Dear Cathy ... Love, Mary

by Catherine Conlon

A Saturday night in April

  Dear Mary,

  Someday I’m going to make a resolution to write letters which do not contain an apology. All of that, however, is in the unseeable future, and for the moment I hope you accept my apologies for not writing to you sooner. But over the past week, I’ve been too busy, not to mention not being in the humour of uniting ink and paper.

  And while accepting my apologies, please accept all my ‘thank yous’ as well for your pressie, which arrived today. As it’s almost 11 p.m. my normally drowsy brain has more or less completely dozed off and so the only appropriate phrase – ‘It’s what I always wanted!’ – while being VERY TRUE is somewhat unoriginal. But, honestly, I’m not just saying that to please you. I really did need a gold chain, and the thing (haven’t a clue what it’s called!) hanging on it is very unusual and eye-catching in this neck of the woods. And the proof of that is that it sparked off a conversation with Yvan, who happened to be sitting beside me when the postman came at dinner time. I sorta hung around the kitchen this evening (have you any idea how bloody messy it is hanging around a kitchen?) and sponged a cookery lesson out of him, and learnt the French version of making a madeira cake (which somewhat disappointingly resembles the Irish method – only there’s no comparison between Sister Thérèse and Yvan!).

  But anyway the message of all the above pointless rambling is just to say thanks for thinking of me, and I wish I could be with you on the 11th.

  Let’s see, what have I in the way of news? Oh, yes, got me peepers tested last night. Went to the eye specialist yesterday evening in Concarneau. Secretary was a right sour ole bitch. So, I was expecting this grumpy ancient grandpa to appear out of the office. Instead this young (late twenties), handsome guy materialises. Boy, was I stunned. And the surprise of seeing him combined with his space-age equipment left me speechless for all of five minutes.

  God, when I think of the optician at home and the dartboard-like chart pinned to the back of a door of a little kitchen of a room! Anyway, I won’t go into all the complicated details of the examination. To tell the truth I was so mesmerised by his gorgeous big brown eyes, which were only centimetres from my own, that I hardly noticed anything else. (Viv came with me in case I’d have language problems. And later she embarrassed the life out of me as we were eating back in the restaurant and she started blabbing on about ‘bouche à bouche’. I sorta turned the colour of Heinz’s tomato sauce, dug a hole in the floor and slid into it!)

  But they’ve a bizarre system here. The guy who tests your eyes doesn’t actually sell the frames or arrange for the mounting of the glass. He just writes the lenses required on a piece of paper and then you go to an optician who sells you the frames and arranges to have them fitted. So, the test itself cost me £10. Then today I went and after much headshaking finally chose my future goggles. The frames cost me £45! And the glass for each lens £23. Grand total over £100 – a month’s wages. Admittedly, I’m having the lenses tinted, but that only costs £10 more than buying the little sunglasses things you can buy separately, which are very ugly, badly fitting and are generally in your bedroom while you’re squinting on the beach!

  But I think if I didn’t get new glasses, and soon at that, I’d have ended up walking under a car. I’m almost as blind as a bat, and lately I’ve been getting terrible headaches. So even though I’ve already cried an ocean over my month’s work, well, I suppose it’s money well spent!

  As they had two weeks’ holidays (again!) from school, François brought the two girls to see his parents in Paris. Initially, I was supposed to go with them, staying at Viv’s sister’s place. But she couldn’t provide accommodation at the time, so I’m supposed to go sometime in the next fortnight (but I doubt that I’ll ever get there, except under my own steam!). The train journey’ll cost me £35. So naturally I’m really annoyed I couldn’t have gone with François. That’d have cost me nothing at all.

  That self-same guy who was supposed to show me around in February is now supposed to take his holidays at the same time as me, and once again outline a tour of the city. But any notions I may (?) have had of a Frenchified Romeo have been quenched by a remark of Vivianne’s – ‘Assez moche et pas riche’ (pretty ugly and not rich!). Shucks! Knowing my luck he’d end up being the reincarnation of Quasimodo. Okay, I know he was a nice ‘gentil’ type but, heck, what do I care about that? As I’m only going to be in his company for a week, I want somebody gorgeous-looking, debonair, rich, charming, romantic, with a small red two-seater (i.e. sports car!). Yes, you’ve guessed, a guy straight from M & B!

