Tag: France
CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS, PAST AND PRESENT
Around mid-October each year I usually have the same good intentions, to be one of those super-organized people who gets all their Christmas shopping done by November. However, although I may wake each morning with the same great idea, it never seems to materialize. I remember one year when we were in the midst of moving house and I descended on Toys”R”Us on Christmas Eve, panic-buying whatever caught my eye, and ended up with a bunch of presents I would never normally have even considered. Strangely, the children who are old enough to remember that Christmas recall the day with great fondness!
However, having said all that, I had thought that this year my organization levels had been a touch above average and almost everything had gone ‘swimmingly’ well. To start with I became French and bought champagne back in September, the month synonymous with the annual autumn French wine sales (Foire aux Vins) and a time when French families stock up their wine-cellars at hugely discounted prices. All the presents are wrapped and family parcels have been mailed overseas. The house is decorated and we even made a gingerbread house but there is one small blot on the my otherwise perfect Christmas landscape – an elusive present. It’s something I bought months ago as part of my plan to be super-woman, which is good, but the only problem is I have no idea where it is hidden, which is bad. I have turned cupboards inside out and unearthed things I didn’t even know we had, but there is still no sign of the elusive gift. I’ve even questioned my sanity; did I really buy it or am I just going completely mad? I know I bought it. I did, I did, I did. I think.
Maybe it’s time to take Gigi up on her offer. She has a favourite phrase at the moment, which for some reason she seems to think is extremely funny, and she says in her best Downton Abbey voice (as only a nine year old can….), “Would you like a glass of Bubbly?” As champagne has been all over the news recently with the fact that two or three glasses a day can help prevent dementia in later life, I may well take her up on her offer quite soon.
Wasting so much time searching for the elusive gift has for some reason made me think of Christmas when I was a child. For me it began when Grandparents arrived and school finished. We always had a party on Christmas Eve; the Christmas tree always went in the same place, and the routine was unchanged year in year out; it always all seemed to run so smoothly!
Last week we set off after school one afternoon to choose our tree. We always do this altogether as a family and it involves a lot of discussion and a fair amount of what is usually good-natured disagreement. Rarely do we reach a unanimous decision in less than fifteen minutes and on more than one occasion there have been both referendums, and voting.
We check each tree carefully, considering the side view and the back view; is it too bushy, too thin, will it stand tall and be centre-stage for the entire holiday season? Everyone seems to want different trees for different reasons, and as we have raised five very strong-minded and independent children opinions are expressed loudly and confidently. This year, like all others, an agreement was hard to come by. Roddy took control and organized a vote, Gigi stood on Hetty’s toes and Millie and Jack eventually got their way. Roddy expressed bemused surprise that we had yet again chosen one of the most expensive trees in the entire department, possibly in the whole of France, but although I hate to admit it, I think they chose a fine specimen!
Of course, the fun has only just started; next comes the decorating. Boxes are hauled in, and we all look out for our old stone crèche that we bought years ago in Provence – it’s a Christmas favourite with the children. They just love placing all the little figures (Santons as they are called) in place and making the nativity scene come alive. Decorating the house is loud and chaotic, but it’s always fun and as the children get older it does get a little easier and fewer decorations seem to get broken each year on unforgiving hard tiles. Ours is a very personal tree as virtually every decoration tells a story. Many are gifts from a dear friend who lives in Connecticut, as each year she sends the children a decoration and as a result they have always been treasured. Along with these there are also baubles they have hand-painted at school over the years, some even with finger-prints and dates. Each and every one of them has a story to tell. It’s a long slow process, and an evening when Slade repetitively belts out “I wish it could be Christmas everyday” and everyone gets a little bit silly! By the end of it there are always a mass of decorations on the bottom and at the front, and the tree is typically left a little bald and devoid of colour at the back and top. But when the house is quiet again and the youngest are tucked up in bed I usually go around tweaking a little here and there!
Starting the decorating slightly earlier this year has certainly had it’s advantages, and although the tree may drop a few more needles before the New Year it has definitely made for a more relaxed time. Yesterday I also cut a huge trug-load of magnolia branches which sat in the hallway all afternoon whilst I decided what to do with them! In the end I tied them in bundles up the staircase and Millie wrapped the bottom of the balusters in lights. We were both surprisingly pleased with the effect.
Going back to my childhood Christmases, I remember how we always went to church on Christmas morning, how the turkey went in the oven overnight, and when we went for a ride on Christmas morning how our ponies would be festooned with tinsel around their necks. There was something wonderful about trotting along the village lanes when everywhere was quiet and still, and the people who we did see were always smiling, wishing us a very happy Christmas as we did likewise.
Presents were always unwrapped after lunch, part and parcel of being a farmer’s daughter. Everyone on the farm had the day off so it was typically just my Father who fed horses and cattle, milked the house cow and checked on stock. For this reason Christmas morning was always busy and presents were opened in the afternoon when everyone could sit down and take time to enjoy their gifts. By early evening it was time to go out and once again tend to animals on the farm, after which we would then come in for Christmas cake and settle in front of the fire. A game of cards always took place, and at some stage there would be a break in play for a supper (as if we could really eat any more!) of ham, salad, and trifle for dessert!
