So how fares life in Normandy? Well, quite nicely really, thank you. We have been here for about a month – I think.
The climate is quite different – all our friends in the Vienne told us that. They said that it would be much colder and wetter. It has certainly been wetter, but as the area had been without serious rain since April, it was grateful for it. It freshened up the grazing on the Marshe, which is an essential part of raising the livestock that is an essential part of agricultural income around here. Normandy is famous for its’ beef and lamb. The sheep meat is certainly excellent, with very good flavours from the salty grassland. I wish I could say the same about the beef - I felt duty bound to try some the other day. After 5 years of grave disappointment with the beef in the Vienne, we hoped that Normandy beef would be good. The cattle looked good, but the problem seemed to be the same as it is throughout France – the French have no clue about butchering. The beef is badly cut and is not hung – it is therefore inedible. Very sad and a waste, but the French do not seem to mind how tough and grisly their beef is. So, you may think that after the failure of Normandy beef, I am going hungry? Not so, I am glad to say. I refer you to an excellent little book – ‘The Pocket Guide to French Food and Wine’ published yonks ago, which has been in my pocket ever since. It says that: “Nouvelle cuisine seems to have given the area a wide berth and the classic regional fare is still very much alive” and Amen to that say I. The “classic regional fare” contains a lot of fish. As Normandy lies where the English Channel meets the Atlantic this is not surprising, but it is very pleasant even if you cannot always get a translation as to what a particular fish might be – I mean, do you know what a ‘Monk Fish’ is in French?.....well no more don’t I, but it is very tasty.
Our little house takes up one side of a village street. The village is quite well-known, as it was the first place ‘liberated’ after D-Day. It was an “omelette” which caused many eggs to be broken – for instance on our street side wall there is a little bronze plaque, which tells you that “on this spot (on 6th May 1944) a section of airborne engineers under Sgt Smith were shot down”. If you look at the high wall on either side of the road, you can see that it was a perfect shooting alley for the Waffen SS. This quiet spot was indeed a piece of “Dark and Bloody ground” in May 1944 when the section of Airborne Engineers marched into the Trap. Normandy was not ignorant of stirring times. The other day, Madame and I motored North to look at boarding kennels for the little dog. One of the compelling reasons for moving to Normandy was a regular ferry service to the family without the Eurostar flaking out in the Tunnel. As we drove North, through lush and rich-looking countryside, I was interested to see a lot of fortified farm steadings – against whom were they fortified? It should be remembered that this area is only c. 10 miles from the Channel coast and for centuries there was a strong tradition of piracy between Normandy and its’ cross-channel neighbours.
One of the comforting things to me about Normandy is that it is Cider Country. I was brought up at my grandmother’s house in Cornwall – it had its’ own cider press and every year it produced its’ own pressing – it was so sharp and sour that it was known as “Torfrey (the name of the house) Razor Blades”. Normandy produces an excellent commercial product. Some years ago we were staying in a house in the Bourbonnais and I was asked if - in England – we had “Ceeder?” “Bien sur” I replied, “most in the West Country, but you in France have Ceeder, the most excellent especially in Normandy.........” at this moment I was halted by a hefty kick on the shin – “No you fool – they are talking about AIDS”. Well it’s not my fault if the French can’t spell – I am still fond of Cider.
Our street is one of the principle roads out of town. Just beyond us there is a dual carriageway by-pass, a main route to Cherbourg. There is a daily passage of heavy lorries so it is fortunate that this road is sunk in a deep cutting. In the house, the thunder of heavy traffic is almost completely muffled – and a good job too.
So by and large and taking it all in all, we like Normandy and find it passing pleasant.
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Monday, 11 October 2010
Normandy - September 2010
Well – we’ve done it; we’ve moved. This is being written in Normandy. It is being written in long hand, because I can’t find my computer; it is undoubtedly in a box somewhere – along with most of our personal items.
The move was fairly painless. We found a firm called “The Moving Gentlemen of the Atlantic”. Their only fault, if fault it may be, was that they moved so fast that it became a problem – as it might be - a pause in the operation of teeth cleaning and by the time you returned to finish off the fangs, all the tooth brushing equipment would have been neatly packed away and has not been unpacked yet.
“The Gentlemen” took two days to pack our little house up.
