appeared to be the Chair’s report rather than anything to do with our ethical or honourable well-being!!
The reports were as always at breakneck speed, which made following them difficult, but we managed to pick up one or two things, particularly about events that we had attended as well as that the financial position wasn’t great, particularly as the clown for the children’s Christmas party, provided by an Art’s Group based in the commune, was likely to cost €800, and so now I’m waiting for a report on value for money and frantically polishing up the juggling and custard pie throwing, there’s obviously money in them there red noses!! Just found out he was very good and ONLY €500!
It was then time to vote for new committee members, so keeping our heads down we tried to hear what we had to do as this was to be a secret ballot!! The committee sitting at the front proceeded to tear up a sheet of paper into enough pieces so that we could each have a vote, these were passed around and taking instructions from the lady in front, who happens to be the chairman’s wife, we wrote the names of the four potential new committee members; Edith, Line, Valerie (one of our new English friends who speaks French very well) and Laurence. These pieces of paper were then collected and the number of times each person’s name appeared counted, recorded and all were duly elected. In our quest not to be noticed during the voting we had managed to help vote Laurence on to the committee and we didn’t even know who he was!! It even transpired some days later that in fact, Laurence wasn’t a “he” at all, but in fact a woman – it’s good to know that democracy is alive and well in rural France!!
Fortunately, the last item on the agenda Questions diverses, was short and not at all diverse, just one enquiry as to when the club de retraite was going to update its image with a name change to club de troisième âge? Unfortunately the chairman slightly misread the seriousness of the request by the small, rather severe lady, and an ugly scene nearly developed when the chair laughed it off, but had enough sense when he realised his mistake, to recover the situation, just in time!!
“Ici devant nous!”
Sorry for any arachnophobes amongst you but I’m going to continue on the theme of spiders. Whilst researching last month’s piece I happened upon an article about the small bodied, long legged harvester-type spiders, entitled “ARE THESE THE MOST VENEMOUS SPIDERS IN THE WORLD!!” Shock horror, as we share the house with a multitude of these, with several permanently resident in the “salle de bain,” yes the room with the shower where one’s most tender and normally covered bits are regularly exposed, just a short drop from the venomous fangs of the Pholeus phalangioides – cellar or daddy longlegs spider. But further research revealed, as luck would have it that a) possibly our eight legged lodgers aren’t said Pholcus phalangioides, but do bear an uncanny resemblance b) if they are, then they aren’t apparently the most venomous spiders in the world, although some researchers would say they come a close second to the likes of Brazilian Wandering Spiders or Black Widow Spiders that vie for first place, which may be little comfort should the fangs find a soft bit of flesh, but c) rumour has it that the fangs are too small and weak to be able to penetrate human flesh, even the most sensitive parts!! However, I’m now somewhat more careful when I try to get them to perform their defence strategy – blow on them gently and they drop a short way on their web and “twistle” around at breakneck speed to confuse the enemy, but there again they may just be trying to hypnotise you before dropping further onto some protuberance below!!
But don’t put off from visiting us as if you go on Wikipedia and follow the link from Pholcus phalangioides, it may all be an urban legend. There is also an interesting link to a MythBuster episode “Daddy Long-legs,” which almost has a “sting in the tail” as it were!!
My original “thought!” or two!
It happened one night, at the end of the summer in September when we were visiting Daniel! I had a dream and it was in French!! But, as with most dreams on waking up I could only remember the bare bones of the “story” and a strong feeling it was in French, however what I couldn’t remember was what the words were, or indeed whether they really were in French, “pigeon” or “double Dutch!!” They do say that when you start dreaming in French, you’re on the way to learning the lingo, so “s'agit-il d'ou devrai-je continuer à essayer?!” Réponses par courriel ou sur une carte postale s'il vous plaît!!**
And a second thought, on the theme of “being lucky!” When I went with the Archway School trip to India and we went Tiger “Hunting,” (spotting would perhaps be a better description), after several very long and hot cantor trips into the Ranthambore National Park we had managed to clock up a total of 4 sightings, 3 really good ones and 1 hard to see camouflaged beast. Well, the recent fantastic series of three programmes put on by the BBC called “Lost Land of the Tiger” reported several times that there are only an estimated 3000 wild tigers left in the world – and I’ve seen 4; how lucky is that!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? The next missive will probably come under the title of “Count our Blessings!” but there’s a twist!!
