Rafle du Vel' d'Hiv

Recently I read an account of how over 13,000 Jews were arrested from their Paris homes in 1942. I found the story surprising because the arrests and subsequent internment of mainly women and children in the "Winter Velodrome (Vélodrome d'Hiver) was orchestrated and carried out by the French rather than the occupying Germans, much to the shame of modern day Parisians, and the French Government who apologised publicly for the atrocity in 1995.

  

Sarah's Key 

  is a film about an American journalist Julia, ( Kristin Scott Thomas) who is married to a Frenchman (Frédéric Pierrot ) and about to move into a Paris apartment owned by her husband’s family since 1942.

She discovers the flat once belonged to a Jewish family, and her researches reveal that a girl, Sarah (Mélusine Mayance), locked her little brother in a cupboard to evade the the French police and then did all she could to return to save him.

The film comprises the two stories, the modern day emotional journey of Julia and the terrible wartime drama of Sarah's family , which intertwine back and forth as the reporter unearths the eventual truth. This proves a slightly difficult fusion as the dramatic tension of Sarah's story far out weighs even Scott Thomas at her scene stealing best.

Having said that, Sarah's Key works very well indeed, it's a compelling, moving and at times harrowing watch that features not only another weighty performance by Scott Thomas, but also a crackingly mature turn by Mayance.  The cinematography by  Pascal Ridao with it's golden hues captures the terrible heat of the summer of '42 perfectly and one scene in particular ( when Sarah and her friend escape the Drancy internment camp and run through a field of wheat) is absolutely stunning.

Melusine Mayance (centre)

Its a worthy film and well worth seeing

8/10
As I walked out a woman behind me looked up,sighed loudly and summed it up
as she puffed "Bloody hell  !!!!!!!!!"

Living With a Doctor (of Philosophy)

Chris is bee keeping garb

The shadowy figure on this blog that is Chris has been working his butt off recently.

Pure academics are not employed for the obligatory 37.5 hours a week. They are employed to deliver results, and the results are research bids, academic papers  and brief cases crammed to the gunnells with incomprehensible (to me) ideas and theories.

Academics cannot switch off like the rest of us do after work, they work in creative spurts, they get up in the wee small hours to thrash out a problem and they remain focused and disciplined when deep down all they want to do is to is to lie in front of the fire watching trash tv.

I sometimes wish I could do a little more to make things easier for the man I live with who has a brain the size of a planet, but I know that I can get wrapped up in the "smaller" world of pigs trotters, hen's teeth and the presence of red mite in the turkey house rather than to appreciate the rather cut throat world of University life.

So at these times when stress inducing deadlines have been lined up in his diary  and nose to nipple video conferences are the format of the day..all I can do is to have a hot meal waiting for him when he eventually gets home to a warm cottage and make sure all that day to day "flotsam" is sorted out without bothering him

But I wont wear an apron

and I'll never say "Good day at the office dear?"

I'm not THAT nice
(believe me!)

Scones In Church

I  worked last night, and just about kept going until ten minutes ago, when the lure of coffee in a sunny window, won me over. I don't feel too guilty for sitting down....despite being watched from the sofa by two sets of interested eyes , willing me to take them out for another walk

Although I am not a churchgoer I am always happy to help out with Church activities and I remembered that I promised to take all of the Church tinned goods that were donated at the harvest festival down to the homeless shelter in Rhyl today. The weather has been terrible, wintery, windy and very wet this morning, and the down at heel part of Rhyl where the shelter is located couldn't have looked any more depressing.

 

The staff were friendly when I turned up and ever so grateful for the donation 

which they said was one of the most generous in the district. Funny that the church here in Trelawnyd is one of the smallest in the diocese.

When I got back to Trelawnyd, I delivered some eggs and briefly got sidetracked by Auntie Glad who had left her usual "obtuse- I have something for you" message on our answerphone. I called around to collect a batch of scones ( for some reason she hates stating on the answerphone that she has actually made me some scones, preferring to say that she had "an item" that needed to be  collected!)