We were a little sad. It has been our home for 5 years and by and large, we had been happy there. I worked it out that this had been my 17/18th move of house and we have firmly agreed that “THAT IS IT – no more!”
My most ‘interesting’ move was when I moved from Somerset to Yorkshire in 1975. Freddy Oram’s furniture van took the furniture. Johnny offered two horseboxes to carry the sundries – as it might be 6 horses, 4 couple of hounds, 2 goats, 4 terriers – and all the odds and sods that went with them. We were to set off at midnight and drive through the night – good idea, except that Lorry 1 sank to its’ axles beside the drive in Somerset. I had to rouse the next door farmer to haul us out with a tractor. That all went well until somewhere up the M1 when Lorry 2 got a puncture and we had to change a wheel on the hard shoulder in the black of night and streams of rain. I do not recommend this if you are seeking pleasure – and what is a new home if it not be a pleasure? I am pleased to say that over the next 5 years it did indeed become a pleasure and it became HOME.
Then we moved to France; well, it seemed a good idea at the time. We had had good hunting in France in the past. I have a weakness (one of many), in that I do not believe that things can change. France came as a nasty shock because things have changed and in some time – the last 20 years have seen a lot of changes. The biggest change in French hunting has been the Park system – large sections of woodland have been fenced off with animal proof netting – the result being that the animal of the chase is hunted round and round the interior of the fence until it is “taken”. I share the opinion of my neighbour who thinks poorly of fences, on the basis that they make it impossible to have a good hunt in the open.
When I first came to France there were no Parks and we used to have tremendous hunts. The Countess with whose hounds I used to hunt, had pretty poisonous opinions about ‘Park Keepers’, but as she and various members of her family owned most of the woodland where we hunted, the hunting was wild. That happy state no longer maintains. I can see the practical point of view for Parks. There is much more traffic than there was 20 years since, also bigger, faster roads for it to troll along. This does not make for better hunting. I remember making a 20 mile point with a pig from the upper Loire – 3 couple of hounds – 6 children and man who actually stuck the pig in a field of sugar beet. You just do not get hunts like that anymore, not with 15 foot of pig netting surrounding the hunting area.
All in all I found hunting in the Vienne, which is where we lived, very disappointing.
When it got about that we were moving to Normandy, people rubbed their noses with horny fingers and said “Ho! Ho!” I am still waiting to get a half decent hunt out of any of “them”, so perhaps I shall do better where there are not supposed to be ANY hunts – time alone will tell. Anyway here we are in Normandy.
We drove up here. It is a 4.5 hour trip. You go straight up the Paris motorway as far as Tours and then strike off through the flat land of Central France, where the traffic disappears until it drops you off into Normandy at Caen. Caen is not a place that I would want to visit again. We nearly had a nasty there.
We stopped for a bite at a Burger Bar. Mrs Poole took the Lucas terrier out for a walk and the little sod slipped his collar and had to be pursued across 3 lanes of Urban Motorway! Now this frightened all of us and the burger was a load of s...e anyway.
It was about an hour’s easy driving from Caen to France’s house where we were to be billeted. France is a lovely lady and is christened “France” because she was born in 1942 during the German occupation. Her father thought there was every chance that France would be ground down under the German occupation so he christened his daughter “France” so that the names would not be lost. She is a very jolly and kindly lady and it is a very comfortable billet – and from there we moved into our house.
Many people from the Vienne asked us why we should move to Normandy. The answer is very simple - the journey to England from Central France is a bugger. From Normandy there is a regular (and fast) ferry service to Southampton, Portsmouth, Poole or even Rosslare, all with good access to the family – not like the Eurostar Goat F..k that ruined our Christmas visit in 2009.
Normandy seems a pleasant spot to live and the house is also a pleasant spot on the edge of a village with all the mod cons that ancient persons like us need. The Viennese warned us that it would be colder here and wetter. “Edite” who runs the local taxi, says that much nonsense is talked about the Normandy climate – she said that it only rains twice a year – once in the Summer and once in the Winter.
“To Press” as we used to say in the Daily Telegraph, the weather has been very pleasant and equable.
The move was fairly painless. We found a firm called “The Moving Gentlemen of the Atlantic”. Their only fault, if fault it may be, was that they moved so fast that it became a problem – as it might be - a pause in the operation of teeth cleaning and by the time you returned to finish off the fangs, all the tooth brushing equipment would have been neatly packed away and has not been unpacked yet.
