As a one time student of history I have found it extremely difficult to get to grips with the history of my part of France for the last 80 odd years. WW2 and its afters are extremely obscure here, I decided that this was very likely because lots of the witnesses or their close descendants,were still alive. In various books written in English I would get some hints- That Jessica Mitford’s husband had spent some time in an internment camp in Argeles , that someone in the Haut Languedoc was involved in running Jews to Spain, mere hints but very little history. Last year Manuel Vals opened an important memorial in Rivesaltes which we visited this afternoon. Called Le Memorial it is the remains of an internment camp in Rivesaltes. When you arrive all you see is an area of ruined Nissan Huts, but underneath in a streamlined bunker is a magnificent museum devoted to refugees everywhere but particularly to the waves of refugees who were housed (some against their will) here. Republican Spaniards fleeing Franco, Jews and Gitanes interned by Nazi France,German prisoners of war, and finally Harkis from Algeria. Go there and see for yourself. I feel the corner of a veil has been lifted on a forbidden topic.

We always have a small pile of wood left over after our brief, three month, winter which has to stay and weather gently until December.

Here is this years, blending in nicely with the wall and the new tiles.

The Staff notations on the wall are old flower pot hangers which we found in the garden ten years ago and I think far too pretty to be hidden with flowers.

From Greg Scott · Sydney, NSW, Australia ·

Here are the top nine comments made by sports commentators during the Olympics that they would like to take back:

1. Weightlifting commentator: “This is Gregoriava from Bulgaria . I saw her snatch this morning during her warm up and it was amazing.”

2. Dressage commentator: “This is really a lovely horse and I speak from personal experience since I once mounted her mother.”

3. Paul Hamm, Gymnast: “I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother and father.”

4. Boxing Analyst: “Sure there have been injuries, and even some deaths in boxing, but none of them really that serious.”

5. Softball announcer: “If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again.”

6. Basketball analyst: “He dribbles a lot and the opposition doesn’t like it. In fact you can see it all over their faces.”

7. At the rowing medal ceremony: “Ah, isn’t that nice, the wife of the IOC president is hugging the cox of the British crew.”

8. Soccer commentator: “Julian Dicks is everywhere. It’s like they’ve got eleven Dicks on the field.”

9. Tennis commentator: “One of the reasons Andy is playing so well is that, before the final round, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them . . . Oh my God, what have I just said?”

In 1992, 24 years ago, our friend Isabel Healy, gave us a Christmas present of a marvellous compendium of poems called “Lifelines”.

These were favourite poems gathered from famous people (among them Isabel herself) and edited by Niall MacMonagle and some of his pupils in Wesley College- this particular version (I think it was the third volume) had a foreward by Seamus Heaney.

This book has travelled with us over the years (this would be its third house) and always finds a spot in my favourite room for reading poetry-the loo.
It reached the loo in our bathroom in Le Presbytere this summer and I have been dipping in since then. As usual I have discovered a poem which I never remember seeing before, this one the selection of Judi Dench and written in 1917 by Edward Thomas.

It is a very English poem and just resounds with the sounds of a warm English summer’s day, I also love the way it shoves in rhymes, unexpectedly and almost playfully.

Adlestrop

Yes. I remember Adlestrop
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat, the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

But I do love a tale with a nice coincidence in the tail !
Having very late in life “discovered” Edward Thomas’ “Adlestrop” I went looking to find something about this, previously unknown to me, poet.

He is often labelled a “War Poet” although rather older than most, being in his forties and an established family man when war was declared.

His friend and neighbour in England, the poet Robert Frost, headed back to his native America at the start of the war and Thomas was left agonising whether he, although too old for compulsary conscription, should volunteer for King and Country.
While in this dilemma Frost sent him a copy of his latest poem which , coincidentially is also in the same selection of Lifelines in which I found Adlestrop.
This poem Thomas took as a sign from the fates and promptly signed up and sailed to France where he was very soon killed in a battle near Calais.

The poem from Frost which inspired his death is also a favourite of mine;
The Road not Taken.

When we bought our house in 2006 we resolved to do absolutely nothing to the house for a year until we had experienced living in it it for ourselves. When we bought there was a loo, probably from the 1900’s, inserted in the end of our long front hall.We soon realised that, as most of our daily living was done on the terrace where the window of the loo opened, that all us Irish people were ashamed to tinkle within earshot of other people. So we took the loo out and restored the original back porte fenetre on to the terrace. The added bonus was this lovely internal vista in the house.

Last night, guided by the Maire, Thezan started a new tradition.
Over the last five years or so the Mairie have been decorating walls in the village with Trompe l’Oeil- we now have five so last night the Maire decided to give us a tour and they planted actors on the way to animate the pictures and tell us their story.
Great fun, bravo Thezan.

All seven Dwyers are pictured here celebrating their 500th birthday in Cork.
For other number nerds here are the figures, you do the sums:
L to R:
Deirdre (76), George(74), Valerie (72) David and Fifi (Twins-71) Teddy (69),Martin (67)

This is a copy of a blog I put up eight years ago when the presbytere was still very much a work in progress.
Here I contrast these shots with up to date ones, taken from more or less the same angle.

Even though the place still looks extremely rough, and rather better in the flesh than in the shots, I accept that, if only to compare with the finished product, these should be published.

This is one I am rather proud of, a door which was never there before. We found in the attic and , despite his protests we persuaded the builder to install it.
It now looks as if it was there for ever.

This is a long shot of the Kitchen /living /diningroom.
The plumber has erected a tempory sink at the end for us for the summer as the kitchen proper won’t be installed until October.
Very much a work in progress this.

This bedroom, which, for obvious reasons we call the fireplace room, at Clive’s insistance and again despite the builders objections, we cleared the false walls at both sides so that the fireplace again stands proud.
It makes a great difference.

Just to give you an idea of how filthy and unfinished the house is we were there on Saturday at lunchtime and picniced in the garden rather than anywhere in the house

Blog entry six years ago today.

I knew they were going to give a Chopin Recital on our tiny rouelle, Del Catet, as part of the local arts festival.
They arrived three days ago and created a little concrete plinth for the piano.
(things are not done by halves here)

I was watching for the moment and was delighted when this van pulled up outside our house and disgourged a piano at the top of the Del Catet.
I knew I was going to be disappointed out of a “Right said Fred” moment when I saw that it was carried on a little caterpiller called a Pianoplan, this was possibly designed for getting Grand Pianos down stone rouelle steps.

The Pianist and I watched them as they rolled it down the steps.
“Tis the pity of God ” I said to him in French ” That you didn’t take up the concert flute or the trumpet ”
He laughed, insincerely.

No sooner was it upright in the bottom but he began to practice.
A truly magical moment as the walls captured and magnified the sound and threw it up into the Place del Eglise

Soon enough the crowds started to gather.

Eventually there was a sizeable audience.

The pianist, who was called Francois-Michel Rignol, played beautifully.
First the standard Chopin waltzes and then some absolutely marvellous sonatas.

Magic.