La Vie En France

Christmas traditions in FranCe

by Sue Burgess

Well, by now you must have noticed that Christmas is just around the corner. « Guirlandes, sapins et illuminations de Noël » garlands, Christmas trees and Christmas lights decorate the streets and town buildings.

« Les décorations de Noël » Christmas Decorations The French tend to decorate their houses for Christmas from the 1st December « premier décembre ». Children open a window on their Advent Calendar « calendrier de l’Avent ». There is usually a chocolate behind each window. Families dress a Christmas tree « un sapin de Noël » in which they hang tinsel des guirlandes and baubles « des boules ». Some families set up a Christmas Crib « une crèche », which they place near the tree. . Traditionally the cribs were set up in the churches but in the years that followed the Revolution, these cribs were often forbidden. In Provence, small coloured figurines made out of clay, called santoun (« petits saints » - little saints in the language of Provence) appeared so that people could recreate the cribs at home. This tradition which was inspired by an Italian practice spread quickly around France. Today the tradition of « santons » is still very much part of Christmas in Provence and there are « Foires aux Santons » - the most famous being in Marseille.

Les marchés de Noël Christmas Markets The most famous Christmas market is the one held in Strasbourg. The town has been declared the capital of Christmas « capitale de Noël ». Strasbourg Christmas market is the oldest Christmas market in France « le plus ancien marché de Noël en France » It was held for the first time in 1570. Before that there had been a market organised for Saint-Nicolas on the 6th December, but when the Protestant reform outlawed this it was replaced by the Christkindelsmärik (« marché de l’enfant Jésus » market of the infant Jesus in Alsacien dialect).

Le repas du Réveillon et du jour de Noël Christmas Eve and Christmas Day meals On the evening of the 24th families get together for the « Réveillon de Noël ». At midnight « minuit », all the members of the family wish each other Happy Christmas « joyeux Noël » and exchange gifts « des cadeaux ». In France, the Christmas meal « le repas de Noël », is traditionally made up of : before dinner drinks « l’apéritif », as a starter « en entrée » : oysters « des huîtres », foie gras, snails « des escargots » or smoked salmon « saumon fumé ». The main course, «le plat principal » is often turkey and chestnuts « dinde, accompagnée de marrons ». The most popular sweet « le dessert le plus populaire » is the Yule log cake « la bûche ».

In Provence, the tradition of the 13 desserts still exists « la tradition des Treize desserts ». These are • des noix walnuts • des figues séchées dried figs • des raisins secs raisins • des dattes dates • de la pâte de coing quince jelly sweets • fruits confits dried fruits and fruit jellies • une fougasse a savoury bread made often with olives • du nougat blanc white nougat • du nougat noir black nougat with grilled almonds and caramelised honey • du nougat rouge red nougat with pistachios and rose water • des calissons sweets from Provence made of melon jelly fruit, covered in almond paste and royal icing • des oranges, oranges,clémentines ou clementines and mandarines tangerines

• un melon d’eau a water melon

Life in 79

by Stephen Shaw One Must Do Something to Kill Time

When our two year stewardship of 'The DSM' magazine came to an end, we found we had lots of lovely time on our hands. I'm not a golfer and Anna, my wife, doesn't like gardening (she will sit on the lawn mower, for a couple of hours, but that's it). So time began to drag.

Anna announced she needed 'a new project'. This made me nervous as her new projects usually involve me. How right I was.

For the past eighteen months we have been renovating a small town house. Our life has revolved around the project; everyday scraping, sanding, filling, painting - I don't own an article of clothing that doesn't have a dab of paint on, I was constantly picking flakes of lead paint from my hair and don't get me started on my fingernails.

As well as learning things about renovation (like never doing it again), we have learnt things about each other. Yes, I won't lie, our marriage has been sorely tested. Arguments have occurred and tears have been shed (although, to be fair, Anna always apologises when I start crying).

