1968: FROM COSTA BRAVA TO CALAIS — 1967-1968: Diary of a Posh Schoolgirl

Monday, 12 Aug

In the baking heat I wrote my Diary. Finally finished Böll.

Went to the beach late - packed out and rather fabulous. A few super long-haired boys were there. One was about 19, in red trunks with fair hair and a fantastic figure, playing ball with his younger brothers and sisters. He hardly even saw me. Another was about 22, English but an utter snazz, in white trunks; I think he looked in my direction a few times. More interesting was this gorgeous little boy called Frederic with longish curly hair who wanted to play with me. Sat alone on the rocks once… I could have stayed there all day.

Back at 6.15. Chump and Ma washed their hair and Chump’s came out bleached from the sun. Dinner at the ‘Plaja’: I had consommé, fish, charcoaly steak and ice-cream. We talked about London Grandma’s mother. She had dyed red hair at the age of 80 but Ma never thought she was as foul as Grandma makes her out to be! It was Grandma’s father who was the greatest person. When he died in the war she was very upset because it was, in a way, her fault: she sent him to Holland to be safe and he starved there.

Got ghastly period pains and staggered to the car. Didn’t get to sleep for ages.

Tuesday, 13 Aug

Dead-beat weather made Pa get into one of his silent moods.

We drove to Sa Tuna. A pebbly little beach, some rather nice white houses, rocks with no trees, and water a marvellous blue-green. Walked around and saw the front view of that hideous hotel. Fancy wrecking ten miles of coast - it’s not worth it. Had ices at a rather nice caff. The coconut ices are fantastic.

Left at 8.20 and got to L’Escala late. Pa made such a fuss getting out of Begur and blamed Ma - Chump’s the only one who ever knows the way. In L’Escala we came across this gorgeous restaurant ‘El Golfe’ by pure chance. It was dark with candles and check table-cloths, and reminded me terribly of Austria. We had a fab table by the window, open but covered by a fish net - not too cold at all and gorgeous for our last night. Lots of young French there, and waiters in red waistcoats. Had a creamy asparagus omelette, glorious chicken with beans and chips, and ice-cream with hot chocolate sauce. Didn’t talk much. The atmosphere was so super we didn’t need to.

Wednesday, 14 Aug

The beach was fantastic, so hot and lovely I didn’t want to ever leave.

We packed up and left the villa at 12. Had to be at Narbonne Station at 4. At first we were doing fine for time. Later it was hell. The trouble was, we went first to Argelès, and had a hectic picnic on the beach. The Mistral was blowing so all the plates kept on blowing away and Ma and Pa hated it. Chump and me adored it. It was heavenly walking along by the sea with our hair streaming behind and in front of us. I felt I was in a film.

Like my father and his mother before him, I was a romantic at heart. At 17 I also fancied myself a bit of an actress, having basked in the glory of a school production that spring. And I’d seen the film Un Homme et Une Femme. Mesmerised by the ‘cinema verité’ camerawork and the informal improvised acting, I consequently found myself the lead in a number of ‘French New Wave’ settings.

The rest of the journey was the most foul rush: there was a traffic jam four miles outside Narbonne. Everyone except for me became pretty hysterical. I knew perfectly well we’d catch the train. It’s easy to say that now but I knew we’d be ok. As a last resort we decided we’d have to overtake, and we did - 15 cars at a time! Got lots of honking but took no notice. Then took a large risk by turning down a side street, but everything was sign-posted wrong and it was awful. I had to get out once and ask this chap “la gare?”… then Dad started the engine started again and, in dramatic stuntman style, I flew in through the door and landed on Chump’s lap! At last we got there - at 5 past 4. I’ve never felt so like a Coke in my life.

Had dinner on the train and felt miserable. Not in that drained-of-all-energy sort of way - just sorry for myself. Ma and Pa must have realised. I wanted to ask them why it is I’m never really happy but I didn’t. Am I abnormal? I never, ever feel joy. Surely most people in my situation would be happy most of the time? My life is like Heindrich Böll’s Frederick - “passabel”. I nearly cried every time I thought about it. I know it’s only love that can change it.

Thursday, 15 Aug

Felt a bit scared as we waited on the platform at Calais - but I’d forgotten how nice Madame Pouchyn is!! They arrived in the Merc. Monsieur is very talkative and lively and speaks marvellous English (Chump and me were fascinated by his husky voice). As we left, he said: “these are your last words of English - enjoy them!”

Calais not too bad, a a bleak sort of town. Their house is very large and the garden is rather nice - lots of trees. The sitting room’s pretty grand with a blue-grey velvet sofa and chairs, and all the pictures are of boats (incredible!). I’ve got my own room as Jean-Marie has been turned out. Isabelle gabbled away, terribly friendly and sweet.

We walked to the pier: very windy. Beautiful sandy beach but the beach chalets are foul compared to the ones at Le Touquet. Went to the new (tiny) Yacht Club. I certainly have been plonked into the midst of the sailing milieu of North France - Monsieur P is President of the Yacht Club! Whoever you meet, old friends or not, you shake hands; I was introduced to about 20 people and shook hands with all of them. One was a super snazz with an inconspicuous moustache. Then went to the old Yacht Club to pick up Éric (22) and Jean-Marie (19). They’re nice but not my type. Had lunch when we got back: cold meats, roast beef, carrots and peas, and the most fantastic selection of patisseries.

Simone and me went sailing; changed into my orange trousers and turquoise top. Denise, a friend of Simone’s, came too; we wore navy bobble hats to show we’re the crew. Not that I did anything, I just got in the way. (Now I understand why Simone was so little help on our boat: she couldn’t understand a word!) Had a very rough but super sail.

