Some photos taken at the time with captions added by Jill later.
The girls at lunchtime “torture” in the Clos
Again at torture
Madeleine, Chantal, Madeleine, just after Chantal fell off the sledge
In colour this would be good because the Loue was a vivid green
It's now feeding time yet again! I must rake up my courage and enter the staffroom. I wouldn't be surprised to find even a large goldfish or elephant projected onto the wall.
Thursday.
Once again I'm taking the evening study period. I spent the whole afternoon out by myself on the Clos with the sledge and then went for a walk. The sun was so warm I used the sledge as a seat and sat reading Jane Eyre for half an hour.
I was careering down the hill on the sledge with it out of control as usual but this time it didn't stop as it usually does at the bottom but carried wildly on towards a huge ditch full of icy water. I couldn't stop it although I was dragging the ground with my heels. Deciding I'd sooner fall off than take an icy bath I simply stood up. I was rather surprised to find myself on my feet and stood watching the sledge continue on its way jumping clean over the ditch! […]
During today's English lesson the girls all wrote sentences again and I was rushed off my feet and mind trying to help them all at once with my elementary French. Les Fourgs, the village where Françoise lives, is in the newspaper because it was completely cut off and isolated by snow for a couple of days. There are several aerial pictures too. It may interest you to know that it will be in this village that I will be spending three days in a fortnight's time and more snow is expected. It may well be every bit as bad as now! Wow! Do you envy me?
The postman's threatened to go on strike! Says he doesn't get paid enough and may not come tomorrow! If my letters are a bit irregular you'll know why. You can't really blame the poor chap, can you? What with having to cart all the heaps of letters from England out here, having to carry all my heavy letters back to Mouchard and work out the stamps for me, make me out a bill and worry about the excess postage I owe the French Post Office, not to mention being cursed by me when there are no letters for me when he arrives, it must be a terrible job his, mustn't it?
I went to a French grammar lesson today and came away a lot better for it. I'm beginning to understand the tenses of verbs a lot better but still get very muddled over the difference between the passé simple and the passé composé. Can you enlighten me Henri?
Sunday, 3 February 1963.
I've just finished ironing my unmentionables with the usual audience of horrified nuns, and given them a demonstration on how to do the Charleston. I am now thinking how to cut out the pattern for a blouse I want to make.
This afternoon we went on a freezing walk to Arc-et-Senans. Now the girls are all making pancakes and as they're calling to me to go and help them I suppose I'd better go. Is it Shrove Tuesday already on Tuesday then! Françoise has asked me to tell you she's mad. The request rather proves it, though Heaven knows why she should want it broadcast. It is completely true however.
Champagne-sur-Loue, Monday, 4 February 1963.
I leave with Françoise for Les Fourgs, near Pontarlier, four miles from the Swiss border on 13th February. Everyone here thinks I must be mad as it will be so cold but here's hoping. Françoise is getting over her misery and is becoming a little madder each day. Yesterday for example she told me that the girl who used to do the cooking here turned her back for a moment and the school cat fell into the cauldron of soup she was cooking. I pictured a terrific splash, followed by silence and then a frenzied yowl as the cat emerged with a lump of onion on his nose and a carrot in his ear. She subdued me however by telling me the soup was scalding hot. She said that nobody ate the soup afterwards but that if it had happened to her she'd have pulled the cat out and not mentioned it until after the meal. This place really reeks of hygiene! I said, knowing Françoise she'd probably put the lid on and cook the cat, put the whole thing through a mincer and serve it up as "Potage au chat", or to disguise it, "Mog Stew". We then got around to discussing unusual dishes and what we could have for dinner today that was a little different. It was eventually decided by Françoise that todays menu would consist of "Tête à l'Anglaise avec des legumes". In other words, my head on a plate surrounded by vegetables and with a tomato in my mouth!