** For those busy souls without the time, knowledge or inclination: “Does this count or do I have to keep trying?!” Answers by email or on a postcard please!!
Mes chers amis
Did I ever tell you how lucky we are? ~ Missive 24
“Just tell yourself, Duckie, you're really quite lucky!”
Dr Seuss, American Writer and Cartoonist
“Name the greatest of all inventors: Accident.”Samuel Langhorne Clemens, better known as Mark Twain; Author and humorist.
The first of these quotes is from Dr Seuss’ small cartoon book entitled “Did I ever tell you how lucky you are,” about an unfortunate man who has to spend his life sitting on a cactus!! Yes I’ve pinched the title (nearly) for this missive, but it’s also a book that brings back happy memories of my early teaching career, and is worthy of mention here by way of celebration! Firstly, as luckily I have never had to spend my time sitting on a cactus, despite some prickly moments along the way, but more importantly as we reach with this missive a milestone; no not quite two years of missives (that’s next month!), no not finally being able to be retired early (that’s February), no the writing of this missive will take the grand total or words to over the 100,000 mark, or indeed a medium sized novel – so all of you who complain about the length of these monthly epistles, it’s only been like reading a book over the last 23 months, if you’re too busy for that you need to look at your work – life balance!!!
That 100,000 words is just the missives, there has been plenty of other writings along the way and with a quick bit of maths, works out at approximately 4348 words a month or nearly 145 words every day!! To put that into context or “column” space that’s a little less than the paragraph before this one!! Which neatly brings me back to the theme of “How Lucky we are,” firstly to have the time to spend writing these words and perhaps feeling that a small paragraph a day is an achievement!, but also to have had the experiences we have along the way to share with you, or the time to think about issues that we deem important and sometimes impart these to you!!
Indeed, rarely does a day go by when I don’t open the shutters, look at the view and having pinched myself, go on to realise just how lucky we are, and also how right we were to make what at the time was a very difficult, and in other people’s minds perhaps brave or even foolish, decision. But as my brother said at the time “Life isn’t a dress rehearsal, you only get one chance” and although maybe it hasn’t all gone too smoothly, certainly with some hiccups along the way, nearly two years down the line I’m glad we took the chance!
So I guess no apologies for this missive once again focussing on “the good life,” after all it could have been a seat on a cactus, and then I’m sure the tone of any missive I felt inclined to write would have been altogether more prickly!! And to put the record straight, the writing doesn’t tend to be just a short paragraph each day, no it comes in fits and starts, and I’m just starting this missive (which may run to over 4000 words) with just a couple of days to go until the end of the month deadline!, with lots of other things to fill the time in between. During the rest of the month there are obviously other snippets and ideas written down ready for the mad rush near to the deadline, often just scraps of paper with a hasty note, that are later shuffled into some semblance of order!
Also, I’d like to say that I write in some sort of writer’s garret, overlooking the open fields and chateau parkland that surround us, with clear views of the weather sweeping in and the stunning flora and fauna that abounds and features frequently in the missives. But unfortunately, initially it was quite literally on my laptop on my lap, but more recently spread out on the dining table and needing to be cleared off before we can eat – that explains any parts that suddenly seem disjointed in some way –dinner was ready!!, although this doesn’t happen too often, as much of the writing is done late at night or in the early hours of the morning – I’m still something of a night owl, made all the easier as getting up early in the morning isn’t necessary!
There’s been a murder – Watch this space!!