  And I can’t ask Vivianne what he’s like, as she’ll only tease me, and I did enough blushing last night to last me a lifetime! So I guess I’ll have to suffer in silence.

  Anyway, by this stage, I’m really too tired to do any more scribbling and my never-very-active brain is now carrying a sign, which says, ‘Strike on here!’ So, I’ll stick my pen back in my pencil (yawn!) case, my finger on the light and telly switch and myself in my (yawn, yawn!) bed, without even bothering to stick my teeth in Steradent! Bonne nuit et à demain, ou le jour après, ou peut-être le jour après ça, si j’ai enfin un peu de chance dans ma malheureuse vie, jusqu’au jour quand tout le monde quitte Paris parce que j’y arrive.

  Tuesday, 10 April

  If I tell you that I’m currently on the beach sun-bathing, while over my head the sun is a round blazing ball and the ‘alouettes’ are singing and the sea is so bright and blue, except for the odd patches which are multi-coloured due to the surfboards with sails, will you turn bright green with envy? If I were you, I would! I just hope this fabulous weather is going to last until September!

  The last time I wrote, I forgot to mention Vivianne’s birthday party. She was thirty-three on 29 March. We had a fondue. ‘We’ were Yvan and Chantal, Bruno and Françoise, me, François and naturally enough Vivianne.

  Have you ever tasted fondue? It’s fabulous but it may not be your cup of tea. What you do is mix a couple of kilos of various cheeses with a litre of white wine, some garlic and a few drops of kirsch. Then you gently cook the whole thing until it’s thoroughly mixed and gooey and gluey and yummy. Then you transfer your saucepan onto a small spirit fire on the table, which serves to keep the cheese melted. Everybody has special long forks, onto which you stick a piece of hard bread. You then dip that into the fondue, hoping you don’t lose the bread! It’s really great fun and I don’t know when I laughed so much. It really was a great night. For the first time since I arrived here, I really opened up and laughed and talked and was the ‘me’ that you all probably know but who never left Ireland.

  Maybe I was a bit tipsy, I don’t know. I just know it was a great night. After dessert – a fantastic, gigantic banana split – we played a dice game. Can’t remember the name now – never was much good at Chinese! But I was really delighted because I won – and by miles at that. Mind you, I’d Yvan and Chantal giving me a hand, but as I was the only novice I think that’s only fair, don’t you?

  Monday, 16 April

  I suppose by this stage, you’re fit to kill me. But for probably the first time in my life, I haven’t really been in the humour for writing letters. At the moment I’m once again – for a totally unknown reason – going thru that stage we all went thru this time last year and which you’ll hopefully not go thru again for another few years. If you still haven’t cottoned on to what I’m on about – well – I’m just simply asking myself a hundred times a day … ‘What do you want to do with your life? Where are you going from here? Are you going to stay in France, or take the risk of giving up a “job” and try and get something else at home or in England? If you put a bomb in the washing and
in the roller-iron, will Vivianne take all the decisions for you and promptly put you out of your misery? Can you stand another five months of doing nothing but ironing with a few hours of the beach in between?’

  I DON’T KNOW.

  As you can see, I’m in a bit (?) of a depression. I’ll get all that over and done with first and then cheer you up with a bit of news. The main cause of my depression, at this very exact moment, is due to my correspondence course. I’ve finished the typing section, and two weeks ago started the next phase, which is totally incomprehensible. So, I’m faced with indecision at the moment and just don’t know what to do. I’ve just written to my teacher to ask her for some advice (wish you were here!). So, I suppose I’ll have to wait a couple of weeks for her reply. Anyway, enough of this unpleasant topic.

