大象传媒

My story has a sad beginning. In 1942/43 the Engish airforce bombed the railway station in Nice to stop the movement of German troops between France and Italy. So all parents were advised to send their children away from Nice, and mine chose to send me into central France from three years.
Mother had an uncle who lived in Seulley near Vichy, and I was sent to live with him and his wife on a farm. I was there for three years and went to the village school a mile from the farm - where the schoolmaster was also Mayor....and the local drunk!

COWS SHOD
Often farmers would come into the village to get the cows shod - because there were no horses available, they used cows to pull the ploughs etc. After this was done the blacksmith, the farmer and my teacher (the school was opposite the blacksmiths - so he could see who was in there) would socialise in the local hostilary. So I did not get much schooling at that time as the teacher was often 'called away' to socialise with his friends and sent use home.

I HATE SOUP!
Throughout my stay on the farm we had soup three times a day - and rarely anything else. This was made of anything we could get. My Aunt baked once a month - as this was the only time they had enough fuel. She made pies, cakes and bread. This was as round and thick as a car wheel, and was hung in the pantry, where it slowly dried out. Each day some of the bread was brought into the kitchen where pieces were hacked off and put in the soup.
Occasionally they would kill a rabbit or chicken btu if it a pig was slaughtered it was used for a whole year.
When they killed a chicken they would collect the blood, leave it to congeal and fry it in a pan with garlic and parsley.. this was a real delicacy.
We lived off the farm, with milk for the cows, which was skimmed leaving Petit lait, which was given to pigs. the cream was used for butter and camembert cheese. The cream was lowered into an old dry well to keep it cool.

NO BATHING
I never remember having a bath all the time I lived at the farm, as the water had to be pumped from a well into a small tub on the front of the house. This had a little tap on it and the water was used to wash their hands when they came into the house. There was no bathroom and the toilet was in the middle of the garden...its proceeds were used as garden fertiliser.
It was a big farm, and considered wealthy as we had two white oxen to pull the plough. These were shod, and considered a luxury, because most people used the cows which would also produce milk and young. The oxen were incredibly strong and often hired out to help other farmers who threshing machine got bogged down during heavy rain.

LOST GERMANS
Our farm was in the middle of nowhere and at 7.30pm one night we were listening to French radio when de Gaulle used to speak to us, when a knock came on the door.We switched off the radio, and there were two Germans at the door who were lost. These were the only Germans I saw throughout the war.

CONSEQUENCES
My two brothers were sent into Germany as volunteers and did not come back, my third brother left and got married after the war.
I went back to Nice to school for three years until 1950.
At the end of the war many people claimed to have been working with the French Resistance, and there was great celebrations with them firing their guns in the air. My father has been a butcher for the duration, and was not called up. He sold horse meat which he got from the Germans. Some young men said he was a collaborator and shot him twice in the mouth, but somehow he survived and lived for another ten years.
Later I worked in hotels all around France and then Casablanca. I saw an advert for Trust House, and moved to work as a waiter in Harrogate on a Home Office permit for a year. Afetr going back to France I returned again to Shirley in Birmingham and after marrying in 1960 moved to the Regency Club, where I met and married in 1962. I have lived in England ever since.

FILM STAR CONTACTS.
While working at Mont d'Arbois near Megeve a ski resort I met the Ali Khan and Rita Hayworth were her daughter susan Welles (father Orsen Wells) signed my autograph book.

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