dovegreyreader scribbles

A trip to market

I forgot, there was one more little expedition whilst I was Memoir Writing in France to share with you, we had a quick coffee and croissant in a cafe and then a very rapid whizz around Riberac market.
We are market experts here in Tavistock with our Pannier Market which has been in existence since the charter was granted by Henry I in 1105, and I make no comment about those crimplene skirts and big knickers having been in there for all that time.
Honestly, the things I don't know about my own country's history are quite shocking, things will have to change around here soon and so looking up Henry I I discover that he died of food poisoning after eating a 'surfeit of lampreys' whilst in France and his remains were then stitched into a bull's hide for the journey back to England.
Imagine getting that through customs now?
But even our market doesn't sell some of the things that can be bought in Riberac.
No lampreys evident but plenty of oysters.

Spit-roasting chickens (environmental health would go fair loopy about this)

and legs, we don't have these in our market either.

I'm not much of an expert in the migration and nesting patterns of the English ex-pat but there was certainly a good-sized colony in this corner of France and they were well-catered for around Riberac market, with English book stalls and most signs in English translation, which can only indicate that the French fear the Brits won't bother to learn the language and perhaps they are right. So I wasted a good five minutes of precious market time working out how to ask the cost of a bar of soap in French ( I'm quite sure Miss Deadman would have taught me this back in 1965) and then plucking up the courage to say my piece without going too overboard theatrical and 'ello 'ello about the accent, only to find the woman running the stall was from Birmingham and didn't understand a word I'd said.
Looking back through my pictures, a couple of nice ones of the twelfth century Eglise Saint-Jacques in nearby Aubeterre-Sur-Dronne, and an exemplary Norman archway built in 1150-1160 for which we must credit the French with a jolly good invention, and that delightful little detail of a hare chasing round the edge. Seems odd to think that at the very same time that this church was being built in France, across the Channel in England Henry II had founded the House of Plantagenet and shoppers had already been buying crimplene skirts and big knickers (and probably legs) in Tavistock Market for nigh on fifty years.
We've always been a bit ahead of the game here in Devon.

 

In tearing, but measured, haste...

Later today I'll hood and gown up Rocky and he and Mrs Glosser and her random number generator will perfom prize draw duties for the signed copy of The Lost College and Other Oxford Stories, still time to add your name in comments here.

But meanwhile my final post on the Ways With Words Memoir Writing week, and you could but marvel at the organisation and speed behind the scenes at Leygonie.
Whilst outside all was leisurely and tranquil, back stage was a measured and controlled but nevertheless rapid succession of shopping, food preparation, setting tables, clearing up, washing up, floor sweeping et al to be ready for the next beverage or lunch break. All blurring in these pictures inevitable.

   

Meeting the Author - Penelope Lively

Still the echoes of France resound in my memory, I always enjoy flying for a start. I don't fly enough to get bored or blase about it so I'm always delighted when somehow (even with little propellors) we get airborne and then just catching glimpses of the Devon coastline as we took off from Exeter from the air feels quite exhilarating. But even more exciting, the opportunity to meet and get to know a writer I have read and loved for more years than she or I would care to remember.
Penelope Lively is one of those writers who has been ever-present on my reading shelves and looking back I see that I read her Booker Prize winning novel Moon Tiger in 1988, the year I first decided to up my reading game from childbirth-induced brain mush to something substantial and challenging.That's the year I started keeping a reading journal too and interestingly either side of Moon Tiger I read two books by Mary Wesley, The Camomile Lawn and The Vacillations of Poppy Carew, then some Garrison Keillor and another favourite writer of the time Patrica Wendorf, lots of Alice Walker and plenty of Alice Thomas Ellis.
In 1989 I read Penelope's short story collection Pack of Cards and in 1990 Passing On. These were the years when I might have managed twenty books a year if I was lucky so each one would have been carefully chosen and read over several weeks.
I don't need to tell you in that case what an absolute pleasure it was to sit and listen to Penelope sharing her consummate writing skills with a group who were hanging on her every word, and then to be able to talk quietly on into the evening and hear about her life in writing.Times that will remain etched on my memory as very special indeed. I plan now of course to read some of her books that I've missed.
Penelope is a delightful person, dignified and gracious and a profoundly knowledgeable and intelligent writer on so many subjects, still writing and still loving what she does and my thanks to her for giving me a signed copy of Oleander, Jacaranda with a very special personal message inside, that will be treasured.
It will be my pleasure to meet up with Penelope Lively again soon, which we surely will.