This morning when I went into the kitchen she'd rigged up a guillotine with a kitchen stool, a chopping board, a bread basket and a chopper which she stood holding, with a cauldron of boiling water nearby! On the table was a selection of very dangerous looking knives! One look was enough to decide me that it was not the place for a prospective victim to waste time commenting on the weather and I beat a hasty retreat with Françoise in hot pursuit still waving the chopper and uttering blood curdling cries suited to her rôle of Chief Executioner. The pupils have sadly informed me that we'll all have to make do with cat stew instead for supper now!
Last night one of the nuns informed me that some of the girls have been caught going to bed with absolutely all their clothes on except their shoes. When the nun went round turning the lights out she didn't realise because they'd all put their long sleeved nighties on over the top! That way it was warmer to get up in the morning, saved time dressing and allowed then a few extra minutes in bed! I thought it very funny but she didn't. She said she'd watched the general waste flow from all the washbasins of a morning and hardly any water came down so that proved they didn't wash either! I can't say I blame them but I suppose it is a bit mucky really. Look who's talking! I'm trying to rake up courage for a bath at 8:00am. This cold weather it's a horror to have to move anywhere. To have to wash and dress at 7:00am, take the morning study and then undress for a cold bath at 8:00am in a bathroom with real frosted glass (it's ordinary glass in summer), without even a radiator and only a stone floor to put your feet on, is not the most pleasant way of welcoming the day! There was, in fact still is, a Frenchman of eighty five who's never known a day's illness in his life. It's all attributed to his having a daily bathe in the river Loire. Unfortunately, the last week or two his exercise has been curtailed for the first time ever. The Loire has been frozen over so thickly that it's been impossible to break through for him. Here you can now walk right across the Loue if you so wish. The pupils assure me it will hold but by dint of swearing and cursing I've managed to keep them off of it so far.
I've found an excellent way to maintain complete silence during study periods. I don't need to threaten to report them, a threat I've never yet needed to enforce as they're not bad kids really. There are one or two however who don't seem able to keep quiet so now I say "Right, the next girl to give her vocal chords an airing does half-an-hour's solid learning of English verbs". I've also found it necessary to give them all a little lecture entitled "Getting to the morning study on time". Some of them are turning up twenty minutes late. The main disadvantage with the lecture of course is that it means I have to set the example.
It's now breakfast time and my fingers are quite dead with the cold so I'm off to try and warm up.
Later.
The bath water was stone cold so I just issued every girl with a clothes peg and remained dirty. Really I'm not that bad. I usually submerge in a bath of iced Champagne at least three times a week since I learned about the transpiration rate in biology.
I'm looking forward so much to you coming over Julie. I've thought of dozens of things we can do. One is for you to attend my English lessons armed with a notebook and see if you can work the lesson backwards and learn some French. Do you still want to come? The weather is improving daily and it's very sunny although it's so cold. The days seem to be getting longer too. It's no longer pitch black at 7:30am and it's reasonably light until about 6:00pm. By Easter it may well be warm and lovely. The buds are beginning to appear on the trees and everywhere is starting to look more spring-like.
I'm looking forward to the arrival of the Shakespeare volumes, Henri, but do I need to bring them home? If there's another English girl here next year she might find them useful and it would be less for me to lug back when I come.
I asked one of the nuns yesterday if she would excuse me from taking the girls out as I wasn't feeling too good, having caught a cold. As they were only playing ball I couldn't see that they could manage to get into much trouble. She said she'd prefer me to go if at all possible because if nobody was with them and one of them had an accident the nuns would be responsible. Does that mean that if they have an accident then I'm responsible? Anyway, out of 29 of us the only one to have an accident was yours truly who skidded and sat down with a jolt on some very wet and very hard ice! Not only is it now painful to sit down but I think I've damaged my patella, as my knee hurts when I bend it.
Champagne-sur-Loue, Saturday, 9 February 1963.
Chapter One. (With apologies to Charlotte Brontë).
"It was too cold to take a walk that day." - actually this has little to do with what I will relate but seems a very appropriate way to commence a letter at this time of year.
