Next to the large wardrobes is a wall cabinet, about six-feet tall. This end of the attic was only ever used for storage as it was darker than the others because it only gets light from one small window that is used to access the roof and a few holes that were soon to get fixed. A heavyweight cloth was draped over the cabinet. I approached it, both excited and nervous to find out what was underneath. There is nothing like some adrenaline to get you going when you’re about to uncover something in a quiet, calm attic.
I could feel my heart beating as I pulled down the cloth. There in front of me was every unused scrap of wallpaper left over from the château’s 150 years, all in impeccable condition. I knew at that moment what this meant: we had the design history of the château in our hands. It made me shudder just thinking about Jacques putting this all on the fire. With Dorothy on my hips I could only take five minutes to see if I recognised anything. The first thing that jumped out at me were leftovers of the paper from the entrance hall. I did not even want to touch them until I came back equipped. I was treating them like I had found a family of endangered dodos. This was a priceless find and I knew it.
Half the battle to get a job done for us was understanding the system and the processes in France. Artisans don’t just come and do a job. They visit, discuss the work and then produce a quote. The quote then has to be countersigned and returned before they will even put the job into their diary. That is all very simple compared to getting a new sewage system for the château and coach house. For that we needed a survey. Having sought some advice, we were directed to Monsieur Jean-Luc Bechu (the man who did surveys). We booked him to come and visit. He came and visited. And when we accepted the quote he then arranged to come back and do the survey. We knew that the coach house would one day become a residence for Jenny and Steve, so we had arranged for the survey to cover both properties, partly to save time downstream, but mainly because it was much cheaper than having two separate visits and documents produced.
On the day of the survey, I ensured I had time to shadow M. Bechu so I could fully understand the options and make an informed decision as to which solution we would commission. After the obligatory cup of coffee and niceties we discussed the occupation of the château and the planned number of bathrooms, toilets and kitchens. To an extent, it was educated guesswork; we knew we would be living in the château all year round and that during the wedding season we would be having about a dozen weddings, with guests staying in our suites and other rooms, but we were not sure of the numbers that might be coming for the day of the celebrations. We also expected to host guests for gourmet weekends, but we didn’t know how many and how often. Actually, to coin a phrase I use when troubleshooting in industry, it was all a bit of a PIDOOMA* when it came to the numbers. We had talked about our business a lot, but we still had no idea what shape it would eventually take. So I decided to err on the cautious side, as it would not be good if our guests generated too much poopage!
We walked around and discussed options. It was very interesting, in the way that only a conversation about dealing with sewage can be, and M. Bechu and I agreed the best way forward. He then went away, promising to get me everything in writing as soon as he possibly could as he knew I could do nothing until I had copies of his report to show the mayor’s office, the installer and the wonderfully named SPANC*. Sadly, it was to take another three months to get the reports we needed, but apparently that was not a terribly long time.
During my London years, one of my favourite pastimes was going for walks along the Regent’s Canal. Often to meet friends, then with Dick and, in my last couple of years, pregnant and then with a Silver Cross pram. I was always fascinated by the wild flowers and foliage that grew along the banks. It was beautiful and natural and was the closest thing to nature I had. The water calmed me, and Dick and I always said we wanted to be near water. But, like many, I was living to feed my busy life and pay my bills, so my walks were not as often as I would have liked.
I never imagined in my wildest dreams that we would have our own ‘canal’ sanctuary one day. That we would have the freedom to walk with the family every day, twice, three times … more! When Dick was away, this became a part of my daily rhythm. The closeness to nature was soothing and gave time for my mind to breathe. Spotting a new wild flower could make my day. There were lots of ‘first time I saw’ moments and when I spoke to Dick on the phone I could hear him getting excited by my excitement. That May I discovered for the first time that we have foxgloves on the left bank of the château – they tower tall and elegant with their purple trumpets that spike at the top. I had never seen wild ones before! On the right of the château, on the island bank and opposite it, were thousands of oversized daisies. I later found out these were called oxeye daisies. And next to these, buttercups … in the millions. I picked one and held it under Arthur’s chin to see if he liked butter. Then I spotted bishop’s lace with its beautiful white delicate flowers – though it actually smells horrid when you pick it! And then there were grasses and ferns.
Spring was joyous and seeing the grounds transform before my eyes felt enchanting … Everywhere I looked there was an abundance of shades of green. I saw wild flowers I had never seen before and foliage that I would have paid a fortune for in Columbia Road Flower Market. Dick claims to not be a flower man but he has so much knowledge compared to me. Maybe not as much as he has about other stuff but still enough to impress. I often wonder how he retains so much information … It seems to rattle around inside his head and pop to the forefront of his mind when he needs it.
