Language

I scrolled through my past articles to see if I had already railed against this phenomenon and was surprised to see I had not.  After 13 years it still gets my goat, it seems that just as I am feeling integrated, the French have a knack of putting me back in my place.
Today we had a meeting to organise our village fete in March.  The discussion turned to buying new decoration and the possibility of getting some "winflags".  If like me you don't know what this is google it.  Anyway one of my colleagues complained that the word was Anglo- Saxon and asked for its French translation.  He commented that he is always battling against these Anglicisms.  So in French its an "oriflamme", so now you know.   Another colleague commented that she found the French term more poetic.  To which I responded that this underlined the difference between English and French.  The French like poetic, literary terms, while the English prefer vocabulary that is punchy and has more of a buzz about it.
The same week I noticed an article in our village magazine commenting on a recent concert.  An Australian friend of ours is the lead singer.  His group sing a mix of rock and jazz classics in both French and English.  What disappointed me in the article was the line which said, ".. the accent of the Australian singer when he sang in French couldn't help but make the spectators smile."
Then my seven-year old comes home telling me that his teacher wants to meet us.  Apparently he had a bad mark in "dictée", a pillar of the French education system.  The teacher dictates a word and the children have to write it.  It seems that because we speak English at home he made mistakes in his dictation.   The fact that it is the first bad mark he has had in dictation does not seem to be an issue.  Now I have to contain my anger and avoid making the observation that good English is going to be more useful in a global economy than good French, as that will only make his situation worse.  Arrogant Englishman!
It may seem that I am being too sensitive, but I have had to put up with this "BS" for thirteen years.  The sensitivity of certain sections of French society about the domination of English.  During her nursery school we were warned about speaking two languages to our daughter, and confusing her!  While working as a English trainer I devised a course entitled "Anglais pour telephone et E-mail", only to be told by a colleague that I should have used the term "mel".  While I accept that it is frustrating for the French to see the language of their historic enemy dominating the world economy, I think they need to get over it as the Scandinavians, Chinese, Indians, Germans, etc have.  If not they could find themselves trailing far behind in an ever decreasing Francophonie.  As far more I am going to keep speaking English to my kids in the knowledge that being bi-lingual will serve them better than just speaking one language.

La sobriété heureuse

During my two year absence from this blog I made a discovery, Permaculture.  I have always appreciated nature and enjoyed growing plants.  So when we were looking to buy I insisted on having a garden.  For the last ten years I have grown some of our vegetables.  In addition, I have chickens who provide us with eggs, and a few years ago I started beekeeping.  It was during my internet searches for tips that I stumbled on Permaculture.

The more I read the more I became hooked.  I had been brought up to use classic gardening methods but here was method that seemed more respectful of the earth.  Permaculture believes in working with the natural system and not against it.  Rather than tilling the land, the objective is to provide a permanent green cover that protects the soil and micro- organisms, mimicking natural environments.  Chemical agents, particular those derived from petrochemicals are proscribed and even unnecessary.  Permaculture seeks to create a natural, productive balance.  After reading a range of books and blogs, I decided to take the plunge and follow a Permaculture course.  I spent ten days at a former silk farm near Montauban learning about Permaculture.  The participants were an eclectic mix; two middle aged men who were embarking on an eco- community project, an SNCF ticket salesman, a women who worked for the Ministry of Agriculture, some students and a number of people seeking to change their professional orientation.  Our trainers were an Englishman who had brought Permaculture to France, and lived in a caravan in Brittany, and a surveyor who walked around barefoot, and only ate uncooked fruit and vegetables.  However we all shared a common goal, that of living in a better world. The course was interesting and I returned home fired up with enthusiasm.  I built a Herb spiral in my garden and then helped my neighbour do the same.  I also constructed a Mandala garden, and experimented with no- dig garden beds.

Herb spiral

Mandala garden

At the same time, I continued my reading and discovered Pierre Rabhi.  He has been practicing agro- ecology for many years and promotes the idea of simple living as an alternative to our consumerist society.  His ideas are well presented in his film "Au Nom de la Terre" (unfortunately only available in French).   Watching the media with all the problems of extremism, environmental degradation, financial crisis, health problems, etc, the ideas of Pierre Rabhi speak to me and have led me to change my way of living.  My hope is that others will follow the example given by Pierre Rabhi.  I cannot agree with militant ecologists who try and force others to follow the same path.  Each person must find their own way, I have found a path that provides me with a reason for my existence.

11 Novembre

Here in France "Remembrance day" is always celebrated on the 11th of November, whatever day of the week it falls on.  It is a national holiday and every village and town has a service organised by the "Mairie" (town hall).  In our village the local "fanfare" (brass band) plays for both us and the neighbouring village so the two towns time their services differently.
This year we met outside the town hall at 10:30 before walking in procession to the war memorial.  The band led the way in their uniforms of cream trousers, blue blazers, and maroon ties and caps.  After them came the "Sapeurs- pompiers" (firemen) led by their flag bearer in his shiny, ancient helmet.  Behind the firemen a handful of anciens combattants (old soldiers) dressed in their best suits, adorned with medals and wearing the berets of their old regiments.  There are fewer soldiers every year and those that attend now are likely to have fought in France's ignoble colonial wars such as Algeria.  After the soldiers the local gendarmes are followed by the local councillors, led by the Mairie and his adjoints with their red white and blue sashes of office.  Finally the inhabitants of the village straggle behind.  The band play militaristic marching tunes and our procession mimics those poor souls who set out a hundred years ago.
When we arrive at the war memorial the band lines up in front, the sapeur- pompiers line up on the left and the anciens combatants and local councillors face them on the right.  The local schoolchildren are gathered behind the memorial facing the band.  The Maire makes a small speech, battling a recalcitrant sound system.  Then an ancien combattant reads out a letter written especially for the occasion by the President of his association.  Next the names of each villager killed in the first world war are read out by the schoolchildren.  It is poignant to hear the names of fathers and sons who both died.  I find myself wondering what it must have been like after the war in homes and farms where no males returned.
The next step is the laying of wreaths which is followed by a minutes silence, inevitably broken by the wail of a baby or a car speeding past.  Although many people turn out, many more seem to ignore the significance of the day and see it as a holiday.
Finally after a rendition of the national anthem, the militaristic "Marseilles", we are invited to the village hall for an aperitif of "Kir" (white wine and creme de cassis).  This pattern is played out up and down France in towns and villages as the country commemorates the lost generation of a horrific war we can hardly imagine.