Living abroad

The landscape in this part of the Tarn-et-Garonne is enchanting, the small wooded hills and smooth seductive valleys, and tiny settlements and villages – some fortified, some with less dramatic histories. The mark of ancient dispute is everywhere, with yesterday‘s power struggles displayed in bigger or smaller churches, towers, chateaux and gates. The prosperity of the land is shown by the huge covered market places in the centre of the larger vills, still in use and clearly so practical – why we don’t have them in rainy England is a silly wonder. That’s one product of the French/English wars which we should have adopted. In the signage and infos in the various castles and points of interest, they never fail to mention war with the English – though we had enough French kings and for long enough to make this particular jibe feel a bit unfair.

Yesterday we went to the town of Lectour -for the market and to meet friends for lunch… This was on one of the three great French pilgrimage routes to Saint James at Compostela, and accordingly has some grand buildings on the main street. But it was also a famed centre for something called ‘le bleu’ - the making of blue cloth and other materials - paint, for example – from woad. The last business (and museum) carrying on this truly ancient practice closed down in 2016 – there are films on YouTube showing how they did it. It was a labourious and repetitive process, putting the cloth over and over again into the vats of dye in order to get any intensity of colour. A crowdfunding attempt at rescue was not enough. So blue cloth  now presumably comes from the Far East, or is totally mechanised. Anyway, the prosperity brought by this trade help to make the town into a marvel of ornamental and impressive architecture and along the high street.

The slightly distressing thing was (and what hypocrite I am) that the street and market were full of les anglais, all a bit ‘yah’, very much at home, presumably the grandparent generation like me, enjoying the late summer sunshine and lower prices now the school holidays are over. It just felt horribly wrong, invaded. Maybe with all this Brexit thing going on, and the climate change debates, I am over sensitive to the issues of migration, migration in general, the damage done by tourism… It was clear that the town is benefiting mightily from English tourists, so many cute things on sale, the honey, the soap, the very large nets of garlic, the tempting cheeses and dried sausages, the local art pottery… But I felt very uncomfortable. I want to be the ONLY English person wandering around. My sister winces at how some of her English neighbours around pronounce the French place names, and French in general. She points out how where English is pronounced somewhere at the back of the mouth, at the top of the throat, French is articulated at the front of the mouth, with lips and pursed cheeks – rather exaggerated from an English point of view. But the British expats speak the French as if it were English – too deep in the mouth. So it never sounds right.

We had lunch in a restaurant run by an ex-teacher from London who happens to be Danish, sitting under parasols on the sunny terrace. He told us he’s packing up at the end of this season - too many responsibilities to family (elderly father needs help). I keep hearing this now – at least one well-established business back in Faversham is closing for the same reason. The old days are coming to an end. Our conversation at lunch – and later at our friends’ tiny house in a stunning valley at St Jean de Bouzet was about the care of family members with profound needs – both young and old – and the difficulties of getting the right kind of help from anywhere at all. People demonstrate pure love in giving up everything they can in order to care for their weak or helpless loved ones. Everything slowly diminishes. I used to wonder how the Roman Empire ended, and this is how. They depended on slaves, and we on migrant workers. In Britain we have started to turn such migrants away, and the government is even throwing out the long established foreign-born, who have worked in the UK all their lives, as professionals, paying taxes, raising children, adding to everything. It is tragic and stupid. I wonder how long the French will tolerate all these English residents in their pleasant southern lands? Nationality is suddenly back on the agenda. Pilgrimage is not.