…“What, you, Eric? Shurely shome mishtake” – ed … about the way that people in North America treat their heritage. And not just on the odd occasion either. And not just in one country, as a matter of fact. However I do recognise that there are some people who are making a valiant effort.

I am ashamed to say that in my own neck of the woods the lack of interest in culture and heritage and all of this is just as apparent as it is in North America. And that is just what is on public view. There is much more that is going on behind closed (and locked doors) that the public never has the opportunity to see.

I’ve been on my travels today and one of the places I visited was the Fete des Myrtilles at St Julien-la-Geneste.

There was an art exhibition taking place in the church and Marianne the local journalist was there to photograph it. She blagged her way into the church tower to take a photo of the exhibition and asked me whether I would like to go – she knows that I have an interest in boldly going where the hand of man has never set foot.

And so up in the tower it was – and this was the sight that greeted me. I know that Medieval religious art is two-a-penny and not usually particularly good but that is no reason in my opinion to just chuck it in a corner out of the way where no-one is ever likely to go and just leave it there to fester, to let rats and mice make a nest for it and when in 100 years time everyone has forgotten all about it, quietly burn it somewhere in a lonely field.

According to Marianne it is something to do with the Chemin de la Croix which is something that means nothing to me but seems to be of some kind of significance. Marianne was pretty busy so I didn’t have time to ask her but I’m seeing her at a meeting tomorrow night and so I will interrogate her.

But it appals me how people can treat significant objects in this despicable fashion . Yes, I’m having another “Lancaster Bomber” moment, aren’t I?

Things weren’t any better up in the top of the tower either. I took the opportunity to shin up the rickety wooden ladder and force the trapdoor so that I could go into the bell housing. And I bet no-one had been up there for fifty years either.

There were three bells in the belfry and the original pulling gear was all there, although it looked as if it had been disconnected for a hundred years.

And so we had one bell which was electrically connected to chime the hours and half-hours, although Terry did ask me how they managed in view of the frequent power cuts that they have around here.

The second, which was slightly smaller, was still hanging but disconnected and the third, the smallest of the trio, had been taken down and just flung in a corner where it sat.

Of course, just as I stuck my head into the bell housing, the clock chimed half-past three.
“I bet Marianne did that on purpose” said Terry.
“I don’t know why you are complaining” said Marianne. “You should be grateful that it wasn’t twelve o’clock”.

It’s nice to have friends.

You may remember that we were here a few years ago and were entertained by a guy from Canada who played the bagpipes and his friend who played the drums. They were back here again today, bringing their bagpipes and drums with them and they entertained the crowd for a short while.

Hardly a traditional French entertainment, you might think, but this is part of the beauty of living here. There are all kinds of people from all over the place living here and they have brought their cultures with them.

That wasn’t all of the excitement either. This car was parked up around the back of the church and so I went for a closer look, and it took me quite by surprise because it’s a comparatively rare car and I didn’t expect to see one here.

It’s a Renault Novaquatre, a model that was built for just a couple of years. Launched in the Autumn of 1937, it was never a popular car. Few were made and production ground to a halt in the summer of 1940 when the Renault factory was taken over by the Germans, and never restarted after the war.

Back home, I helped Lieneke with her gardening for a while and then Terry and Liz came round for the scaffolding. They invited me back for tea which was nice of them and as Liz had baked vegan ginger cake I gratefully accepted. I was even given a doggy bag!

But earlier in the day I’d been to the brocante at Le Quartier. I had had a good day there, spending a whole €10:50 on a map of the French railway system in 1962, a hold-down switch for my doorbell, a kind-of lance for weed control, a ladle for the composting toilet and – biggest prize of all – a heavy-duty electric paint sprayer. Jerome from Pionsat’s 3rd XI was there too and we had a good chat.

But I’m on the warpath again about these paintings.

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