Tongue-Tied

Ladies of the Street

Today felt like a promise of the summer to come. I could almost smell wild thyme, taste the summer dust hanging in the air and hear cicadas. I pottered around some friends' garden, the sun on my back and no sign of the brisk breeze usual at this time of the year. This false-sense of a mid-June day was further enhanced on returning home. Out in our street, The Ladies (our elderly neighbours) were taking the sun, and we knew they were serious as they had gotten the chairs out. From now until the end of May they'll bask like geckos whenever they get the chance. Come June and the seriously hot weather,  they'll slowly move the chairs, nudged by the sun, from the top of the street to the bottom, looking for whatever shade they can find. From the end of August they'll be geckos again until the first chills of autumn drive them indoors. They have a spare chair kept for passers-by who might know something they want to hear and the assembly is governed over by Mme La Presidente, the woman outside whose house they happen to be sitting, so that they all get a turn.

Whenever we return from an outing, we're expected to relate every detail - where, when, how long, how much. They know what we had for our picnic lunch, the temperature of the lake we swam in, our fascination with the odd combine-harvesters used in vineyards, which map we used on our walk, everything. My schoolboy French is stretched to the limits.

Nothing is missed. The Ladies scrutinise every bagfull of Leclerc shopping. They can count full bottles going in, empties coming out and up to the bottle bank. Its impossible to do any DIY without them knowing what shade of magnolia the bathroom's going to be, or what new plant we've bought for our third floor terrace. "C'est comme Versailles en haut là, vraiment!"

They can be immensley helpful too. A couple of years ago I had a generalised allergic reaction to the steering wheel of the hire car but didn't know the cause till later. Coming back from a long drive, my hands, arms, legs, ears and mouth were swelling alarmingly. How on earth could I get help at 3pm on a Sunday? The Ladies gathered around and agreed that 15 should be called. They explained that this was the emergency doctor service. I started to head off to the nearest public phone, "But wait, Monsieur. You must use this one", said Madame reaching inside for the cordless phone. This kindness saved me a walk and meant they could hang on every symptom. They were agog, both horrified and relieved.  The matter was sorted within the hour. I was seen at the on-call surgery within ten minutes and the Gendarmes had the chemist open up so my prescription could be filled . Twice daily medical bulletins were expected (and given) until the end of that holiday.

In September of the hot summer of 2004, "Quel canicule!!!!", it was still 80/24 degrees at 2am. The heat wasn't the only cause of insomnia. The fair was in town, the rides and sideshows being lined up the length of Le Tivoli which runs parallel to our street. We were taking adavantage of the relative cool by sanding and repainting our shutters. Returning from fetching something from the car, I was called over to The Ladies to explain what we were up to. "We're repainting the ...erm...comment c'est dit en français?....the.... doors of the windows"

"Ah, les volets!"

"Yes, that's the word, 'volets'"

A couple of days later, as I passed the group, I was invited to take The Chair. Never before had I been offered it and sat down rather nervously expecting a grilling. Silence. As one, they all leaned closer. Seven pairs of eyes searched me, probed me. Then La Presidente informed me that my French was odd. They all agreed that it was so, for who could know the French for combine-harvester  and NOT know the word for shutters? With that I was dismissed.

Coming from London, I'm not used to talking with my neighbours.  Over here, and in French, I find it a bit scary, very challenging, occasionally irksome, but generally a good thing to do. I don't mind their curiosity, scrutiny, benign interest and care.  I realise how much I've missed these things since The Ladies retired indoors last autumn. Its been a cold and lonely winter. Seeing the sun-hungry group this afternoon reminded me that spring and summer are only a matter of a few weeks away and with that, more human contact.

And, just in case you ever need it, combine harvester?....moissoneuse-batteuse.