A few people have told me they like the stories about our time in the Presbytere. It was our first experience of French life and it was certainly not a normal one, but we did not know that at the time.
The family from the school house although all except one had pensions from the state as they were unfit for work, were very generous and in our time at the Presbytere often brought tomatoes they had grown, eggs from a farm that one son worked at, fish that another boy had caught and mushrooms found in those special places. We soon learned that the family had suffered many tragedies. The father now dead had been a violent man and a drinker and the children had suffered through this. The men now in their thirties but still mentally boys hated drink and refused a glass of wine if offered, telling you about the evils of drink. Another son had died on a farm accident just before we had arrived and whilst we lived there yet another son died who was a diabetic.
So many tragedies but still generous, but what the family had in generosity they lacked in social graces.
We invited them all for aperos one evening and it was one of those lovely balmy nights where we were sitting on the balcony overlooking the fields beyond - heaven. When the old mother started farting, very loudly... nobody looked embarrassed (except Malc and I) and she made no apologies but conversation all evening was interrupted whilst she lifted cheeks and let rip.
Now what made this evening even more surreal was that earlier we had been to a concert in Varen with some Dutch people and we had come back thinking how lucky we were to live among cultured people!
After they left, liberal amounts of scented airspray were used as we sat and discussed our new odd French life!
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