My people had a friend who was at our Consulate in Dieppe (N France), and he knew of a family in the town who were looking for an 'exchange student' for their son Didier. He thought we might be interested.
The family in question were described as genteel and pleasant. The father was an architect, and they lived in one of his own designed houses overlooking the town and sea. They also claimed to have some 'gallows' in the garden; which later turned-out to be swings. They sounded quite suitable.
So, aged about 10, off I went to stay with Didier's family. I think I was to stay for two weeks; in which time I was no doubt expected to learn to speak perfect French.
After the first week we set off on a trip. We headed West along the Normandy coast, then South to the Loire valley, then East towards Paris, then back again North to Dieppe. It was a trip that lasted about four days, and was a wonderful experience.
At one stage we visited a restaurant where nets-full of wriggling tiny silver fish were pulled out of a small stream (which ran through the middle of the outdoor sitting area). These were floured, then instantly deep fried. Big platefuls of these tiny fried fish regularly arrived at each table with wedges of Lemon. I'd never seen anything like it before, and found the whole experience fascinating (and delicious).
Didier's family were totally charming, and after my two week stay, he came to stay with us in Surrey.
Above is Didier, me, and our cat Tiddles (all our black cats were called Blackie, and all the tabbies were called Tiddles), at our Surrey home. I've always wondered what happened to Didier. I've looked for him on the net, in the phone book, etc, but no sign of him anywhere. I would liked to have thanked him for the important part his parents played in forming my love of France.
p.s. Those jeans I'm wearing were the best ever. They were very faded, very baggy, and very comfortable. I loved them. They don't make them like that any more!
Handsome couple of lads you were! And we used to name all our dogs "Blackie" when I was a child. With six children I'm sure my folks got tired of coming up with names for something as transient as a pet.
ReplyDeleteI think we were the same. Blackie and Tiddles it was!
DeleteThe thing I remember about that (apart from the gallows) was that mother and I went with you to Dieppe and were invited to a meal with the family. After each small course mother kindly collected the plates which Mrs.? (I am trying to remember their surname) had to wash and bring back for the next course. We later realised that all the courses should have been served on the same plates. Poor lady.
ReplyDeleteI can actually remember that happening. Poor woman, she must have been exhausted.
DeleteThere is your story: love of France, people, food, cats...and jeans.
ReplyDeleteYou look like one of your grandsons, or rather he looks like you. Lovely picture of you; you were smiling!
Greetings Maria x
My grandson George (in Australia) looks very much like me. I think he's a bit of a wild boy too!
DeleteThis season 'mum's jeans' are in fashion. We bought some for teenage grandaughter. Baggy just like yours......with holes in the knees!
ReplyDeleteLike your fishy story. So different from England I imagine
I suppose one can order 'whitebait' in certain UK restaurants, but this was direct from the stream and into the boiling oil. It was a revelation.
DeleteYour story of the gallows in the garden reminds me of how I came to have the village stocks in my garden. A local man had made them, they were replica of the historical stocks that once stood on the village green, but for some reason, I think it was to do with road safety, as cars would park on a corner, he couldn't put them in the original position, so he put them in my front garden which was the nearest suitable place where they remained for many years. Maybe they are still there. I like the cat! She's looking straight into the lens!
ReplyDeleteIn our Surrey village there was an ancient small square 'lock-up' by the village pond (look up Lingfield, if you're interested). Like stocks, it was a permanent reminder to young hooligans of where they could end-up!
DeleteDidier looks very French in his jacket. Lovely picture. When I was 17 I went out with a boy whose mother was French, the boy I mentioned recently who lived in Banstead, Surrey, and I had my first white bait with him. He would come round with a bag full of little fish from one of the Norwich fish stalls, dip the fish in flour and fry it and nearly set the kitchen on fire because he said the fat had to be very hot. After a few minutes we had to sit and eat it immediately. All totally new to me but I loved it.
