A humorous short story based on an incident that took place while we were lodging at an old Norman farm near the city of Bayeux.
Part I
La Ferme de l’Église
In the proximity of Bayeux, Normandy
August 31st
8.00 a.m.
· 600,000 Normande cows have just been relieved of the milk that threatened to burst their udders and are now munching the grass contentedly.
· Three million Normans have eaten a hurried breakfast and are rushing to work.
· A million tourists, like us, are seated with sleepy eyes around a table, waiting to be served le petit déjeuner – breakfast.
‘Bonjours!’ says Françoise in her soft voice, barely audible beneath the clutter of cups, saucers and small jars of home-made jams.
‘Bonjours,’ I reply, while Daphne stifles a yawn that she ably converts it into an improvised ‘Bonjours.’
Françoise darts in and out of the kitchen several times like a soft-footed squirrel popping in and out of its tree den. Each time she appears, she drops a little treat before us.
‘You’re first for breakfast today…’
I nod. ‘Early start. We are walking by the Vire.’
The smell of coffee is strong, unlike the watery, cloud-filtered sunlight outside. The dim bulb hanging from the heavy, worm holed wooden rafters competes for gloom with the drab sky framed by the tunnel-like window.
Our breakfast is a hushed concert that features crunching bread, sipping of coffee and the occasional clatter of teaspoon or knife against china. The veteran grandfather clock, despite its two gaping bullet holes, is still ticking and shows 8.35. I motion Daphne to hurry up. It’s only minutes before the old man from Poitiers and his wife will come down for breakfast, and then, we’ll be tied up having to listen to his never-ending monologue for at least an hour.
We slide sidelong across the ancient oak bench polished smooth by thousands of guest bottoms and make for the door.
Françoise dashes out of her kitchen. ‘Have a nice day,’ she says as she deftly collects our empty cups and plates.
‘Thanks,’ we reply.
She smiles and stays still for a second or two; very uncharacteristic of her; she’s one of those people who is always on the go. Her lips quaver like the wings of a butterfly.
I feel she wants to tell us something, so I smile back and nod in encouragement.
‘Are you free this evening around eight?’
I look at Daphne and she gives me her ‘for-me-it’s-ok’ shrug with the complementary headshake.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘Then come along to our dining room. We’ll be having an evening dessert with friends. See you later. By the way – Horst and Greta are invited too.’
She scuttles off to the kitchen and we head for the car.
In the proximity of Bayeux, Normandy
August 31st
8.00 a.m.
· 600,000 Normande cows have just been relieved of the milk that threatened to burst their udders and are now munching the grass contentedly.
· Three million Normans have eaten a hurried breakfast and are rushing to work.
· A million tourists, like us, are seated with sleepy eyes around a table, waiting to be served le petit déjeuner – breakfast.
‘Bonjours!’ says Françoise in her soft voice, barely audible beneath the clutter of cups, saucers and small jars of home-made jams.
‘Bonjours,’ I reply, while Daphne stifles a yawn that she ably converts it into an improvised ‘Bonjours.’
Françoise darts in and out of the kitchen several times like a soft-footed squirrel popping in and out of its tree den. Each time she appears, she drops a little treat before us.
‘You’re first for breakfast today…’
I nod. ‘Early start. We are walking by the Vire.’
The smell of coffee is strong, unlike the watery, cloud-filtered sunlight outside. The dim bulb hanging from the heavy, worm holed wooden rafters competes for gloom with the drab sky framed by the tunnel-like window.
Our breakfast is a hushed concert that features crunching bread, sipping of coffee and the occasional clatter of teaspoon or knife against china. The veteran grandfather clock, despite its two gaping bullet holes, is still ticking and shows 8.35. I motion Daphne to hurry up. It’s only minutes before the old man from Poitiers and his wife will come down for breakfast, and then, we’ll be tied up having to listen to his never-ending monologue for at least an hour.
We slide sidelong across the ancient oak bench polished smooth by thousands of guest bottoms and make for the door.
Françoise dashes out of her kitchen. ‘Have a nice day,’ she says as she deftly collects our empty cups and plates.
‘Thanks,’ we reply.
She smiles and stays still for a second or two; very uncharacteristic of her; she’s one of those people who is always on the go. Her lips quaver like the wings of a butterfly.
I feel she wants to tell us something, so I smile back and nod in encouragement.
‘Are you free this evening around eight?’
I look at Daphne and she gives me her ‘for-me-it’s-ok’ shrug with the complementary headshake.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘Then come along to our dining room. We’ll be having an evening dessert with friends. See you later. By the way – Horst and Greta are invited too.’
