Customer service?

Me; 'Hello, I'm ringing you , from France, about a subscription to a maga.........'

CSA (customer service 'advisor') Which one?

Me; It's called Gardens Illustrated. We havent received the..........

CSA; Whoss the problem then?

Me; The last two editions, November and December, haven't arrived.

CSA; Bear with me....I'll put you on hold. (comes back around 5 mins later, knowing I'm ringing from France, to tell me) They've been sent.

Me; (very patiently) They may have been sent but they have NOT arrived here. This is not the first time it has happened.

CSA; I'll just check the address then.....wot? Can you spell that? Right, so I'll put you on hold for a minute.......... (returns some hours later to tell me ) they've been sent out.

Me; Yes you told me that , but THEY HAVE NOT ARRIVED HERE.

CSA; Oh. (Pause while her brain ticks ever so slowly) Well, we'd better send them again then. Can you just give me your address again...wot? Spell that? Orright then, we'll do that for you.(said with the air of one conferring a great favour)


The annoying thing is that over the last few months, our little local shop has started selling the said magazine! The subscription , needless to say, won't be renewed.

'The hills are alive..........'

The Sound of Music strikes again!

We decided to have a runaway over Christmas. The place my husband wanted to return to was Salzburg, where we stayed many years ago during the same period. It is unimagineably lovely over Christmas, often covered in snow, yet bright and sunny too.

Airports arent the easiest place when eyesight is fading, so we had a look at train travel, and found that we can get from Brittany to Strasbourg during the day, and then onto the night train direct to Salzburg, arriving early in the morning. With a private sleeper booked it means we dont have to share a cabin, quite a normal thing on French trains.

We arent staying in the city , but in a village about a quarter hour by train (running every half hour) from Salzburg. We chose to go back to the same village in where we stayed before , e mailed the owner, who was delighted to offer us a very good rate for the stay. The village has plenty of shops, hotels, cafes, and is set at the foot of the mountains, so one can walk, explore, shop, or just potter off by train. We want to revisit Hallein, the next village, where Silent Night was written. On Christmas Eve there is a gathering in the square outside the house, and everyon listens to the sound of a choir , in the house, singing the original arrangement of the Carol. It is magical, snow crunching underfoot, and gluhwein passed around the crowd.

We've booked two concerts in Salzburg, which will be lovely, and plan to drift through the Christmas markets, listening to the strains of Mozart which seem to cover the city at any time of year.

Yes, we shall miss the family, but this might be the last time we can journey comfortably. We'll see them all in January when we go back to the UK for a visit.

A PS to yesterday.

PS.
Tonight I had a strange phone call. A croaky elderly sounding voice said, in English, 'Dr Le bon'.

No, sorry, said I, you have a wrong number.

The voice croaked again, 'No this IS Dr Le bon. I 'ave a cold'.

Desperately apologetic me listened, as best I could, to him telling me..'Your 'usband's blood is too thin. 'E must take the tablets in a different way' and explained all.

Poor guy, I felt so sorry for him, and sorrier still that I just hadnt recognised his voice when he had taken the trouble to ring.

Our village nurse

Waiting for Nursie ' to arrive. It's 8.45 am and she is usually here by 9. She comes to the house once a fortnight to take a blood sample to check on the thick/thin ness of my husband's blood. It's all part of the keeping his heart healthy etc. But arent we fortunate that she comes here rather than we go and wait for ages in a surgery.
Murielle is a sweetie, and has started her day at around 6 am. She goes to the housebound and elderly in the village, getting them up, dressing them and even seeing that they eat their meal. Either she or the second nurse goes in at lunch time and also in the evening to help them to bed. This means that for as long as it is ppossible they remain in their own homes.
The family support is very good too, young and middle aged look after the elderly, bring meals, take them out, and generally care about their quality of life. If there is no family then the nurse takes over, but also neighbours keep a watchful eye open.
And..here is her little car, racing up the drive................
Slightly later......she has been and gone, we moved on to the next appointment which was with the optician! Murielle asked us in fractured English which she likes to practice, what we were doing for Christmas, were we like most English people, going back to UK? No we arent, but we are going away.
Off she tripped, calling 'Bye bye', and promising another visit in 3 weeks time. These nurses are so devoted to their jobs. They dont dress in a uniform , just jeans and sweaters, practical for what they have to do with the elderly.
I hopw we never need their services in that way.