I took the scones, and went to clean the Church as the weather improved a little.

With the sun streaming through the stained windows, it's a lovely place to relax in, so before I got stuck in with the hoover I sat on a pew and chomped my way through the bag of scones.

I don't think anyone would have minded.....

......I didn't leave any crumbs.............................................................

Sigh

The only good thing in Downton, Siohban Finnerhan as O'Brien

I know everyone seems to be blogging about the arrival of autumn, but when you live your life mostly wearing wellies, that sharp cold snap in the air, somewhat dominates your attention. The nights have drawn in, the wood burner has been lit and and dissapointmernt is in the air on Sunday nights as Downton Abbey has sadly morphed itself into a cheaply written daytime soap.

Autumn has arrived.

I hope it's not going to be another wet winter. Cold the animals cope with ease, cold and wet...they don't

Cold, wet days are cruel. 

Cold and wet days halt work on the allotment

Cold and wet days fill the cottage with muddy paw prints and damp

Cold and wet days empty the village 

Having said this, the arrival of ice and snow has it's own downside here in Trelawnyd.

Waterfeeders require ice clearing  at least three times a day and the animals need extra feed to fight the effects of the cold.

The berlingo does not cope well on icy roads and I am worried about getting  to my brother's house up in the sticks when even 4 x 4 s struggle with the conditions........

Last night the moon was shining brightly behind the churchyard trees. With the leaves almost gone from the branches , the sillolettes of the guinea fowl crowched firmly  against the wind could be clearly seen. Of all the animals, they alone have to face the winter elements without shelter. This will be their third Christmas alone in the Graveyard.

So, it's time to order some straw to insulate the pig hut and it's time to dig out Mrs Hopkin's mittens to wear out on the field.....
I hate winter

The guineas in last year's snow from left to right-Ivy Hughie and Alf

 

Betty's Last Hot Pot

Annie Walker (Doris Speed) and Betty Turpin ( Betty Driver)

 I am of a generation that grew up with Granada tv's "traditional" portrayal of the Northern Working Class Woman in twice weekly soap Coronation Street. 

Life in Weatherfield (aka Salford) at that time, remained drab, industrialised and parochial. The austerity of the 1950s was only a decade away, some houses still had an outside lav, and women who were old before their time still had to make do and mend.

Coronation Street of old was a cracker of a soap, and it was all the better for having the likes of Betty Driver ,a former 1940s big band singer, in a supporting role as the street's warm hearted, ham armed, motherly bosomed  bar lady Betty Turpin.

For me she embodied women of a certain age, who survived hardship and wartime with an offer of  a smile, a cup of tea and a piece of cake, and like John Wayne, Betty always looked as though she was playing her warm and big hearted self on screen, a thing the British nation loved her for.

Betty Driver 1920-2011

"Daaaadddd...there's a vulture in that shed"

Theresa

As work slowed up somewhat over night, I took some annual leave and left the hospital at 5.30am. What a treat! I was in bed by 6.00 am, asleep by 6.05 am and ready to start the day by 8.00am

The shed behind the cottage, has always been nicknamed "The High Dependency Unit" by Chris, who is almost always  exasperated by the fact that it always seems to be populated with some sick animal receiving treatment.

Today Theresa is the patient. Theresa for those that don't know is the turkey that turned up two years ago sitting quite comfortably thank you very much in the boot of car. I was asked by her owner if I could mate her with Boris to he could rear some turkey poults. I agreed and Boris duly "did the deed", but then the owner seemed rather reluctant to collect her again........and bless she kind of ...well...just stayed

Presently, Theresa has a bit of a bad chest, so has been receiving intensive tit bit therapy as well as oral antibiotics. She has perked up quite nicely, and as she is one lazy bird, I think she has actually enjoyed the rest and comfort of a quiet shed with everything "laid on" as it were.