I loved watching the bare branches of our lime trees turn green. They were lush and gigantic and gave me and the kids shelter from the sun. Most days we would take a little blanket and play in the shade of the trees. Arthur was into dinosaurs and building blocks, water and sand and Dorothy was just on the verge of walking …
In between filming blocks, Dick flew home to be with us and move things along. There was pressure to get as much done as possible but we also had to make time to be a family. One afternoon, we were all sat together on a blanket under the trees. Dick and I had our feet touching, with our legs stretched out in a V shape that made a diamond. Dorothy was clambering over us both, and then she realised that she had safety walls. Dick held her up and steered her to me … and she walked. It was only a couple of steps, but it was her first couple of steps. And then it was her smile, stretching from ear to ear, and the joy in her eyes, the kind of joy that makes you wish you could capture that moment and wrap it up, just in case the memory ever becomes less. That’s why it’s great to write these moments down. I was elated that Dorothy had taken her first steps when Dick was home. As a biased mum I put it down to her knowledge and understanding of what was going on.
National Geographic had been keeping me busy again with trips to the mountains of Nevada, the forests of New Jersey, the Great Lakes in Michigan and the wilderness of Ohio, but every time I came back we tried to do some exploring of the area around Martigné. The town of Mayenne was no longer the main city in the département, that responsibility had moved to Laval, so we felt we should get to know it. Where better to start than the Saturday-morning market, followed by lunch in a small bistro.
The market allegedly starts at about 7am and goes on to 2pm. We have never been there first thing in the morning so have not seen the stallholders set up, but what we do know is that we have also never seen them stay and work all the way through lunch. It’s just not French. In the years that we have been going, we have learnt to ensure we have finished our walk around before 12.30pm as the city square very soon becomes empty of stalls.
The first time we arrived in Laval, we really struggled to find somewhere to park. All the car parks were overfilled, with every gap that could take a car being taken, regardless of any marking on the road or the signposts. You do get the feeling that the French don’t like rules, despite having so many. The big problem is, as a visitor, or someone new to living in France, you just don’t know which ones are
taken seriously and which ones aren’t so you feel you have to obey them all. Not knowing the local parking etiquette, we kept driving around until we found a small, really convenient, car park with a couple of free spots. We parked up and couldn’t believe our luck. I popped my coins in the machine, paying for enough time to walk around and have lunch. Soon after, we discovered that, in our part of France at least, you don’t pay to park over lunchtime. Why would you? Everyone civilised is having a two-hour lunch break so there would be no traffic wardens.
The walk from the car park passed the old city walls and went along cobbled streets that must have been one-way if cars were allowed at all. The houses on either side were obviously old, with the wooden frames we would call Tudor, which actually is not accurate, as this part of France, the county of Maine, had gone back to French control in the last decades of the Plantagenets.
In the couple of minutes’ walk to the square, we passed a small bistro that was obviously full of locals, as it had absolutely no airs and graces, plastic chairs, Formica tables and a proprietor who could have come out of a sitcom. (‘Chez Martine’ has since become our café of choice to grab a coffee or a beer.) Just round the corner, we entered the square. It’s on a hill and at the bottom is a magnificent ‘château’, which is actually a modern set of government buildings with the truly historic château tucked away off the corner of the square with ramparts from which you can look over the River Mayenne a long way below.
The market occupies the car park below the cathedral and is loosely organised, with the more ‘stall-like’ vendors at the bottom of the hill and those selling their own produce, which though gnarly looked really tasty at the top. We set about filling our shopping baskets with a week’s supply of vegetables. To our delight, globe artichokes appeared to be in season as most stalls had some. We really enjoy eating this massive member of the thistle family as they cannot be rushed if you are to savour every bit. We peel the top couple of inches of the stalk and then trim it off along with the pointed end. The artichokes are popped into a huge pan of salted, boiling water with half a lemon squeezed into it and the lemon skin tossed in for good measure. It’s then a matter of up to 45 minutes simmering until they are cooked. Just before we take them out of the boiling water, we whip up a very quick hollandaise sauce. The so, so rich, bright yellow, velvety sauce is a tad naughty but definitely worth it. Though it’s not for the faint-hearted, as by the time you have finished eating the small bits of tender artichoke off each of the individual leaves, one at a time, each dipped in the sauce, and then cut away the inedible seeds to liberate the heart to be sliced and eaten with the remaining sauce, you have been eating and talking for the best part of an hour …
HOLLANDAISE SAUCE
Enough for two artichokes
Ingredients
3 egg yolks
3 tsp lemon juice
170g salted butter
Method
Heat the butter in a small pan until it is bubbling. Put the egg yolks and the lemon juice into a blender. When the butter is hot, whisk the yolks and lemon juice for about 15 seconds, then slowly drizzle in the butter. The butter effectively cooks the eggs and they thicken into a wonderful sauce.
Serve immediately (preferably with some globe artichokes!)
Having filled our baskets, it was a matter of finding somewhere for lunch. So, with absolutely no idea what was good and what wasn’t, we set off to find a little restaurant. We found La Braise down a side street and soon the four of us were seated at a table. As always, we chose different dishes so we could explore the menu. Arthur had fish from the children’s menu and Dorothy nibbled on what she could reach and delicacies from our bag, while we set out to try some of the traditional dishes.