At the start of project looking at the crumbling walls, leaky roof, rotten wood and brown paint everywhere I thought we would never finish. But finish we did. We began at the beginning and kept going until the end and then we stopped. We are really proud of what we have achieved; although it was hard work, has probably shortened my life expectancy by ten years and I now walk with a limp, it was worth doing.

We celebrated by inviting all the neighbours who had their tranquil lives shattered by the sound of drilling and hammering for the last eighteen months, for a small soirée. It was a funny old evening. We thought it would last an hour and a half tops, how wrong we were. I've never known so much alcohol to be consumed by so few – after the sparkling wine was finished, the red wine came into play, after that was polished off Anna's home brew was unleashed. When that vanished I thought people would start rootling about in the under sink cupboard for a bottle of methylated spirits but our neighbour suggested karaoke and the party moved next door. It was the same night the news of the Queen's death was announced so every few minutes we would toast Her Maj.

The renovation process was all consuming. Not a day went by I wasn't wandering the aisles of a bricolage. All our conversation was about the house; in the evening Anna would thrust a picture of a tap or a tile in front of me and ask what I thought. I dreamt about it. In my weekly family zooms my news was “I've been tiling the kitchen floor” or “good news, we now have a working toilet”. But now it's finished...finished.

We have so much time on our hands now. Dare I say there is again a bit of a hole in our lives; an emptiness. We have tried to fill our days: Anna has started walking ten thousand steps a day. She can often be seen at night walking round the garden “I've only got 500 to go!” a voice will be heard in the darkness.

I have tried to keep busy... I have cleaned the barns, rearranged my sock drawer, have even started watching Countdown. I am a keen horticulturist, but me and the garden are not speaking at the moment after all my hard work in the first part of the year shrivelled away to nothing in the second.

I am not talking to the chickens either. They have stopped laying ever since the really hot weather. I don't mind them taking a break but it's been about four months since I've had a boiled egg. I've told them if they don't start laying someone might forget to shut their door at night.

We have tried to up the ante to master the French language. Anna listens to our old friend Michel Thomas when she is pounding the country lanes ( 'quelle est la situation politique et économique?') and I am duolingoing 'tous les jours'. To improve our language skills we go for coffee every Sunday morning. We are only allowed to speak French to each other. Conversation can often turn into listing parts of the bodies, vegetables or animals. We are worried we are creating a language that only we understand. Like two Joey Deacons.

Well enough of me rambling on to you dear reader ... those DVDs won't alphabetise themselves. I'll say 'au revoir' and let you get onto the Sudoku.

If you would like to read more ramblings from Mr Shaw, go to www.lifein79.blogspot.com

the end oF another Year by Jacqueline Brown

As we hurtle towards the end of another year, I’m struggling to keep up with the ever-changing pace of life. This year, although free from lockdowns, has not been free from challenges. The ten months working at the Château de Javarzay were fulfilling and confidence boosting, and I loved every minute, but with my hours worked being different every week, the lack of routine and need to be organised was probably the biggest challenge. Now that it is over, the challenge is finding things to fill my days.

We have recently had to spend an extended period in the UK, for the saddest of reasons, saying goodbye to my Dad. It was quite possibly the longest I’ve been away from the village in over ten years and proved to be a serious trip down memory lane. Sharing stories about Dad with family and friends, looking back on old photos and putting together a eulogy that not only mentioned all his life milestones, but that included humour and So far, autumn here has been mild and moist, which is the perfect conditions for regenerating the summer-parched grass. In fact, if you sit still for long enough, I’m sure you can see it growing. The summer drought produced some early autumn colours, but the lack of frosts has helped the greens hang on, so trees like our gingko have yet to put on

their annual golden display and the leaves on the trees in the orchard seem reluctant to let go. I’m all for an autumn that muscles into winter, pushing Christmas back to the end of December where it belongs. It will be a different Christmas this year, the first without Dad, but I have started to get organised. The mincemeat is made, and I’ve checked all the mulled wine ingredients are ready to go for when there is just enough chill in the air to feel the benefit of its warming magic. Nothing says Christmas like mulled wine and mince pies.