To give her a bit of UV therapy first thing, I opened the shed door for a bit and went to have my morning coffee, and as the shed opens up to the lane,any occupant can be seen by anyone passing the cottage.

A while later,through the window, I spied a man with his son out walking. The boy must have been around seven and I could hear him chattering excitedly as they both saw Theresa sunning herself by the egg boxes.

"Dadddddd....look! there's a vulture in that shed" the boy gasped

The father sounded like one of those new-age dads..encouraging and gentle natured.

"I don't think it would be a vulture Ben" he said "they can be rather dangerous"

"Is it an eagle then?" Ben asked

"I am not sure" Ben's father said making things up as he went along "It's not a bird of prey"

"What is it then?" Ben asked " a white pheasant?"

"No I think it is some sort of exotic bird" his father continued to bullshit

"He's got a bald head" Ben said "like a vulture...I bet you it's a white vulture" 

"I don't think he's a vulture" Dad repeated with a sigh....

I couldn't resist it...

I walked out of the cottage, pretending to put out the rubbish and said hello as the two of them continued to lean over the wall looking at Theresa who now was asleep

"What's kind of bird is that" the father asked brightly?

I didn't hesitate

"It's a white vulture" I said with a smile.

Cria Cuervos, Jolly Spaniards and life beyond computers

My computer gave up the ghost yesterday.

All I have been left with is a black screen, a few unless instructions, and  a whole load of frustration.

But that's the way of our modern world sometimes;- we rely on these little cubes of technology just that little bit too much dont we?

Of course I will continue to blog, but I am now using Chris' work computer until mine can be resurrected or binned, so will have to dovetail into his routine somewhat.....

Ann Torrent in Croa Cuervos

Anyhow, last night I went to see a re run of the 1976 Spanish Film Raise Ravens... a wonderful and melancholy little film about a sad, little girl surviving life without her beloved mother (Geraldine Chaplin) by living in her own lonely little world.

It's a kind of like Pan's Labyrinth without the monsters.

The film was enlivened by three middle aged Spanish ladies who sat behind me ( who said North  Wales wasn't a cultural melting pot?)

Obviously they identified with all of those cultural and personal ques within the film ,so when the little girl played her favourite record or sang her favourite song, the ladies  would all join in, but would do so in a polite but ever so excited whisper.
So I kept my gob, uncharacteristically shut

Usually I find such behaviour unacceptable , and am not at all shy in letting such "culprits" know the fact, (firmly and loudly), but in this case, I found their obvious pleasure at re living a childhood that must have seemed a million miles away  from a damp night in a North Wales Cinema rather amusing.

The film although excellent, needed a bit of a lift anyway

It's a dull, lifeless kind of day today........and you know what? I could do with those three jolly Spaniards around the cottage

Keeping Things Going

Last night the Flower Show Committee met at Auntie Glads for our post show post- mortem

Gladys had gone to The Harvest Thanksgiving in Church but had left the large kitchen kettle boiling on the aga for our break and had organised thickly buttered scones to be distributed with the strong tea, which was to be set out in wafer thin china cups on the sideboard.

We had more or less sorted out next year's schedule, by the time Gladys returned, and as she sat down in the armchair next to the fire ,she wryly commented that there was more people grouped around her old kitchen table than there was sat in Church; but as usual there was only amusement in her voice and no hint of criticism.

With the congregation falling at the Church and the two tiny Trelawnyd chapels holding on by their fingertips, the village social groups, like those in all villages, seem to be fading as the population ages.

Bucking this trend has been the village Friendship group ( a social group ran by and for the village OAPS) and of course the Flower Show, which has been going (albeit gently) from strength to strength with the injection of new committee "blood" and a late rush of new exhibitors in recent years.

I am proud of our little band of valiant volunteers from the Flower Show.

Good humour, hard work, and just a little effort by  ten  people always seems to produce something rather special year after year after year.......

After a review of the dates, it would seem that in 2012..the flower show has been running a self congratulatory, 40 years