1968: ‘EN FAMILLE’

Madame P, Isabelle and me

Monday, 26 Aug

Tried to imagine dancing with Charles-Edouard when I woke. I had my hands behind his shoulders and he had his arms round my waist. I cannot believe we were so close.

Simone and me walked to Calais’s minute Musée de la Guerre. It was very, very interesting, even though it smelt damp and foul. We saw these terrifying posters about being shot if you went out after dark, and letters written from soldiers to their families, hours before they died.

After lunch, Simone, Isabelle and me went to the Town Hall. We got the lift to the Archives, crept up to this small door, and knocked. Nobody answered. We went in. An alarm screeched! Then this chap appeared, flustered and cross, but ended up taking a fancy to us and gave us a tour around the deadly old bookcases. He was hideous and pasty, with greasy black hair and a foul moustache - a typical civil servant poor chap. But it was perfectly awful because we were killing ourselves. Isabelle was irrepressible.

In spite of the fact that siblings share upbringing and DNA, why are they almost always so different? Here was Simone, gentle, studious and self-contained, and Isabelle, the performer. “Isabelle had us in fits” was one of my diary’s refrains.

Theories vary. Siblings experience notable family events at different ages; siblings cultivate different talents to minimize competition; siblings’ personality traits elicit different responses, accentuating their predispositions. Now the buzz word is biodiversity, essential to the survival of species. This makes good sense to me. Each human talent and temperament - altruism, musicality, eccentricity, shyness etc etc - plays its part. The richer the gene pool, the more likely the species is to survive.

Played my Otis LP when got back - Jean-Marie loves it - then Monsieur came home and took us to see some concrete forts on the moors by the sea that sent shells 20 miles to Dover! They were hideous.

Half way through supper the door-bell rang. Isabelle went and answered, and said, “it’s Charles-Edouard”. My heart skipped a beat and I tried not to go red. He was wearing a greeny-blue pullover and a white anorak. He shook hands with Simone, Monsieur Pouchyn, and me. He started chatting with M Pouchyn about “affiches”. I didn’t look at him except once, but I think he was looking at me.

I’m terribly glad he saw me while my hair was looking good.

Tuesday, 27 Aug

Lay in bed till 9.30 thinking about Charles-Edouard. I can’t not think about him and the party, but at the same time it’s agony. Something beautiful, the party, is over and gone. Everything is in extremes with me. I’m miserable because I’ve never been so happy, but if I’d never gone to the party, I wouldn’t be miserable at all. I’m treating something exceedingly slight as a rare and treasured thing and I know why: because I come into contact with so few nice boys. Two a year if I’m lucky.

Sat out on the terrace in the sun and did my French. Isabelle helped me with my accent. ‘Demande’ and ‘voulu’ are very difficult to say.

It was boiling hot so Simone and me walked to the beach. Sunbathed but it was windy. Did a weedy drawing of their parasol. Then went to the record shop and got ‘Entre mes Mains’ by Johnny Hallyday. Then went to the Vieux Yacht Club, but nobody was there. Éric listened to Johnny but he doesn’t like it. I don’t terribly myself - but Chump so loves the scream.

Felt triste at dinner. Last night seems years ago.

Chers Monsieur et Madame

Wednesday, 28 Aug

At 9.30 Mme Pouchyn, Simone and me left for Lille. Everyone admired my pink check dress and my little white bag.

Lille is the most important town in the North. There are cobbled streets and some lovely Flemish architecture. My mini skirt got quite a few looks. Saw the most beautiful cotton nighties in Au Printemps, and beautiful skirts but all too long - I don’t want one that touches the top of my knee. I looked everywhere for a bag, and finally settled on the most expensive one, in two different shades of rust. I have to keep on opening and shutting it it’s so gorgeous! Going back Mme P told us how she and Monsieur met at a wedding - they were both cousins of the bride!

I was pleased because Jean-Marie was at home this evening; he watched The Avengers while we had dinner. My feelings for him have changed entirely since he began to take less notice of me. Now I respect him (and Éric) more. Suddenly, at dinner, Éric said, “Ingrid est grosse dans cette petite robe!” Which is true, but I was surprised he had the nerve to say it. First time in my life I’ve been directly insulted, but everybody was very indignant (except for Jean-Marie who enjoyed teasing me, of course). Never mind, I feel very lucky - Jean-Marie said there’s going to be a ‘superboom’ at Christine’s on Saturday!!!

Saying good-night to us Éric added, looking at me - “bonne nuit, ma petite grosse.”

Thursday, 29 Aug

In the morning Simone and me visited a dentelle factory - lace is the main industry in Calais. It was a very small, very old factory down a dark little street. It was like going back into the 1920s; even the faces of the women were dated. A workman, black with grease, took us across a cobbled yard to the factory. I don’t know how anybody could work there, so filthy and noisy! Most of the machines were from 1900, and only one was modern, imported from England. I asked if there was any lace in cotton but he said there’s no demand for it as it breaks. We were given some lace to take away with us, beautifully wrapped.

Pépé, the grandfather, was there when we got back, a sweet little old man with white hair and a big white moustache. Played Mahjong in the study. Learnt that Christine’s ‘superboom’ is to be held at a chalet on the beach. I’m so longing.

After lunch we went to see ‘Les Grands Vacances.’ Entering the cinema we were killing ourselves as we couldn’t see a thing, Isabelle and me ended up sitting on the steps trying to control ourselves before we could penetrate any further.

Jean-Marie went to sleep while we had supper but just managed to wake up in time for le dessert. Watched a comedy on TV and sat next to J-M. He’s getting keener on me now. He and Éric devoured Pépé’s chocolates.

Simone and Jean-Marie

Friday, 30 August

Encore du courrier! I’ve had 14 letters and three cards!