  My birthday – well – the day was like any other, except brekkie started with a red package encircled by a little yellow ribbon. On tearing the paper to pieces, I found a black leather case whose insides were those very necessary items required to have wonderful nails (i.e. a manicure set, dum-dum!). So, I was delighted because yes! You’ve guessed! It’s just what I’ve always wanted!

  That evening, while Delphine was having her music lesson, we strolled around Concarneau and had a gawk in the shops, DIY, and an art gallery. On the way home, we stopped in at Marie-Thérèse (remember The Good Life? Well, MT was the model!). Anyway to celebrate she took her peach wine out of hiding. I had only a small glass of it, but even so, everything went really fuzzy and peculiar. Marcel, her husband, kept pressing me to taste his famous Norman ‘Eau de Vie’, and in the end, I took a teaspoon of it, and yuk! Thought the Irish version was awful, but this is worse again.

  Anyway, the result of taking your advice (you told me to get sloshed!) and the mixing of my drinks seemed to act as a sleeping pill because all the next day I was as dopey as they come and, in the end, had to sleep off the effects! So, I suppose it wasn’t too bad a birthday after all!

  Have to go and pick the kids up from school. Will try and get back to you later!

  Tuesday, 17 April

  Did I already mention that I’ve been keeping in touch with my aunt? As you may remember, I wasn’t always very popular with her before I left my native shores. I think that was because I kinda had the habit of saying what I was thinking. For some inexplicable reason this always put her back up. Anyway, in her last letter she wrote, ‘At least you always said what you thought. We knew what you were thinking. I hope when you come home, you’ll be able to get a job near enuf so that you can come and visit us.’

  I tell ya, Molly, I was speechless. The shock of it knocked me on the flat of me back. Got a pressie off her today – shucks. In fact, it’s gorgeous. A book on one of my favourite topics – cats! You should see the photos – absolutely fantastic. When I have a house/flat of my own, I might detach some of them from the book and frame them to hang ’em on the walls.

  Oh, yes! You were asking about catalogues here. Well, I’d love to send you some – but I doubt if they’re much different from the ones at home.

  Oh, yes, bought a pair of red trousers the other day from a guy who sells from a lorry. I think you’re familiar with Sloan’s? Well, same idea. The trousers cost me £20 (gasp!) but quality is terrific and, besides, I’d just received that amount from Nanny for my birthday. I bought a red and white T-shirt too. On the agenda at the moment are a pair of black or/and khaki shorts and a swimsuit.

  Do you know what a ‘crêperie’ is? Well, if you don’t, let me tell you that it’s a place where they sell crêpes or pancakes. Over here they work miracles with them. They stuff ’em with eggs, tomatoes, sausages, mushrooms, bacon, bananas, apples, pineapples, whiskey, rum, etc. Well, anyway, a new crêperie was opened on Sunday night in St Phil by a friend of Viv’s. So, for the first time, I got to visit one. It was certainly worth it. Started off with a cheese one, followed by a super bacon and egg, finished off with one stuffed with apples – delicious. (To heck with the calories!) And the traditional drink is cider. And as the same people happen to make their own cider, its quality equals that of the crêpes. Anyway, it was a good night – and wasn’t really too dear, about £3 each.

  I’m enclosing some publicity left over from last year for the restaurant. Personally, I think the standard of the paper is terrible, but I think that’s due to the publishing company. The road I’ve added in myself in blue ink is the one that goes to the sea. Sometimes when I’m in the humour for walking, I go from here to the sea, then along the coast road to Trévignon, to the pharmacie and back to St Phil. That makes about four miles. It’s a lovely walk, though. Do you think we’ll ever get to do it together?

  Now the subject of the comments you made in your letter about the photos. Well, the photos themselves first. I think that the camera, in an effort to apologise for all the awful uncomplimentary pictures it has taken of me over the past fifth of a century, was over-generous and too kind when it carried out its purpose at Christmas. The results did not contain my three spare tyres, dull lanky hair, double chin, etc. Therefore the pictures seen didn’t represent what I actually looked like. I was really surprised and may I say pleased when I saw how well they turned out.

