Chapter (1) SUNSHINE AND STORMS.

MY LIFE CHANGED SUDDENLY AND I FOUND MYSELF ALONE IN A NEW COUNTRY. THESE ARE A FEW STORIES ABOUT MY LIFE DURING THAT PERIOD.

SUNSHINE AND STORMS

(This story is based on my time living in a small village in Provence, France. The actual names of many of the people I knew  have been changed to protect their privacy. )

 

 

This little road runs right through the Château grounds.

The wall on the left supports the field where courgettes were growing.

The little building on the right is the home of El Khanchouf.

 

In the mid summer of 1994, I had been working for Madam Sabran at the Château Des Oiseaux for 3 years. I was happy and enjoying my life. In that time many different people of varying nationalities had come and gone. I had met many, worked with some, and become close friends with a few.

This area of France, between the Massif Central and the river Rhône in the lower Rhône valley, is divided between many small wine producing vineyards. Most of them producing good quality wines, some of them producing excellent Château rated wines. The south side of the Rhône spread out onto a large flood plain that eventually ran away into the Camargue. The land is fertile and a great variety of fruits and vegetables are grown there. Huge fruit orchards stretched for many kilometres.

 Hedgerows are alive with birds and insects. Bright pink Cherry trees blossom in the spring along country lanes and in early summer offer huge dark red cherries. Ancient abandoned farms and homesteads hold half-strangled Almond and Apricot trees. It is even possible to find pomegranates growing wild which are decorated with golden baubles late into the autumn.  The huge Kakis tree at the end of one particular lane holds its glowing orange fruits high into clear blue skies right into December.

Quite often, when I had the time, I would spend a couple of hours foraging along lanes and the hillside tracks made by wild Boar.  I knew the location of most of the wild fruiting trees in the area and for most of the year it was possible to enjoy some delicious free meals. Some of my favourites were the bright red snow berries, found high up on chalky stone outcrops.  Wild Thyme grows everywhere but the most pungent is found out on rock ledges exposed to the sun. Possibly the most delicious berries are found on huge ash trees. Looking like miniature bunches of grapes the fruits start out white and slightly bitter but turn a deep purple in early autumn and have the most delicious sweet flavour.  Throughout the year a variety of mushrooms and fungi can be found and gathered without much effort.

    The seasonal workforce that harvested the vines and orchards changed with regular monotony and each season would bring a new batch of fresh expectant faces, and occasionally an old friend would reappear.

On my very first day in the vines back in the autumn of 1991 I had made the acquaintance of an Algerian lady called Aouria Decaux.

She was married, she was elegant, she was pretty and spoke a beautiful educated french. I was invited to dine with her and her family that same evening. Aouria lived with her french husband, Christian, and two sons in an old, small, converted 2 room barn at the end of a tree lined stone track. A small stream, shrouded by bamboo thickets, ran just feet from the side of the house. A large fig tree clung to the corner of their home. Several flower filled terracotta pots decorated the dry stony front approach. Cicadas chirped in the trees. I knocked on the grey wooden door. It was opened by a small boy with a huge beaming smile and curly blonde hair. The door was lower than normal and I had to bend slightly to enter. Inside the dim light from a small square window did nothing to hide a beautifully decorated home with many colourful African mats hanging from the walls. Coloured cushions, of all sizes were strewn across the wooden floor, which had been covered with many more of the circular African mats. It was cool and the air was filled with a delicious scent of spices. The small boy took my hand and led me in. Aouria greeted me with a traditional double cheek kiss.

It was then that I met her husband Christian for the first time. A rugged yet tender hand took mine in a warm handshake greeting. I didn't know it then but Christian was to become my closest lifelong friend. He is a man of rare character and intelligence.

The kitchen area had an old oak table against one wall, and a single dull brass tap, which hung over an ancient stone sink, providing their only source of water. Hanging precariously on the uneven walls was a selection of shelving, housing a variety of glass jars and bottles which were filled with powders, oils and foodstuffs of all colours and descriptions. 

The two boys, Mateus 8, and Hamil 6, were as chalk and cheese. Mateus was thin, tall, fair skinned with rich blond naturally curly hair and dark eyes, Hamil was dark skinned and more solidly built with short black hair, he had inherited more of his mothers Algerian genes.

We sat around the ancient oak table. Drank rich red wine and we ate a delicious meal of lamb couscous with vegetables, my first time. We chatted for several hours and it was soon dark outside. Christian insisted that I stayed the night. We all slept in the one room, on the floor, on coloured mats and covered by individual colourful blankets. It was an incredible experience for me and one I would enjoy again and again on occasions to come.

It would become apparent over the next few weeks, as I grew to know this wonderful family more, that they lived their own version of, what we would call, the simple life. They were not rich, their concession to the modern world was an old television, which they used mainly to keep up with world events, and yet they were by far the happiest people I'd ever met.

The Sabran family had been producing fine Château wines here for 3 generations. The farm now consisted of just 45 hectares of prime wine producing land on the edge of the Massif Central and sitting on the northern banks of the Rhone River.