Over the years we have kept some of our family traditions, and started other new ones of our own. We still unwrap gifts after lunch, everyone has grown to prefer it this way. I’m not sure we know another family with the same routine, but it seems to work well and now that the children are a little older and have a little more patience, they love it too. The morning is all about gifts left by Santa in their stockings and it gives them time to really enjoy these whilst the adults are cooking the big meal, and phoning family and friends. One of the new traditions is something that seems to have been started a few years ago by Izzi, the eldest of the tribe. The children all quietly creep into her room at 7am on the dot, and they sit on her bed with their bulging stockings, opening Santa’s offerings in turn, around and around. When all the goodies have been unwrapped they load them all back into their stockings and then come and wake us up and start the whole process all over again. This means there are seven of us in one bed, which this year will be a complete battle-scene with two dogs! The best part of this arrangement is we do get to have a lie-in on Christmas morning.
It’s strange how the tradition of hanging a Christmas stocking can have so many variations. In fact the entire Santa/Father Christmas tradition varies quite dramatically from country to country. Here in France, for the most part Santa leaves presents for the children under the Christmas tree. Alas, we are not French and we stick to our British tradition of leaving a stocking at the foot of the bed. French friends visiting last weekend were amazed to see presents under our tree, “Santa has been already?” they asked incredulously; it took some explaining for them to understand that those were presents we give each other and we traditionally put them under the tree! To our surprise, these differences seem of little consequence to children, and both ours and their French friends seem to have an unspoken acknowledgment that Santa Claus brings French children their big main presents, and English children just receive small “stocking fillers”!
French children often get left twigs, while English children seem to always receive an orange or a mandarin. As a child, my stocking was a pillow-case and I would wake at some time during the night and by twiddling my toes I would know if Santa had been. Now it is slightly different as when Gigi was a baby I decided we should make Christmas stockings that the children would treasure forever. Nine years later they are still going strong and once again this year they are ready and waiting to be filled!
Just one more day of school until the holidays and our little people are counting down the days and hours, wishing it was Christmas today, not next week, to which I always have the same reply, “I don’t, I’m not ready!”. But I’m getting there!
I would love to know if you have any special traditions you keep going and wherever you are in the world; how do you celebrate Christmas and what are your family’s Santa traditions?
ICE SKATING AND CHOCOLAT CHAUD
Growing up I always dreamt of skating in Central Park, but at the time I had never visited America and my dream was simply fueled by movies I had seen – it seemed to represent the perfect Christmas scene. I’d forgotten all about that dream until we bought our house here, however, and then during our first Christmas I saw that there was an ice-skating rink in Rochefort. It seemed that decades later my wish was to finally come true, although the country and setting were different. In reality though, the magic is exactly how I imagined it would be. There are laughs and giggles, the smooth swoosh of skates on ice and everyone has rosy, glowing cheeks from exertion in the chill air.
With some considerable work and effort the Place Colbert, right in the heart of Rochefort, is transformed into an open air rink for most of December and half of January. Lots of Christmas trees are brought in and little wooden chalets appear selling local delicacies and crafts.
and no one can deny Rochefort is looking radiant in the winter sunshine
It will be of little surprise to you all then that we spent yesterday afternoon skating
and quite naturally we then enjoyed chocolat chaud in the late afternoon sun
Christmas here does not explode in a blaze of colour at the end of November, rather it slowly evolves as December unfolds; each day a new light will appear, a new stall at the market, a new delicacy in the boulangerie. Streets and shops are decorated, Christmas trees appear in the windows of houses, wreaths welcome the visitor or passerby at front doors and green garlands of fur with red bows replace the red geraniums of summer in window boxes. It’s all very subtle, but it wets the appetite and feeds our anticipation and excitement; it’s not everyone’s idea of a perfect Christmas, but I rather like it.
Further afield, Christmas markets take place most weekends
and in Pont-l’Abbé the ancient archway under the old prison, a road I travel twice a day on the school run, is lit up to perfection.
It’s all part of the build up to Christmas in our little corner of France.
and the winner is…..
Thank you so much to everyone for entering the giveaway draw. I was totally overwhelmed by all the fabulous comments here on the blog, on Facebook and on Instagram. I read every single comment, some brought tears to my eyes, I truly had no idea so many people gained so much enjoyment from reading this blog, but I am so happy that you love it. I tried to reply to each and every comment, I believe I did, but if, by chance, I accidentally missed someone then I am extremely sorry.
We put every single name into a big leather bag, the hat we had initially chosen wasn’t big enough! With eyes closed, Gigi and Hetty rummaged around inside and drew out the first name for the first painting. Then Jack and Millie followed doing the same for the second painting, and the winners are:-
For the Street Scene – Stacy Goodhart-Elkin
and for the Waterfront Scene – PWBlogger
If the two lucky winners would like to leave me a message on this post I will then receive your email address and can contact you for your address and to arrange for me to mail these to you. Congratulations.
