Mile:
16482-16530 Daily: 48
Meteo: Hot and
sunny.
Today we are to visit with Lal
and Andy at their converted French Ferme. This is in the Charente Maritime region
and should only be about an hour’s drive away. We had to return the two
security door tags to reception and Mike made a point of saying how much we had
enjoyed our stay, also commenting on the good works they were doing in
providing various eco solutions for us visitors. This surprisingly brought a smile to the three female staff members on duty. It might also have been my grasping for the correct words in French.
We were headed for the small
hamlet of Les Combrands. This lies to the W of Niort. We would drive N to meet
with the N11 just outside La Rochelle then swing E as far as Courcon then
continue N to La Ronde then W to Taugon then to 31 Combrands. Lal and Andy had
promised to tie various coloured balloons at the last couple of road junctions
to guide us in. We were, after all, in bandit country. With Jackie navigating,
it was no problem. The only issue was accessing their gate onto the property.
There was a telephone cable dangling far too low to give me clearance and I
would need a couple of shunts to get off the narrow farm road and into the
field.
Andy and Lal appeared, they
had been sunning themselves on their chairs relaxing. Andy had the low wire
problem solved in a flash. Ball of string, small stone tied on the end, loop
around the offended line and hoist it up out of the way and tie it off.
Simples.
No sooner had we alighted than
Lal had a gin and tonic for Jackie and a beer for me. We sat for a while and
exchanged a few stories about recent adventures. Then Andy took me on a trip of
the farm. The old farm building was owned by a friend in Plymouth and ‘The
Steers’ had been coming here for the last six years. There were a few outbuildings,
medium sized stone sheds in various states of repair, a cattle feeding shippon
and another attached barn. Most of these were in an advanced state of
deterioration.
This ‘marais land’ is basically
reclaimed marsh. As such the ground gets wet in the winter months and dries out
considerably in the summer. Some of the cracks and holes in the ‘field’
attached to the house you could lose a Land Rover and trailer in. If that was
not bad enough there was ample evidence of ground and structural movement on
the property. Andy had noted much deteriation in the last six years.
I had seen photos taken two
years ago of Andy working on the roof of the attached barn. Now all that
remained was a few wooden beams. Walls which he had rebuilt that same period or
attempted to repair had since fallen over. Other walls were bowed out, their
capping stones loose. Door frames no longer sat square and shutters could be
seen hanging from rusted hinges.
The main house was in itself a fine
structure. Plenty of space within the various rooms. The kitchen / dining room
was huge. This would be where we would take meals if not outside and where Lal
would entertain neighbours.
Evidence of Andy’s latest self-imposed
works were obvious. He had been pruning with a chain saw the fifty meters or so
row of trees that marked the drive down to the house. Many of these trees were
‘shaky plums’. That, to you townies is an edible plum tree, that when you
gently shake a branch, the ripe plums fall. They were delicious. Not a sour
plum anywhere. In addition, there were pear and quince trees all heavily laden
with fruit. Surprisingly no apple trees. Away in the far corner behind the house Andy
had piled the old boughs and branches ready for a winter burn. It was as large
as a sponsored bonfire for November the fifth. Quite who would carry out this
task was uncertain. The owner who visited twice, maybe three times a year, was
not that ‘handy’ and as many of the visiting friends and colleagues were here
on holiday they adopted the line of thought that any ‘work’ around the house
was someone else’s job.
 |
Bet you can't guess what's for lunch! |
Soon we boys were called in
from our architectural detective work as dinner was ready. Another feast
following hard on the heels of a beautiful green salad lunch. After which we
were taken through the rear blue gate, over ‘our’ small bridge over the tiny
canal and onto the dyke. This dyke separated one small canal from the other. We
walked for half a mile to what seemed at first glance a rather ramshackle
dwelling. This building, it transpired was owned by Bernard.
 |
Look closely, evidence of one of Andy's BBQ's. |
An English
speaking Frenchman Lal hoped we would meet later in the week. It belonged to his father many
years ago. Bernard now in retirement visits weekends and enjoys the
peace and solitude it offers. He was gradually renovating the property. Perhaps a
two up two down. There was no running water, no drains, no electricity and no
sewer connection. Not even a fosse septique. Neither would there ever be. Lal
had brought us here to see the catfish ‘Poisson chat’ which lived here in
hundreds. They were a nuisance as they were predatory on all other fish in
these tiny canals. Alas today none were evident. In part due to the corn having
been cut in the field opposite and a layer of cereal dust lay thick over the
water. That, and the green algae.
We returned to the farm house.
Where we sat in the warmth of the last of the sun’s rays and had a quiet drink.
It was then that Pascal arrived. He lives in a ‘cottage’ the next but one house
up. Next door was virtually derelict as Madame had been taken into care and the
son who usually called around to cut the grass and tend to the veg patch had
himself died. Heart attack. In this climate mother nature soon re-establishes
her dominance.
Strangely Pascal’s plot and rear garden was linked via a gate
with Lal and Andy’s property beyond ‘the hanger’ on the farmhouse land, where Pascal kept his Massey
Ferguson. It was a habit that he would call around most evenings for a chat.
Now Pascal’s English was on a par with Andy’s French. Non-existent. Lal by her
own admission was struggling with her French. However, as men, and indeed women
do they managed to communicate. Especially when last year Pascal needed some
muscle to rebuild his bridge over the second canal to cross to his veg plot. Whom
did he call upon? Andy.
We were introduced as ‘amis’,
Pascal was offered some rose and we sat for another hour chatting. How? Nobody
knew but it was all very pleasant. Soon Pascal told us he must go as he had
work in the morning and needed to be up at 0500hrs. We believe he assisted a
local mason, did various odd jobs, including cutting the grass on ‘the field’
beside Lal’s house. He would also coppice trees on his land to the rear of his
small holding which he would sell for fire wood. He promised to call again
tomorrow evening after work. It was soon
bedtime.
