Feels like home

You’ll remember from reading The Back Story that I had the weirdest feeling of “coming home” when we first headed towards Villefranche-du-Perigord in July 2017.

On the journey from the point of Frayssinet le Gelat onwards I kept seeing things that were triggering strong emotions, until by the time we drove into the village and pulled up in the car park by the lake it just felt like we were home. Over the coming days this feeling increased in magnitude for many reasons, some completely inexplicable some more easily explained.

I’ve always liked France, but never had the strong compulsion to live there, not like my frequent whims to live in the Canary Islands, or Spain – every time we went on holiday somewhere I would want to look at house prices and sell up and move to a new life. But this was different, it felt much more like coming back to a place that I belonged.

We met up with Carole and Bernard twice in the July visit, firstly for afternoon tea and cakes when it was just lovely to sit with them and reminisce about the times we visited them with Dad and Ann, and their very strong friendship they had with them. And then we were invited for Saturday night dinner, where we met Carol and Craig – another English couple. By Saturday evening we had made so many enquiries with the Notaire, Immobilier and Maire that we had loads to tell Carole and Bernard and as we told the four of them I found myself listening to the words coming out of my mouth. It was so strange because the ideas were evolving in my head as I verbalised it, and plans for doing this, that and the other were quite literally unfolding as I spoke.

I hadn’t really fully considered the prospect of actually building a home to live in and moving to France up until this point – just the concept of getting the land ownership in the right place was the priority up until that point (currently it is in limbo land – Ann dying first left it to Dad, and there was no time to complete a transfer of ownership in the short 2 months before he then died).

But as we spoke, both Martin and myself, to Carol and Bernard (who had their own very magical memories of the land), and to Carol and Craig (who both thought it all sounded brilliant), our own dreams began.

We also met Pierre – our immediate neighbour on this trip. See plots 467, 468 and 383 on the map – that’s his land – 17, 18 and 19 are our lands or “the land” as we were referring to it at this time.

The dogs had been running around and not having any boundaries between the plots of land, had ventured over to Pierre’s plot. His young daughter, Lucy Luna, had been a bit scared and so he had wondered over to see who these people were. Luckily Pierre speaks English quite well (far better than our French which is not difficult) and we were able to explain who we were. I asked him if he remembered Dad and Ann, and he said he had never met them, but he had heard tales of this old English couple who had worked on the land but had disappeared suddenly. I explained that they had both died, having never even started to build. Pierre asked our plans for the land, saying that he had friends who might be interested in buying it to increase their community (more about Pierre’s family in another post but they are the loveliest family, who live a very eco-friendly, simple, sustainable existence). The feelings of possessiveness came back to me again, as had happened a few days before when we found the wrong plot and thought someone had built on “our” land, again reinforcing that feeling of needing to do something. I told Pierre that we were going to go back to England and think about our options but would definitely be doing something. He said, in his lovely, gentle, soft voice that he would be very pleased to have us as his neighbours, and that his mother Alice would be ecstatic!! We asked why and he explained that she speaks perfect English and yearns for people to speak English to. We didn’t get the opportunity to meet Alice as she was away, but we felt really pleased with the prospect of perhaps living in a place when we wouldn’t feel too much like outsiders coming in.

Still, at that point we did not have the firm, concrete plans that we do now – it was all just feelings, ideas, dreams – popping into our heads.

The romantic notion of pursuing something that Dad and Ann had set out to do before their dreams were cut short was definitely pulling at the heart strings. It felt so utterly unfair that not even one of them had lived for long enough to see even foundations put down on “this little piece of land”.

Strange as it seems, I felt, and still do now all the time, feel more connected to my father there on the land than I ever did when he was alive. It’s as if I feel his spirit rustling in the trees. We never had the relationship that I would have wanted when he was alive, for many reasons, and for no-ones and everyone’s fault in equal measures. But here, on this little piece of land, in this lovely French village, nestled in the very bottom jigsaw shape piece of the Dordogne/Lot border I felt as if I wanted to carry on their dreams in honour of them. But equally, it was more than wanting to continue their dreams, we began to want to do it for ourselves too.

We stalled our return home for a few days as we just couldn’t tear ourselves away, and instead of visiting a few more places we stayed a few more nights. Before we left we placed some flowers in a make do vase, cable tied to the tree that marks the beginning of the land. The words on it are simple – “RIP Dad and Ann – Forever in Your Dream Home”. They might not have achieved their dream house, but this place was definitely their “Dream Home”.

I left there thinking that it won’t really matter what we end up doing on the land – if it is just a concrete hand standing with electric and water so that we can park Marsha the Motorhome on that will be fine but a little wooden house would be lovely.

Once back in the UK we had discussions with James about the finer points of how we could progress this – and came up with a way forward. I think we could all see the benefit in us doing something with it, they can visit with the children and we can all enjoy the beautiful space that meant so much to Dad and Ann.