One dish stood out, not because it was unusual, but it was special in its simplicity. The terrine of the day was wonderful. It was obviously pork-based but, as we were to discover in many restaurants, unless there is some special ingredient like wild boar or venison, there was no more details on the menu. We were to accept that it was their terrine – it was like saying ‘trust us’. As it was served, the waitress produced a pottery jar with a set of wooden tongs in a little holder on the side. It was ice cold and in it was a mixture of cornichons and small pickled vegetables. With the rich, slightly peppery terrine they were excellent, and we knew we had to get one, so we put it on our list of things to find. We write lots of things down, so we don’t forget tasks, inspiration, ideas or even just things we want to eat. It took a trip to Emmaus before we could cross off our cornichon pot but we got there in the end and now we have a collection.
May was a month of sunshine and saw the arrival of summery salads and vegetables in the shops. Tomatoes and strawberries tasted the way they should and we were starting to look forward. We had started planning our wedding and it was growing in size and importance. The sewage system was the last very large task to complete the infrastructure for our utilities, but at least it felt like that was underway now the survey had been done, which was a weight off our shoulders. Though we didn’t realise then it would be several months before we even got the results on paper, let alone could start work.
* * *
* Emmaus is an international charity founded in France to help the homeless. The Emmaus shops in France sell all manner of second hand goods, from furniture to clothes, electrical goods to bric-a-brac.
* Pulled It Directly Out of My Ass.
* I have never tried to find out what the letters stand for. It is enough for me to know that it’s the local government department responsible for sewage works and that they would be coming to visit to check our installation was everything it should be.
chapter six
JUNE
In this month of long days and short nights, we do not have the same heat we can expect in July or August, but everything feels alive and fresh and the productivity of nature has kicked in. This is the time to buy local salads. We were a long way off growing our own produce in the first year, but the supermarkets were starting to fill with locally grown soft fruits, salads, courgettes and aubergines, so we were able to enjoy the seasonal produce even if it wasn’t ours just yet.
We didn’t see any frogspawn that spring, however, come June, our island was covered in tiny toadlets around a centimetre long. As a family, we started calling them this only to find out it’s the real name. There were hundreds if not thousands of them all over the place, all heading in different directions. Arthur was fascinated, so we put one on the palm of his little hand. It tickled him, he smiled and that was the start of a fascination with all sorts of small creatures and bugs. Unfortunately his motor skills still weren’t very refined so we had to discourage him from picking them up. It got interesting when he named one Timmy, but luckily they were all called the same thing, which made talking to them easy. The ‘plague’ of toadlets doesn’t happen every year, but it is proving to be a semi-regular occurrence in mid-June, so we tend to keep our eyes open when we walk around just in case. For one day, no ground surface is free of little Timmys. Our part of France is full of wildlife and we were very aware of how much there was to teach the children about nature – but for now the best thing was just to be engulfed in it.
I’d now finally got the first batch of our wedding linens sent, which was twenty-five perfectly formed packages. It was definitely a moment when I wished I was not such a perfectionist. There were still another sixty to be done (so I didn’t actually use all those I got Dick to iron …), but for now at least our immediate family and friends had theirs. I’d also managed a visit to our local village post office for the first time. The post office is just five minutes away luckily, as it took three trips to successfully send them. The first was on a Monday, when I discovered they are closed all day. Next I went on a Wednesday morning only to find it did not open until 2.30pm. Then I finally I had success on a Friday afternoon. The queue was rather long, and my French was pretty bad, but something must have made sense as a few days later I got calls to say they’
d arrived. Although at €4 a pop I was glad we had decided it was to be just one tea towel per family!
Our château is in an area of France that is within striking distance of the UK; however, it is still half a day’s drive to Calais or at least a couple of hours to the ports in Normandy with their slightly longer crossings. The English Channel that has kept invaders away for almost two thousand years means most people think twice before heading off for a quick trip to Europe, but such considerations didn’t seem to put off anyone we had invited to the wedding. The replies came flooding in. It was obvious we were in for a real party!
I reminded Angela often that before we found the château, we had decided we wanted a small wedding, either with just our parents or eloping overseas. But whenever I said it, I got, ‘Well, a girl’s allowed to change her mind,’ or, ‘We didn’t have a château then.’ Which are hard points to argue against. I would never admit it to Angela, but I was actually very excited. This was to be a gathering of the Strawbridges that was seldom matched.
I come from a big Irish family: I have two older sisters, two younger sisters and two younger brothers, so there are seven of us altogether, plus my mum and dad. We didn’t have masses of money growing up but we lacked for nothing – and we were all incredibly close. My love of family and adventure comes from my parents and we used to go on lots of trips. We definitely knew how to have fun. But we’d probably only been all together two or three times in the last couple of decades and, with my older children James and Charlotte also attending with all their families, it was going to be very special. It did, of course, mean that we had a hard deadline. The invitations had gone out and the clock was ticking. The second weekend of November was looming.
A Year at the Chateau Page 15