I am really sorry to everyone else, I would have loved for each and every one of you to win. Thank you once again for entering, I will be back tomorrow with a more regular blog post and am so looking forward to another year of sharing our life and our adventures in France with you. But most of all, once again thank you to all of you, for without you there would be no blog. xxx
A YEAR IN FRANCE
A year of blogging! When I started, I never imagined I would be writing and taking photos and posting regularly here a year later! I am quite overwhelmed by all the followers, the comments, the friends I have made. In case anyone missed my blogpost on Thursday I am giving away, not one, but two original pieces of art by Margot Rampton, my late mother in law. This is my THANK YOU to you, my personal CHRISTMAS PRESENT to you. Margot studied at The Slade School of Fine Art in London and exhibited in London, Paris and Provence. Later in life she settled in the Channel Islands where she held many local exhibitions and supported many local charities. Very rarely does her work come up for sale nowadays, but occasionally it does and an original is sold from £300 ($450) upwards. Many local Channel Island shops sell limited edition prints for £25 to £50. But my giveaways are NOT limited editions – they are ORIGINAL signed and dated pieces of art. She lived for many years in Provence, she adored France and spent a lot of time in the Charente Maritime. The two pieces are from her portfolio of French scenes, many of which hang on our walls, one measures 22″ x 16″ (56cms x 41cms) and the other 17.5″ x 14″ (45cms x 36cms).
All you have to do if you want to win one is subscribe to the blog (if you are not already subscribed) and leave a comment below and please feel free to share this post with friends and invite them to come over and follow the blog too.
So many of you have already left fabulous comments, I have read every single one, they have brought tears to my eyes, such wonderful words, I never ever realised so many people like so much of what I write. For once words fail me! So for now I urge everyone to enter and everyone to comment and in the meantime I will leave you with a photographic recap of the past year in the blogging world of Our French Oasis and my family.
And what a year it’s been; we’ve cycled around the Île de Ré, shared the excitement of the arrival of chickens and our first eggs and we’ve introduced you to the animals
we’ve cooked, visited local markets and embraced winter
we’ve toured local churches, shared our crazy family and our animals and met local artisans
we’ve welcomed the arrival of spring and the start of our vegetable garden
we’ve looked at local houses and French architecture
the excitement of the hatching of our very first chicks. We’ve visited brocantes and welcomed the care free days of summer
we’ve been on wine tours and harvested so many fruits and vegetables from the garden
we’ve loved sharing so much of the summer, eating outdoors and our wonderful Atlantic beaches
you’ve met Evie and been blackberry picking with us
we’ve toured local villages, welcomed friends from around the globe, visited châteaux and enjoyed it all rain or shine
With the arrival of autumn we’ve visited the Atlantic islands so close to us and been inundated with apples
we’ve even talked about doors and gates
it’s been an incredible first year in the blogging world. Thank you and I look forward to many more to come. Susan xxx
ORIGINAL SIGNED ART – GIVEAWAY
FIRST OF ALL A VERY HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL OF MY AMERICAN READERS AND FRIENDS – keep reading because as a huge Thank You I am giving away both of these signed original paintings
What a journey; I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that a year ago when I started writing this blog that it would still be going from strength to strength today. It all began as a way of staying in touch with friends; showing a few photos and telling them about our life in France and now I can still remember how nervous I was when I hit the ‘publish’ button for the very first time, my finger hovering over the keyboard; did I dare do it? Then, within a couple of months, I had one or two complete strangers following along, for I realised I had never made the blog private! I also just never imagined it would go SO public either!
Yet here we are, one year later with 63 blog posts, thousands of photos and over one hundred thousand views (I still am in shock over that number) down the line and I’m loving it! So many of you have become virtual friends; I look forward to your comments and I so enjoy chatting with you. I love sharing our life here in France, the antics of Bentley, Evie, and the chickens. The ducks are quite another story, but I’ll share that one with you in the New Year.
So now it’s time for me to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone around the globe; thank you for taking the time to read my posts, and thank you for taking the time to comment, like and share our experiences and stories. This blog is far more about you and my family than me. I have the easy part, I just write the stories and take some photos, but you all listen, and my darling children have got so used to me stopping and taking photos, one after another. When we go somewhere, anywhere, they used to ask WHY; now they just assume “this is for the blog!”. Of course Roddy also takes photos with me, and he listens to my ideas, so it’s really a family affair for without them, and you, there would be no blog! But I have enjoyed every second of this. It has been far more time consuming than I ever imagined, but I have, as a result, a far greater appreciation of everything around us; there is so much I want to share and thanks to you all I have an audience to share it with. Thank you also to many other bloggers. When I started this, I had no idea how blogging really worked. I read blogs, I followed blogs, but I had never ventured into writing my own. I asked advice from several people and I was quite overwhelmed by how friendly people were; everyone was willing to help, point me in the right direction and teach me things I certainly did not know. I still have much to learn, but I’m getting there and I always welcome your ideas.
