Tuesday 28 December 2010

Clutching at straws!

The next milestone since the D-day invasion in 1944, is the 70th anniversary in 2014. As each year passes, there are fewer veterans alive and the 70th anniversary may be the last time we see some of these great men attend the celebrations in Normandy.

A few months ago, whilst taking a walk on Utah Beach, I had a conversation with an English gentleman about the D-day landings. He was asking questions to some of the other people who were looking at a monument and as I knew the answer to his question, I enlightened him. What struck me about this man was his sheer ignorance of what had happened here. Having grown up on a diet of war films, action man and airfix models, I assumed that everybody had a vague idea of what happened in Normandy. How wrong could I have been.

It turns out that this man had come to see what all the fuss was about and found it hard to believe that people would actually visit places like this. At the time of this conversation, the D-day museum at Utah Beach was being extended and the new wing was due to open in the spring of 2011. Although this man wasn't nasty, the statements he made were, in my opinion, disrespectful. His response to the extension of the museum was that they probably needed to fill it with "tatt" to attract more tourists. Was there some truth in this statement? Probably yes if it meant attracting people like him!

Normandy is a special place and it is hard to imagine what happened here all those years ago. There are enough reminders but without them, and the knowledge of what happened here, yes, you could be anywhere. What makes this part of France special is the history. It is easy to overlook things, especially when you live here; but what happened here, changed the course of history.

Although we are relatively new to the area, we are doing our best to honour the memory of the brave soldiers who liberated France and the rest of Europe. In the short space of time we have been here, we have had the honour of meeting many great people. What makes those people great is the determination they have in doing their bit to preserve the memory of World War 2. Sure it is true that many need to make a living from it, as we do, but it is a lifestyle choice. The choice we have made is to pursue a passion and to share that passion with people who come to Normandy.

Paul Woodage is a good example of one of those people. Although I have not had the pleasure of meeting him yet, he came to Normandy to establish Battlebus. He successfully ran the Normandy battlefield tour bus company for many years and from comments littered everywhere on the Internet, he has shared his knowledge and passion with thousands of tourists from all corners of the world. I am not sure if he has been honoured in some way for his efforts, but in my humble opinion, people like him should be. Without that sort of passion, will the memory of D-day fade? In the opinion of the gentleman on Utah Beach, it probably has already and we are clutching at straws to make a living from what interest is left.

So the big question is: are we clutching at straws? In my opinion no! We are doing our bit to preserve the memory of D-day and if you would like to come and have a D-day beaches holiday, we would be more than happy to welcome you to our home.

For the record, Paul has now discontinued the Battlebus service and is now doing private tours. His website is called D-day Historian and if you are planning on visiting Normandy, his services come highly recommended.

Saturday 4 December 2010

SNCF - What does it mean?

I had planned to take the kids to visit their mum and new brother in the hospital at Cherbourg. As a treat for the boys, I thought it would be more interesting to go by train. I am a big fan of public transport and having worked for the British Railways for nearly 25 years, I prefer the train to the car.

S.N.C.F, the French national railway system has a world renowned reputation for being a fantastic transport system. If you have read some of my previous posts, you will get the impression that this is not the case. With that said, I was prepared for a few delays due to the snowy conditions. What I wasn't prepared for was the attitude of the S.N.C.F staff.

We arrived at Carentan train station about five minutes before our train was due so we rushed to get a ticket. Luckily, there was not a queue so no problems. In French, I asked the ticket clerk for a return ticket to Cherbourg. This was greeted with a brief glance and then a shrug. This was followed by a two minute silence whilst the man just looked at his computer screen. I looked at my two sons and the eldest asked why it was taking so long; good point. With that comment I indicated to the clerk, in French, that the train was due in two minutes and I can take the train without paying if that would make his life easier. This was greeted with some swearing. I was in shock and lost for words. In England, I would be fired if I talked to a customer like that.

Before I write the next paragraph, here are translations of the words that were mentioned:

Putain - F*ck, F*cking, F*cking hell (you get the idea)
Merde - Sh*t

With a combination of putain and merde coming from the ticket clerk, what seemed to be a nice family day out on the train, turned out to be an insult. This man, obviously not happy to be working on a Saturday afternoon and having to talk to an English man who speaks French, saw fit to swear at me and my kids. Even my eldest son asked why he was using gros mots (swear words). I told my son that he was using swear words because he is miserable, he is French, has the backing of a union which would get him his job back even if he was fired by bringing the whole French transport system to a grinding halt, probably insecure and is behind an inch of protective glass. Would he have done the same without the glass; I think not.

I thought about lowering myself to his level; however, this is not a good example to set for the kids so I just took my ticket and wished him a bonne journee (good afternoon) with a wink. This seemed to wind him up and no doubt he will hate the English even more; for what reason, I don't know. I have always been told, by French people, that they dislike English who make no attempt to speak French and expect them to speak English. This is not the case for me so perhaps I just have a face that people love to hate. I certainly am beginning to get that impression the longer I stay in France!

