Nine months on the Loue. 3. December 1962.

Champagne-sur-Loue, 3 December 1962.

I really must apologise for actually putting the correct number of stamps on my last letter. It was all a mistake actually. You see Mère Pierre was ill in bed and Sœur Martine wasn't here to post my letter for me so I decided to go to Liesle and post it myself. Off I set on my bike in the teeth of a hurricane but had to get off and walk after a while as the wind was blowing me to places I didn't want to go.

Clutching my precious but somewhat bedraggled "Epistle to the Simpsons" I arrived chez le Post Office. I bought ten shillings worth of stamps and thought I'd be all right for a few days. I put four on your letter as it seemed rather heavy and I didn't want you to have to pay too much in excess postage and pushed it into the box on the outside wall of the post office. I was on the point of legging it back to Champagne when the door flew open and an official rushed out shrieking "attendez Mademoiselle" and various other idioms I understood not. He was waving my letter around his head and I concluded he must have been dozing on the other side of the letter box where it had fallen on top of him, nearly knocking him out cold. However I was wrong. "Ça ne suffit pas" he yelled. Grabbing me by my backcombing he dragged me back into the post office, weighed the thing and declared that I needed another three stamps! Thus you had the correct number of stamps and it cost me about three shillings and sixpence. I'm hopping mad but will attempt to rectify it this time.

Champagne-sur-Loue, 12 December 1962.

It's over a week since I last wrote but I've not really had an opportunity before now. I'd intended doing so last Friday evening in the study as we were due to set off for Lyon on Saturday morning. Friday lunchtime I was informed that we were going that afternoon instead. I carried out a rapid change, washed in cold water and crammed everything I thought I'd need into my suitcase which I then had to sit upon to close. Then I discovered an assortment of items I'd forgotten and had to go through a series of contortions trying to get them into the case without everything else bursting out! Finally I piled everything for the journey onto the cold hot radiator, cleaned out my room and dusted my Christmas decorations...three bunches of mistletoe and one of winter berries, three holy pictures, one mountain view and a cactus. This last is a recent gift from a nun who has a cactus mania and I've never yet met her when she's not got one tucked under each arm. I was busy cleaning my wash basin when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was Danielle I called to her to come in but instead there entered a balding and rather overweight Frenchman wielding a spanner. He said something I didn't understand, hurled my case off of the radiator and proceeded to knock holes into the pipes chatting amiably to me above the noise of his hammer. Having turned me, within the space of a few moments, from a rather flustered me rushing around to get ready in time, into a completely nervous wreck, he gave a cheerful bow and departed, leaving me to clear up the debris of bits of broken radiator and the puddles of water all over my clean floor. My luggage and muddy footprints seemed to be everywhere. Eventually I got my room into a state of shining brilliance, though no doubt Mum would have discovered a few cobwebs in the corner. The basin was the room's crowning glory. Imagine then my horror yesterday on returning to discover that the other girls in my room couldn't be bothered to go down the corridor to their wash basins while I was away and had inundated my cubicle. The basin was filthy, smothered with bits of soap and full of hairs.

One of the girls has given herself a spinal injury and is in hospital so I've just finished writing to her in French. No easy task for me. It's the fourth letter I've written in French this week as I'm making final arrangements with Marie-Thérèse. I'm going to Arbois by train on 17th December and will stay until the end of the month or the beginning of the New Year. I don't quite know when I'll be back here again. I've not got her address with me at the moment but wilël forward it when I next write.

I haven't yet told you about Lyon. We arrived there about 9:30pm. and went first to the house of Sœur Jeanne-Cathérine's mother where her brother and sister-in-law had gathered. There was also one English-speaking fifteen year old nephew and a sister of Sœur Jeanne Cathérine. The sister-in-law, Marie-Noëlle, began talking to me in fluent English because she'd been in England for months and studied it at university. She's an English teacher of blind children and teaches English using Braille! While I was there she tried to teach me to read it and help to mark the pupils homework but it wasn't very successful. She spoke English better than I and it was pretty dreadful because whenever I started to speak she'd say "Oh, you say often do you? When I was at College we were told to write it 'often' but to pronounce it 'offen', and so on. Every time I opened my mouth! Really it wasn't so bad and I loved being there with them all.

,I was whisked in and out of various luxury flats. I'd have breakfast with one family, lunch with another, tea or goûter with another and dinner with yet another! I quite lost count of all the families I visited. Dozens of aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters. I visited at least ten different homes while I was there.