Anyway, to say ‘thank you’ I would like to give away, not one, but TWO original pieces of art. These are original pastels by my late mother-in-law, Margot Rampton. She studied at The Slade School of Fine Art in London and exhibited in London, Paris and Provence. Later in life she settled in the Channel Islands where she held many local exhibitions and supported many local charities. Very rarely does her work come up for sale nowadays, but occasionally it does and an original is sold from £300 ($450) upwards. Many local Channel Island shops sell limited edition prints for £25 to £50. But my giveaways are NOT limited editions – they are ORIGINAL signed and dated pieces of art. She lived for many years in Provence, she adored France and spent a lot of time in the Charente Maritime. The two pieces are from her portfolio of French scenes, many of which hang on our walls, one measures 22″ x 16″ (56cms x 41cms) and the other 17.5″ x 14″ (45cms x 36cms).
All you have to do to win one here on the blog is (1) subscribe and follow (if you do not already), and (2) leave a comment telling me that you’re either already following, or you are a new follower. If you would like more chances to enter then you can invite a friend to follow; if they subscribe and leave a comment telling me they have done so and also telling me who invited them, then you will get a second entry and they will also get an entry themselves of course…..I hope this is fairly simple. You can also enter on Facebook and Instagram and I have details on both of my pages, so hop on over there and enter again if you want to and double, treble or quadruple your chances!
You have until next Wednesday morning, the 2nd December to enter. We will then do this the old fashioned way and the children and I will write down everyone’s name (for in France there is no school on Wednesday afternoons), we will put those names in a hat and draw out two lucky winners and I will announce the winners later in the day, a week from today, so I can get these wrapped and mailed out to the two winners to arrive in plenty of time before Christmas. They are a thank you present, a Holiday present, or a Christmas present from me to you and it’s open to absolutely everyone, everywhere.
Finally whilst you ponder which one you would like to win, I once again hope everyone celebrating Thanksgiving has a wonderfully happy day. We do not celebrate Thanksgiving in either France or England, but I am still extremely thankful to my wonderful family, my husband and best friend of 20 years and our incredible five children who make me laugh and smile every day. And again a huge, heartfelt thank you to you, for your support and following and I look forward to another fabulous year sharing our French lifestyle. Susan xxx
EVIE’S STORY
AUGUST
Day 1: a day fraught with anxiety and wonder. Who were these people ? Who were these small people ? Where was I going? I said goodbye to my parents and siblings and packed a small bag. We then all climbed into a large metal black box which made a lot of noise and moved. Although slightly anxious at developments, I then spent 2 hours being cuddled by small people (nice) as the black box moved about and made a humming noise (not so nice). When it stopped, I thought I would be put into another cage like at home, but instead I was set free on the ground and discovered in short order that there was a huge area of grass with trees and bushes, more people (one medium size and one large), another dog like me but bigger with a strange twangy sort of accent, and LOTS of things to chase. I got told off a lot, peed on a carpet and got told off some more. The sky is blue here and there is a faint smell of salt in the air. Goodness, it’s nice to be free. I spent a fair amount of time being cuddled more, and having my backside sniffed by the big dog. I can’t understand a word he says, you see I’m French and he’s not, nor can I understand the small people. The big people just speak very loudly to me. Food good and these people have some wonderful carpets to poo on!
Day 8: spent last three nights in a plastic cage in the kitchen after being terrified at night. Actually quite comforting, and alone in the dark I felt happier than I have been since I got here. No one shouted at me in the mornings about the awful mess I’d made as I’ve stopped doing that and I’m getting used to using the big outdoors as a bathroom. Just about, anyway. Learnt a few words of English too, such as NO and EVIE. I think the EVIE thing means ‘come for a tickle’ or similar. The No thing I’m not sure about, but if I stop doing whatever it is I’m busy at, everyone seems to be pleased with me. I must admit when I’m busy I don’t bother listening too much. There’s a couple of other words they say a lot that I still don’t understand. The fluffy chickens are great fun to chase though, despite the noise. It’s a great game – I chase the chickens, the people start making noises, and I chase the chickens more until the noise is so loud I have to stop and cover my ears. The big dog is from a country very far away where it is very hot and there are lots of snakes; I’m starting to understand quite a bit of what he has to say. He spends most of his time either asleep, sitting under the kitchen table looking upwards for something, or he’s muttering about rip-lines and waxing surf-boards. He still likes to sniff my behind though – bizarre behaviour, to be honest. There are two other creatures that live here with us – they’re very quick and I haven’t been able to catch up to one yet to ask it what the hell it is. They can’t half climb trees though.