She scuttles off to the kitchen and we head for the car.
Vire Valley, Normandy
Beneath Les Roches de Ham
August 31st
10.00 a.m.
· 600,000 Normande cows are roaming freely, scattered in patchwork fields, still munching contentedly their grass, pausing occasionally to stare at funny passers by like us.
· Three million Normans are engrossed in their work, whatever it might be, and are looking forward to lunch break in two hours’ time.
· A million tourists are touring various parts of Normandy and simultaneously uttering words like, ‘wonderful,’ ‘awesome,’ ‘charming,’ ‘bonjewr,’ and ‘merceey.’
Daphne and I are strolling along the River Vire. Others would describe the place as breathtaking, stunning or an unspoiled jewel of nature. We, on the other hand, are ruminating (incidentally, like the cows in the field by the river) about the evening dessert that we have been invited to. We barely notice the sparkling, sluggish water of the river or the dramatic overhanging rocky faces of the Roches de Ham because we are deeply absorbed by our analysis.
The pros of our situation:
1. We are happy to have been invited by our hosts Françoise and Jean-Michel as they are friendly and happy-go-lucky people. Besides we are anxious to peep beyond the curtains of the breakfast room into the inner sanctum of their 17th century Norman farmhouse.
2. We are looking forward to meeting their friends hoping to get a glimpse on how it’s like to live in this part of France.
3. We are eager to taste whatever Françoise has in store as she is an outstanding cook who prepares all food in her kitchen using the wholesome stuff they grow or produce at the farm.
The cons of our situation:
1. Daphne is apprehensive, because although usually very chatty, hearing spoken French seems to send her tongue into rigor mortis (I wanted to put this with the pros, but I almost got knocked into the river when I suggested it).
2. We don’t know what to take with us to the get together. Most of the things on sale at the local stores, Françoise makes herself in her own kitchen. Cider is out of the question as Jean-Michel produces his own which is by far superior to the standard fare available.
3. We have no idea what to dress. How do people dress for an evening dessert in a Norman farm? We are tempted to wave the driver of the tractor lugging towards us to a halt and ask his advice but seeing the ‘get-out-of-the-way’ snigger on his face, we let our eager arms fall limp to our sides.
Click HERE to go to PART II of the story.
Beneath Les Roches de Ham
August 31st
10.00 a.m.
· 600,000 Normande cows are roaming freely, scattered in patchwork fields, still munching contentedly their grass, pausing occasionally to stare at funny passers by like us.
· Three million Normans are engrossed in their work, whatever it might be, and are looking forward to lunch break in two hours’ time.
· A million tourists are touring various parts of Normandy and simultaneously uttering words like, ‘wonderful,’ ‘awesome,’ ‘charming,’ ‘bonjewr,’ and ‘merceey.’
Daphne and I are strolling along the River Vire. Others would describe the place as breathtaking, stunning or an unspoiled jewel of nature. We, on the other hand, are ruminating (incidentally, like the cows in the field by the river) about the evening dessert that we have been invited to. We barely notice the sparkling, sluggish water of the river or the dramatic overhanging rocky faces of the Roches de Ham because we are deeply absorbed by our analysis.
The pros of our situation:
1. We are happy to have been invited by our hosts Françoise and Jean-Michel as they are friendly and happy-go-lucky people. Besides we are anxious to peep beyond the curtains of the breakfast room into the inner sanctum of their 17th century Norman farmhouse.
2. We are looking forward to meeting their friends hoping to get a glimpse on how it’s like to live in this part of France.
3. We are eager to taste whatever Françoise has in store as she is an outstanding cook who prepares all food in her kitchen using the wholesome stuff they grow or produce at the farm.
The cons of our situation:
1. Daphne is apprehensive, because although usually very chatty, hearing spoken French seems to send her tongue into rigor mortis (I wanted to put this with the pros, but I almost got knocked into the river when I suggested it).
2. We don’t know what to take with us to the get together. Most of the things on sale at the local stores, Françoise makes herself in her own kitchen. Cider is out of the question as Jean-Michel produces his own which is by far superior to the standard fare available.
3. We have no idea what to dress. How do people dress for an evening dessert in a Norman farm? We are tempted to wave the driver of the tractor lugging towards us to a halt and ask his advice but seeing the ‘get-out-of-the-way’ snigger on his face, we let our eager arms fall limp to our sides.
Click HERE to go to PART II of the story.