Then left for Denise’s parents’ garden outside Calais where they have a tiny one-room chalet. It was superly cosy: red ceiling, log fire, and candles. Denise’s sister Michelle was there, plus Anne-Marie - the girl who was Alice in ‘Alice in Wonderland’ on TV!!! She lives in Guildford but speaks perfect French. Had a good meal and eclairs (those tiny ones). I didn’t understand what they were saying half the time and half of it was slang. No wonder Simone didn’t speak when we were at school. Played cache-cache in the dark, then ping-pong in the attic and listened to records. We left at 11, and crept into the house as Mr and Mrs were asleep.

The best thing about Éric and Jean-Marie is they’re keen on soul and rhythm and blues.

Friday, 16 Aug

I got up at 9 thinking I was late, to find Simone and Isabelle still in bed! Got a birthday card from Granny and Grandpa for tomorrow, and letters from Anya and Tig. Anya’s so lucky. She met someone who knew Mr Finklestein; she met a German snazz on the boat to Denmark; a Canadian chap who kissed her when drunk; and, when she went to Stratford, had lunch with the coach driver who looked just like Dutronc.

Calais’ record shops make me sigh - I thank God I’ve been blessed with a love for music. Played my Otis and cried. Super lunch of cheese soufflé, sole with shrimp sauce and buttery parsley potatoes, and fruit salad with eight different fruits.

Nicole the maid came today. It’s foul to have a servant in the house, I think - it’s so bourgeois. Mme Pouchyn only has to ring a little silver bell and in she trots. But she does make my bed!

Simone and me went to their beach chalet where we met Denise, Michelle, Anne-Marie, and a rather nice chap - at least 25 - called Jean-Louis. He looked like an Elizabethan with his moustache and beard. Anne-Marie is very silent but rather sweet. Apparently and has a governess and has to go to bed at 9.30 - it’s ridiculous. Played Scrabble inside as too windy out.

Had the most delicious soup for supper that I’ve ever tasted, and bacon omelette with frites. Then… in came Simone with a plate piled high with 18 little round pastries filled with cream, each one lit with a candle!!! After I’d blown them out all in one blow they drank my health with champagne. It couldn’t have been a lovelier celebration. Then… presents! I was so overcome with emotion I practically cried. I got a beautiful white cotton nightie and the latest records of Pol and Dutronc. Mme P even kissed me.

The French don’t wash at night - only in the morning.

Saturday, 17 Aug

Bruges with Isabelle and (below, L to R) Jean-Marie, Madame Pouchyn and Simone

We went to Bruges for my birthday.

Flat countryside; very beautiful all the same. Yellow and green stripes against a vast arc of sky, watery and luminous. We stopped at Ostend Airport to change some money. They all thought it was “jolie” but I thought it was the most hideous airport I’d ever seen.

French architects were never into Bauhaus. As the daughter of British architects with a minimalist bias, here’s my design snobbery kicking in again.

In northern Belgium where they speak Flemish they loathe the French - and the French loathe them! Monsieur P explained there are tons of accents in France. The accent of the Loire is the one that’s considered perfect French, while Marseilles has a dreadful accent all of its own.

Had a very good lunch in the market square: crevettes cocktail, poularde rôtie aux frites, and coffee gateau. I took a photo of an old lady making lace and the sour old thing asked me for 4 francs. Went to the Gruthuus Museum and this place where widows and spinsters go to lead a religious life (the Pouchyns were amused when I said “pas pour moi!”). Then to Ghent where it rained. I’m rather glad the Pouchyn family like art - we saw some lovely Breugels.Then went to a bourgeois salon de thé - I had two chocolate gateaux and an apricot milk-shake. Monsieur P very interested to hear my English equivalents for “un casse-pied” - ‘weed’, ‘drip’ and ‘pain in the neck’!

Mme P called me “tu” for the first time. Now I don’t know what to call her. Jean-Marie calls everything “vache” - it means grotty! He kept looking at me in the car. When it began to hail, the noise was unbearable and we took refuge under a bridge.

About 9.30 Ma and Pa rang! Chatted about my birthday with all of them. I only wish I’d thanked Ma for my lovely pink roses before she asked if I liked them.

Sunday, 18 Aug

Simone and me went shopping and it was heavenly warm. Calais looked almost attractive. Had the most gorgeous greengage tart for lunch which Mrs P had made herself, then went to the beach where I did three black-ink drawings and played cache-cache behind the chalets. Very tiring running in the sand!

Got back and played a rather nice card game with Simone and Isabelle. Then Jean-Marie rang up to say Monsieur somebody or other had asked us for drinks aboard his boat. It was a very large one, with nine berths. I didn’t like M. or Mme very much but their daughter was rather nice. I thought she was 16 and found out she’s 13!!! Overheard Mr P saying, in a hushed voice, “elle parle le français très, très bien” - about me! Then went to the old Yacht Club where Mrs P had a good old chat with the other sailors’ wives and everyone talked boats. I also saw one of the most adorable little boys ever. Even more adorable than Joseph, I think… no, the same. He’s called Éric, looks like an elf, is very brown, and has a beautiful deep voice. He was so heavenly I had difficulty restraining myself from squeaking.

We had an argument at supper on whether you can use the past historic in conversation. It is used, which I never realised before. But Mr P agrees with me, it’s bad. We’re certainly not allowed to use it at school.

Terribly windy today but I’m so pleased with my hair. I like it windswept.