a very special French lady

I met the elderly gentleman at a brocante fair, he was selling hand made fishing flies.  Works of beauty, exquisite knots of thread and feather and beads, designed to lure and to deceive.  But it wasn't the boxes of flies that drew me in, it was the old piece of fabric thrown across a trestle table and used to create his stall.  A length of pale grey ticking, a most unusual colour, beautiful.

I so wanted that fabric.  My eyes swept along the table, piled high with dozens of boxes, and also crockery and glass ware, the sort of strange mix you only see at these country brocante fairs.

He came up to me, wanting to know what had caught my eye.  " Bonjour mademoiselle".   I smiled.  We chatted about fly fishing, about his dying craft, about how cold it was for selling outdoors, until finally I broke it to him: "Actually, it's your old piece of fabric I'd like to buy".  A raised eyebrow, discreet cough, shrug of Gallic shoulders and a quick pursing of moustached lips as he tried to put a price to the unexpected trophy.

He bought himself some time:  "I have to ask ma femme", and wandered a few steps away, talking into his mobile phone.  He came back looking concerned.  "I'm so sorry...., but my wife doesn't really want to sell that .... it's very useful to her.... she has more at home ... they aren't in very good condition ....  come back this evening when I pack up .... or you could call ... here's my telephone number ... then that's settled, we'll see you tomorrow...."  !!

I left the fair pleased with a few other purchases, but in a total muddle about the fabric.  Did they want to sell at all?    The next day we spoke on the phone and after a few very searching questions, the rather intimidating lady gave me her address and I jumped in the car and headed off across the valley.

As I drove to their small village, I had no idea whether the trip would be worthwhile.  She had insisted on the phone that she didn't want to sell, but at the same time, for a non-seller, she gave me a load of appetite- whetting information.

I finally found their tiny house, very modest, with a happy dog in the small scruffy but flower filled garden.  A lady came out to greet me.  Beautiful.   Walking tall, her elegance strangely out of place in such a modest setting.

She must have been about 75 years old.  Smooth pale skin, well cut grey hair and clear blue eyes that looked right through me.

The piece of grey ticking I had seen at the fair was draped over a garden chair - even better than I had remembered it -  on the table was another piece of red and beige striped ticking, my heart missed a beat.

When you handle old textiles as much as I do, you can recognise a special find just by it's fold.  Linen folds in a soft, supple, heavy manner, like no other fabric.  Pure linen ticking is very unusual today, it hasn't been made since the late 1800's.

But we weren't going to talk about the ticking straight away.  First there were questions.  She wanted to test my credentials:  did I know anything about fabrics?  did I know how to care for old textiles?  how did I iron my sheets (I kid you not!) ? where was I from?  "Ah England .... (she broke into perfect English)... I used to have some very good friends in Kent" she said.

After the  ten minute interrogation I was finally allowed to touch the ticking. "So, as I told you, I can't possibly sell these, they are so useful to me, and they are part of my past life, before I came here ....( her arm lifted and swept around to show the little house and garden)  and they aren't even in good condition any more,  look ..."  She showed me the tiny holes at one end of the grey ticking and several tears in the other piece.

Yet, despite, all her words about wanting to keep them, I was sure she wanted to sell.  For the first time she let me talk:  I smiled,  "Your fabrics are stunning, I have quite a collection at home, but I haven't often seen any this beautiful"

She looked me in the eye and named her price.  I agreed without hesitation and she suggested I step inside to see 'the rest'.

The tiny house was more than cramped.  It looked as if the contents of a large château had been fitted into a garden shed.    "Excusez-moi" she fussed, I know I have kept too much, but when I had to leave my last home for unfortunate reasons, I couldn't leave it all behind.

And then it really started.  From cupboards and from behind doors came a steady flow of monogrammed  porcelain, of crystal, of fine linen and shining silver.   In between each new box that was opened she told me more about her family, her former splendour and her misfortune.

I didn't take any photos while I was there and I can't tell you everything she shared with me; that would be disrespectful to the confidence she showed me.  But I can say that I was fortunate to meet this woman.  She grew up in the lap of luxury, she married well, she was widowed, and through a tragic turn of events she lost everything.

 Today she has created a new life with a charming gentleman who makes fishing flies.  They live simply but they are happy, and she still insists on only using linen bedsheets and silver cutlery.  Now and again she meets someone like myself, and takes pleasure in getting out the treasures she has kept, in remembering easier times, and in a quality and handwork that has now disappeared for ever.

"And the ticking?" I hear you say.  Well yes, I did come away with both pieces of ticking and also with a couple of paintings she didn't have the space for.  I am thrilled to bits with my afternoon and with the treasure.  I hope you have liked hearing about it all.

photos: 1- print from a painting by Fabrice Alberti, available here
2-4 thanks to Google images, photo 5 & 6 me

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discovering french country life

Don't you love travelling?   for all the little surprises, for the discovery of the small things that are done differently to home.  When I'm not travelling I get just as much enjoyment from seeing our guests take it all in here.

As our season in the guest cottage and for the brocante tours really gets under way, I try to put myself into the shoes of people arriving here.  Almost always for the first time to our home, often the first time to Normandy, and sometimes a first time to France.

Of course things are different.  There's be no point in travelling at all if that weren't the case.  It may be sleeping in linen sheets, or buying fresh croissant in the village, or the sound of the church bells in the distance.  Everyone picks up on something different.   Here are a few of the things that people comment on most often.

"It's so quiet, but it only took us an hour to get here from Paris"

Well, yes, it is pretty quiet here, and yes we do have the best of both worlds, with Paris so close. But here it's just a small village in a quiet valley.  There is a village school, and if the wind is in the right direction I can here the children at play time, but other than that my most constant noise here is birdsong.  And the sound of our neighbour's racehorses trotting up the lane, past my kitchen window, to  their training track.