Day 16: finally made friends with one of the fast things that climb trees. He tells me he’s a CAT, and therefore more intelligent than me. I think this is a bit much, but won’t make much ado of it for now. He likes play-fighting and we have great fun rolling around in the garden or under cupboards. He does have this annoying habit of running away and climbing something just when things are getting fun. He’s a lot more friendly than the other CAT, or whatever you call it. That one’s a she, and to call her quick is an understatement. I’ve spent a week trying to catch her and all I have had for my troubles is a scratched ear and a continuous view of her backside as she climbs trees. I’ve finally learnt the name of the DOG, and he is called Bentley. He’s from a country called Australia and he keeps calling me Sheila. He has no idea what I am saying to him though. He might be a bit thick, though to be fair he is very good at catching scraps of food when they fall off the table. He says that it’s part of the Australian heritage, being able to catch things. But then he becomes all maudlin and wanders away muttering something about cricket and ashes, or something. I don’t understand. The chickens are still great fun to chase, especially the little white one who looks like a poodle. I do worry about the noise all the people make when I do this now though – I’m sure they’ll damage their arms or something the way they wave them about really fast when I chase the poodle-chicken. There’s another big chicken with grey and tan markings, and I’m not so sure about him – he was great fun to chase when I first got here but he’s not so quick to run away now. Actually, to be fair, there are a few of the chickens I don’t like chasing – there’s one little dark coloured fellow who has become quite ferocious, to be honest. However, to make up for that I have made some big new discoveries. For example, there are these delicious little snacks in the garden. Like small green smoothie delights. Quite delicious, though the people wave their arms a lot when I eat them. More bizarre behaviour – but then I’m getting used to that.
SEPTEMBER
Day 30: life is fun. I love the sun and the warmth. Bentley keeps telling me I need to grow some more hair but I don’t think so, thank you very much. Why would I need to do that? He’s very hairy himself though – so much so that the the two big people cut it all off the other day with a funny little thing that buzzed a lot. He was not very happy about it at the time, but cheered up considerably afterwards. I told him he was so stupid, but he kept telling me I still needed to grow some more hair. He said it would be getting cold soon. Hah! Stupid dog, anyone can look at the sky and see it won’t ever get cold! It’s so hot the small people keep jumping into something that has a lot of water in it they have in the garden for goodness sakes! I was also introduced to something called the BEACH last week. BOY WAS IT FUN! I wasn’t too sure about the slippery sort of stuff they are made of to start with, but then there’s this great big pond and the slippery stuff gets much firmer there. The big pond is so big I can’t even see the other side, and when you get close there are bits of it that chase me up the beach with a hissing sound. I admit, okay, it was slightly terrifying at first but the people all laughed and I knew it obviously wasn’t really dangerous. However, it is salty! Bleah! The small people call the two big people Mama and Dada, so I’ve taken to calling them that too – and the reason I say that is to simply report that the Dada person has a strange habit of following me around on the beach with small plastic bags – another bizarre human thing. Incidentally, the big pond is nothing like the small pond in the garden where the ducks live. That’s quite smelly and not nice. And the reason I know that is because I fell in it a few days ago. Unfortunately, what was really a small incident was then blown out of all proportion, more arm waving by everyone and then the Dada person put me in a wheelbarrow and pointed a hose at me. I’m still not sure where all the bubbles came from either. I smelt all sort of horrible afterwards – all floral and sweet. Yuck.
Day 46: it’s official, I like barbecues, a strange situation where humans throw food onto some flames and then drop the really burnt bits onto the floor; AT LAST I am getting better at reaching them before Bentley does. Hurrah! However, this little bonus of mine is countered by a slightly disappointing discovery – I can no longer fit under the cupboards when Rory – my male CAT friend, hides from me. He slinks under there and I just can’t reach him anymore. I don’t understand it. But, as my grandmother said, when one door closes, another always opens, and in this case it’s a case of suddenly finding myself able to cross the wall into the other people’s garden next door, where the door to the chicken-shed it always open and I find countless delightful bargains to be had for free. The other night, for example, I brought home across the lawn half a pizza! Man it was good. Well, some of it was. I left it on the doorstep while I had a drink and when I came back it was gone. I suspect Dada threw it in the bin, which is such a waste. Either that or Bentley ate it, but he was asleep on a chair, so it probably wasn’t him. Did I tell you that there’s a barrier across the stairs to stop me going aloft in the house? Well, imagine my delight yesterday when I found it wasn’t in place and I ventured upwards into a whole new world of rooms and lovely things. So many things to chew, so many fluffy toys and lovely little plastic humans and animals and when you chew, they get all hot in your mouth! Great fun! All that came to end though when I couldn’t find the bathroom when needed and there was a lot of shouting a little later and Dada marched me firmly downstairs and sat me outside a very closed door. I can’t see what the fuss is about.
Day 50: although I am fond of the black box that moves, and know that it’s a good thing, last week it took me to a strange place where Dada carried me into a room where a very strange smell lingered; a curious blend of countryside, dog baskets, cleaning stuff and fear. A nice woman in a white coat prodded and poked me, and then stuck something quite sharp into my neck; it didn’t half sting a little. When we got home, Dada then gave me a piece of ham with a crunchy bone in the middle and then looked very pleased with himself when I’d swallowed it; really pleased he was. Proud as punch as though he’d tricked me into doing something. Stupid man, though I’m quite fond of him. But of course, that’s only because he gives me food every morning.
OCTOBER
Day 65: getting bigger by the day. It’s great! Bentley and I started having play-fights last week and he seems intent on mastering me. He keeps saying, “You just wait” for some reason, and then I nip his ear, giggle and run away. Who needs later when you can have fun now, I ask? Oh, and it’s official, I LOVE WALKS! We have this little jaunt just out the front gate where we cross the road and go down a little track into the country and there’s a small house on the corner where a really big shaggy dog thing lives. He and I just love to exchange polite conversation, but when Bentley sees him all hell breaks loose and it’s hysterical to see my shaggy Australian friend making such a racket – anyone would think he didn’t like other dogs! There are also a few unfenced fields on this walk, and while the people talk and stroll along I always try and see if I can find something especially pleasant and sweet-smelling to roll in. Oh, the noise this generates always makes me smile, but then for some reason I get the hosepipe treatment when I get home again and that horrid floral smelling stuff.
