Neither of us imagined for a moment that it might put our marriage in danger.
How could it? Break-ups only happened to other people, like air crashes. We were living on the French canals in villages and towns that were said, by everyone, to be the most romantic in the world. We had one hundred different kinds of cheese at the smallest village shop and all the croissants we could eat. We were so lucky. Everyone said so. Not to enjoy every minute of it would be kicking luck in her teeth.
Yet we did not belong in someone else’s country, no matter how much we tried. It was theirs. They made us welcome, or at least tolerated us, and some of their good things were ours, but not the critical elements of knowing and fitting that make home.
On balance, though, throwing in my job was a roaring success. Moving to the French canals had a collateral benefit: no one ever mentioned retirement, nor did I think of it myself.
Our lives did change. In some ways for the good, in others … well, let’s just say we’re still working on that. If you’re going to change your life you must first know those parts of it you want to stay the same.
We lived in Golden Bay for a time then moved back into our house in Sumner. Sally did what she always did: lived her life as best she could and was satisfied with what she had. I had no real idea of what I wanted to do, other than write.
I don’t know if we’re better. Both of us are different people now, not for a year in France, but for having nowhere to hide.
Our marriage took a bad knock. Perhaps we were complacent; being surrounded by wreckage makes your island too much of a refuge. But we peeped into the abyss, teetered on its brink, and we both took a step back.
It is very hard to grow older without having regrets, and if you have none, what sort of life have you lived? It is a close-run thing between living life and losing something, and not living life and regretting what you have not done. If you’re going to throw your cards in the air you can’t expect them always to come down into something nice and neat, or even recognisable.
When people asked where we’d been, I said, we spent a year on the French canals. They said, oh how wonderful. And I said, yes, it was.
Acknowledgements
I thank Glenn Busch and Trish Allen, who inspired this journey, helped us along the way, put up with the fallout, and took many of the photographs.
About the Author
Bruce Ansley has written for radio, television, newspapers
and magazines for a very long time. His last book was
Stoned on Duty. He is still married, has three sons,
and lives in Christchurch and Golden Bay.
Copyright
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose
of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the
Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without
the written permission of Longacre Press and the author.
Bruce Ansley asserts his moral right to be identified
as the author of this work.
© Bruce Ansley
ISBN 978 1 877460 21 0
First published by Longacre Press, 2008
30 Moray Place, Dunedin, New Zealand
A catalogue record for this book is available from
the National Library of New Zealand.
The quotation on page 27 is reproduced with permission from the Listener
The quotation on page 41 is taken from South Sea Vagabonds (1939) by
John Wray (Wellington: A.H. and A.W. Reed, 2nd and rev. edn, 1952)
www.longacre.co.nz
Long Slow Affair of the Heart, A Page 26