1968: KEEPING THE FAMILY HAPPY

THE SCARF

Monday, 29 July

Hair suddenly disgusting - had to wear a scarf.

Read ‘Antigone’ in the shade. It’s by Anouilh, an existentialist writer who believes your fate is mapped out for you. A depressing philosophy because it makes making decisions pointless, which I think is perfectly idiotic.

After lunch we left for ‘Le Lac des Trois Vallees’. It’s a very beautiful place, an artificial lake with an island, a shoot, and sand with willow trees around the edge. Didn’t swim because of my hair but Ma lent me her cap and I swam to the raft! Then Chump and me got a pedalo and made for the island. We were tying it up (without success) when suddenly these three boys appeared. All pretty snazz. “Anglaises?” they said, and I said “oui”. That’s as far as we got. Chump being shy was desperately keen to leave. I would hate to have talked to them too, but it’s a bit depressing to see all these boys and girls together - and me with my parents and sister.

2020: The burden of keeping the family happy - an uphill task that fell to my mother - was heightened in the holidays. It was hardly her fault I was shy with boys, or embarrassed to be seen with my parents. (However much I loved their company.) The teenage years are not easy, and each emotional hurt is absorbed by the sensitive parent; usually, though not exclusively, the mother.

As we’re English this man at the ticket place insisted we sign his visitors book. Pa wrote, “we left France in 1668 and we are very happy to be back.” He was delighted!

Then we went to the chateau at Saint-Puy. An awfully nice boy took us down to the cellars; must have been the 18-year-old. Not very tall, dark longish hair. It was terribly dark in the cellars and damp, all you could see were the bottles gleaming. They have to turn each bottle every day. Spent half an hour chatting with a glass of wine. He wants to be a vine farmer. We bought 12 bottles at 4.80 francs each… incroyable!

Really the Mill is marvellous. Pa is settling down.

Tuesday, 30 July.

No sunshine. I did ‘Antigone’. I don’t see why Lucy raves over it: Antigone and Creon get so worked-up I could bash their heads together. In contrast Chump was reading ‘Fanny Hill’ upstairs and was so revolted by it I had a look at it myself. It’s enough to put you off sex altogether, the bits about virgin blood and pain. Chump had blood on her mind the rest of the day.

Pa came up with some more theories at lunch. We tease him like anything. Today it was that we can understand the Dark Ages better than any other time, because the worst persecution we’ve ever experienced happened 25 years ago.

Then drove to this fantastic castle: Bonaguil. A long drive and it was raining, but the first view of it up on the hill, so huge and beautiful, took our breath away. We had to go with a guide, and a party of 45 working-class types whose accents were so strong they pronounced “heure”, “heur-er”! Very amusing. It’s the most castley castle I’ve very seen, with high dungeons, underground passages and little holes above the entrances for the chains - so fascinating to see.

Then drove to Chateau St Philip at Saint-Nicolas-de-la-Balerme. At 9pm we were practically the only people there. There was a sweet little waiter but the food was NOT worth 25 francs, or its one star. We had guinea-fowl pate which we didn’t like the taste of, then sole, then chicken, a whole half each in a watery sort of gravy, and then the pudding, which was the best thing - ice-cream and liqueur and chocolate and almonds in a biscuity case.

We have all got severe midge bites.

Chateau-fort de Bonaguil

Wednesday, 31 July

Went to Bergerac because, for once, it wasn’t too hot to drive. Chump and me felt foul; she with her cold and me with my throat. It’s a town with incredible buildings: we found these wooden cloisters and Daddy started raving. Then asked two old ladies, one with a moustache and one tooth, where the Protestant church was… hoping to find the records of our Huguenot roots (!).

Had lunch under the plane trees at ‘Le Cross-Magnon’ at Eyzies, but Pa spoilt it because we hadn’t looked up anywhere else. Ridiculous. Always hoping he’ll be in a good mood is such a strain that I burst into tears. But everything was fine after that. Had gorgeous chivey-chive omelette, entrecôte with puff potatoes, strawberry patisserie and Blanc de Blanc wine - the best Pa’s had for a long time.

On the way home we stopped at a 13th-century English castle. Only he and Chump went up it. Ma and me thought it was a ruin, but they thought it was better than Bonaguil! A marvellous old man with a Spanish accent they couldn’t understand took them round. He gave them three pieces of pottery and an ancient nail.

Pa is passionately interested in ‘Three Rivers of France’ by Freda White. He keeps on reading us extracts.

Thursday, 1 Aug

Ma in the heart of the Aquitaine

Went into Condom. Looked in at the cathedral. A couple of people were deep in reverence.

