We kept working furiously in the heat, mindful that our friends Brigitte and Erick were soon to arrive. Yet again, thanks to the internet, we had made arrangements with them to buy us a bed and deliver it to us once we arrived. We just couldn’t stop; we were so determined to get the bedroom painted and move on as rapidly as possible to the rest of the house. Time is short was the mantra of the day — and every day. Of course, we weren’t ready and Brigitte was horrified to find us in our renovating clothes; they arrived during the sacred French lunch hour! That was the first time, and there were many more in the next few weeks, when we could get ready, pull on decent clothes and transform ourselves in literally two minutes. In fact, we got it down to an art form, usually with a shower as well, but always in record time. I even managed to throw on some make-up to try and look more presentable to the world, bearing in mind it was a ‘French’ world.
We had carefully planned where we should have lunch with Brigitte and Erick as we were very conscious that Brigitte used to be a chef and had her own restaurant. The village restaurant was only a minute’s walk away — one of the reasons we chose our house, in fact — but the food was not quite the Michelin fare we were hoping to treat our friends to. We had planned to go to Martel, a mere seven minutes’ drive away, but Brigitte was alarmed at the thought. After all, it was now almost one and nearly an hour into the precious lunch period. So, the village restaurant it was.
It turned out to be a brilliant decision for a number of reasons. There were a few workers inside eating, but the four of us were the only ones sitting outside. The food was fine, but what we realised afterwards was that, by going there with French friends, our standing in the village probably increased enormously. George Arnal, the owner, enquired through Brigitte and Erick whether we needed a gardener. Well, we were desperate to have the grass cut and, voilà, he was able to give us Christian’s details. However, the coup de grâce was — and this was only revealed by chance as we are leaving — that the unusually high volume of traffic was because of roadworks on the main road to Paris; all the traffic was being diverted! I could have wept for joy. How momentous life decisions can hinge on the slightest chance. If it had not come up as we were about to say au revoir, our ultimate decision, and the following years and chapters in our lives, might have all been vastly different. There was no other way we could have known or found out about the roadworks.
There was another vital piece of information, too. Every day except for Mondays, a bread van arrives at the restaurant at 7.30 am. This was the other main thing we needed, as each trip to the shops meant time away from work on the house. However, even though we consumed vast quantities of pain, including just plain bread for dinner some nights — no fromage, no pâté, just plain bread (well, there was some wine at least), as we are simply working so hard — I never did get to the bread van. I was up early every day to work, and yet the only time I ever thought of racing down the road in my renovating clothes was, of course, on Mondays. Next year.
The fact that our petite maison was right on the road turned out to be one of its best features, as the road carried new friends to us. For the three weeks we were there, as we didn’t have a table or chairs, we ate all our meals on the front steps. In fact, even when we did get furniture, we had become so accustomed to eating our meals and having a glass of wine on our petite steps that we continued to sit there anyway. It meant that we saw everyone driving past and I waved to absolutely everyone, conscious that it was a small village and I wanted very much to be a part of it. George, the restaurant owner, started to slow down on our corner and looked out for me, as I would usually be having breakfast at that point. He would wave and call out, ‘Ça va?’ It was one of the few expressions I knew I could reply to. I later found out that he had recently lost his wife and went every morning to visit her grave as well as check on his land. What is special was that I also found out he is not usually so friendly, so that made me even more inclined to look out for him. Goodness knows what he really thought of me as I would have just fallen out of bed, pulled on my work clothes and grabbed my breakfast. There was no time for the vanity of looking in a mirror or even brushing my hair. I knew that I was utterly lacking in style, but I felt compelled to start working as soon as possible.
More new friends. We were working from sun-up to sundown, and our daily rhythm was constructed around endless lists. Lists of what to buy and what tasks each of us were going to tackle every day. I only wish that I’d kept all those endless lists as they were a record of our daily life. Yet, in the midst of often sixteen-hour days — and often I didn’t go anywhere at all — we started to make friends. When I look back, it’s strange as I was so focused on seeing our little farmhouse for the first time that I hadn’t even thought about the village or the people we may possibly meet. Strange for me, too, as usually that is something I would give a lot of thought to. It was a truly unexpected bonus not only to have met the people in the village, but also to have made friends. And not merely friends, but true friends who we had an instant connection with. After a mere three weeks, they quickly became a part of what would be the joy of returning each year to our house in the village.
I have to add here that having a house in France, on the other side of the world, is the stuff of dreams. It is all very surreal. I’ve been there and worked on the house, yet when I’m back in Australia it seems very much a dream. It is not the sort of thing that ordinary people do, and yet here we were, now no longer ordinary.
Meeting Jean-Claude
I don’t remember how early on it was that we met Jean-Claude; however, as soon as we did, he was a part of the tapestry of our life every single day. He was our new ‘best friend’ and was like a fairy godfather and knight in shining armour all rolled into one. And yet I was so very close to not meeting him. What I do remember is dashing out the front — maybe to shake a paintbrush — and seeing a distinctive figure striding up the road. I was so utterly focused on renovating every possible moment that I didn’t even pause to smile or say, ‘Bonjour.’ No, I dashed back in to keep working. Yet something propelled me to almost immediately go back out the side door to greet him. I am so grateful that I did and I think my first words were, ‘Oh, you speak English!’ I invited him to see our house and all our work, and that turned out to be the start of his daily visits, sometimes up to three or four times a day. He took an avid interest in all that we were doing, and what was magnificent was that he would go away and reflect on many of the things we were doing and come back to share his advice and knowledge. He even went to the extent of looking up on the internet what things needed further checking.
One of the many favours that Jean-Claude did for us was to come up with the perfect name for our barn, La Forge. He told us that there used to be blacksmiths in the area and that it would be just right. We thought we had also come up with perfect name for our house: Pied de la Croix, named after the man we bought it from. So, we were very surprised to discover that, just near our house, there were signs to other houses with the very same name! And indeed, nearby was a little iron cross in the grass with Pied De La Croix engraved upon it. We had even checked whether it was acceptable, according to French custom, to have this name, so we were also disappointed and confused not to have a unique name. Our intention had been to honour the previous owners and name the house after them, as well as to retain its sense of history. As always, with our myriad of questions, it was back to Jean-Claude for an explanation.
We discovered it was, in fact, an extraordinary coincidence, for not only was it the name of the previous owner of our house but it also means ‘the foot of the cross’. Despite other maisons in our village sharing our carefully chosen name, we decided to keep the link to our petite maison’s past. So, now, the house and the barn would each have a name. Jean-Claude told us in an email later that
Regarding la forge, there were several in the village since horses had to be attended to and Mr Dal’s house was a relay for postilions and carriages. The house next to yours was indeed a forge and café