I slept at Marie-Noëlle's place and usually saw Sœur Jeanne Cathérine at the home of one of her relatives the next day. On Saturday I was shown round the town by one of the nephews. I've forgotten quite where he fitted in, there were so many. He was eighteen, very brainy and spoke a little English though most of the time we spoke in French. He took me on a tour of all the churches and to the Cathedral explaining all about Egyptian pillars, astrological clocks, the depth of the Saône and so on. Then we crossed the Saône and went for a walk to look at the Rhône, returning to his mum's house where Marie-Noëlle arrived to take me to a museum of old cars in the city. His family wanted me to meet everyone so I was later invited to dine alone with them, consuming strange French dishes and wines in a room full of complete strangers in a luxury flat where you were afraid to breath in case you broke something and where you couldn't speak the language of your hosts! One minute you sat in silence, shaking and wondering if you dare interrupt the conversation to ask for some water and risk being gaped at and probably misunderstood, and the next minute everyone would be talking to you at once and you found yourself the centre of attention. Still they were all very kind really and I did enjoy the experience a lot.

The museum was very interesting but was in an old castle with no heating. With several inches of frost outside it was rather chilly. The oldest car in the museum was British and rather resembled our recently deceased "Cyril", dating from around 1893, I think. Also in the museum was the landau in which the French president Sadi Carnot was assassinated in Lyon in 1893. Napoleon III almost suffered the same fate in 1858 when an attempt was made to assassinate him. An Italian chap, named Orsini threw a bomb at the carriage and it exploded nearly blowing Napoleon III up to the stars. Britain got the blame for that though because the bomb had been made in Birmingham. It was carried out apparently because people were dissatisfied with Napoleon III's French policy.

Having given you a history lesson I'll return to our visit. That night we dined with Sœur Jeanne-Cathérine's and then went out into the town to join in the celebrations taking place. The eighth of December is a fête in Lyon because hundreds of years ago a miracle was wrought on that day when many people were cured from a fatal illness afflicting the town. Originally it was a holy fête but now it's more for the shopkeepers and commerce and is an excuse to really go mad. People for miles around come into the town and the traffic is stopped by the police so that the thousands can wander around roads the size of Regent Street in the town centre without fear of being slaughtered by the French traffic. Everyone in Lyon puts coloured candles in glasses of various shades on their window sills and the whole city is an array of twinkling coloured lights. The Cathedral above the town was illuminated and its lights reflected in the waters of the Saône.

Shop windows were decorated and many were very unusual. There were displays in most windows and some even had shows going on. I saw one with a little girl all dressed up, doing tap dancing and somersaults while everyone fought to get a better view. A furrier had a couple of live mink in a cage in his window. Another window depicted the story of Ali Baba and the forty thieves which was really well done. A jewellers had a stew pot filled with carrots with lots of other vegetables arranged around it and a very realistic looking fire beneath. Two little live rabbits were sitting in the pot with the carrots. A fashion shop had hired one of the motor cars from the museum and put it into their window with a model sitting at the driving wheel. A baker's shop had a model of the Cathedral made entirely from sugar and it was absolutely perfect. A dairy had a wooden cow in running shorts riding a bike with cheese wheels. The cow’s legs even moved up and down on the pedals. Another fur shop had a stag and a doe in silver board, a silver moon behind, with silver trees and snow on the ground. At the back of the shop a dim light was directed onto the display causing it to shimmer as if in moonlight. A light shining onto a revolving crystal globe produced white spots of light which seemed to fall like snow onto the two deer. It was really clever, the best representation of snow I've ever seen. I've never seen shop window displays like it. Yet another furrier had a stuffed polar bear in the window that opened his mouth and winked. The latter was done by light effects but I couldn't work out how the former was achieved. There were several Father Christmases in the streets which were colourfully decorated with lights and Christmas trees. Altogether a sight worth seeing and long to be remembered.

So much for my thoroughly enjoyable stay in Lyon, which incidentally cost nearly £4 for the fares alone! When I returned I found your card and parcel waiting for me. Thank you so much for the lovely jumper. It's just what I've been wanting to buy to wear with the jacket I'm knitting. It's the exact shade, but as you sent me the wool for the jacket you'd know that. I do hope you didn't mind me opening it before Christmas but as I won't be here then it was difficult to know what to do and anyway I thought there may be a letter inside. I've packed it up again and put it underneath my cactus which acts as a substitute Christmas tree. The card caused great interest and amusement here as they don't have many cards in France. They're an English custom it seems. The few they do have here don't open, being very simple and flat like postcards. The card itself delighted them with the Père Noel on it.