Amish people

I am fascinated by the Amish people. I'm not sure why, perhaps it is their quiet surety of the value of the simple life, perhaps it's the beauty of the quilts they produce. Whatever, their whole lifestyle is one I envy in a way.

I am sewing cross stitch pictures which are based on the Amish and their home life. I plan to do one for each grandchild, that is, seven, but so far have only completed four. I love the pair called Grandfather's Barn and Grandmother's house. Looking into them one sees all sorts of tiny objects, a broom against the house, a pie steaming in the window, a basket of fruit gathered that morning. The slowness is there.

The Amish are often known as the Plain people. They have been using horse drawn power from the beginning, no tractors, no cars, but horses and buggies. I've seen the near 'relations', the Mennonnites ,driving these in remote Canada. Time passes and the old ways live on, life continues in the same way as it did for their forefathers.

They have a devout faith, believing in literal interpretations of Scripture. They feel that to be wordly can keep them away from God, and therefore embrace the ways that might seem to us to be old fashioned and time consuming. The strict adherents don't have television or radio in the home, feeling that it is a modern intrusion into family life. I think I could agree with that.Their clothing is often unpatterned, as are their beautiful glowing quilts. Yet they are not altogether apart. Teenagers are given 'running around' years, when they mix freely, they have 'gangs' , and can make up their minds where their lives are going.

Maybe we might feel that they are too separate from the world. And yet their separation must strengthen their communities? They seem to have a huge sense of community, living together as good neighbours, helping each other where necessary.

I wonder if I feel a sense of envy in their devotion to family and community life. I would love to visit Lancaster County, not to peer at them like rabbits in hutches, but to see the quilts, to visit their villages, and to try to be a part of their life for a short while.

Cookery books

I have a shelf of cookery books, collected over the years. I grew up totally unable to cook, mainly due to the fact that my Grandmother was the dedicated cook in the house, and my mother, an artist, would far rather leap us both onto our bikes, pack picnic and sketch books and off we would go for the day. Over the King Harry Ferry to St Mawes, perched on rocks, munching a sandwich and sketching at the same time.

But the time came, years later, when my ex mother in law arrived with a chicken. Not a chicken as we know today from the supermarket, but a chicken complete in all its parts. To me, very newly married, it was an unknown quantity. 'I'll be round for lunch tomorrow , dear', she said. Sat and considered the bird, which looked back at me, moribundly. Head, feet, innards, the only thing it didnt have was feathers, thank goodness. so, I did what any sensible girl would do...dragged it round to the next door neighbour, and admitted I hadnt a clue. I learned how to cook a chicken that day.

After that I became interested in cookery books, and my very first one was from a book club in the 1960s, French Country cooking by Elizabeth David. What a lady! Her books arent really for the novice but I tried, I tried again, and produced some very edible meals.

The collection grew, and grew. I began my own collection of recipes, cut out, scribbled, written into a book which , battered and burnt, is still with me, pages falling out, but much loved. It has recipes called..Mum's flapjacks, Sue's fruit cake, Jen's parsnip soup, recipes from family and friends, over many years. On her marriage my daughter started her own book, copying many of the old family recipes from mine.
My mother gave me my Grandmother's Mrs Beeton, a fairly early publication. I collected old cookery books and new, anything I could find of Elizabeth David's was snapped up. Books on French cookery, Meditteranean food, world wide dishes, vegetarian meals. One day I realised I hadn't got a sensible everyday cookery book which told me how to make jam, so a daughter in law gave me the Good Housekeeping book, which now has pages stuck together and slightly torn where they have been pulled apart.

I guess, as for many people, the Delia books have been a great favourite. They are 'cooking with one syllable words'. Rick Stein sits on my shelf too, and maybe he will bring out a new book on his Meditteranean journey. He mentioned a writer called Patience Gray, I wish I'd known of her as her food sounds wonderful, simple , local home grown, wild food. She said apparently ,'Poverty, not wealth, gives the good things in life significance '.