The words of the beautiful song that we chose as one of our Wedding pieces “Feels like home” by Chantal Kreviazuk resonate very strongly with me in connection with this land.

I feel happier here than anywhere else in my whole life, settled, calm, comfortable. Luckily, Martin feels very similarly to me – he has lots of fond memories of visiting Dad and Ann also, and both of us are so soppy and sentimental about both of our Dad’s that he makes the same sort of connections.

We have found our forever home – and can’t wait to begin to put our own stamp on it.

©Sharon Rees-Williams – wordpress.com/thislittlepieceof.land, 2018

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Parlez vous Anglais?

Google translate conversation July 2017 #2

During our visits to Dad and Ann whilst they were living in Villefranche-du-Perigord one of the things that Martin and I had found quite amusing was the way in which a lot of Brits tackle the language barrier.

This post will be best appreciated if you can read parts of it (ideally out loud) with a French accent in the style of the 1980’s sit-com ‘Allo ‘Allo. You’ll soon realise which parts to read like this.

So, one morning Ann and I walked down to the Boulangerie, where she proudly showed me how her French conversation was improving.

Ann “Bonjour Madame”.

Shopkeeper: “Bonjour Madame, Ca va”

Ann “Un pain, s’il vous plait”.

So far, so good, the shopkeeper got the required loaf of bread, and I was indeed impressed.

But then…Ann suddenly started moving her hand up and down in a chopping, hacking like movement, whilst simultaneously saying quite loudly and forcefully “Tranche! Tranche!”. By doing this, all I can assume is that she was trying to reinforce the French word for “sliced”, to a French native, by performing a little bit of mime – all to hilarious effect!!

This story gave us a few giggles over the years, but little did I know back then that I would be equally as primitive in my use of the ‘beautiful language’.

So, in July 2017 when we were first making enquiries about how to proceed with acquiring the land we have gained some amusing tales of our own.

First off – the trip to the Notaire. It’s interesting how English people have a habit of asking if the French person speaks English, and then whatever their response is, simply proceeding in English but in a French accent. Much like this:

Candice (the Notaire’s secretary): “Bonjour Madame”.

Sharon: Bonjour, au revoir. Comment allez vous?” (hello, goodbye, how are you)?

Candice: Unspoken but probably thought “oh, she’s English – shit!!!” Smiles sweetly.

Sharon: “Parlez vous Anglais?”

Candice: “Non”

Sharon: “Je ne parle Francais. Just a little bit” – (demonstrates with fingers how much a little bit is).

Just a little bit photo

Stalemate!! Nothing is said for a few moments. Then…..

Sharon: English words with French accent “My father, he owned terrain, up there (points to up the outside of the village). He is mort. My step-maman Ann, she and him, owned the terrain and now are mort”.

Candice: Stunned silence.

Sharon: “Je desiree comprendez what can be done for us to buy the terrain”.

Candice: We are not entirely sure what she said but it was quite likely something along the lines of

Parlez vous Anglais Photo 1

This conversation went on in a similar way, and after a while we established a number of things:

We have approximately 1% of the language skills required to progress with this project without assistance from a French speaking person
We probably could buy the land
The next person to speak to was the Immobilier (Estate Agent) and then the Maire (Mayor)

So, next stop was the Immobilier. Same story – “Parlez vous Anglais” “Non”….followed by my attempt to speak English in a French accent.

The Immobilier was very friendly, and I could tell he was trying to get the gist of what I was saying, but not really getting it. Eventually he said “un moment” and reached under his desk, pulled out a tablet, started to type. I thought he had maybe lost the will to live so much that he would crack on with his work, but no, he turned it around and lo and behold!! Google Translate!! We both laughed and he handed it to me to type my questions.

I managed to explain most of the story this way. Meanwhile, un-beknown to me, Martin had been outside sitting with the dogs and as often happens, he had been chatted up by an English lady (to be honest it’s the dogs that get the attention but I like to indulge him this fantasy). He had explained our situation to her and told her that I was on my own, attempting to converse with the Immobilier. So, suddenly she appeared inside – I had no idea who she was (or that she was English) – and started speaking fluent French, very fast and passionately!! I assumed it was a completely irrelevant conversation until I heard my name and also Martin’s name. I then said “did you just mention me and my husband?” and she then suddenly changed to English and told me who she was, promptly sat down and proceed to translate the conversation.

Things progressed rapidly then. I told Amanda who then told the Immobilier what I was trying to achieve. In this manner we managed to establish the approximate value of the land etc. All was going very well until we told him that we wished to purchase the land and build a small wooden cabin on it in which to live. This seemed to be met with stunned silence. Not sure why, we repeated this a few times. The Immobilier was still looking very confused. We went back to Google Translate and then realised the problem. Amanda was telling him I wanted to build a wooden cabin on the land, and he was misunderstanding this as my wanting to build a wooden cabinet (toilet) in the woods and live in it. Naturally he was puzzled why someone would want to do this.