Henri, my dear helpless idiotic dad, you write: "Are you sure that bike you've constructed is safe?" For a start it's that safe and well constructed that one of the nuns has swiped it for her own personal use leaving me back where I started with six bikes, none useable, while she pedals around on the one I made saying how surprising it is to find a bike so well preserved. She doesn't know I made it and I don't like to tell her. I half hope a wheel will drop off so that she'll leave it alone! Anyway, I've set to and made another one so it's okay. As for going over all the nuts and bolts with a spanner, they've never heard of such modern things here! "Spanner" they cry," what manner of animal is that?" Finally, as for getting a man in a cycle shop to check it over for me, can you honestly see me riding an old boneshaker through a foot of snow for about thirty miles in sleet and a howling gale just to ask some Frenchman to check my brakes? Furthermore, can you imagine me asking? The tyres would have perished by the time I'd finished making him understand. Then, if I ever did get it all repaired you can bet your life one of the nuns would pinch it!

You then suggested that I should check up on the French highway code and advised me to ask someone who drove, like Sœur Martine. I know I get on your nerves at times Henri, but surely you'd not wish such a fate upon your poor daughter. If I asked someone who drove like Sœur Martine I'd be all dead and pancake-like within five minutes of obeying instructions! However I did check up with Marie-Noëlle and your directions were right in every respect.

Thanks for the offer to send my bike out. I don't want it here though thanks as it could be more trouble than it's worth but I really appreciate the thought. Thanks too for the ten shillings. It'll be really useful to me because after Lyon I'm flat broke again.

Have a happy Christmas all of you. Don't over-eat and don't forget me will you? xxxxx (The girls here wanted to know what these were. Apparently they don't put kisses on letters in France.)

-o0o-

Exeter. 1986.

At this point the file of letters draws to a temporary close. I must confess to an element of deceit in my correspondence home. For some time I had been nurturing the idea of arriving back as a total surprise to my family at Christmas time. My only real difficulty was lack of money to pay the fare. This partly explains my obsession about being permanently penniless. I was trying to save everything I could and yet keep the matter a complete secret from my family. An understanding schoolfriend helped me considerably in this by sending me enough money to buy my ticket home. My long-suffering parents were ultimately left to reimburse most of my friends loan! Despite this however, the plot was a total success. Everyone was delighted to see me home once they realised it was not permanent and that the nuns were anxious that I should return in the New Year.

The sisters at the convent were naturally party to my plot and delighted to imagine my parent's faces when I got them out of bed at 1:00am just before Christmas. They were most anxious that I should return to France, and I left the convent with a warm glow of affection for everyone. Each pupil in the school lined up at the door to kiss me farewell in the traditional manner as did the sisters. I left there with the snow falling, bowed down with gifts from the pupils and staff for my family with a small sapin, a real Christmas tree, tied up in string that Sœur Martine and I had cut the previous evening on the Clos. This accompanied me in the taxi, in the train across France to Paris, through the Paris Metro system, on the plane to London and so by public transport to my home in Croydon. I remember clearly struggling from the West London Air Terminal around midnight, carrying both my tree and my suitcase and wearing my high heeled shoes to which I was no longer accustomed. Two gallant Englishmen offered me assistance to the tube station and I instinctively responded in French not having spoken to an English national for weeks. Their obvious assumption was that I was French and embarrassment prevented me from enlightening them. I thus found myself obliged to speak French for the first twenty minutes of my arrival in England!

Very little sleep was had by our family that night and there was great surprise amongst my friends and relatives during the following days. I remained in England until mid-January and was fortunate enough to find some temporary work with my mother's employers to help pay my debts and build up some financial reserves for my return to Champagne. My grandmother was kept busy baking and icing Christmas fare for me to take back for the school and the convent. She put everything onto her cake, Father Christmas, snowmen, reindeer, robins and English seasonal greetings piped on in coloured icing. All that could possibly be representative of a traditional English Christmas went into her cake and her plum pudding which had to have sufficient sixpenny pieces in for every pupil at the school to receive one.