OK a little melodramatic, and maybe not the right sort of section for a missive on “Luckiness” as obviously the victim was far from lucky, but it did happen in 1984 and at the moment for us at least remains something of a mystery. How do we know, I hear you say and that’s the interesting and indeed mysterious bit!!
We have recently had a spell of very wet weather, not always particularly cold, but those damp, miserable days that seem never to get properly daylight, punctuated with heavy showers where the sky goes black and the wind builds and buffets the showers that sweep across the fields, better for us if they come from the south, we’re a little sheltered by the chateau and its avenues of trees. Days when it is difficult to get out of the house as by the time you have togged up after the last shower, another one is bearing down on you. The sort of weather there may well have been in February 1984, when Joe ..... was arrested for homicide, and again I hear the cry going up “But how do you know!”
Well, I’m coming to that shortly, but in good time! Having been cooped up in the house for too long, watching the clouds scudding across the sky and sensing that there just might be a bit of a break in the clouds and a chance to take the air and maybe a good opportunity to take some dramatic cloud shots as the next angry mass bore down on me. So off I go, coat “in case” and camera slung over my shoulder, over the terrace, across the yard and down the avenue in front of the freshly painted chateau gates, the brilliant white standing out starkly in front of the menacing black clouds that would soon be upon me, then there it was!
At this point it would be much more theatrical to say there in front of me was the body, the heavy rain having washed away the thin covering of soil from the hastily dug grave, but actually all that was there was a small piece of yellowed paper, lying by the side or the road covered in spidery French style handwriting, looking for all intent and purpose like someone’s discarded shopping list, blown on the wind to where I now found it. But two things were interesting that made me stop and pick it up, not simply in the call of litter clearing and to put it in the bin. First, it was relatively clean and not too dirty or wet, despite the weather and secondly it had not been there when I had managed to venture out very briefly earlier in the day, so had only fairly recently arrived!
Picking it up I looked at the writing and was drawn to the first word that followed a date – 7. 11. 81: Crimes, and there in front of me it became quickly apparent, was a list of crimes dated from November ’81 to April ’85. And then through a little bit of dirt in the middle of the page the word “homicide” jumped out. Closer examination revealed that the crime sheet contained minimal details – date, crime and names – of nine arrests for a total of six crimes: felony, possibly evading arrest / escaping from custody, forgery, raid and dealing (I guess stolen property - 3 villians!), theft and dealing (possibly a brother and sister) and the homicide.
And that, I’m afraid is where the trail goes cold; where it came from remains a mystery, it’s a little old I would have thought to be out of a passing policeman’s little black book, not that they pass very often, but then I guess if they wouldn’t need to if there had only been six crimes over a 3 ½ year period! My research to date, following up the dates, names etc, and unfortunately the one word I can’t really read on the piece of paper is Joe’s surname, has got nowhere, so it’s a case of “Watch this Space!” and maybe one day all will be revealed!!
The hunt is up, down, here, there and everywhere – Duck!
When we returned from the UK and turned off our quiet road and onto our yard, it was very early in the morning, still dark and something was wrong! We were not met with the blinding flash of the outside security light that usually picks up the car half way down yard. We hoped it was simply that the bulb had blown and not the main fuse that had tripped during a power cut of surge, as having been away for about a month the freezer could have been in a sorry state. We do however, have some good friends who live in the hamlet at the end of the avenue and were keeping an eye on things, including checking the electricity as there was work scheduled to be done on the supply whilst we were away.
So it was with relief that we opened up and found the lights and everything else working and indeed the house much as we had left it, although with that unlived-in slightly dampness that often prevails in houses that have been shut up for a while.
