April 04 Newsletter

Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité

There are many wonderful things about France and much to be learned.

Liberté: At the top of my list would be the concept of "Congé". At first we guessed at translating it as "conjugal", something to do with intimate family union - a bit of nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more as Python would put it. One could be forgiven for this error given the circumstances and the way in which the information presented itself and the meaning that eventually unfolded.

It all started in the New Year. The electrician had failed to turn up to finish off some work on the Moulin for months. So we thought New Year - Fresh Start, and a friend popped round to his shop for us to discover the delay. On the door hung a sign stating it was closed for "congé". Well, local gossip had it that the electrician’s wife had run off with someone else, he was devastated and was trying to piece his marriage back together. What made matters worse was that he was the deputy chief hose man in the local fire brigade and of course this sent my imagination running on overtime.

Then we tried to book a restaurant for a special celebration. We tried the posh one in the next-door village only to be informed by their answer machine that it was closed indefinitely for "congé". Apparently there had been a bit of a spat between the businessman owner, the head chef and the maître d’ - a sort of ménage à trois that had got a bit overcrowded.. So we presumed they were having a conjugal to kiss and make up.

We tried another nearby restaurant. This one was new, manned by a wonderful, handsome, Parisian trained chef and his young wife who were desperate to establish their business as the top-eating place for local gastrônomes. Cosmopolitan visitors are very thin on the ground in mid winter in these parts and we thought they might appreciate some support. We drove up and rang the bell and the chef ran out from the kitchens, fully kitted out in his hat and apron, dripping basting spoon in hand. The answer was no, very sorry but on the date we wanted they were closing the whole day: lunch, salon du thé, and dinner for - "congé". Oh dear we thought, and they were such a nice couple. We must have looked so disappointed that he went on to explain that it was his son’s birthday - something he could not change, any other day etc….

I went home and consulted the dictionary. "Congé" turns out to be, "Time Out" in English. It seems that the French feel free to take Time Out: to down tools, lock up, close business at any time to take care of personal affairs because that is their clear priority. They are not slaves to their jobs. This together with their long lunches that can go on for up to three hours seems like real freedom to me.

Egalité: At the beginning of the year the French Government announced some wide legal reforms in an effort to counteract global terrorism. They did this without any consultation with the avocats (not the drink, the French lawyers). One must never forget that France is a Socialist Republic.

At this point the French understanding of equality was clearly displayed.

The lawyers immediately downed wigs and writs and took to the streets in protest. Can you imagine that? In Lincoln’s Inn? You would have to pay thousands to get an English lawyer off his backside to do anything, let alone assemble in angry, noisy crowds, carrying placards and loud hailers in a free for all demonstration on human rights.

In response the riot police ordered the fire brigade to hose them all down and a wet and bedraggled legal profession dispersed back to their chambers.

Egalité, roughly translated appears to mean, "What’s good for the goose is good for the gander."

Fraternité: On the day of our arrival at our new home in France we had visited Le Mairie to introduce ourselves. Each village is an independent community, which is run by the local mayor. So whether you want to plant a prune tree, have your empty wine bottles collected, or a house extension, you have to run it by the mayor first.

Our mayor does not speak a word of English, even though almost half the village hails from over the Channel. Thus the conversation was a bit stunted by our stumbling French attempts. Nonetheless we were welcomed like long lost brothers and immediately invited to the equivalent of our Poppy Day ceremonies at the local war memorial the following day.

On a drizzling, damp morning we assembled in the road outside The Mairie alongside a motley crowd of Anglo French villagers exchanging friendly banter and bonhomie. An old French lady sitting black stockinged, crossed legged on a bench began to tell me her life story, which I managed to understand even though she had left her teeth at home. We had just reached her third grandson son who was training in viticulture when the mayor appeared, flanked by two men carrying the French flag, and the event took on a more somber, serious tone. The French shushed the chattering English and the Mayor and his flags bearers led a solemn silent walk down the narrow road to the War Memorial.

On arrival we all gathered round while impassioned speeches were made. It gradually became clear that they were talking about the local Resistance during the Second World War and that the list of names carved on the memorial were villagers and their families who had been shot for these activities. I also realized that this was the special bond between the English and French who had chosen to live together here and why we had been so warmly welcomed.

The charged atmosphere became more convivial when the band struck up a spirited, almost in tune rendition of "Le Marseillaise", after which the Mayor invited us all back to the Mairie for a huge glass of local wine - all this before 11am! I knew then that I would like it here.

Vive La France!