Day 75: I like the little people best, we have great fun playing tag, stick-a-chase, they never seem to get bored of playing with me. They also throw a ball for me which I run after, pick up and then wait till they reach me before I pick it up and run away again with it. I have no idea why they don’t just throw it again for me – that’s far more fun. They use this word DROP a lot during this game, and I have no idea whatsoever what it means. I thought it meant RUN AWAY WITH THE BALL as that seemed to generate the most amount of noise, but now I’m not so sure…..
NOVEMBER
Day 90: wonderful discovery last night. The evening is my favourite time of day. Bentley and I lick the kitchen floor clean, Mama gives us a piece of green stuff each called BROKLI or similar, and then the two of us snuggle down on the sofas and chairs in the room where the moving picture is. However, last night Dada did something in the small doorway in the middle of the wall and this delicious flickering sort of orange stuff suddenly appeared and it was all toasty and warm. I wasn’t sure about the smell at first – something told me it could be something bad – but as that warmth flooded through what was a cold room I just HAD to lie down in front of it and let it warm my little hairless tummy. Boy was it good! In fact I got a little too warm and had to move away a bit after a while. Actually by the evening’s end I was as far away as I could be, really; the room was seriously hot. So hot I still have no idea why Bentley keeps telling me I need to grow more hair. This despite the fact he likes to snuggle up to me now and exchange doggy breaths; what on earth is all that about?
Day 103: I am now beginning to understand why I need more hair. The trees have all suddenly lost their leaves, but gosh they are fun to try and catch as they tumble down, and the sky is not blue every day anymore. Indeed, the days seem shorter and Dada has to use a torch when we go and read the chickens their good-night story. Mama spends most of her life riding the small red noisy thing around the garden with a great trailer on the back and the leaves all disappear into it – which Dada then humps into a pile which gets the orange hot thingy treatment later. He is also wearing long trousers all the time (I never knew he had any) and suddenly the hall where Rory and I love to roll around is full of wet boots and other shoes that are great fun to chew. It’s official – I love laces! But sadly, the humans have cottoned on to the fact that Rory and I often dine together in the cat room and his bowl has been elevated onto a small platform with legs. I can’t reach it, how mean is that, I just don’t understand these humans, they are always talking to the small people about sharing.
Day 105: a mix of good and bad news for me. Last night we had a double whammy of new discoveries – I met a small animal in the garden that smelt so nice that I really wanted to taste it but it curled into a ball of prickles and went to sleep while I yapped at it. Dada made a lot of noise too, mostly that strange word STOP which is something I still have to get my head around. AND, we have a small black box of orange heat thingy in the kitchen too which Dada and Mama are very happy about. It makes the kitchen so warm Bentley and I had to retreat to the study to recover. All the humans went red and took half their clothes off. A final demonstration of bizarre behaviour if needed – and there’s Bentley saying I STILL need to grow some more hair. And what is this Christmas word I keep hearing? Bentley just looks smug and says repetitively, “You just wait!”
A PRAYER FOR PARIS
I am stunned and shocked by the events in Paris on Friday night. I am not French, but I love our adopted country and feel so very privileged to be able to live here.
It is so hard to explain all of this to the children, how do you tell a 9 year old exactly what happened? But tell them we must and we did. We hugged them and held them tight. A silent sadness hung over the village today, a feeling of utter disbelief. We stayed at home, a family together, no one felt like going anywhere.
My thoughts and prayers are with everyone in Paris and their families.
THE WORLD REMEMBERS…
I had so many good intentions yesterday. I planned to start my Christmas shopping, harvest the olives, make salsa with the mass of chillis we still have growing, freeze the aubergines and do a countless other things; the list was endless. But none of it got accomplished, not one thing. I have been thinking a lot about the First World War, as today is Armistice Day, which is a public holiday here in France. In every town and village there are war-memorials and today the local people will gather about them, flowers will be laid, and we will all remember someone who is no longer with us; for we all have grandparents or relations who were affected by WWI. Church services will be held and church bells will ring. I think as one gets older one thinks more about these things. As a result, I wanted to write a post today thinking of all those people who fought for us and who gave up their lives for us, so that we could all live the lives we lead today.
My grandfather was in the 5th Battalion of the Royal Welch Fusiliers; he was in the trenches at Ypres, and he was one of the lucky ones as he survived. In fact he lived until he was 91 years old. He was one of the most incredible people I have ever known and it was whilst thinking about him and Armistice Day that I got so distracted. I have a small leather suitcase of his in which he kept all of his past momentos, many of them are from that dreadful war. Occasionally I open up this case and when I do I am engrossed for hours, scattering papers all over the table. Yesterday was one of those days. However, this time everything was a little different as the children joined me when they arrived home from school after being collected by Roddy (he volunteered as he saw I was engrossed in memories), and they too are fascinated by the treasures in this little case. Everything is so carefully preserved. And although in 1918 the war may have finished in Europe, it hadn’t finished for my grandfather, as he then went out to Palestine where he continued fighting until the end of 1919. There is so much history in this one little valise, it’s full of the many things he carried with him 100 years ago, like this map – I presume he carried this into the battle-zone.