Slugs and things

Finally time to download the rest of my pictures from France.
So some nice nature pics for you, flowers, lizards and yes, that slug, our dear friend Rufus (thanks Peter the Flautist) sitting on Julia Blackburn's hand.

I also learnt something interesting about the roof tiles. Thigh tiles, so called because as they were being made they were shaped on the thigh.Not fixed to the roof, just layered and somehow they stay put.

Meet the author's husband - Herman Makkink

There's nothing more interesting to a reader like me than to read a book and then perhaps be fortunate enough to meet the author and in the case of Julia Blackburn her husband Herman Makkink too.
If you have read The Three of Us you will feel as if you know Herman as did I, so it must be quite disconcerting for the poor chap to be approached like an old friend by someone he has never met before. My thoughts soon after I had read the book,

'It seems corny to say it is a story of redemption but the book blurb doesn't hesitate to say so and it truly is a remarkable book, humour and lack of blame do prevail and in its final pages it is completely uplifting. It conquers and soars above all that has gone before in Julia's life and the final twist of happiness will leave you feeling on cloud nine for Julia.'

Herman was of course that 'final twist of happiness', an absolute delight to talk to and spent the week living up to his introduction as "the gorgeous Herman". Herman is Dutch, very quiet and unassuming with a quickfire sense of humour and the most mischievous eyes and smile imaginable and he's also a brilliant artist and sculptor (check out his 'famous' prop used in the film of The Clockwork Orange) who is currently recounting an episode or two from his own life's journey which will be published next year. I've heard about 'the episodes' and know this book promises to be something very special indeed.He's also illustrating his book and if you've seen the pictures he did for Julia's book My Animals and Other Family you will know Herman has a most distinctive and beautiful style.
Herman was usually to be found sitting in some distant corner of the garden, writing but never so far away that he didn't hear the chink of coffee cups and a lovely picture of Herman and Julia together here too.

je suis home

Apologies for the silence.
I'm back from France and with plenty to share with you all over the coming week.
The last couple of days on the Memoir Writing course were packed solid from dawn until dusk and that coupled with laptop meltdown and then delays getting home mean I'm just about surfacing and suddenly it's Sunday afternoon.
I'll post pictures and thoughts as and when but I can't recommend it all highly enough. I've met some fascinating people, made new friends in a warm and convivial atmosphere and plenty of moments I will never forget as long as I live.
At the final dinner I passed around the book that will be forever associated in my mind with the week, In Tearing Haste, and asked everyone to write in it. That single book now a treasure horde of very recognisable memories because words became the means by which we started to get to know each other as distinct voices emerged.
Here's what one person wrote,

'Please keep knitting the words, the books, the people into the wonderful tapestry you are making and thankyou.'

Then I remember the fine discussion I had with that same person about Paris and Emile Zola's wonderful book The Ladies' Paradise, so then they drew me a map of Paris to ensure that the next time I visit I find the best stationery shops in the city, thus do moments become memories and I have a huge winter's store of them ahead.

je suis eating

I may not have mentioned food for about twelve hours or so and must keep you up to speed.
Everything is freshly prepared in the beautifully traditional French farmhouse kitchen and it's not unusual to find Kay (Dunbar) doing some of this,

