Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
secateurs gave me a chill every time I looked at them. When Sean was out pruning I kept
checking to see that he wasn't a blob of blood on the frost.
Sophiawasingreatformandlovingschool.Atfirstshestruggledtosayherteacher'swhole
name, Mademoiselle Fournier, and would regularly call her 'Fournier' which sounded hil-
arious and unwittingly insolent.
A week before the annual Christmas outing a pressurised letter appeared in Sophia's note-
book demanding proof of her school insurance. School insurance is obligatory and cov-
ers damage or personal injury caused to your child or that caused by your child to others
on outings of extra-curricular activities. I had given them the number of the policy sever-
al months before so I couldn't understand what the problem was. Mademoiselle Fournier
explained patiently that we needed an official letter from the insurance company as proof.
Thereafter she spoke to me as if I was one of her students, slowly and with great enunci-
ation, but in a kind rather than 'school marm' way. She regularly checked I had understood
the messages in Sophia's schoolbook by asking the same thing in several different ways.
She was delightful, as was Martine, her assistant.
Martinewasafifty-year-oldwomanwithlongblondehair,agoodphysiqueandincredible
enthusiasm for life. She was always dressed impeccably and I wondered how she looked
so good with a horde of three-year-olds to look after. I couldn't keep clean for longer than
a few minutes each morning before having something thrown over or thrown up on me.
Martine was a wonder and she had a soft spot for Sophia, greeting her every morning with
a huge smile, the obligatory kisses on each cheek and a cry of 'Ma Kiki!' Each time Sophia
wore a dress she exclaimed,
'Oh, si belle, si jolie, cette petite robe!'
On hearing Martine's
compliment aboutherprettydress,Sophia'sfacewouldlightupandshewouldskipintothe
classroom. Even the more austere
maîtresse
would furnish kisses to the kids in the morn-
ing.
Not only was Sophia learning to speak French like a native, she was also learning to eat
like a native. Every day at school she had a three-course lunch consisting of, for example,
salade d'endives
,
boeuf bourguignon
and
tarte aux pommes
. Sean and I would salivate over
her menu which was dutifully copied to the parents at the start of the month on a single-
page calendar meal-planner, presumably to make sure we didn't feed them the same gour-
met feast that evening. There was little chance of that.
Ellie was ecstatic to fetch Sophia from school each day with me. We'd arrive at school and
they would greet each other with glee.
'Mummy, I don't love Ellie,' said Sophia one day on our way home.