I can only wonder what next year will bring. I am optimistically visualising cycling adventures to new places, ensuring I make the most of any opportunities that come my way, all in the name of celebrating life.

the funny moments that were important not to forget, especially at a time when sadness can take over. As well as being there for Mum, we made sure we took time for ourselves too. A few days away, cycling in the UK brought challenges of pot-holed roads, more traffic than I’m used to and remembering to cycle on the other side of the road. Thankfully Adrian managed to plot most of our routes keeping off the roads, using disused railway lines, now repurposed into quiet cycle ways. Bath proved to be an excellent substitute to our planned break in the Dordogne, but it was nice to come back to the Deux-Sèvres and enjoy our sunset rides spotting the deer in the fields and the silent wings of the owls overhead.

Happy Christmas to you all and here’s to your good health in 2023.

www.frenchvillagediaries.com Email: frenchvillagediaries@gmail.com

Report on: Armistice Day Memorial Service

Sommieries Du Clain (86) 11th November, 2022

by Adrian Blake

From childhood I’ve been brought up to acknowledge Armistice Day, whether it is respecting the two minute silence or by purchasing a poppy. I have noticed that many road names throughout France celebrate significant dates from the war and that the war memorials are well tended and maintained.

This year I thought it would be a good idea to attend the local Remembrance Day service. As Armistice Day is a national holiday in France, I guessed the event would be on the 11th November rather than the Sunday. I didn’t plan my attendance very well and with hindsight I made a few assumptions... that it would be at the war memorial in the local village and that it would be at 11 o’clock. I arrived at the war memorial at 10.45am and everywhere was deserted. I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake. At about 10.49am a fellow came out of the Mairie, setting up a small public address (PA) system, testing it with the British National Anthem; I thought this would be a nice touch to the ceremony. Then another chap appeared, placing flags on the memorial; the Tricolor, the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes.

Eleven o’clock came and went. Nothing had happened and the place was still deserted. Had I myself been a little late arriving I would have assumed the ceremony was over and that I’d missed it. I spoke to fellow in the Mairie who had set out the flags and he told me to wait by the memorial, so I did. Nothing happened. A man dressed in a suit left the Mairie building and strode off down the road towards the village square. Seven firemen dressed in their finery arrived from the direction of the fire station and followed the man in the suit. This was my cue, they were obviously heading off to some sort of civic event. I followed them and found a gathering of 50 to 60 people mingling in the village square. At 11.22am (although I have no idea as to the significance of the time) the attendees assembled into a parade in the middle of the road, headed by some Tricolor bearers, followed by the firemen and then the general public. We marched out of the square, turning right on the blind corner, out into the main road. (I suppose we were lucky that no car came racing around the corner at that moment, otherwise there might have been an incident). About a minute later we arrived at the war memorial outside of the Mairie and gathered around it. The assembly were mainly middle aged, I noticed a few elderly folk decorated with medals and a couple of teenagers. The Mayor addressed the crown. ‘The Last Post’ was broadcast across the PA, followed by ‘La Marseillaise’, the flags were dipped and a floral tribute containing cornflowers, was laid on the memorial by a school boy. The Mayor said a few more words, the firemen stood to ‘attention’ in the background and there was a one minute silence. The firemen returned to ‘at ease’, the Mayor said a few more words; and then it just seemed to fizzle out and eventually the people seemed to disperse. I’ve no idea if it was connected, but the church bells started pealing out at about 12 noon, for what seemed like a random reason, lasting for about a minute before falling silent.

I don’t know if my experience was typical of small town rural France, but the event seemed less formal than I expected, although it did retain its solemnity. I was glad that I attended, I felt an affinity because it was such a familiar event from England, but also it was an opportunity to be a part of the local community.