  All of that leaves me feeling like somebody’s grand-aunt beside Marie-Claude. Just the same, I’ve gotten to know her a little bit better now (did I mention that she gives Chrystelle maths grinds while I give Anne English ones every Wednesday morning?), and I can see that even though she puts forward a calm, sophisticated appearance, underneath it all, she’s just as timid and awkward as I am. I met her on the beach one day, and we were talking for twenty minutes or so. She said she’d love to be able to work in South Africa, but to do so, perfect English is required. Personally, I think she’s crazy to want to work in a country on the verge of civil war. She drowned a lot of my worries when she said my accent was nice.

  (Had I mentioned I’d joined the library in Concarneau? Well, the last time I left my books on the counter, as we were in a hurry, and went looking for some to take out. One of the women working there asked the other who the books belonged to, and she replied, ‘Y’know, to the girl you can never understand.’ So, where does that leave my accent?)

  She still hasn’t invited me to go to the cinema or anything with her, and I don’t expect that she will do so. Just the same, I imagine, given time, we’ll become quite friendly.

  By the way, I’ve already got a tan – in the month of April too! Bought a black low-cut swimsuit in Concarneau last night. Hope I’ll soon be able to use it!

  Anyway, I think this letter has dragged on enuf. It’s beginning to bore you, I fear. Again, I’m sorry it took so long to put together and that it’s so badly phrased, disjointed, etc., etc. I think the sun is frying my brain!

  I really wish you could be here with me. It’ll be great when I get home in September. We’ll have to rent out the Central Grill and/or the ice-cream parlour for a week, so that we’ll be able to communicate verbally.

  Hoping to hear from you sooner than you heard from me. Say hello to all the gang in 63, won’t you, and tell ’em ‘Happy Easter’ (I think Celia’s going home at Easter).

  Tons and tons of love,

  miss you all,

  Catherine

  PS Be sure to keep me up-to-date on your romances. Unfortunately, not being experienced in that field so far, I can’t give you any advice.

  Also, if you see Eleanor, can you tell her that I’m still waiting for a reply to my letter of two months ago?

  PPS Keep me informed on the latest goings-on of Dynasty, won’t you?!

  Letter 20 / Writing to you instead of swotting!
r />   Carrick

  Sunday, 13 May 1984

  Dear Cathy,

  It’s me again. I’m writing this on a sunny Sunday sitting on the sofa. Maw has gone off walking, Paw is reading the paper in his corner and Martin is gone off on the twenty-mile Lions Cycling Tour. Little ole me elected to stay at home and swot but I took one look at those yucky books, those double-yucky notes and those triple-yucky hand-outs, which I should have studied months ago, and I sez to myself, ‘Aaargh!’ So here I am writing to youse – the salve of my conscience!

  Seriously, though, I was really relieved to get your last letter. You had us all in a tizzy over here, ya know. Not a trace from you for weeks. I asked around to the others to see if they had heard a thing. Negatory on all counts. I even phoned Sue. Miss Marple never did it better. I had visions of you being kidnapped by some Bedouin on a white horse, or being gobbled up on the beach by Jaws, until sanity prevailed and I had to admit that Bedouins and sharks ain’t too prevalent in Trégunc. I doubt as well if you’d protest too much about the former! (Aaargh, a wasp has just flown in the door. ’Scuse me …)

  Anyway, to get back to your letter … gee, you were down in the dumps, weren’t you? Ironical, isn’t it? I recollect you saying the same thing to me a while back. In actual fact you said, ‘Pack up your troubles etc. and smile, smile, smile.’ How about me saying the same to you? A taste of your own medicine, huh? Seriously, though, I hope your spirits have lifted. Believe me, I know what it’s like. Summer is coming and I bet you’ll make lots of friends to take you out of yourself. Meanwhile I’m looking forward to September as much as you. What d’ya think I sent you the calendar for?

  Talking about summer, the weather has been fantastic here too. We had a great Easter. I got a sort of a tan. But I look a bit pukey still.