This morning Danielle left here for Besançon but as she couldn't get a taxi she had to walk to Liesle carrying her case. As I hadn't seen the elderly couple I know there for some time, I decided to accompany Danielle as far as the station and then continue on to visit them. We left here in a mountain mist at 8:00am. and arrived in Liesle just before 9:00am, so you see it's really quite a long walk. I was looking particularly elegant because, apart from having skidded and sat down heavily and unexpectedly more than once on patches of ice, the mist had become entangled in my backcombing and with the intense cold had frozen there giving me a grey, wizened, and intelligent air. It just goes to show how deceptive hair colouring can be!
Chapter Two.
I left Danielle at the station and continued my weary way to the cottage. Knocking, I walked in. They were all gorging the remains of breakfast and with delighted enthusiasm they invited me to join them. As I'd had no breakfast and was feeling on the damp, cold side, (rather like a dog's nose) I needed no second bidding. I said I was in a hurry and couldn't stop long as I had to get back to school to take a morning study. I warned then of the imminent invasion upon Champagne by my economy-sized sister and warned them to barricade their doors. Strangely though, they seemed delighted at the idea and have made me promise to take Julie to visit them.
Just as I got up to go, the woman started telling me about her son that she's so proud of and I couldn't leave while she was talking. She told me he'd been demobbed and was home now to stay. Her husband kept disappearing into the other room and eventually who should come through but this poor lad who's so much the centre of all his mother's affections. Whenever I go she shows me piles of photos of him so I was surprised to find he looked a lot older than I'd expected though he's only twenty two. I'm not sure whether his mum wants to get the poor chap off with me or whether she's just terribly proud of him, but she'd dragged the poor fellow out of bed at the awful hour of 9:00am. on a cold wet Saturday just to say hello to me. He arrived rubbing his eyes and surrounded by the mists of sleep and last night's beard. He looked so pathetic I was trying really hard to look serious while we were introduced. His name's Claude and having solemnly shaken hands and "bonjoured" each other we stood trying very hard to think of something to say. As in France they don't use the weather as a topic of conversation and I couldn't think of anything else, we lapsed into silence and stood giving each other glares of annoyance while Mum continued to tell me how marvellous he was. We were neither of us looking particularly breathtaking. My grey hair was fast melting, trickling down my forehead and running off the end of my right eyebrow. My backcombing had gone completely flat, and my boots, which have now more or less disintegrated and are only worn for warmth, were held together with mud and ice after my morning walk. For him, sleep rather than courtesy was the predominant thought in his mind as he stood there unshaven, wearing old blue jeans and a sloppy jumper.
When I left I said I'd try to go and see them again on Sunday week but couldn't be sure if I'd be able to manage it. Mum said she hoped I could and she knew her son would be able to keep that day free. Hoh hoh! Mum's at it I reckon. What do you think? I bet the son had something to say to her when I'd gone! Poor old Mum's really going to be for it.
As for me, I walked back to Champagne giggling. I simply had to let loose all the pent-up laughter and everyone I passed just smiled understandingly and muttered to their companions "It's quite alright. She's completely harmless. She's the young English girl imported into Champagne. They wanted to go one better than the rest of us and have a foreign village idiot."
Sunday.
Before Christmas the nuns gave me ten and a half weeks pocket money even though I'd only been here nine weeks. They insisted I might need some extra money to travel home for Christmas and said I could pay it back from earnings when I returned. Today Sœur Martine paid me my pocket money to the end of January. I said I owed them some money but she insisted it didn't matter and I was to keep it. When I opened the envelope she'd paid me two and a half weeks money even though I was only owed two. Wasn't it jolly decent of her?
I'm feeling really exhausted and am having difficulty keeping my eyes open without the aid of matchsticks. I've just returned from a twelve kilometre (about eight miles) walk in the pouring rain with boots that have recently started to rub me. After Liesle yesterday and that today, I'm really tired. I'll certainly sleep well tonight. The walk was nice because it wasn't very cold, but everywhere was flooded by the sudden thaw and all the snow has miraculously disappeared.
