‘So, you were a bit of a farmer then, did you grow all your own food? Was there rationing here in France too?’
‘Oh yes, in fact here it was stricter than at home in England. Don’t forget the Germans were in control of the north and pulling the strings of the Vichy Government in the south. You’d imagine that living in the countryside there’d be an abundance of food but the bulk of meat and other supplies went to the Boche, so we were stretched even further. Many country dwellers grew their own produce but with the men away there was nobody to farm the huge swathes of land and again, women took up the mantle.’
‘But where were the men, did they join the army?’
‘Those who were fit and of the right age were enrolled into Service du Travail Obligatoire, forced labour to you and I. If you refused, a prison camp awaited so many French citizens found themselves transported. Sometimes they went to Germany where they had to work on munitions or build planes, lay railway lines or whatever they were told to do. Many refused so before they were arrested, they fled and joined the partisan cause.’
‘Oh, I see. That’s who the Resistance were, and the ones you told me about, like Roberto. I get it now. So, were you hungry all the time?’
‘Yes, I suppose we were, but we adapted. Tante Helene kept chickens so we always had eggs, and then rabbits.’
‘For eating!’
‘Yes, Maude, we didn’t cuddle them in those days.’ Dottie rolled her eyes.
‘Oh, I don’t think I could have eaten one.’
‘You’d be surprised what you’ll eat when you are hungry, but I won’t go down the offal route. But cow’s head stew was and still is considered a delicacy…’
‘Gran!’
‘Sorry, I forget you have a weak stomach. Have I told you about the ersatz coffee? Oh, that was dreadful, Maude. They made it from acorns and chickpeas or sometimes chicory and roasted barley and we always drank it black because dairy products were rationed. People were inventive though and once, Tante Helene made some soap from caustic soda, resin from pine trees, and boiled cows’ feet. Those were the days, you know, tough but we survived.’
‘Mmm, I bet that soap smelt delightful and was so gentle on your skin. Did you have ration cards and coupons like in England?’
‘Yes, and that was one of the things the Maquis would regularly target in raids on Town Halls. Don’t get me wrong, the farmers and silent resistors made sure our groups were fed, but the coupons came in handy and it was a kick in the balls for the Boche.’
Maude laughed. ‘Yep, there she is. Little Miss Prim and Proper.’
‘I’m saying it like it is. I remember at weekends city dwellers would come by train to see if they could buy food from the farmers and one of our group, little Polo, would take the rabbits in a basket to the market at Châteaubriant and they’d be snapped up in minutes.’
‘Gran, can we just skip the rabbits, please?’
Dottie was prevented from answering when Maude’s phone began to ring inside her bag. The loud tut which escaped her lips brought a smile to Dottie’s face.
‘Shall I get that for you, Maudie?’
‘No, it’ll be Lachlan again. I bloody told him not to ring on my mobile, it’ll cost a fortune. Why can’t he wait till I get to a phone box like we agreed? If Mum can do it so can he.’
‘He’s just crazy in love, that’s all.’
‘Don’t be sarky.’
Again, Dottie smirked. ‘Just remember, when you go to live in Australia you’ll have to get used to eating horrible things. I’ve seen that programme with Ant and Dec and they eat some queer stuff over there, witchetty grubs, kangaroo bits, cute fluffy koala burgers…’
‘Gran, stop talking rubbish, that’s just a game show and I am not going to live there, okay? I’m going for a holiday. That. Is. All.’
The phone chirped into life again much to Dottie’s glee.
‘If you say so… Uh-oh, he’s being very persistent today. Perhaps I should turn it off, if it’s annoying you.’ Dottie tried not to smile or sound too eager.
‘Just put it on silent, he’ll take the huff if he knows I’ve switched it off. Oh look, here’s the village.’
A hush fell on the car as Maude slowly traversed the quiet streets and Dottie focused on the houses that skirted the centre, none of them at all familiar but as they continued, the architecture changed. After passing the well-tended gardens and houses of similar modern designs, older, squat, higgledy-piggledy rows of bumpy walled terraces came into view. The roofs sloped and bowed in tiled waves, one joining onto the other, the windows were small and square, the doorways low and no doubt requiring the householder to stoop before entering. The elm lined road curved into a bend, obscuring the route ahead but Dottie already knew what to expect. On the rue des Poses, to the left would be Café des Amis,let it be there, let it be there, and opposite the row of shops, theboulangerieandboucherie, and then the cobbled market square where in summer the baskets of produce would be sheltered by the trees. On the other side would be thechambre d’hotes, the little hotel owned by Polo’s Tante Elise and a few paces along, the church: Église Saint Denis.
Dottie held her breath and her skin prickled. ‘Oh my.’
Maude slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. They both sat in silence for a second or two and took in the scene until Maude asked a question.