I can only apologise for the absent picture of the finished objects, the chocolate Brownies, but let me describe.
Soft, melt- in- the- mouth disappearing little miracles.
I went on the supermarket run with Kay and Steve this morning and would suggest it's made an Olympic sport, we have two Gold medallists ready trained.
I've done some kitchen support work today which involved sitting on the back step in the sun and topping and tailing the French beans.Lizards were skitting around my feet as the group discussed The Road Not Travelled aspect of their memoir writing with Penelope Lively under the shade of the preau (pronounced prayo). This is a beautiful outdoor area, a sort of a barn with a roof but with a few sides missing and a fine spot for lunch too, pictures to follow.
This afternoon we gathered to discuss Hilary ('ilary) Mantel's memoir, Giving Up the Ghost. Unanimous in our admiration for her writing and her courage in addressing such a difficult subject, we had a great debate about how the book had affected us. It was useful to have Julia Blackburn's thoughts on how cathartic writing a book like this might be for a writer and what it may then free them up to write next. Sort of baggage folded, ironed and put away scenario.
There was also a general and undisguised envy at 'ilary's elegant turn of phrase.
Preparations now underway for tomorrow night's end of week dinner for twenty, it's a lot of chicken and carrots so far and some very delicious smells.
Anyone feeling vaguely stirred to investigate sampling some of this wonderful Ways With Words hospitality in the future can explore further here.
PS I must also add a message to Bookhound ...Happy 32nd wedding anniversary, you can take me out to dinner when I get home.

Je suis writing a little bit and shoe-watching

It's been dialogue day today and that thorny subject of how to in the context of a memoir.
The extracts that Penelope (Lively) and Julia (Blackburn) used focused the mind well.
A piece from Julia's book My Animals and Other Family involving Julia's daughter, a 99 year-old lady called Dorothy and a guinea pig called Galaxy (limited dialogue from Galaxy truth be told, just sort of guinea purring noises).I'm reading this little treasure of a book while I'm here and have Julia to hand to ask about Congo the bush baby.
I can also report that Julia and I have a synchronicity in red Lamy Safari fountain pens and footwear.
Also an extract from The Summer Book by Tove Janssen, remember that lovely bit where Sophie helps find her grandmother's false teeth?
Somehow this was the only trigger required to send everyone heads down over their pens and paper as they managed a bit of memoir dialogue of their own. I've often wondered what it must be like to sit at a group like this and listen to everyone else reading out their pieces, I'll admit to some pre-conceptions of an unfavourable nature.
Creative writing courses have just never attracted me but this is slightly different because this is people's lives and lives are always fascinating. I can't even begin to describe how interesting the extracts were, I'd want to read the next paragraph of every single one, and as people gain in confidence and get to know each other we are all offering each other suggestions and encouragement. It's heartfelt too, a group like this bonds quickly in such a setting.
Choosing a title was just such an exercise and there was some animated discussion as each person came up with their ideas and we all chipped in with our suggestions for them too.
After the usual sumptuous lunch and congenial conversation it was under the shade of the walnut trees (we are eating the walnuts) for the afternoon session on Opening Sentences followed by a delightfully informative talk with Penelope Lively about her life as a writer and I notice more shoes.
Now decisions, decisions, the pool or that Big Sleep deckchair?

Visual memories 1

Je suis moved in

Heavens, sorry, been a bit slow catching up with you all, lot of eating to do.
It's been a fine opportunity to catch up on my pre-course memoir reading, so I finished Hilary Mantel's Giving Up the Ghost this morning and in a way it's daunting. How could you ever hope to even vaguely match her spare and subtle prose which conveys so much?
Second day of the course so everyone getting to know each other and some excellent course tuition from Penelope and Julia is opening up all sorts of doors and windows on lives and memories as we all start to access senses we may have neglected in the day to day hustle and bustle of life.
Yesterday looking at the triggers for memory, those 'universes of recollection' as Julia so eloquently put it, and looking at possible ways to approach writing a memoir that had just never occurred to me before. Finding a theme on which to build the memories and then writing short pieces about say a house, or a person or an object are producing some fantastic results from everyone.
Diaries today and already I know where any diary I've ever written has gone so mawkishly wrong. It needn't all be about me after all, it can be about the millions of orange slugs we walked through yesterday evening. Something which offers a visual key to unlock the memory of the moment...that crunching sound a slug makes when you tread on it, the gorgeous sunset over the French fields.
We haven't yet figured out why Leygonie slugs are orange, are they a delicacy? If so we have a glut and I bet one of you knows why some slugs are orange and can enlighten us.
Is there a recipe we should know of?
I did my dgr scribbles talk this afternoon because in a way a blog is a memoir/diary of sorts so please excuse me, I'll just "wave" at anyone from the course who has gone off to follow up the link.
The sun shines hotly and intermittently and so now the day has ended I've had a brief encounter with it, even a swim in the pool yesterday, but now forgive me, more food is about to appear.