The next day, on removing the bulb, one end, it’s one of those long thin halogen style bulbs, came away in my hand, obviously the bulb was defunct! When we next went shopping we bought a new bulb and as always when buying bulbs in France marvelled at how expensive they are, that’s why whenever we return to England a nothing can get in the way visit, to a Wilkinson’s, there just don’t seem to be shops like this in our part of France and even those purporting to be discount shops often aren’t that cheap – except dear old Noz, a local seedy “end of line” free for all, with whatever happens to have come in recently into the enormous, and at the moment freezing hanger of a building, filling the shelves of whatever has recently sold out or been thrown away having collected too much dust or in the case of food stuff run out of date. They get everything, including Tesco rejects (we recently bought a couple of rolls of Tesco Value wrapping paper!), but you can never guarantee they will have what you want, but often you find something you must have and then it’s usually very cheap!! If we come up on the Lotto they even have a motor cruiser, worth well over €1,000,000, a snip at €850,000!! It’s not actually in the shop, but on a large poster by the cash desk, streaking across a very blue Mediterranean, that’s the sky as well as the water I hasten to add! Despite the chic appearance I may give of luxury items, it’s the sort of place you feel you need to wash your hands after sifting through the merchandise!!
But, you might be forgiven for thinking that the hunting mentioned in the title is about “bargain hunting,” but nothing of the sort, it’s more about that most manly of activities that is something of a national pastime, and certainly around here, although not I believe elsewhere in France, exclusively a manly pursuit, the woman being allowed to bring the food at lunchtime to the nearby barn used as a hunting lodge!! For fear of upsetting my feminist friends, I make no further comment!
But having got said bulb, come home and fitted it, and being daylight and needing the hand over the sensor to check it was working, all did not seem to be well, it wasn’t working, but as the light fitting was back together and access wasn’t very easy, I went for the easy option of waiting for night fall and then doing the walk test – which of course didn’t work either!! So, the next dry day, a few days later, I needed to investigate if we had been sold a dud bulb and if so work out the French for taking it back! But closer examination revealed that the bulb wasn’t sitting properly in the connectors and suddenly to dramatic effect sprang into light, becoming very bright even in the light of day and nearly toppling me off the chair I was standing on! And, before I get flooded with emails about Health and Safety, the proper way to change a light bulb, safe ladder usage, risk assessments etc. etc., this is France and if I fell off it was my fault, nobody else’s!!
Well, it was also suddenly very hot, not unfortunately a sudden heat wave, but rapidly heating halogen that made it very difficult with both the heat and blinding light to put back the fiddly glass front without being able to see and whilst burning my fingers!! So, with a blinding flash as it were, and a nostalgic thought about safe lone working, as Linda was somewhere else, I decided to trip the fuse whilst I sorted it out!! It certainly made it easier as I could see what I was doing, although as there was a chilly breeze I did miss the heat!! But job done, fuse reset and I came out of the cave (cellar) where the fuses are and turned the corner by the light just as there was the most almighty explosion, which initially I thought was mighty loud for a blowing light bulb, but as it was followed instantly by three or four more and accompanied by a loud rattling of lead shot on the roof of the house, that proceeded to roll noisily down the tiles and ping into the metal guttering, I realised I was under siege from the hunters in the walled garden behind the house.
With racing heart, I ducked quickly into the house, hoping that when the coast was clear perhaps together with the shot a duck or partridge might have dropped in for the pot!! Looking out of the back windows the hunters, accompanied by the local farmer went past, and they were certainly looking and pointing our way! There was never any sign of any supper, so they either missed or it was a case of “Les Anglais – ha ha!!”
The unhappy and the happy huntsmen
Once upon a time some days later, well the title does rather smack of a fairy tale!, there was a hunt in the park behind the large Chateau that seems to grow out of the lawn outside our back windows. The chateau is quite small but elegant – well proportioned you might say, and monsieur l’exploitant agricole (officially the French don’t use the word farmer!), or to be more precise agriculteur mixte, as he is both a céréalier et éleveur bovins (cereal and livestock farmer) – who said the French language was easy!! – was having one of his hunting parties. Part of the deal seems to be that for helping to maintain the estate the farmer has hunting rights, somewhat against Monsieur le Chateau’s principals as he is vegetarian, but out of sight out of mind and as he keeps reminding us when the cats away the mice will dance!