This caused lots of laughs amongst the three of us. The whole situation was surreal actually. Sitting there, trying to communicate with someone who spoke less English than I speak French, a random stranger coming in to help, the whole thing was all a bit bizarre – but in a good way – I mean this sort of thing is not likely to happen in Chandlers Ford is it?

We left this conversation secure in the knowledge that if we did nothing with the land it would fall into wasteland and if there were to be a fire we might be liable, but also a clear idea of what our plans could be, and a real sense of what a bonkers life we were going to

©Sharon Rees-Williams – wordpress.com/thislittlepieceof.land, 2018

have in Villefranche-du-Perigord

The Back Story

The Back Story

Rewind to August 2008 – my Dad turned 70 and finally made the decision to give up work and follow his and Ann’s (my lovely step-mum) dream of moving to France. Their house in Frinton went up for rent, they disposed of pretty much all of their belongings and made plans to set off Dans Le Continent in his dated old Volvo.

After some months of exploring their favourite region of France – The Dordogne – they fell in love with Villefranche-du-Perigord and decided that this was “the place”. They rented out a holiday let – La Borie Grande in the outskirts of Villefranche-du-Perigord – whilst they searched for a suitable plot of land to build a house.

To cut a long story short – a fair few months of searching and also a change of rental property to “David” in Lavaur (just outside Villefranche-du-Perigord) (very ironic as Dad’s name is David) they found their dream plot of land through new found friends Bernard and Carole.

Martin and I visited them out in France a few times – and we could see why they loved Villefranche du Perigord so much – it really is the most magical of villages – it’s actually a 12^th and 13^th Century Bastide Town – so there any many original buildings which resemble mini castles with their turrets and gothic arches. It’s stunning!! Even so, we did find it a bit “sleepy” for us, so we firmly “parked” any ideas that popped in to our heads about ourselves making the move over there.

As well as our visits out to them in France, Dad and Ann also popped back to the UK frequently and stayed with us. On one of these occasions they showed us the outline plans they had for the plot of land that had found, both so excited about their plans – but especially Dad. He wanted to spend hours on the Internet looking for small wooden self-build houses as that was what they had planned for the plot. It all sounded really idyllic and we planned to visit them out in France again that coming summer so we could see for ourselves.

When we visited them, we stayed with them at “David” – camping in our Landrover’s roof tent whilst the kids stayed in the house with them, and they took us out and about to all the surrounding towns and markets, and also a few times to show us the land. When we first saw the land, I have to be perfectly honest and say that I thought they were completely bonkers!!! Perhaps it was the way they drove us in through back roads, or maybe it was the slow speed of Ann’s driving (she was renowned for crawling along nervously like a snail bless her) but we left there with the perception it was miles away from anywhere. We were concerned that they would get old and immobile and be living in the middle of the sticks and starve to death in the Winter. But we said nothing as their excitement and passion for their project was so clear and apparent – why spoil that? – I never saw my Dad so happy about anything in his life as when he talked about “the land”.

Dad and Ann had cleared the top part of the land really well when we saw it, and we could envisage their plans for where the house would go. But the lower part of the plot was still like a jungle, and me with my terrible fear of creepy crawlies, found it really difficult making the steep climb downhill through bushes towards the old ruined buildings. Dad’s enthusiasm for these two buildings however was equal to my horror at them. I did politely go down for a quick viewing of the large one, but once I saw huge cobwebs on the lintels I declined a quick peep inside and hastily made my way back up.

We did leave France thinking that what they were doing was all very lovely, but a bit crazy to say the least!!

So, over the next few years they worked really hard on clearing the land, chopping down a few small trees, but for various reasons they needed to make frequent trips back to the UK – not least due to Dad’s reluctance to get his old Volvo re-registered under a French plate which meant he had to get his insurance renewed every 90 days. It was slow progress….it seemed that they were over there for a few months chopping it all down, and then back in the UK for a few months and it would all grow back so they would start from scratch. They had not sold their house in the UK so did not yet have the funds to start the building work, but they did have outline plans and the water and electricity in situ ready to go. And they had also built a really lovely life over there with lots of new friends and seemed to be having a fantastic time.

Until disaster struck!! And as Dr Sods bloody infallible law would have it, on one of the trips home Dad went for the investigation of a long term persistent cough – and got the worst type of unimaginable news – he had Stage 4 Lung Cancer!! The treatment plan was to see how he responded to chemotherapy – with little hope of cure but at best to prolong his life. But the realistic prognosis was “without treatment 2 months – with treatment 12 months”.