"it's so green"

Yup, it's called a valley full of farmland and forest.  Even my teenage children who love to go into town to see friends, still appreciate the space and green surroundings we enjoy here.  And of course we try to take care of the garden, since that's right outside our window.

"There's so much more time"

Not sure about this, although I suppose life feels less rushed than in a city.  And I suppose it is true that we often shop on a bike down to the village store, or do a little painting and yes, we like to take our time over meals, and of course I always try to be sure to have plenty of time for our guests.

"You hang your laundry to dry on a line!"

This one always makes me laugh.  But yes!  I definitely hang out laundry to dry, unless it's raining. Nothing beats that sweet smell of fresh laundry, dried in the sunshine.

"You don't have bugs!"

We're lucky!  We can live all summer through with windows and doors flung open.  Meals outside, windows open at night-time too.   If it gets really hot we'll have a few flies from the horses all around, but nothing dangerous.  The children can sleep in tents without any worries too.

"It all looks so old and French"

Well yes, that's because it is well ... old and also,  well you know ... French!   Seriously though, I know what they mean, we are lucky to live in an area that is still pretty unspoilt, and of course we enjoy the whole brocante spirit, so at home I guess that shows even more.

So tell me, do you still get that tingly feeling when you travel somewhere new?  Can you remember a really striking first impression ?  Can you pin down exactly what it was that gave a place it's special character?  I'd love to know ....

I had the pleasure of joining up with Rural Thursday for this post!

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crisis in the chicken coop

There is trouble in the village and it all started when a fox stole Henriette's rooster.

 Let me explain.  Henriette is our neighbour, she would be the wife of the amazing dancing Henri.  She has always kept chickens and when we have a cake to bake or a soufflé to put together hers is the gate to knock at.   Her eggs are large, fresh, dated by hand and sell like hotcakes.

 

Her chickens were an even tempered bunch, laying happily until last Christmas Day when a fox snatched her rooster!  Henriette was sad, Henri grabbed his gun and went to look for the fox and her pretty hens went into mourning and stopped laying.

By coincidence, at the other end of the village, the young farmer Sebastien purchased some beautiful young chickens as a present for his wife.  I know, I know not everyone's idea of the perfect gift but here we have our country values to defend.

Sebastien's chickens turned out to be des poules extraordinaires and before long were laying so well that he was into  egg overflow situation.  Having heard that Henriette's chickens weren't doing their stuff he helpfully put up a sign outside the gate offering eggs for sale each Saturday morning from 9 to 12.

His eggs are large, fresh, dated by hand and are selling like hotcakes.

In the meantime Henriette has acquired a replacement rooster, her hens are happy and Henriette is back in business.  You can see where this is going.

What started as a simple chicken coop crisis has become a diplomatic situation.

As it is impossible to knock at either Henriette's or Sebastien's gate without being seen, the village folk find themselves with divided loyalties.  Do we remain faithful to Henriette in which case Sebastien's new found source of income will dry up as suddenly as it started, or do we continue as clients to Sebastien and risk the wrath of Henri?!

Who would have thought that the appetite of a winter fox could cause so much disruption?   In the village I hear whispered conversations discussing the merits of the opposing eggs.  The shop has decided to have no part in the egg war and has turned to a new outside supplier.  Sebastien seems to have some powerful lobbyists, but Henriette has the vote  of the older generation on her side. All part of French village life.

And me in all of this?   I now buy a dozen eggs from both gates! 

As if life weren't already complicated enough!

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feeling young in France

When my husband popped to the village shop to buy croissants early on New Year's day, he bumped into our neighbour, Henri.

They shook hands and wished each other all the best for the year to come, and talked about this and that.  As they parted dear Henri  smiled and said  that  he'd be having a quiet day.  "Oh?" asked my husband, "not under the weather are you?",  "Non, non, pas du tout", replied Henri, " but I was dancing until 4.30 am, my feet are a little sore"  ...........  Henri is 94 years old!

What is Henri's secret? 

There is no doubt that the simple French life, eating good food and enjoying life seems to pay off.    he has worked hard all his life, I'm told he was a "force de la nature" (extremely strong) when young.   He still tends his (huge) garden, grows all his own vegetables, chops his wood, plays cards with friends most afternoons and yes, he loves to dance.

He once told me that he wears trainers to dance in these days because it gives him more spring to his step... and I have heard that he glides around that dance floor.   His wife likes to dance too, but I think she's finding it hard to keep up.

Henri has girlfriends come and ring at his gate on Sunday afternoons, asking if he's free to go dancing at the village Guingette (dancing tea salon),  mostly he says yes, but now and  again his wife says that he has to finish his chores first!

All through the month of January Henri and his wife will be sharing the Galette des Rois with their family and friends, Sunday afternoon is a favourite moment of the week for cutting into this delicious almond pastry, seeing who gets to be 'king'  and wishing each other Bonne Année over a glass of champagne.

One Sunday afternoon as my girls were riding through the village, they noticed that there were gendarmes stopping cars and inviting drivers to blow into a balloon!   Further down the road they met an elderly lady we know, she slowed down the car to chat and the girls told her about the gendarmes.  "Oh merci mes chéries, I just enjoyed a galette and champagne with some girlfriends, I think I'll take another route home"!!  With that she turned the car around and shot off in the other direction! ...   That sweet lady is also over 90.

We are lucky to know these delicious people, among the last of a generation who has seen the village change and grow.  We'd all do well to follow their example!

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