Don't worry if I don't write for a few days. It may not be possible from Fançoise's home. We're both excitedly looking forward to Wednesday already. She tells me her home is about 3,000ft above sea level so you see that's pretty high!
Sœur Martine came into the kitchen the other day and started to teach us yoga exercises which she made us promise to do every night for five minutes. We agreed, thinking it an amusing giggle, and so far we're both stiff in all our joints and you can hardly see Françoise for bandages around her knees where she creaked a bit too much. That's probably an added reason why I feel so weary today.
I'm taking a study at the moment. 6:30 on a Sunday evening and the kids are working! Just because I'm tired it's typical that I should be asked to look after the girls until 9:30 tonight and make sure they are all in bed with their lights out by 9:45. That means two hours less sleep than I'd been hoping for. However, as the French say, "Tant pis".
Danielle helped me to cut out the pattern for a blouse I'm making. I didn't have enough material to do it properly but she knew a different way of laying out the pieces to make it fit. It took one and a half hours to do it because I had to translate all the directions into French for her!
Sœur Martine has got herself a black anorak and she told me that when she goes ski-ing she pulls her robes up inside the anorak and has her black stripe drainpipes underneath. She pulls the hood tight around her face to keep out the wind. She even demonstrated and honestly, to look at her, the last thing you'd expect would be that she was a nun! She really is the strangest person I've ever met. She was telling me that when she was in Italy there was an oldish woman with masses of make-up and wearing stiletto heels wriggling along on the other side of the pavement. (This was accompanied by a demonstration.) An Italian man in front of Sœur Martine whistled and said something expressive in Italian, remarking loudly to the woman how beautiful she was. She wriggled on her way giggling and the chap turned to Sœur Martine and said "Sorry Sister but that's the biggest lie I've told for a long time."
Les Fourgs, Pontarlier, Jura, Friday, 15 February 1963.
At Champagne there wasn't a sign of snow until just before we left for here when it started to fall. At Les Fourgs it was falling heavily when we arrived and honestly, against the roadside it was easily twice as high as us! Yesterday it finally stopped and we were able to venture out for a walk. Françoise suggested we trotted into Switzerland but guess which stupid idiot had left her passport at Champagne? I was really mad but we decided to walk as far as the barrier anyway to at least have a look into Switzerland. On arriving there an official armed with a revolver approached us and demanded to see our passports. Françoise later told me he wasn't a customs officer at all but someone from a special division of the police. Apparently somebody recently passed through at this barrier smuggling hundreds of pounds worth of jewels! Also, it seems there are a lot of people from Algeria trying to get into France and they are not welcome here.
Françoise told the officer that she had a passport but her friend had left hers at school. She omitted to mention that I was English and I then received a long lecture in rapid French about being so careless and that I ought to know better. Apparently in France nobody goes around the country without their identification papers. He asked where we were going and we explained we were out for a walk. He said we could go as far as the Swiss barrier, a further two kilometres on, provided I gave him my name and address. We entered the cosy little office and I decided at this stage I'd better inform him that I was English. This caused further complications but softened his attitude greatly. He assured me he could speak English well having learned it at school when he was young. He was only about twenty three anyway! He decided we could still pass and took details of my name, date of birth, English and French addresses, and a record of how long I intended remaining in France. He was really meticulous, while the person who actually was the customs officer went off to sleep in a chair by the fire! He wished us a pleasant walk, reminded us only to go as far as the border and to make sure we returned. By this time everything was on a very friendly footing and it had all become rather a joke. After we left it occurred to us that he'd been so busy taking my details he'd completely forgotten about looking at Françoise's papers or to ask if we'd anything to declare.