I dont use all my books by any means, but love to dip in and out, savouring the ideas, if not the actual meals. And I cant resist the quick look around a bookshop...Cookery section....that person you see 'smelling' the gorgeous food photos will be me.

November 11th

It's strange in France not to see people wearing poppies this week. We see them on Television, but not in real life..unless the person is English. Explaining the poppy symbol to the French is interesting, as the fields of Flanders don't seem to have the same meaning. Their flower for this day is the Bleuet, or cornflower, and they wear a little brooch or flag on the day. They will have a ceremony around the war memorial in the village, after which there will be a mad dash to the bar for drinks , courtesy of the Mayor.

This year, as the 11th falls on a Sunday we wont be in the village, but will have the ceremony at our Anglican church , with wreath laying, and all the somehow comforting words. My husband is reading the Act of Remembrance which ends with the immortal words...

'Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. '

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them'.

Watching some of the first world war very old soldiers the other evening I was sad to think that our children and grandchildren will never have that same knowledge that we who were alive in the war years have. Glad also that hopefully they will never know another world war, but sad because I'm not sure if young people have any concept of the lives that were thrown away in that terrible time. Though I do remember my grandchildren being very moved by a school visit to the 2nd World War beaches. I know we teach 'War' in schools, but is it the same?

Tell me, do your children and grandchildren understand the sacrifices?

Chatting

Following on from Letter writing comes a few thoughts about 'chatting'. What fun it is! I was introduced to Yahoo Messenger by one of the grandchildren, of course, some years ago, and have had lengthy chats with people all round the world since then.
I still can't take it in, all those words flying out of my mind and arriving immediately on someone's screen.
But once again, I do find it isnt a substitute for the letter. My chatting typing and spelling is awful, words muddled up, odd variations on spelling...teh, te, hte... all because I'm being too quick. I suppose it's a form of texting, you are trying to be quick enough to answer the person you are talking to before they come back on the screen.
I dont have time to think out a reply, and sometimes write things which I wish I'd considered more. But...it is just a fun thing most of the time.
So clever of AA to give us a new toy!!

Letter writing

Don't you love having a real letter? I do, and although I send lots of e mails I still enjoy writing a 'proper letter'.

There was always a rule as I grew up, that thank you letters had to be written within a week of receiving the gift. Sometimes our letters were a little bit forced, but we were never allowed to get away with 'Dear Auntie, Thank you for the present. With love.' Always we had to write a little about what we had done, were doing, anything to make our letter a bit more interesting.

Now I see that one can buy multi choice letters for one's children, where they tick the relevant box instead of having to think.

Imagine if some of the wonderful letters had never been written. Think of Beatrice Potter, writing to Noel. We would have missed all the lovely tales and drawings of her animals . Letters written in the war years are so poignant, people didnt seem afraid to reveal their feelings.

I've been going through some letters written to my children's late great grandmother on the death of her husband, a Scot of some note. They are exquisitely penned, thoughtful, formal , yes, but also incredibly real. They range from a letter from Dolly Gladstone (florid handwriting!) to a little missive from one of her staff, which begins 'My dear madam, I dont like to intrude...'

Each one is on a black edged piece of writing paper, each one is a model of concern, of friendship and of genuine mourning.

My children used to write to Father Christmas every year. Do they do that now..or do they send an e mail??

Knock knock

They came, the little dears! A small collection of strangely garbed infants trekked up the lane, not entirely in the dark as we had left a lantern burning by the gate. Horrible devil masks and tridents at the ready, they shrieked as I opened the door. Probably the equivalent in French of 'Trick or treat'.
I had the necessary KitKat chocolate balls on the dresser, and not just one, but four carrier bags were opened for me to put the sweets in! Thanking me charmingly they rushed off to 'terrorise' another neighbour.
Talking to our shop owner yesterday about it all, she said in a slightly disapproving manner...'Of course, here, we treat the day with great respect, all the shops will be closed as it is a religious day. NOT like in England, I'm sure.' Yes, correct, Beatrice.
She then went on to say 'And what's more, the tradition (that the English started, unsaid) of trick or treat is already dying out here too'. And at that moment two small costumed devils burst into the shop and murmured that they'd come for sweets please. And were given them, with a smile!