When we got back to the mill we found that drippy honeymoon couple had pinched our table - bit cheeky. It was a mixture of that and the weather that put Dad into another of his moods. I feel so sorry for Mummy; she said she’d rather stay at home.  Of course he’s allowed to have his opinions, but not when he’s selfish and unkind. So the atmosphere again was unnecessarily spoilt. He then attempted to make it up.

My diary is littered with “Pa says this,” “Pa says that”, and “I wish Pa was easier”. My father was not shy of expressing his opinions. Nor did he shy from expressing his moods. ‘The play was pathetic’, ‘the restaurant was ghastly’, and it was usually the fault of “poor Ma". However, the ups were more frequent than the downs. My father’s zest for life was a gift to us all, and, as luck would have it, his personality was complimented by our mother’s: he the inspired, ever-optimistic designer, she the wise adviser, her feet firmly on the ground.

In the first year of their marriage he wrote this to his parents. “One does spend quite a lot on sweets, cigarettes and small things, but Barbara keeps a marvellous account book which has every conceivable expense, eg. ‘Gifts’, ‘Charities’, ‘Butcher.’” Which says it all (though the cigarettes are a surprise). 

Dad is reading Simone de Beauvoir so we get little theories every meal-time.

We had a lovely trout supper, and went for a walk but got caught in a thunderstorm! The lightening scared the daylights out of me. Played Whist when got back. Then I dried and arranged Mummy’s hair. Very successful.

Friday, 2 Aug

It rained. Dad wants to leave for Spain on Monday.

At 3pm we went along to the stables. Pa’s horse was called Empereur and Chump’s Blanchette, I never knew the name of mine. I was a bit shocked when I realised you were expected to get on the horse by yourself. An incredible snazz adjusted my stirrup straps. I really was scared, the horse kept trying to charge ahead, but after 15 minutes I felt pretty well at ease. Pa was always miles behind; singing away like the franklin in the Canterbury Tales! It had to rain, of course. By the time we got back we were soaking. My hair was disgusting and I tried to dry it but the dryer didn't work - wrong voltage.

Went back to that chateau to pay for the wine. The boy was there again but he hardly looked at me. I don’t think I’m popular with boys - I look too severe. Then went to dinner at Le Regent in Condom, a fabulous meal and a lovely place. Had watery legume soup, charcoaly entrecôte with a potato each, and Grand Marnier ice-cream. Red wine included - delicious for once. All 12 francs. All very cheerful.

The new people have arrived - three rather foul school marms. There’s something I despise so much about spinsters. (Horrible of me, but I do.)

Bachelors and spinsters turned into ‘singles’ in 2005 - in the world of legal documents. But the question remains. Why were spinsters - independent guildswomen who spun for a living - derided, as bachelors remained delightfully eligible?  At 27, Jane Austen’s Charlotte Lucas was well on her way to spinsterhood. Sadly, the spinster stigma continued into the 70s. My prejudice reflected the times.

My hair looked so hideous from the back I could scarcely believe it.

Saturday, 3 Aug

SUN! SUN! SUN! Sunbathed and at times got rather hot. Mr Bradley says the storms have gone to the south! I read ‘Fanny Hill’. There is sex every third page, and though it’s too stupid for words, it gives me a distinct thrill of pleasure.

Lunch lovely as usual: bread, cheese and wine.

My Diary is so boring compared to Simone de Beauvoir’s.

Sunday, 4 Aug

The ‘privileged’ Mercedes

Cloudless blue sky all day. I have to go inside every quarter of an hour because of the heat. I lie down on the bed and hug the cold cushions.

Now Ma is reading Simone de Beauvoir! The question came up of privilege. When I first went to Rosebery it was awful: they thought I was a snob because of the Mercedes. In other countries everyone, whether they’re earls’ sons or dustmen’s daughters, goes to to the same school. I think it’s marvellous.

At lunch those foul school marms upstairs left the radio on with things like ‘Congratulations’ blaring away. I don’t know how they could. Mr Bradley is the highlight of the school marms’ lives - Ma says they’re like moths around a candle! The honeymooners have left and a nice Dutch couple have arrived: we chatted a bit with the lady. Her skirt comes just above her knee and she says that’s short in Holland for people her age (about 35).

At supper we discussed what we hate most about our features. With Chump and me it’s our noses. With Ma it’s her rabbit teeth, and with Dad his bald patch (he’s the only un-vain one). They first met on March 1st at Beryl’s 21st, and married on March 1st two years later. Lucky things.