We eventually reached the Swiss frontier and were again approached by an armed officer. Having been successful once we decided we'd try it again and I cheerfully told him we were out for a walk, that I was English and that I'd forgotten my passport but we only wanted to take a little stroll into Switzerland as far as Germany, did he mind? I gave him my sweetest smile and he, deciding I was a lunatic, said Okay, but did I have anything to declare? I assured him I had only [… two] francs, a threepenny bit, a bag of swag and a pair of dirty socks. He said he'd not bother to charge me for them and not to go too far.
In fact, he actually gave us permission to go as far as the first sweet shop so that I could claim to have been into Switzerland. I must have been at least two hundred yards into the country but maybe I'll go again one day. I doubt they'd let me in without my passport next time though! I bought a couple of Mars bars, the wrappers beautifully inscribed in French with "Made in Slough, England" inscribed on the bottom of them!
I was profoundly amazed to discover that Switzerland looked just like France, or at least this part of France. I could see three huge mountains, completely white with sheer drops and spikes of jagged rock showing through. There were the usual sapins to be seen and the sun was so strong my eyes were very painful and watery.
On our return through the French barrier the chap wanted to know about the part of England I came from as he had a friend who lived in Brighton. We chatted for nearly half an hour, him in English and me in French, so neither of us understood much of what the other was saying.
Today the sun is nowhere near so good and I'm trying to finish this letter before Françoise takes me out for a ski-ing lesson this afternoon. I want to leave you something to remember me by when they discover my remains during the thaw!
I've been watching the skiers from the bedroom window this morning where I can see a dangerous looking ski-jump. They rush downhill very fast, shoot off the end of the slide, fly about twenty foot down onto the snow and disappear at terrific speed. Whoosh! Really exciting!
I've been teaching Françoise's eleven year old sister lots of English words which she goes around chanting all day. Her fourteen year old sister Marcelle learns English at school and I've just finished doing her homework for her.
Can you visualise a house where it's necessary to walk through the cowshed with a torch of an evening to use the toilet because there's no electricity? I have to pass through this shed too, and climb up a ladder to reach the bedroom which I share with Françoise. Once there the room is lovely. Low windows, wooden boards and no carpets. In the corner stands a spinning wheel and there's a wooden crucifix on the wall. From below the cattle, inside the barn for the winter months, can be both heard and smelt. All night long the mice run about beneath us in the barn and above us in the attic making a deal of noise with their jumping and scratching.
The kitchen has a pump in it for the water and the oven must be as old as Noah's Ark. It serves for both heating and cooking. Water is heated in a tank at the side of the oven and comes out through a tap beneath. Every now and then a cow will poke its head in through the upper part of the kitchen door from the barn attached. It's not possible to see out through the downstairs windows because the snow is so deep it's completely covered them all up!
I could go on for hours but Françoise is waving a ski stick in my direction and making weird signals so will continue when I get back to Champagne.
Champagne-sur-Loue, Monday 18 February 1963.
We had to get up at 5:00am. this morning to get back here in time for Françoise to prepare the lunch and for me to take this study. With the aid of a pile of books I'm now propped up in a relatively awakened condition.
As you know, Françoise took me ski-ing the other day. My first action was to fall over. Having done this perhaps twenty times I began to get the hang of it all. Françoise then made me go down a fairly steep slope and showed me how. She is something of an expert and has won many ski-ing awards locally. It all looked so easy and graceful. Don't be deceived, just wait until you try it! I set off and one ski went in one direction and the other took an opposite course. Again I fell over but this time I was unable to get up as every time I got one ski the right way up it slipped on the ice and down I fell again! Eventually I was helped back onto my feet and off I set at what seemed a terrific speed. "This is great, really great" I thought. Then I decided that if I intended stopping before I crashed through the Swiss barrier I'd better do something about it in the only way I knew. Again I fell over!
Later we arrived back at Françoise's home and, freed at last from the skis, I fell down yet again as my legs felt peculiar without them. I've been invited to visit the family once again before the thaw to have another try but doubt I'll have the opportunity.