This dinner menu was, I assume, signed by everyone at his table at a Regimental function in Egypt.
Throughout the war he kept a diary, and the end result is a collection of small beautiful leather-bound books. Virtually every day he wrote entries, usually in pencil, and in impossibly small hand-writing…. it is oh-so-difficult to read; but it tells his life, and how he felt at the worst of moments. Nearly all the notes are about letters received or sent and of course about my Grandmother to whom he was engaged at the time, always referred to as “her”. It really makes one understand the importance of communication, the news from home and the letters written and received; they are so obviously the logical constraints that kept him sane at times.
Here are a couple of excerpts from October 1917.
Thursday 4
No letter from her – no anything – why doesn’t she write if she’s fed up – how I miss her & want her & love her – didn’t write to anybody – nothing matters a damn at present – boots from Mater
Friday 5
Letter from the Mater. Express letter from her – + another one at night – so my ache went away & I wrote a long one to her – & now everything is bon again – am just one big grin, outside & in
Amongst the many things in this treasure-trove of a suitcase is an original newspaper. It is the Liverpool Echo, dated Monday, November 11th, 1918. With very great care, for the paper is very nearly a century old, I read the headlines, I opened it up and read the articles; I was totally engrossed and I have to admit I had a huge lump in my throat.
Tucked away in a small leather purse is one of the most important mementos. Carefully wrapped in a piece of the original, bloody bandage, is a scrap of battered metal, the size of half a finger-nail. It is the piece of shrapnel that sent my Grandfather home for a spell of surgery and convalescence at some stage, and accompanying it is the small print of the x-ray and the letter that was needed to accommodate his passage. I find the whole thing a bit horrifying, but the children and Roddy think it is fascinating; and Roddy, being a man, said he would have done exactly the same.
But, there is another story, too; another war, and this time it is WWII. Our house here in France was bought in 1936 by a Parisian and his English wife as their summer residence. He was a physicist and when WWII broke out he was working on a specialist piece of equipment; he crossed the Channel on a fishing boat and arrived in London with the completed piece just 6 weeks before the Germans reached Paris, and it is indeed true that without his work the allies would almost certainly have not won the Battle of Britain, and in all likelihood would not have won the war. During the years he spent abroad his wife moved south to the house and lived in it permanently with their children for the duration of the war; at the time the property had 15 hectares of agricultural land on which she grew vegetables and fruits, most of which probably supplemented the larders of the entire village. Old people we have met here talk of her ploughing the land with oxen, and having a store full of fruit. After the war the whole affair was developed into a full-time business, as there was so much produce.
A few years later the street on which our house sits was named after ‘our’ scientist, and when we bought the house we inherited with it the very desk at which he worked. It is a desk that helped make history, and it is the desk where Roddy now sits and works today. It’s nothing fancy really, but that desk has an incredible story to tell.
I am sharing this with you, lest we forget. To everyone who has fought in defence of our countries – whether it be a century ago or today, in modern warfare – I have the utmost admiration and respect for you all. We all do.
ISLAND HOPPING
October 30th 2015
We are nearing the end of the children’s 2-week autumn holiday, although to be honest it feels more like summer. Gigi and I were up early and driving over the bridge to the Île d’Oléron (a bridge that is nearly 3kms long, I might add) for her tennis lesson whilst the rest of her siblings were still lounging about in their pyjamas at home. But by the time we returned a couple of hours later it was a very different scene; everyone was ready and waiting, organised as any large family can be, for the expedition we had planned the night before. We were headed to another island, the Île d’Aix. Only this island doesn’t have a bridge, but a ferry, AND it’s a ferry that doesn’t run very often at this time of year, so we couldn’t be late; if we were the trip would simply be abandoned, and with that threat hanging over them there was nothing better to get children out of the door in a timely fashion.
Confusion reigned at the ferry-terminal as the ticket-office was closed. A handful of us stood by the little sad building looking somewhat lost as the ferry drew up alongside the quay, but when we saw the other hundred or so people on the quay start to surge towards the boat, we followed, edging forward like sheep, blindly following the person in front; and once we got close to the gang-plank it became apparent that we were to pay as we boarded. This, however, was a slow affair, and after another fifteen minutes the captain on the bridge signaled for the crew to allow everyone on board and we cast off and departed, those who had not paid doing so once we were underway at a little kiosk on the open deck!