When Madam Sabrans' late husband, George, had been alive, the 'Des Oiseaux' estate had been much larger.  The vineyards and vegetable fields had extended to over 150 hectares. More than 40 North Africans lived and worked on the property. Included in the family businesses were several small hotels,  retail wine shops and a perfumery,  in diverse regions across France.

After the sudden and untimely death of Gerard Sabran, there ensued a family feud between his two children, Sylvianne his daughter and Gibert his son. Both had wanted to be the sole inheritor but Gilbert Sabran had other ideas. Sylvianne had been married to a Corsican of dubious character, who had aspirations of being lord of the manor. When the will had been read, Gerard had made it clear that Pascal's husband was to have no share in the property or any say in the running of the business. Gerard had wished that his children should run the businesses together.

 In fact Gerard had left a third share to his son, a third to his wife, and a third to his baby grandson Jean Baptiste, with Sylvianne as guardian of her sons inheritance until his 18th birthday. Sylvianne's husband didn't stay around for very long once it was made clear that he would receive no inheritance and have no influence within the business. He left shortly after and they divorced 2 years later. Unfortunately Gerard's' son didn't agree with his late father's will. He believed in the ancient system of first male born to inherit all. There followed a lengthy 7-year life changing battle for ownership which ended with the properties and lands being split and more than half of all assets being sold off to pay legal debts and other taxes.

This was a time of deep distress for Madam Sabran. Her children had fallen apart and the family had lost all but 2 plots of land and 2 properties. Their wine business suffered too and it would take years to reach the level of sales that would support Madam Sabran and her daughter in the manner to which they were accustomed.

The two siblings now lived just 1000 metres apart, each on their side of the little road that ran the length of the valley. They had hardly spoken a word to each other for almost ten years. In fact they were still in disagreement over a rusting old tractor that had lain in a hedgerow for more than 15 years.

Now, although in her late 60’s, Madam Sabran was an active and well-respected member of the local community. She was also formidable voice within the wine producing families of this part of the Côte du Rhône.

Her daughter however had been a spoiled child who had never quite accepted that the good life was now over. Her jealousy and mistrust of everyone had cost her dear. Her marriage had ended in divorce, she was alienated from the local business community, and her two children were unpopular. They had been allowed to develop and grow with little or no parental control or guidance. The children also had political ideas and views way past their years which many found disturbing.  But Sylvianne was beautiful with a fine figure and I had been attracted to her from the first.

I must say that today Sylvianne's daughter has grown into a beautiful, intelligent and intellectual young woman any mother would be so proud of.

By contrast, Sylvianne's mother, Madam Sabran, was a woman of style and decorum with high moral values and old-fashioned virtues. She was not an easy person to understand.  Most of her beliefs and ideals were straight out of 1940’s occupied France. She was old style bourgeois and proud of it.

Her Father had been a supporter of the Vichy government that had capitulated when German forces marched into France. He had owned one of the largest handmade roof tile factories in southern France. Almost every building in Provence, Languedoc and the Gard was roofed in tiles produced by his factory. It had allowed him to accrue a considerable fortune. Much of this was now spent. 

Now in his late eighties he lived in semi squalor in just a couple of rooms in a huge mansion a few kilometres from his daughter. The house was neglected and falling down, set away from the road behind high stonewalls and a steel fence. The gardens were massively overgrown with weeds and brambles and it had been many years since any of the trees had seen a set of pruning shears. This had resulted in an almost impenetrable tight green jungle. I had had the privilege of meeting this venerable old gentleman on several occasions. He spoke with a strong payesans dialect and sometimes I found it hard to completely understand him. He was old and frail and for the most part bed ridden. However, his mind was as acute as it had ever been and he had supported his daughter during the fight for possession of the properties against her son. It was difficult to see him like this now knowing he and his family had once lived a privileged wealthy life in a grand mansion with a host of servants. Even the war had not made much of a difference to his business. It was the arrival of machine made, flat tiles, from northern Italy that had delivered the coup de grace for his business. They were stronger, lighter and above all much cheaper to produce.                   

There would still be a need for heavy handmade curved tiles but it had been reduced to a few replacements for those protected buildings and farms that hadn't been converted. Today the art of handmade tiles is lost. Those buildings that might need a few can be supplied from recycling yards.

The only other permanent resident at the Château was Madam Sabran's right hand man of 18 years, El Khanchouf Mohammed. A tall strong Moroccan with Egyptian ancestry. For all of his 45 years Khanchouf had a soft round baby face that beamed smiles. This was in stark contrast to most other North African workers in this area of France, who had rugged dry wrinkled faces from a lifetime of harsh living and exposure to the intense sunlight and dry arid climate. Khanchouf was a bit of an enigma in other respects too, more of which I’ll explain in another chapter.

The Château, now just a shadow of its former glory, was originally built as a monastery and used as such for more than 200 years. A huge dull buff coloured stone building, standing in a large garden completely surrounded by a two-metre high wall of the same ash coloured stone. The house had been eroded by time. It was imposing but didn't have the tall spires that would have signified its status or to distinguish it from many other large old buildings. The 4-story tower at one end was now derelict and uninhabitable. The ancient parapets were crumbling and dangerous. A massive scotch pine stood majestically at the steel-gated entrance. It towered above the Château and madam Sabran had used it as a kind of trademark on her wine labels and advertising.

