Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The next hour was one of the longest of our lives, though gradually the artificial energy
burst died down and once again calm, or as near as possible, was restored, just in time for
their parents to collect them.
'Thank you, Daddy,' said Maurice, when he found me later slumped drunkenly in the orch-
ard, the sheer hell of the afternoon still etched in my face, 'that was the best party ever!'
I looked at him, tears welling in my eyes, 'I'm really glad you enjoyed it, son. I really am,
because there is no way, no way on earth, we are ever doing that again!'
'Ha!' he laughed running off. 'You said that last year!'
I did too.
Late spring and early summer is fête season in France. It seems that there are more Bank
Holidays
(jours fériés)
than actual work days, which is a good thing, and the
fête de l'école
is probably the family social event of the year around here; the annual end of school year
production by the middle school is held in the cavernous
salle des fêtes
and is open to the
general public as well if they're prepared to buy tickets. It is, to put it mildly, a world away
from the school plays that I was ever involved in.
There's no crushing attempt at forcing nine- to ten-year-olds to interpret Molière or, as in my
case, Goldoni's
A Servant of Two Masters
which is a subtle and nuanced piece in the hands
of professionals but which was grudgingly 'stropped' through in our all-boys comprehensive
and we had even volunteered for the roles. There were no volunteers here, however, as the
whole school was roped in and Samuel, who had played the major role the previous year, was
largely relegated to the chorus, much to his chagrin. He has, since last year's triumph, set his
heart on becoming an actor and therefore being asked to 'fill in' a succession of minor char-
acters was difficult for him but possibly good practice for the potentially lean years to come.
Of course, the danger with insisting that every child play a role (sometimes quite obviously
against their will) is that the quality may dip occasionally as some poor kid, feeling press-
ganged into public performance, may just offer up their lines in much the same way as a host-
age might be forced to read a eulogy by their captors. The words are there, but the subtext
and the body language just scream 'For the love of God, help me please!'
Last year's spectacle was a sprightly production about the people of the world; there were
good songs, some nice set pieces and the 'message' about getting on with different people was
clear and not too heavy. This year, however, was a more ambitious project. A new departure
from the traditions of message and parable; this year they decided to dramatise their school
trip. Like I say, it was ambitious. The trip to Île d'Oléron for five days in March had already
left its mark with Samuel's virus but this was an opportunity to show those who hadn't gone,
us parents in other words, what exactly had taken place. The fact that the vast majority of
'us parents' were relieved not to have been there at all and had in fact enjoyed a few days of
relative peace and quiet wasn't considered, as here were the full five days in minute detail.