PS Photos to follow and apologies, typing, spelling etc may not be my forte, my laptop has had an 'exception' and sort of downed tools, I'm using an Apple Mac which makes me feel very trendy but has all sorts of things in a very slightly different place, but I could get to like it.
More tomorrow.

Je suis arrived.

I am here and currently enjoying that sensation of languid soporific relaxation that overcomes all else once you leave home shores and head off. It’s amazing how easy it becomes to drop the cares and woes of work when you reach the Perigordine region of France.The propellor plane from Exeter (felt a bit nervy about that) got me here safely, Kay and Steve met me at Bergerac, we waited a while for Penelope Lively's flight and then off to meet Julia Blackburn at Bordeaux, so have had a grand tour of France already.

We are a house-party in the gathering and slowly others are making their way to Leygonie from all directions in readiness for the course proper which starts at 10 am tomorrow.

So far I’ve done plenty of eating and drinking and a lovely spell of reading this morning, A Time For Silence by Patrick Leigh Fermor. The first of my week’s reads and chosen as a book that would ground me perfectly in France and on retreat mode from day to day life. My copy of the letters between Debo Devonshire and Patrick Leigh Fermor , In Tearing Haste arrived just as I was leaving Devon and despite its weight I couldn’t bear to be parted from it, so along with a great article in the Telegraph magazine, which I read en route, I feel thoroughly up to speed on all things Fermor.

I can recommend A Time To Keep Silence along with some Gregorian plainchant playing on the iPod whilst sitting in comfortable chair in a farmhouse in rural France after a breakfast of fresh croissants.

More soon once we get memoiring proper.

les griffonnages gris de lecteur de colombe va en France.

Phew, that's risky, someone had better correct that title, it can't be right.
More Booker shortlisters and prize draws coming up next week but I do have exciting news which means that after all this diligent Bookerthoning I won't even be in the country when the shortlist is announced. I've been invited to be Blogeur en Residence for a week and so I'm taking you all on a foreign excursion, better all check your passports and brush up on the French conversation au necessaire because next Saturday nous sommes flying to Bergerac in the Dordogne et nous sommes in for a tres exciting time...ici, voila, c'est magnifique.
Mais oui, les griffonnages gris de lecteur de colombe va en France.
Right, I promise to stop messing about with my O Level French babelfish now.
The reading list put together by Memoir Writing Course tutors Penelope Lively and Julia Blackburn looks awesome and please be advised it has taken willpower above and beyond the norm not to launch right into this pile of reading in order to do justice to the Bookerthon.
Just look, Vladimir Nabokov, Leo Tolstoy, Rudyard Kipling (not there yet) Hilary Mantel, Martin Amis along with Alan Bennett, Italo Calvino, Tove Jansen and Norman Lewis.
Some new and exciting reading in there for me alongside some old favourites.
I shall be participating in the course as well as getting out and about with my camera and sharing my personal experiences of the whole week with you all as I learn about memoir writing at the pen nib of the experts.That said all will be done whilst being mindful that for the others it is a confidential week of writing experience and their lives are not for public consumption.
Expect pictures of French countryside along with pictures of the 'long,lavish lunches' and probably some of those 'tranquil' deckchair moments and my own thoughts on some of this fabulous reading list. Those books feel like lush green pastures as far as the eye can see after much hard work to sift out the intermittent touches of verdant in this year's Bookerthon.
Now I'm also thinking of some more French reading to take along
There's that book of French stories from OUP waiting patiently and then I've been promising myself some more Zola.
Anything else?