Françoise has a smashing brother of twenty four called Louis. He's really good looking and very nice natured. Trouble is, he's training to be a priest! I think he'll make a good one though as he's got the right temperament. It seems odd to imagine though, having watched him milking in the cowshed wearing sloppy jumper and jeans and seen him carrying around a freshly killed chicken! Each day though he'd put on his long black robes and go off to serve at the Mass. He served on the Sunday when we were there too.
On the Saturday he carted a sack into the kitchen that wriggled. He said it was a chicken for Sunday lunch and set about killing it by stabbing it in the neck with a pair of scissors. I decided to go into the back room as I felt sick. From there I heard the chicken utter a couple of terrific squarks as it was killed. Next thing, it was carried in all trussed up and ready to be cooked. They also killed their pet rabbit in my honour. They'd only kept it to eat scraps and they'd got another one. Guess who was given its liver to eat? I felt really ill but had to try to be polite. Have I succeeded in turning you all into vegetarians for a little while?
I think the weather here at Champagne must be much the same as you're having in England. We daily receive a fresh coating of snow though nothing like as much as was falling at Les Fourgs where they had to take the snow plough past the house and through the centre of the village each morning to open up the road.
Fortunately it's not really terribly cold here despite the snow. That's just as well because once again the heating has been turned off! I'm really feeling quite dirty and in need of a hot soak after my holiday, for there was no hot water or bathroom at Les Fourgs. To my horror I've found that the cold tap in the bathroom here is still jammed and running at full pelt, as it was before we left last week, so taking a bath will be impossible.
Champagne-sur-Loue, Wednesday, 27 February, 1963.
I'm now waiting in the kitchen for the postman to arrive. I've seen him in the village but think he must have popped into the café for an aperitif to warm himself up.
Yesterday was Shrove Tuesday. We didn't make pancakes but instead had "Beignets" which are their Continental equivalent. They come in a random variety of shapes and sizes and consist of walnut blossoms fried in batter. They're very crisp and crunchy and are rolled in icing sugar to sweeten them. They're eaten in France on Shrove Tuesday every year and veal is traditionally eaten for lunch or dinner on that day too. A priest visited the school and took the girls for religious study nearly all day so I had a lovely lot of spare time to listen to the radio. Today being Ash Wednesday we all went to Mass at 8:00a.m. and received both Ashes and Holy Communion. I can now be found hiding somewhere beneath a dirty smudge and a halo!
Did I mention that I've started to collect French cheese labels? I've now got over sixty from different varieties of cheese, mostly camenberts. It's amazing how many different ones there are in France. I've hundreds too from the small individual cheeses as I have those from the entire school! If I send some of the spare ones home to you, by the end of my stay you will have not only enough to paper a lampshade but an entire room as well! They're so attractive and they would brighten up the kitchen no end. Apart from that, think of the snob value! You could say to everyone "Yes darling, they are rather unique I know. You see my daughter sent them [from Champagne] where she was holidaying for eight months last year. The French adore their cheeses and she tells me she personally ate every single one represented there. Of course she was a tiny bit overweight when she returned home but she has always been partial to the occasional morsel of cheese." Your visitor would stare at the thousand or so labels on the wall and then rush off to tell everyone that the eighth wonder of the world was alive and well and living in Britain!
It's really peaceful as all the girls are on retreat and not allowed to talk. It's a little odd though, as I'm the only one around not under a temporary vow of silence but there's nobody to answer me if I speak! I've been playing my records and listening to the radio all morning and have settled down to a couple of hours with Jane Eyre. I'm feeling very bored and restless and will be glad when they all come out of retreat. I'm in the kind of mood where I'd like to throw a brick through a window or put salt into the pudding just to break the sound of the silence.