Ann made the call to tell me that, and as usual she remained upbeat and positive but I could tell that she was really devastated. We visited them that weekend and all I can say is that from that point forward I witnessed my Dad die inside. He knew it was “Game Over” for him, and I think all he really focussed on was having some chemo so he could get back out there to get the house built so Ann would have somewhere lovely to live once he was gone. Realistically we all knew that this would not be likely.

So, his treatment in the UK commenced. Their Frinton house was sold to release the capital to buy a mobile home in Margate so Ann would have somewhere close by to James, Nicola, and Henry (their son, daughter in law and grandchild).

Then in April 2013 double whammy hit us hard straight in the balls!! Ann went for a long overdue check-up for some “woman’s health issues” and came away with the devastating news that she had Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer. I don’t think any of us could believe this!! Life is just so cruel.

Ann’s illness was very short lived, she didn’t respond well to chemotherapy and her treatment was palliative pretty much straight away. Dad died even more inside but you could tell he was holding on to hope that she would get better, and in some sort of denial in that he didn’t want to see her in hospital.

Nothing will ever imprint on my heart as much as the conversation I had with my Dad when I needed to persuade him to go and see her in the hospital that day as if he didn’t he wouldn’t see her again. As it finally sunk in, I saw the life literally drain out of him.

Ann died a few days later.

Dad gave his last breath on this earth, two months later – in August 2013

Their dreams for “this little piece of land” gone forever

Fast Forward to July 2017

None of us had been able to face visiting the land after they died. It all seemed too sad. It also seemed a bit worrying that nothing had been done about disposing of the land and we thought maybe there could be some bills to pay, maybe fines for not sorting things out.

Time passed and then in the spring of 2017 Martin and I made some plans to take Marsha the motorhome to the Alps, then on to the Pyrenees for our summer trip. We looked at the return route and it seemed conceivable that we could hang by Villefranche du Perigord and check out how things were. James was happy for us to do this.

So, after a fantastic few weeks in Chamonix then Northern Spain we headed back up. As we got closer to Villefranche du Perigord I started to feel more and more sentimental, thinking more and more about Dad and Ann, and their plans, and what a shame it was that they had never realised those dreams. The final leg of the journey was familiar and brought back loads of memories. When we pulled up at the car park by the lake it all came back to me, and strangely it really felt like I was coming home. This place that I had only been to a handful of times really felt special to me. We had arrived quite late in the day and were hungry so spent the evening walking the dogs, preparing and eating dinner and simply gazing up at the trees in what we thought was the right direction of where the land was.

In the morning we were up bright and early, keen to walk up to see if our memory would serve us well enough to find our way up the tracks to the land. The road seemed familiar but having never walked up it (Ann had driven us on the few times we visited) we were not sure. We had spoken to Bernard the previous day and he said to go up to a hair pin and turn left. The first left seemed to be not sharp enough and too close to the village to be the right track, so we went much further up the road, it all felt familiar, but not quite right. Then we spotted a half-finished house and for a horrible moment I thought that someone else had simply taken over the land. My heart sank and I felt suddenly very possessive of what had been before simply a recce to check things out – now it was a real mission to find it.

We went back down the track, and frustrated thought we had got the completely wrong place, but then decided to go up to the first left hand turn. Wandering up the track we commented on how it felt familiar, but still not sure. Reaching the end of the track and coming across overgrown woodland we thought we had simply reached a dead end. But slowly the realisation dawned – this could be the plot of land – albeit heavily over grown. It was the most overwhelming feeling – our hearts sank – this was a complete jungle – and we were not even sure we were in the right place. Standing, scanning the brambles in front of us, not quite sure what to do, I suddenly spotted a little bit of red through the trees, and on closer inspection realised it was a Propertie Privee sign. Memories flooded back and I remembered seeing photos of my dad standing next to this sign – nailed in to the huge oak tree. It was so emotional, suddenly realising that here we were – stood on the far edge of Dad and Ann’s beloved plot of land, feeling the echoes of their dream, but so, so sad that this little piece of land had not been loved and cherished for over 3 years and had been left for nature to take it back.

I can’t speak for Martin but I know that I made the decision in my heart there and then in that moment that I would do whatever it takes to get this little piece of land back to its former glory. Although my head was telling me otherwise at the time.

So, at that point in time we weren’t sure exactly what to do, or how to do it, but we knew we couldn’t just do nothing anymore. Speaking to James later that day he gave us his blessing and agreement to find out what needed to be done to get the land ownership sorted out so that something could be done to sort it out.

And that is the moment in time when “this little piece of land” ceased to be David and Ann’s tragically unrealised dream, and became Martin and Sharon’s new, different but equally magical dream of our own.

Teaser…………

Watch this space, as soon we will be embarking on a complete change of lifestyle.

Selling up our UK home, bidding farewell to the life we have known for many years, and moving to France to fulfil our dream of building a house on ‘this little piece of land’.