Well, they had been out for two or three hours, with lots of shouting, horn blowing and generally rushing about, and not just the dogs. Funnily enough as I said before the locals seem to be very sparing with their actual shots, preferring the social side of la chasse and only bagging the odd dead cert for the pot.
On this particular day I had decided it was safer to work in the garden than to wander in the woods, as despite not shooting much they do have large well oiled guns and I didn’t want to be on the small, but significant casualty list that was discussed recently in the French Paper, a very informative paper available across the whole of France, and I must say all the more appealing as it is written in English!! I know I should be struggling through Le Monde or Le Figaro, but the news would be so out of date by the time I got to the end, I wouldn’t feel suitably up to date and informed!!
Then, as often happened, there was a rush of dogs of all shapes and sizes, each hunter seeming to have several, along the road and always straight in through the open garden gate, obviously sensing something was there, but usually giving me little more than a casual look having run around me and decided I wasn’t a sanglier and running off again, noses on the ground ever hopeful for a more promising scent. The first time it was a little disconcerting, but they seemed happy enough with my slightly hesitant “Hello nice doggy!” in my best French of course – Bonjour, le chien beau, just in case you’re wondering, sounds better in French doesn’t it!! They were followed up the road by a fairly motley group of hunters, also in various shapes and sizes, and in the front actually looking quite resplendent in obviously brand new camouflaged hunting gear from head to toe was Alain the local fouchage man, who works hard keeping the village and the surroundings spick and span. I gave him a friendly greeting and received a friendly word back, but on enquiring if it had been a good hunt I got back a very terse and anglicised No! Further enquiries to the unhappy hunter, about what they had been hunting for today, informed me that today’s lucky prey had been partridges and pheasants and although they had put up a deer it had got away. As for hare, he seemed to tell me that it was the close season for them – perhaps they were still breeding?
The rest of the group trundled by, looking ready for a cup of coffee or something stronger, but mostly managing a reasonably cheery response to my greeting, and hobbling happily along at the rear was the old farmer who suffers badly with arthritis and walks quite slowly, but certainly it doesn’t stop him doing things, despite being long retired, after the winter storms we came across him, on his own, wielding a chain saw and chopping up some of the casualties from the gales!! However, when the family et al. recently re-roofed one of their barns, he was itching to get up on the roof and do his bit, but the sons banished him to a cage, sounds a bit harsh doesn’t it, but it was on the lift at the front of the tractor, they let him do the tiles around the edge without having to set foot on the roof!!
I got a very cheery greeting from him and when I commiserated with about the poor hunting, with a shrug, a roll of the eyes and a broad smile he said “Mais c'était une bonne marche en la nature!!” “But it was a good walk in the countryside!!” and strode, on as best he could, with his broad rather cheeky grin thinking perhaps that there was always next time! Then, just as I had finished this I had to pop out and as I was about to pull out into the road the hunters, this time in a grey car followed by two white vans were speeding up the road and there at the back, broadly grinning and waving frantically was none other than the aforementioned exploitant agricole!!
So what do we do all day?
You often hear people say that once they retired, they didn’t know how they found the time to go to work and it’s much the same with us and with no television we don’t even sit and watch the box day and night. This year’s Christmas missive touched on this, informing you that over the summer Linda became IT Technician and I became Official Photographer to Monsieur from Le Chateau, but more of that another time.
Linda, as well as some of the normal household chores, can often be found up to her elbows in the preserving pan, making the most amazing and extensive array of jams and chutneys and spends time on the scrounge for jars to put them all in, as we are constantly running out. Our cave now has one side with the drink and the other with the preserves – get locked in and you could be in a total pickle!! She has also worked very hard restoring a number of items of furniture that were looking quite jaded and now would grace the pages of Homes and Gardens!!