ReplyDeleteHe must have been the son of the restaurant owner above! That's exactly how we had them (other than they were alive)
DeleteI found this post fascinating for a number of reasons: foremost the difference between your and my experience of being abroad as a youngster. My parents never went further than Ireland and yet they loved travelling. I don't think there was a single interesting thing in Wales, Scotland and England north of Watford they hadn't visited. Their view was that there was just so much to see in this country they wanted to do that first and still hadn't finished well into their eighties. My brother who read Librarianship and French at Uni and completed his librarianship dissertation in French has never owned a passport. I was the roaming sheep of the family but I never went abroad until I was in my 20s. Mind you I made up for it with my life in New Zealand.
ReplyDeleteHaving lived over here for well over half my life, there's an awful lot I've not seen in the UK. Your folks were probably right.
DeleteDid they cover the fish in flour whilst still alive?
ReplyDeleteYes. It was all very well organised and fast. Out of the water, dust with flour, fry!
DeleteThat's fresh.
DeleteDidier looks so warm and happy, with a wide open smile. You look ever so English, and why should you not, as you were. Fish is pretty quick to the table here, but not that quick.
ReplyDeleteDidier was a nice boy. I don't know why we didn't keep in touch. It's probably too late now.
DeleteEven at the age of 10, you were fascinated with unique food.
ReplyDeleteIt was probably the first time I'd experienced such rustic gourmet delights. I'd eaten in good restaurants back in Blighty; but nothing like that.
DeleteWhat lovely memories. I had an equally special time in Nantes and St Nazaire Easter 1976, tasting oysters for the first time. Nowadays I never pass up the opportunity for a Colchester or Whitstable oyster eaten metres from the landing place and accompanied by a glass of cold English fizz. When Laurente arrived in Twickenham in the summer months she and her fellow compatriots went absolutely wild in the discos on Richmond riverbank. It really was the meeting of two very different cultures and these teenage French Catholic girls had never known freedom from parental or teacher supervision. (Staying in the medieval hilltop town of Pisciotta overlooking the sea in the Cilento region south of Naples last October we ate fresh fried alici every day. Alici are what we call anchovies but bigger than you find preserved in oil in the UK. Absolutely delicious to taste and swimming from the boat amidst clouds of these tiny silvery fish was just magical.)
ReplyDeleteI very nearly bought a box of Oysters this morning. My problem is opening the wretches; I'm hopeless. I need my oldest son here. Otherwise; Yum!
DeleteAs a five year old I went to Le Touquet with my parents. The hotel we stayed at on the front I remember so clearly for three reasons... watching a fellow diner eat a globe artichoke with vinaigrette, how exotic that must have appeared to a child of the Fifities. And the taste of the bread and butter. I can taste it now as I type this. The flavour of both has never been replicated, nor even close.
ReplyDeleteLX
Unsalted butter was so different to English butter. I'll never forget my first Croissant, butter, and apricot jam. It was heaven.
DeleteHappy days eh Cro.
ReplyDeleteThey certainly were Weave; not a care in the world!
DeleteI remember as a child going to Argneat near Volvic staying with a family. Ye gods one evenings meal was snails in garlic!. I was used to mince n tatties!. Could not eat it!.drunk so much water to get them down until the dad noticed n put a stop to it. Next night family had hutches of bunnies one was killed in front of me n served up!. Ye gods i vomited !.french Mum was angry i would not eat bunny stew!. But the dad understood n gave me fried egg sandwich!.
ReplyDeleteFunnily, I embraced all that. I loved eating new and strange things (I still do). However, they shouldn't have killed Bunny in front of you; that's plain silly.
DeleteAh, the carefree days of youth. Y'all are two handsome lads! I love the cat names. How easy was that? :-)
ReplyDeleteI was raised by Southern drunks. We named our pets (no joke) after beer: Falstaff, Jax, Pabst, Busch, Hamm & Miller to name a few. (We named our pigs Pork Chop)! All the black cats were Cajun French: T-neg, which basically translates from the words for 'petite & black'. Mama still calls black cats T-neg. Great post! xo
I have to admit that two kittens I had were named after my local brewery back in the UK. King and Barnes. They both came to terrible ends!
DeleteLOL! Fate!! I do recall that the dog, Falstaff, got run over by our 1954 Chevy truck because he liked to sleep under it, sadly. He was one of the few dogs who got a full-on Baptist funeral. Bless his heart! LOL! xo
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