I keep thinking about Charles-Edouard, but every time I do, even if it’s only for a second, my heart misses a beat. It hurts. Played my records and danced to them. Otis is too much.

At lunch Monsieur Pouchyn explained to me about dry white wine - you can only have it with the first course or with fish. Champagne and rosé are the only wines that can be drunk throughout a meal - I must tell Dad. Éric and Jean-Marie thought it very amusing when I said Mme P made her bottles of cherry liqueur with eau de Vichy! Obviously I meant eau de vie.

Jean-Marie arrived about 7 and we played Mahjong in the study while Monsieur sat at his desk working out where to seat people for the yacht club dinner tonight. So we had supper just with J-M: a pretty amusing meal. Later I borrowed Éric’s EPs and played them in my room. I adore ‘Hello, I Love You’ by the Doors.

Saturday, 31 August

At lunch, had snails: gorgeous, hot, buttery and garlicky. Mme Pouchyn had an argument with Éric about the way he drives and really got cross.

In the evening Éric drove J-M, Simone and me to Christine’s party. Éric drove madly and we very nearly had an accident. The chalet is at the top of a drive overlooking the sea but it was drizzling… not exactly marvellous for my hair. Shook hands with everyone and Charles-Edouard said, “ca va?” So he didn’t look disinterested in me.

We sat down and looked at magazines. All the food was laid out, but I couldn’t eat. I didn’t dare look at C-E. Christine sat at the end of the table, giggly. Bertrand was silent as usual. Then we cleared everything away for dancing. No electricity so the tourne-disque ran on batteries. Hopeless! You couldn’t hear a thing. C-E asked me after at least five dances… I sort of knew he would the moment I realised he was still interested in me. His voice is gorgeous, quite deep and sort of slow, with a smile in it.

Had hot gluvine which was gorgeous but poor Jean-Marie got the piece of pepper that was mixed in it and felt ill. Bertrand was lying on the top of the cupboard smoking. Some people started miaow-ing at him so he growled back! There then followed a fight between ‘cats and dogs’, it was hilarious. Finally, when C-E and me were sitting next to each other, I plucked up the courage to speak. He goes to university at Lille (like Éric) and wants to become an engineer. He asked if I liked France and I said I’d prefer to live here than England. He said I didn’t look a bit English - they all have big teeth!!

Most of the dancing with him was slow, and at first it was hard to get into the gorgeous mood of last time. It was so noisy and the light was so bright. “How are you,” he suddenly said (in English), and I said “very well, thank you.” Then he said, “you are lovely”!!! Then he suggested I dance on his feet, so I did! So adorable. After about midnight he held me really tight. He sort of put his legs between mine so we couldn’t have got closer, and later he put his arms round my shoulders and fondled my neck. ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ had just the right speed and rhythm. I asked him what he liked besides sailing and jazz and he said reading and skiing. Whenever he said something our faces touched.

It wasn’t hot, the door to the terrace was always open. We went out there and looked at the stars. '“C’est romantique, hein,” he said, keeping his eyes on me in an amused sort of way. He didn’t kiss me, but I was afraid he would. He wanted to leave at 10 to get some sleep because of the race tomorrow, but “à cause de toi” he didn't. The last dance we had was ‘This Guy’s in Love with You.’

I felt sorry for Simone. She was sitting there, talking to no-one, and eventually fell asleep. I sat down beside her because my legs were terribly tired. Then, with his arms blissfully around me, C-E decided to go to sleep. When I opened my eyes I found it hard to believe it was real. Later we had to lift our legs so someone could sweep the floor. About 2.30am we all left, in a sort of crocodile, clambering down the sandy steps in the dark. Then he caught up with me and held my hand. We avoided a puddle and arrived at the cars. We didn’t shake hands, just stood looking at each other.  "A l'année prochaine,” I said. And that was it.

We drove to the yacht club to drop off Jean-Marie, but Monsieur Pouchyn was there, furious! I never knew we were meant to be back by 12! He’d come out specially to look for us.

I’ve got a headache now - it’s 10 to 4. I had to write my Diary before I got to sleep.

Charles-Ed (1969)

Sunday, 31 August

Jean-Marie and Éric are not very concerned about their stiff punishment for last night.

We went to the Club and had drinks aboard an English boat - all the ghastly ‘Little Stint’ crowd were there. (At first they thought I was French, hé hé.) Then Simone and me went to the boat and waited for Monsieur. We lay down inside and dozed off and I thought of C-E. If I think terribly hard I can capture his voice. It’s all in the same key. Also there are gaps between his words. He doesn’t speak all in a rush. Sometimes, at the end, he says “uh”. Not “hein” or “er” but a mix between the two.

To capture the phenomenological subtleties of desire is an impossible task. Give or take the odd genius: Virginia Woolf, Proust.

“In speaking, Albertine kept her head motionless and her nostrils pinched, and scarcely moved her lips. The result of this was a drawling, nasal sound, into the composition of which there entered perhaps a provincial heredity, a juvenile affectation of British phlegm, the teaches of a foreign governess and a congestive hypertrophy of the mucus of the nose…. I thought then that there was no one in the world so desirable.” - A La Recherche du Temps Perdu

We had a lovely sail, I must say. I sat up in the bows and felt romantic, the wind blowing my hair. Jean-Marie was watching as we sailed in, and saw me pull in the ‘foc’ when I shouldn’t have. “Tu navigues comme un pluc,” he said! He teased me sans cesse.

I’ve got the most ghastly feeling that I won’t see Charles-Edouard again. Although he doesn’t seem the sort of boy who forgets someone just like that, he can’t just ring me up or anything. I think he loved me for one night. That’s it. I feel sad.

Isabelle