One day, a couple of people will be visiting this area we live in (Normandy, France) and they will stop to look at some of the remarkable, ageless granite buildings here. They will notice pockmarks in the stone work, and speculate as to what they might be. Perhaps a problem with the stonework? Or some kind of acid rain? perhaps one of them will suggest they could be bullet holes from the war-but it could well seem one of the less likely explanations, given the sheer quantity of the marks, and the peacefulness of the town. Since, on a sunny day, it can seem impossible that a group of men nearly all of them under 25 and incredibly far from home-will have been moving around that same area, fearful, and fighting for their lives. Memories are becoming fuzzy and there are many inconvenient truths.
Today, I went to play the piano for some old people at the local 'Maison de Retraite'. As usual, they were all sitting there expectantly as I arrived. I have to cajole them a bit to get them to sing. Then I do some Piaf (a particualar favourite of one of the old gents), then I play a bit of classical, and then I tentatively take requests-since I actually know very few French tunes. Today, one new old lady asked for "It's a Long Way". I wasn't sure what she meant-then I thought-and started playing "It's a long way to Tipperary". She became terribly excited and sang along in English. Afterwards, she told me that she hasn't sung that song for over 60 years-since she was a girl. She said she had previously sung it with French, English, and Scottish soldiers. She has remembered it all this time. Another request came in-"Lettre pour Elise" "Sorry-don't know that" I was saying then...another thought-and yes-it was Fur Elise...I played it, and thought of my Dad who used to love this, too. He had said he remembered, when he was a soldier, going to some free concerts in London given by classical musicians. Dame Myra Hess played Fur Elise, and he had loved it ever since. Later, we got a record of her playing it-and I noticed she put a tiny pause in before playing the 'E' in one of the phrases-and I put this in, too, now. I always think of him when I play this.
I don't know how these things will be remembred in a very few years time. There won't be a memory to be jogged with a tune, or even someone to remember how to play it.
I have separated the lovers. Hilda and Wellington make a fantastic pair but Big Boy Wellington has been becoming a little over-amorous of late. I gather that most cockerels need a harem of a least 5 chickens and Wellington only has 3 here, and the two white chickens we have have had enough-so I've put Wellington out on his own-and Hilda, who is his soul mate as well as a similar breed, just has to gaze at him through the fence now. Methinks I have seen a similar expression of the faces of some ladies who are out on the town on a Saturday night...Perhaps I shall let him loose for a little while on Valentine's day...!
Meanwhile, the pets have rested this afternoon whilst I did some indoor tasks since my back has been playing up a bit again lately. You would not think that they each have their own bed to get into. Looking at this, I am reminded how nice cuddling up can be. Perhaps I am finally missing Martin now. Only 6 days to go now...