We both also garden, walk regularly, although on the longer ones Linda finds something else to do, she never was one for a good long walk, unless there was a reason – like a good pub at the end, she is also continuing to have some reoccurrences of her plantar fraciitis, a painful foot condition that flairs up from time to time. We also venture out about once a week to the shops (about 12 miles away) often combining this with a swim in the local pool, and in the summer go further afield for the odd picnic, vetting spots for the many visitors that are very welcome; gives me someone else to talk to, even though they keep us busy!! And then there’s the national sport of “bureaucracy bashing,” I thought India took the biscuit, usually in triplicate and repeated several times over to several people all doing the same job, but France – they want the crumbs as well, and each biscuit has a different name!!
As for me, there are the creative urges that have grown since moving here; writing, photography, singing again around the house but looking for opportunities to frighten the locals, doing lots of cooking particularly trying to perfect some of the wonderful French cuisine around us (visitors make great guinea pigs and usually seem to come back for more – one old boss who will remain nameless but is Welsh, even enjoyed a sauce so much she said she was going to lick the plate, and she did. Have you noticed how much standards slip when the British are on holiday!!), and I’ve taken to the odd bit of sculpture made mostly out of the natural things we discover around us. A bit of fun, not in the Henry Moore or Barbara Hepworth league just yet, but who knows, critical acclaim so far: “Thought provoking” “I was rendered speechless” “C_ _ p” “I’d say it was a piece of wood stuck on some dowel, but you may have made it!” And these are supposed to be my friends!! Mind you my No. 1 Critic, who being a Yorkshire girl doesn’t mince her words says they’re better than much she saw in the Tate Modern in St. Ives – mind you, you should hear what she says about those, certainly not repeatable for my sensitive readers. I’m working on a number of other Arty Projects at the moment – so watch this space!
Basically the time just goes and there’s never a dull moment!!
With apologies to the prudish amongst you - How can you tell a Great Tit?
The yard was a mass of birds, all shapes and sizes, with possibly a number of Great Tits (did I mention the birds were of the feathered variety), robins, chaffinches (a whole host of them that only the other day I had read were probably all single sex!) all swooping around and pecking in the shallow puddles. I suppose the wet weather had caused the ground to become saturated and forced the insects to the top as easy pickings.
But certainly one of the features around here is the wealth of bird life, including many of the smaller species that we so often hear are threatened and declining in numbers. It doesn’t seem to be the case in these parts and the birds sing all day, not just during the dawn chorus, and maybe early evening as seems to be the case back in the UK. At almost any time of the day and sometimes into the night, except on the very hottest of days when temperatures make any activity draining, we can go about our business, unmolested save for the barracking of the birds.
I was briefly reminded of when I used to walk down the High Street in Stroud and be regularly mobbed by flocks, or should that be cackles, of young birds!!
Oh, and the ornithologists amongst you – how do you tell a Great Tit from a Blue Tit? Answers without any mention of the current freezing cold spell, would be welcomed!
We had a vote!
We recently had an invitation to the AGM of the local Leisure Society, and in keeping with our plan to go to as many events as possible we decided to go, but gave each other strict instructions to keep our heads down and look at the floor when it came to the election of the committee, that came after the Bilan moral and Bilan financier, the first of which appeared to be the Chair’s report rather than anything to do with our ethical or honourable well-being!!
The reports were as always at breakneck speed, which made following them difficult, but we managed to pick up one or two things, particularly about events that we had attended as well as that the financial position wasn’t great, particularly as the clown for the children’s Christmas party, provided by an Art’s Group based in the commune, was likely to cost €800, and so now I’m waiting for a report on value for money and frantically polishing up the juggling and custard pie throwing, there’s obviously money in them there red noses!! Just found out he was very good and ONLY €500!