For those of you who do now know what S.N.C.F means, it is Société Nationale des Chemins de fer français; simply put, French Railways. For me it means: Surely not customer friendly!

Friday 3 December 2010

Snow Laughing Matter

The weather seemed to be deterioating quickly; just as quick as the contractions were coming. After much deliberation of where we should go to have the baby, we decided to stick to plan A and go to Cherbourg. The alternative was Bayeux, which I would have preferred; however, Emma decided that it would be Cherbourg all the same.

The stress levels were pretty high before we left for the hospital, due mostly to the snow. I have lived in a city all of my life and have complained in the past when the snow made my journey to work that bit longer. As we are now living in a rural part of France, it almost seemed like we were isolated from the outside world. Would the roads be clear or would I be delivering the baby in the car whilst trapped in a snow drift. This thought crossed my mind so many times along the way and this thought did not help my blood pressure one bit!

So far so good, we thought. The roads were not as bad as we first thought and the stress levels seemed to be stabilising. That was until we reached the outskirts of Cherbourg. My wife uttered the fatal words "That's it, we are almost there. Nothing to worry about now". Nothing to worry about, apart from the snow that seemed to be falling at a great rate and the road starting to become a worryingly shade of white.

In the distance, the bright red of tail lights signalled the impending doom. The thought about delivering the baby in a snow drift came back into to my mind and the stress levels were raised to Defcon 1. For those of you who do not know Cherbourg, there is one important factor to note. To get into the city, there is a steep gradient and although I am not an expert with physics, one thing I do know is that whilst travelling downhill, you have more momentum. More momentum and less grip on the road means delivering the baby in a wrecked car.

In England, we have a car that has an automatic handbrake; however, this is not the case for the car we have in France. After sliding and having a near miss with another car, I decided to pull over and wait. I had seen the snow plough and the gritting lorry pass in the other direction and my logic told me that it would come back. As we are in France, this logic does not seem to work in the same manner. We waited for what seemed like an eternity and as many cars passed me on their descent, I felt my male pride take over and decided to go for it. I wondered if the snow plough had stopped at the top of the hill in order for the drivers to have a smoke and a chat. No doubt organising their next strike to bring down the Sarkozy government.

With my male pride at full power, I slowly started to make my way down the hill. I could see that my wife was nearly in tears with the stress of the situation. Me too; however, for the record, I had a fly in my eye. I kept shouting "merde" at the car. This stupid car wanted to go sideways down the road. This stupid French car didn't want to go straight and this raised both of our stress levels to maximum. I wont write the words that I shouted at the car but I am sure you will get the idea. By this time, I was sweating and the car started to steam up. In the heat of the moment, literally, I had forgotten that I had the heating on full and, was wearing my wooley hat and gloves. This heat did not help the nerves, especially when I felt the sweat running between the cheeks of my backside.

After more expletives, the car decide to start bleeping at me. "Jesus Christ; what now", I shouted. My wife indicated that the I had left the hand brake on and that is why we were going sideways down the steep gradient. My male pride was hurt now and I didn't know what to say. I did what most men would do in this situation and sulked.

One of the things that seemed to be working well in this car was the rear view mirror. In this, I could see the flashing lights of the snow plough and the gritting lorry. My wife did not see this and I knew this, so I became all macho. "I'm fine now", I said, rather unconvincingly. I regard myself as being a reasonable clever person who is aware of my surroundings. Because of this, I pulled over the car to the side of the road to let the oncoming snow plough pass. I could not believe my eyes when I saw the cars behind me start to overtake. After another round of Jesus Christ's, I sat there in amazement. The cars were trying to overtake me, despite the trecherous conditions. Do they not have rear view mirrors in their cars? To add insult to injury, the driver of the first car that passed me had the audacity to flash a disaprooving glance and shrug towards me for holding him up. Bloody French!

When we finally arrived at the hospital, it became apparent that despite the contractions, the baby would not be born that day. My wife was disappointed as she has a thing with dates. She thought that the 1st of December was better than the 2nd. All I could think was how I could bring my blood pressure down.

As we live far from Cherbourg and due to the poor driving conditions, the hospital admitted my wife and kindly allows me to stay too. After a poor nights sleep on the floor, we were greeted with the news that my wife would be induced. He was to be born on the 2nd of December after all.

At 1445, Loïc was born. Weighing in at a healthy 4.340kg, he made us both cry with joy. No doubt the crying also helped to relieve some stress as well! Another night was spent sleeping on the floor but as we are very much in love with our new son, I did not notice the bad back and stiff neck as much as I did before he arrived!

They say that love can make you do strange things. When I look back, which is one of the reasons I write this blog, I will no doubt see that we have done some strange things! Exciting, stressful, sad and happy things; but no doubt strange!