Subject,
*Stories of remarkable insights into `other people`, their cars, journeys and adventures*
Theme,
No negativity.
This thread is about the generosity of the Human spirit - or rather the fact that most people in life we meet are good and as in a transient wisp of a fragile flickering flame, brighten our lives before time moves on and we all submit as candidates for the fossil record..
Put simply,
If you want to attack or start an undercurrent of negativity and general nastiness don`t linger here. Need to state this because...
My own story concerns a couple and their caravan.
Some context.
Twenty three years ago, in a red 85 Polo C, following the route Napoleon- eventually fetching up in a natural hill amphitheatre - of a camp-site just East of Le Lavandou.
Following a windy night in a small tent, invited by another Brit into his caravan for tea.
A nice gesture, typical of an ageing second World War generation couple. Ourselves a week out from England, bad weather with little sleep and that on the ground. A nice touch, a gesture only 15 minutes or so, (wouldn`t want to intrude) but a distinct colonial touch about him as though we were being served tea in India, Hongkong perhaps?
Another bloke was around too, from the caravan next door.. but thought little of it all and got on with the trip, moving on again the next day.
Except, an approximate year later, passing across the area en route to Italy in a 2CV.. Called again at the same site.
It was of course the car I recognised first, a ten year old (now forgotten) Marina or Avenger- or similar. Went and said hallo and he remembered.
Different this year though, the other caravan had not returned. He told me that for nearly twenty years the two couples had met at this site, booking the same pitches next to each other.
You could imagine the scene. Wine and meals shared, weeks spent together under the pale blue skies and wildflowers, for these were retired and relaxed people in the tranquility of France.
But the other `swallow` had not returned this year and never would..
It came out, their story, told under disappointment but understanding of the inevitable - in a way made easier perhaps, by the transient nature of our contact.
Overarching.. They did not know where their friends came from. Not even the City.
After initial friendship and contact on this site nearly twenty years ago " the time had past, it seemed wrong to ask"
Unbelievable? Very old time British, perhaps..
Their time was up too and he knew it. This Gentleman of at least 75, had driven his 10 year old `Marina` pulling a caravan out from England, with his wife confined to the caravan. She could no longer walk and was `van bound` from the driveway at home and for the whole duration of the trip.
I admired their spirit. Later we sent a postcard from the UK, addressed to the car `Morris Marina` at campsite x, France. Received a reply with an address in Kent.
I could not help but think of their lost contact with their caravanning friends. But maybe they all wanted it like that.
All gone now no doubt, while in the South of France, the Sun and sky look down on a different generation.
oilrag
Edited by oilrag on 02/09/2008 at 10:05
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Wow, the Oracle speaks again!
Sometimes impenetrable, always entertaining...
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This is the 'damask rose', don't know the poet but Elgar did the music, likeining the life cycle of other natural things to our life span, it makes you more content and at ease with your lot. Your story is quite sad but remeber what the Irish say 'don'tmoan at getting old as many don't get the chance'!
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Thank you for sharing that poignant story Oilrag, mrs gb and i have just read together and are sitting here deep in thought and quietly misty eyed too.
The very unassuming and polite honour and manners of that generation are almost confined to history, and when one occasionally meets one of the few still here, should really make the very most of the usually too brief time, as the few are rapidly thinning.
Its also a reflection of how that old fashioned British reserve is both a curse and a gift.
They met with like minded people and clearly had mutual enjoyment of the company, but had no knowledge of whereabouts or any way of tracing each other should any mishap occur preventing the annual meeting, how sad.
Could any other nationality meet for twenty years like that and still be so reserved?
regards gb.
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'But maybe they all wanted it like that.' (oilrag)
'... how that old fashioned British reserve is both a curse and a gift.' (gb)
This place does sometimes reveal hidden depths, and can bring tears to the eyes.
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Just to echo gb & Lud's appreciative comments.
All very Terence Rattigan...
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It is a very English attitude that you make friends with people, but don't get too close.
In the building that houses my holiday apartment in Israel there are a number of English families who also have holiday apartments. Whilst we are there simultaneously we will socialise frequently, eat meals in each others flats, go to the beach together so the children can play, and even eat out, but all I have of their home addresses is a general location and an e-mail address.
Such lovely, warm and generous people, but they are our 'holiday friends' and we are very unlikely ever to see them in the UK.
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Something like the backroom then ?
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Exactly, PU.
Except that the backroom doesn't have the light and the scents of the Mediterranean.
Still, it is available on a dark winter evening, you you don't even need to hop on a 'plane.
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Oh I dunno, stick Gypsy Kings on the CD, turn the heating up a bit and open a bottle of red. Quite authentic really.....
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Musing on this thread - the ride of the year was on the way home from France in July - absolutely perfect in weather and traffic conditions and a lovely bendy road to boot. I was so taken by this ride up the Meuse valley towards Dinant that I avoided the turn off for the autoroute and rode through Dinant - lovely and unique sights that morning, serenity of locals fishing by the roadside - perfect just perfect.
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Some years ago, my late wife and I were on the way home from a round trip to Autria/Italy and were slowly making our way back through France to Cherbourg and the ferry. We stopped for the day in Chartres to view the Cathedral and left in the late afternoon. We were booked on a very early ferry crossing and discussed what to do with the extra hours we had to spare before needing to arrive in Cherbourg. Having looked at the map, we decided to turn west and take a look at Mont-St-Michel before heading north for the Channel.
This was in late September, a balmy sundrenched evening, clear skies, quiet country roads and a spectacular view of the Mount as we crested the hills to the east of the bay. The Mount was beginning to close down for the evening, the street and house lights switching on and the crowds disappearing. We stood at the end of the causeway, drinking in the atmosphere and watching a fiery sun going down, covering everthing in a pink glow. As the sun started to sink below the horizon, two fighter jets of the French Air Force appeared from the east and did a slow circuit of the Mount before disappearing back from where they'd come.
We were so stunned by the beauty around us, the combination of ancient and modern, that we hardly spoke a word during our drive north to Cherbourg, our minds full of memories that are as fresh today as then.
I don't know if it's true, but we were told that the French Air Force carry out this flight, at sunset, every day.
What an inspired decision we made that night. Not everything has to be planned.
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Not everything has to be planned
You're right - on my recent trip to the States - the unplanned and unexpected were the most engaging - savouring the moments now, the huge green/blue butterfly that was "sleeping" on a car tyre (I'll upload a picture shortly), the Orion P3 making a slow turn over Highway 1 over Portland, Maine. The breakfast in the diner on Main Street, Concorde Mass where the histories of our two nations clashed. The Anglophile cafe owner in Gloucester, Maine who made a tepoted brew from proper British branded tea. Little things in reality but the making of a good road trip.
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