It was then time to vote for new committee members, so keeping our heads down we tried to hear what we had to do as this was to be a secret ballot!! The committee sitting at the front proceeded to tear up a sheet of paper into enough pieces so that we could each have a vote, these were passed around and taking instructions from the lady in front, who happens to be the chairman’s wife, we wrote the names of the four potential new committee members; Edith, Line, Valerie (one of our new English friends who speaks French very well) and Laurence. These pieces of paper were then collected and the number of times each person’s name appeared counted, recorded and all were duly elected. In our quest not to be noticed during the voting we had managed to help vote Laurence on to the committee and we didn’t even know who he was!! It even transpired some days later that in fact, Laurence wasn’t a “he” at all, but in fact a woman – it’s good to know that democracy is alive and well in rural France!!
Fortunately, the last item on the agenda Questions diverses, was short and not at all diverse, just one enquiry as to when the club de retraite was going to update its image with a name change to club de troisième âge? Unfortunately the chairman slightly misread the seriousness of the request by the small, rather severe lady, and an ugly scene nearly developed when the chair laughed it off, but had enough sense when he realised his mistake, to recover the situation, just in time!!
“Ici devant nous!”
Sorry for any arachnophobes amongst you but I’m going to continue on the theme of spiders. Whilst researching last month’s piece I happened upon an article about the small bodied, long legged harvester-type spiders, entitled “ARE THESE THE MOST VENEMOUS SPIDERS IN THE WORLD!!” Shock horror, as we share the house with a multitude of these, with several permanently resident in the “salle de bain,” yes the room with the shower where one’s most tender and normally covered bits are regularly exposed, just a short drop from the venomous fangs of the Pholeus phalangioides – cellar or daddy longlegs spider. But further research revealed, as luck would have it that a) possibly our eight legged lodgers aren’t said Pholcus phalangioides, but do bear an uncanny resemblance b) if they are, then they aren’t apparently the most venomous spiders in the world, although some researchers would say they come a close second to the likes of Brazilian Wandering Spiders or Black Widow Spiders that vie for first place, which may be little comfort should the fangs find a soft bit of flesh, but c) rumour has it that the fangs are too small and weak to be able to penetrate human flesh, even the most sensitive parts!! However, I’m now somewhat more careful when I try to get them to perform their defence strategy – blow on them gently and they drop a short way on their web and “twistle” around at breakneck speed to confuse the enemy, but there again they may just be trying to hypnotise you before dropping further onto some protuberance below!!
But don’t put off from visiting us as if you go on Wikipedia and follow the link from Pholcus phalangioides, it may all be an urban legend. There is also an interesting link to a MythBuster episode “Daddy Long-legs,” which almost has a “sting in the tail” as it were!!
My original “thought!” or two!
It happened one night, at the end of the summer in September when we were visiting Daniel! I had a dream and it was in French!! But, as with most dreams on waking up I could only remember the bare bones of the “story” and a strong feeling it was in French, however what I couldn’t remember was what the words were, or indeed whether they really were in French, “pigeon” or “double Dutch!!” They do say that when you start dreaming in French, you’re on the way to learning the lingo, so “s'agit-il d'ou devrai-je continuer à essayer?!” Réponses par courriel ou sur une carte postale s'il vous plaît!!**
And a second thought, on the theme of “being lucky!” When I went with the Archway School trip to India and we went Tiger “Hunting,” (spotting would perhaps be a better description), after several very long and hot cantor trips into the Ranthambore National Park we had managed to clock up a total of 4 sightings, 3 really good ones and 1 hard to see camouflaged beast. Well, the recent fantastic series of three programmes put on by the BBC called “Lost Land of the Tiger” reported several times that there are only an estimated 3000 wild tigers left in the world – and I’ve seen 4; how lucky is that!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love, Roger and Linda
And, next time? The next missive will probably come under the title of “Count our Blessings!” but there’s a twist!!
** For those busy souls without the time, knowledge or inclination: “Does this count or do I have to keep trying?!” Answers by email or on a postcard please!!
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