What a weekend!
There was an awesome storm.
The noise was incredible as if an express train was thundering across the mountain tops, trees almost horizontal against a bruise coloured sky. It caused a savage Spring pruning as the air was thick with small branches being tossed around like confetti.
My favourite tree, the first thing I see every morning, lost a huge lower branch.
But Job fared better than many of the local woods and forests where in places entire rows of trees were uprooted.
As a result we had no electricity on Sunday and it was beautifully peaceful. I decided to sort through a basket of tatty paperwork that I bought last week because I spied some handwritten documents tucked in amongst the piles of tatty accounts.
I ended up with a lovely pile of papers with notarial stamps from the early 1800's.
I had to sift through an awful lot of 'ordinary' stuff to retrieve these. The bulk of the rest were papers from a dreaded 'tax control' (ouch) and they went in the bin!
Then...........right at the bottom I found three letters written in pencil on tissue thin paper. I suspect that on a busier day I wouldn't have taken much notice, but thanks to the power cut I had time on my hands and I started reading them.
They each began 'Ma Chere Maman' and went on to thank her for the 5 franc note. I assumed at first that they were from a young boy at boarding school but as I continued to read a poignant story emerged................
The painful tale of a young soldier wounded in the First World War and in a hospital many miles from home.
He alternates between trying to present a brave face to his mother and worrying about the prospect of being returned to the front despite still feeling very unwell and unable to move his arms properly. He tells of several of his colleagues who have already had this experience, one has been wounded and sent back four times.
He says that he is going to be moved to a convalescent home in Vichy because hundreds more severely wounded soldiers are streaming in from the front line and he describes some of their appalling injuries.
He is worried about his mother too, it appears that his father has also died recently and he is concerned that she is not handling things well. He repeatedly pleads with her to take the long journey to Le Puy en Velay to sort the paperwork out and claim some of the money that she desperately needs. (Some of the notaires documents relate to this).
The letters were all written in April 1915.
As I lost myself in them, transported to another time. As the story unfolded I realised that my first impression, that they were the letters of a young boy, was not entirely wrong. He was just a teenager, wounded, frightened and trying to shoulder his new responsibilities as head of his family while at the same time desperately in need of some comfort from his Mother.
There was an awesome storm.
The noise was incredible as if an express train was thundering across the mountain tops, trees almost horizontal against a bruise coloured sky. It caused a savage Spring pruning as the air was thick with small branches being tossed around like confetti.
My favourite tree, the first thing I see every morning, lost a huge lower branch.
But Job fared better than many of the local woods and forests where in places entire rows of trees were uprooted.
As a result we had no electricity on Sunday and it was beautifully peaceful. I decided to sort through a basket of tatty paperwork that I bought last week because I spied some handwritten documents tucked in amongst the piles of tatty accounts.
I ended up with a lovely pile of papers with notarial stamps from the early 1800's.
There is a wonderful variety of handwritten scripts.
There was also a very satisfying pile of more everyday letters.
Including this one from a 'Dentellerie'.
Then...........right at the bottom I found three letters written in pencil on tissue thin paper. I suspect that on a busier day I wouldn't have taken much notice, but thanks to the power cut I had time on my hands and I started reading them.
They each began 'Ma Chere Maman' and went on to thank her for the 5 franc note. I assumed at first that they were from a young boy at boarding school but as I continued to read a poignant story emerged................
He alternates between trying to present a brave face to his mother and worrying about the prospect of being returned to the front despite still feeling very unwell and unable to move his arms properly. He tells of several of his colleagues who have already had this experience, one has been wounded and sent back four times.
He says that he is going to be moved to a convalescent home in Vichy because hundreds more severely wounded soldiers are streaming in from the front line and he describes some of their appalling injuries.
He is worried about his mother too, it appears that his father has also died recently and he is concerned that she is not handling things well. He repeatedly pleads with her to take the long journey to Le Puy en Velay to sort the paperwork out and claim some of the money that she desperately needs. (Some of the notaires documents relate to this).
The letters were all written in April 1915.
As I lost myself in them, transported to another time. As the story unfolded I realised that my first impression, that they were the letters of a young boy, was not entirely wrong. He was just a teenager, wounded, frightened and trying to shoulder his new responsibilities as head of his family while at the same time desperately in need of some comfort from his Mother.
This is lovely - I justed watched a two part BBC dramatisation of Sebastian Faulk's novel Birdsong. It is a beautifully filmed tragic love story with idyllic scenes of Amiens before WW1 interspersed with footage from the front. Highly recommended viewing but stock up on tissues - especially after you have just read these letters.
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