The Château is situated below the small mountain village of St. Alexandre.  The village sits high atop a conical mound of rock, just 4 kilometres from the ancient Roman town of Pont St Esprit, with its famous 700 year old, 20 arch bridge spanning the Rhône River.

This long stone bridge was a vital crossing point on the Rhône during WW2 for the occupying German and Italian forces, passing back and forth to bases in Italy. The bridge was bombed on numerous occasions by the allies to stop troop movements and reinforcement and supply convoys.

On one such raid, by low-level Mosquito bombers, the allies missed the bridge completely dropping their bombs late, destroying many of the tightly packed houses and businesses on the town side of the river. Many local French residents were killed on this night and, although 50 years had now passed by, this mistake by the allies was not forgotten nor really ever forgiven.

Actions like these had brought the war to an otherwise relatively peaceful area and had left many bitter feelings amongst the local population. These are still a factor in the attitude some French people have to English visitors to their region, and sometimes it is difficult to break through and get close to the local payesans. Sad to say but anti-Semitism is also fairly common amongst the older payesan families. I generally found that this was due to long held beliefs fuelled by ignorance and tradition, rather than any actual factual causes.

This particular region in southern France is caught between the Rhône and Ardêche rivers. It is surrounded on three sides by high hills and mountains and is breathtakingly majestic.

The area is popular with tourists from all over the world and boasts some of the most spectacular river gorges you are ever likely to see. Heavy rains in the 'Massif Central' can cause huge flash floods and water levels can rise so quickly to heights of 10 metres or more within a matter of tens of minutes.  Tourists camping along the Ardêche river sand banks can suddenly find themselves racing to get to higher ground to save their cars and caravans, and their lives.

During one particularly violent and prolonged storm, lasting several days, many dozens of people disappeared after the heavy rains caused huge flooding across vast areas of southern France. From one of the more accessible rocky peaks I was able to see the extent of the flooding. From horizon to horizon in any direction the land was under a silver sheet of water. Crops were damaged or destroyed, many lively hoods put in jeopardy. Roads and bridges had been washed away. At the mountain village of Pont Romaine, an entire section of village vanished from the mountainside.  A few months later I watched a video of this incident taken by a tourist safe on a hillside. It showed clearly as people and cars in a supermarket car park were washed away along with the entire supermarket as the wall of water and debris, many metres high, cascaded at speed down the very narrow valley destroying houses on its way down. Many people were never found as their bodies had been washed out into the Mediterranean. Cars and caravans were being found afloat up to ten kilometres out into the sea.

This was one of the worst disasters the region had ever known. Many campsites were forced to invest in safety procedures and new roads to allow tourists to escape quickly and safely should anything like this happen again. Two years later a wall of water 50 feet high careered down the near vertical sided Ardêche river gorge. Thanks to the new safety systems the alert was given in good time and although several tents and caravans were washed away no one was hurt or lost. It was later stated in the news that the wall of water had reached speeds in excess of 100 k.p.h.

Author's Note

Remember all comments are happily accepted.

Reviews

[Kathy Van Kurin]

MAD ENGLISHMAN,
"Chptr. 1, sunshine and Storms"
The title chosen lends itself to what is to come, Yes? Of course, at this point I have not gotten any further into this tale.
Your experiences so far are so lovely and defined. The people you've known and even the natural world are like personal friends, for you describe them with intense feeling.
I was intrigued by your friendship with Madame Sabrane and her husband Christian. The opening of your story focusing upon they and their two young boys; Mateus and Hamill, sets a stage of vitality.
It's nice you still have friendship within this lovely family. It is so nice to hear happy things like this occurring in the lives of others.
I like the idea of hedgerows and the history concerning the vineyard and Sabane family. It is absolutely clear and oh so colorful.
So much detail but also the memoir concerning the history of such widespread flooding was just so crazy to think about.
The Chateau, the changes happening within it's established family and their dynamics was heart wrenching and at the same time inspiring! And the bridge!
Madame Sabranne's father had been a supporter of the occupying govt? That is really interesting. I will need to read this again as it is history.
I can tell that a lot of love and care went into this chapter.
Blessings to you sir! kathy

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Dear Kathy. I'm so full of emotion at reading your wonderful comments. For me to be able to share a little of the experiences I had, with you, a comparative stranger, is so very pleasing. Thank you. I hope you will find other chapters as interesting. Have a wonderful day.

[Kathy Van Kurin]

You bet I will! And thank you for your honest upfront story telling. It does warm the heart! Blessings, kathy

[Kimmi Frost]

This is beautifully written. It is very descriptive and I can clearly imagine all of the trees, hedges and farms. Very good :)

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Thank you. I have such wonderful memories of my life there. I've tried to make this story as interesting and entertaining as I can. I hope you make it through all 6 episodes. Clive.