I do occasionally get these black moods but usually avoid writing until they've passed. Today's bad mood is partly caused by all the girls walking around wearing faces that remind me of last week's haddock being warmed up for the ninth time. In addition, over the past few days many of them have been ill with dreadful colds. This means that I'm acting as nursemaid to those ill enough to be in bed. It's bad enough having to run around fetching them hot water bottles and warm drinks but worst of all is having to sit and make polite conversation with them when I want to go and do something else and am not in the mood to rack my brains thinking of well constructed French phrases. When at last I do manage to escape for a few minutes on my own along comes one of the nuns to tell me that so-and-so has asked me to go and talk to her and it all starts over again. That at least is one good thing about today's silent retreat! If ever I have my portrait painted I'll be depicted with a halo and carrying a bedpan!
Now for something more amusing. Yesterday Françoise, Danielle and I were feeling particularly irritated by the girls. Françoise had put her hair up in a heap out of the way and was wearing her dark glasses which made her look like a medical student. When I commented on this she put on her long white cookery overall and looked exactly like one of the doctors from "Emergency Ward Ten". I told her that if she intended cutting up meat for lunch she'd better wear rubber gloves and a mask. She knew where to find such things and trotted off to get them to cheer us all up. while she was away Danielle and I turned the kitchen into an operating theatre. We gathered all the dangerous weapons available, ranging from a chopper to a carving knife, and then I lay on the long kitchen table as if for an operation. When she returned Françoise tied a handkerchief over her mouth, picked up the carving knife and proceeded to "dissect" me. It all looked terribly realistic and cheered us up no end. However we all felt pretty silly when the door opened and Sœur Martine came in accompanied by a visitor and two of the other nuns! They stood in shocked amazement, gazing at me with a carving knife apparently protruding from my entrails and "blood" all over my face where Danielle had smeared tomato sauce! At first they were horror-struck but then all started laughing like mad! However, it did ruin the operation which had to be abandoned so you'll be pleased to hear that I'm still in one piece.
Thursday, 28 February 1963.
I've been invited to spend the weekend with one of the girls here who wants me to go to a local village dance with her and her brother. Should be quite a lot of fun if I can do the French dances. Still they mainly seem to do "La Marche" here so I should be okay with that. Then I'm going to spend a few days with Danielle at the start of the Easter holidays until Julie arrives around April 1st.
It's Françoise's feast day on March 9th so would it please be possible to send something small but English for me to give her as a gift? Even a pair of tights or a hankie would be nice if there was an English label attached.
I think I may well be going down with the cold the rest of the school is suffering from. My head aches, my throat feels sore and generally I'm starting to feel as if a day in bed would really be very nice.
I'm just off to take the first year for English and have been busy devising a test for them on personal and demonstrative adjectives and pronouns. (Chuckles of sadistic glee!) I only hope my throat will last out. There goes the bell for the lesson now. Gladiators, into the ring!
Later.
I gave them their dose of poison and they took it quite well. Only trouble is I've now got a heap of papers to mark this afternoon which will take me a good two hours. However, having also taken them for their lunchtime walk I have no further commitments for a little while so have come up onto the Clos armed with my biology textbooks and my writing pad. I've ploughed my way through the snow to a clump of shrubs that shelter me from the wind. The sun here is so warm that the snow has melted and the grass is quite dry. It's almost blazing down and I'm so warm I've discarded my coat and pullover. It's quite perfect here. Quiet and peaceful. Not a sound except for a cock crowing somewhere in the valley and the wind rustling in the branches of the trees which are beginning to have buds appearing on them. It's really heavenly and I'm sorry you can't be here to share it with me, having all that ice and snow back in England. I must get on and do some biology before I fall asleep with the calm here. It does seem funny though, when I look at this sheet of paper, scattered with pine needles, lying out here on the mountainside, that in a couple of days from now it will be hundreds of miles away in a different country, in our living room, in your hands, with you actually reading the very words that now stare up at me from the page. It's also strange to think that in a month's time Julie will perhaps be sitting in this exact spot with me, appreciating its wonderful tranquillity, while we write another letter to you, together!
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