“The Gentlemen” took two days to pack our little house up.
We were a little sad. It has been our home for 5 years and by and large, we had been happy there. I worked it out that this had been my 17/18th move of house and we have firmly agreed that “THAT IS IT – no more!”
My most ‘interesting’ move was when I moved from Somerset to Yorkshire in 1975. Freddy Oram’s furniture van took the furniture. Johnny offered two horseboxes to carry the sundries – as it might be 6 horses, 4 couple of hounds, 2 goats, 4 terriers – and all the odds and sods that went with them. We were to set off at midnight and drive through the night – good idea, except that Lorry 1 sank to its’ axles beside the drive in Somerset. I had to rouse the next door farmer to haul us out with a tractor. That all went well until somewhere up the M1 when Lorry 2 got a puncture and we had to change a wheel on the hard shoulder in the black of night and streams of rain. I do not recommend this if you are seeking pleasure – and what is a new home if it not be a pleasure? I am pleased to say that over the next 5 years it did indeed become a pleasure and it became HOME.
Then we moved to France; well, it seemed a good idea at the time. We had had good hunting in France in the past. I have a weakness (one of many), in that I do not believe that things can change. France came as a nasty shock because things have changed and in some time – the last 20 years have seen a lot of changes. The biggest change in French hunting has been the Park system – large sections of woodland have been fenced off with animal proof netting – the result being that the animal of the chase is hunted round and round the interior of the fence until it is “taken”. I share the opinion of my neighbour who thinks poorly of fences, on the basis that they make it impossible to have a good hunt in the open.
When I first came to France there were no Parks and we used to have tremendous hunts. The Countess with whose hounds I used to hunt, had pretty poisonous opinions about ‘Park Keepers’, but as she and various members of her family owned most of the woodland where we hunted, the hunting was wild. That happy state no longer maintains. I can see the practical point of view for Parks. There is much more traffic than there was 20 years since, also bigger, faster roads for it to troll along. This does not make for better hunting. I remember making a 20 mile point with a pig from the upper Loire – 3 couple of hounds – 6 children and man who actually stuck the pig in a field of sugar beet. You just do not get hunts like that anymore, not with 15 foot of pig netting surrounding the hunting area.
All in all I found hunting in the Vienne, which is where we lived, very disappointing.
When it got about that we were moving to Normandy, people rubbed their noses with horny fingers and said “Ho! Ho!” I am still waiting to get a half decent hunt out of any of “them”, so perhaps I shall do better where there are not supposed to be ANY hunts – time alone will tell. Anyway here we are in Normandy.
We drove up here. It is a 4.5 hour trip. You go straight up the Paris motorway as far as Tours and then strike off through the flat land of Central France, where the traffic disappears until it drops you off into Normandy at Caen. Caen is not a place that I would want to visit again. We nearly had a nasty there.
We stopped for a bite at a Burger Bar. Mrs Poole took the Lucas terrier out for a walk and the little sod slipped his collar and had to be pursued across 3 lanes of Urban Motorway! Now this frightened all of us and the burger was a load of s...e anyway.
It was about an hour’s easy driving from Caen to France’s house where we were to be billeted. France is a lovely lady and is christened “France” because she was born in 1942 during the German occupation. Her father thought there was every chance that France would be ground down under the German occupation so he christened his daughter “France” so that the names would not be lost. She is a very jolly and kindly lady and it is a very comfortable billet – and from there we moved into our house.
Many people from the Vienne asked us why we should move to Normandy. The answer is very simple - the journey to England from Central France is a bugger. From Normandy there is a regular (and fast) ferry service to Southampton, Portsmouth, Poole or even Rosslare, all with good access to the family – not like the Eurostar Goat F..k that ruined our Christmas visit in 2009.
Normandy seems a pleasant spot to live and the house is also a pleasant spot on the edge of a village with all the mod cons that ancient persons like us need. The Viennese warned us that it would be colder here and wetter. “Edite” who runs the local taxi, says that much nonsense is talked about the Normandy climate – she said that it only rains twice a year – once in the Summer and once in the Winter.
“To Press” as we used to say in the Daily Telegraph, the weather has been very pleasant and equable.
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