It’s only a 20 minute crossing to the Île d’Aix. None of us had ever been to the island before and we really didn’t know what to expect. I was envisioning a ‘chic’ smaller version of the Île de Ré, while Roddy thought it would be more like the Île Madame, virtually unoccupied and remote. However, as we were to see, the Île d’Aix is different again, with its small landmass the setting for some heavy fortifications by Vauban, the renowned 18th century French military engineer, which were then subsequently improved again by Napoléon in order to protect the naval base at Rochefort on the coast of the mainland. Fort Liédot was also used as a prison during the French Revolution, then later again during both the Crimean and First World Wars. The island also has some German fortifications from WWII, something we all felt familiarity with due to our Channel Island connections.
On arrival, one leaves the ferry and climbs a sloping jetty; you then pass through a fortified gateway and cross a drawbridge and enter the interior of a vast green space where immediately everything steps down a gear from everyday mainland life. A little to the north, a 100 yards away, is the tiny village that is the capital of the island. It really is very very small; there’s a cycle-hire shop, a little tabac selling one or two souvenirs and some postcards and magazines, and then there’s a boulangerie – that’s it on the shopping front! In addition, there are a couple of small unpretentious restaurants and the island’s only hotel, unsurprisingly called the Hotel Napoléon! Oh, and there’s a cinema in an old barn! All of this is within a cluster of houses where most of the Islands 200 permanent residents live, many of them in original long low fishermens cottages. As we walked the little streets, we realised that we’d already seen many locals on the ferry as they passed us pulling hand-carts full of provisions to see them through another week.
The island is virtually car-free apart from service vehicles, and it’s either pedal-power or foot-power to get around for tourists and sight-seers. After some debate, for it was not a unanimous choice, we decided to opt for the latter mode of transport and set off down a small narrow lane past an impossibly pretty little row of houses.
We really had no idea where we were going. The island is only 3kms long so we knew we would not get lost and by chance we ended up outside Napoléon’s old home, now a museum. The island is well known in the area as the place where Napoléon spent his last days in France from the 12 – 15 July 1815, planning an escape to America. Realizing the impossibility of accomplishing this plan, he wrote a letter to the British Regent and finally surrendered, after which he was exiled to Saint Helena.
With the sun high in a clear blue sky we opted to skip visiting the museum, much to Roddy’s chagrin, but we had Evie with us and I wasn’t sure she would be allowed inside; it was an excuse I played on heavily as we really wanted to be exploring outside! We walked on westwards towards the twin lighthouses and the old fortifications, the children running on ahead, climbing the WWII bunkers and playing amongst the spooky old Napoleonic ruins. From here the view was simply breathtaking; out beyond us was the Île d’Oléron, where Gigi and I had been just a couple of hours earlier, and to the north we could see La Rochelle and the bridge spanning the water over to the Île de Ré. To the east lay the tiny Île Madame.
Following a well-trodden but quite deserted grass-path we stumbled upon a most beautiful beach. A handful of people were making the most of the Indian summer, jeans rolled up, socks and shoes left well out of the waters reach, and a couple of toddlers were splashing in the shallows, quite oblivious to the cold water.
We collected shells and Roddy stood and chatted to a local fisherman who had three rods out in the small surf, hoping for a bass or a maigre. As we turned to look at Evie who had spied another dog we momentarily forgot about the sea and Millie and Hetty were suddenly left standing with very wet feet and soaking shoes! Laughing at their misfortune we continued down the beach before taking a small track inland.
There were a couple more small restaurants, here on the eastern side of the central part of the island; they were all closed now that the main season was over, but as we were parched with thirst we headed back into the little village in search of some water and some afternoon goûter. Jack and the girls wanted ice-cream – of course they wanted ice cream, it was a day out and on days out they always want ice-cream! The boulangerie was closed though, and the tabac/souvenir shop sold no form of liquid or any other type of refreshment. There was nothing to be had at all, the tourist season was over and no one was selling ice-cream to crazy English children at the end of October; never mind that the weather was more reminiscent of summer!
Stopping to take photos I spotted this house for sale, I wondered what it would be like inside, and what sort of price tag would be attached to it. We thought it would either be a vastly inflated price on such a small island, or perhaps very cheap as it’s a place where few people live and there is no commerce! I’ve since phoned the agent as my curiosity got the better of me; alas, it’s pretty much a bare shell inside and probably twice the price it should be!
As the sun had dipped low in the sky we made a mad dash back for the ferry as we decided to take the earlier sailing before darkness fell and we all froze. Stopping on the jetty to pat his pockets, Roddy announced that he could’t find the return tickets, which made us all anxious for a while but it didn’t matter anyway, as no one checked for them on board – it’s just not that sort of place. Of course, thinking about it later, he probably didn’t even get given any actual return tickets in the first place, because you simply have to return at some stage!
We all huddled together on the open deck of the ferry; the Indian summer afternoon had given way to a chilly evening with a stiff breeze, and the girls shared the only available bench wrapped in Roddy’s jacket, Evie curled up asleep buried on Gigi’s lap – warm and snug. We ticked off another island, another fabulous day, and another place we’d discovered on our doorstep. Undoubtedly the real appeal of the Île d’Aix though is the chance to get back to nature; it’s not glamorous, there’s no bling, and in fact it seems almost slightly run down, but it certainly has a haunting quality that it quite unforgettable. We all agreed that the next time we’d go back with our bikes and a picnic!
Our French Oasis 