Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Before piling up the wood, however, the
préau
, a kind of open barn affair, had to be tidied,
which I insisted on roping everyone in on, seeing as in my opinion they'd made it a bloody
mess in the first place. The
préau
is an important part of the property - wood store, hay loft,
bird sanctuary - and on the central column there are two inscriptions scratched into the stone.
It's always sobering re-reading them, but both are quite faded now and difficult to make out.
The first is either a call to arms as the Germans were sweeping through France, or a lament
at defeat.
'Les Allemand Son Antré A Chabris le 20 juin 1940 Apré une Resistanse de 7 heures
et...'[sic]
(The Germans entered Chabris on June 20, 1940 after a resistance of 7 hours and...)
And the second one is a similar rallying cry, just as the Normandy landings were taking
place and signed Riolland.
'6 juin 1944 les ameriquins ons débarquer pour chaser les allemans qui etet en france.'[sic]
(6 June, 1944. The Americans disembarked to chase off the Germans who were in France.)
They are, as far as it is possible to say, in different 'handwriting' and to my mind the latter is
an entreaty to avenge the death of the former and it makes me feel very humble. I feel like the
owner of something very valuable; that the place where we now live has a noble history that
we must preserve, a way of life that, my nomadic and bizarre lifestyle apart, must somehow
be kept.
And as we had a family moment around the inscriptions and tried to explain to the boys their
significance and a little of World War Two, the gunfire began.
I know! The irony of the situation wasn't lost on us either, as we hit the ground in blind pan-
ic. Not more than 15 yards away on the other side of the fence some hunters had gathered,
about twenty of them, and they must have let fire almost simultaneously. It was deafening and
terrifying. The animals, who follow us everywhere en masse, reacted in different ways: the
cats dived for cover under a hay bale; Toby shat himself on the spot and then started chasing
his own tail while Pierrot, too deaf to have heard the barrage even from this range but never
one to pass up the opportunity of a bit of sexual gratification, started rubbing his backside
on my head. Ultime began panicking in her stable and kicking the walls while Junior ran out
into the field and gave it his best 'Come on then, d'you want some?' neighing, which actually
seemed to abate the hunters, albeit briefly.
I hate the hunters; I know it's been a way of life here for centuries and I'm aware also that
it's exactly the way of life that those who wrote the inscriptions in the
préau
wanted to main-
tain, but there is something not only barbaric but farcical about seeing twenty grown men
(and they are all men) with their pristine, green hunting gear and their shiny guns enter battle
with... well, what exactly? The fearsome partridge? The dread, firebreathing pheasant? The
slavering, swivel-eyed raper of womanfolk that is the rabbit? It's a truly ridiculous sight that
is at once comical but also very scary; these people are on an armed jolly! This isn't paint-
