Slaves of the World, Unite!

Revealing the plaque

This year saw the 7th edition of the festival Ourtre-Mer en Bourgogne, and this year's theme for the festival was the abolition of slavery. The association "Amis des Antilles" from Montceau-les-Mines plays a prominent role in these festivities, and the Antillean chairwoman of this club, Mme Christiane Mathos, also owner of an Antillean restaurant there kept her end up during the preparations of the festival.

The plaque

Even though Montceau-les-Mines is not exactly an area of our special attention, the fact that Cormatin and Ameugny were part of the celebrations could not escape us. Both villages played a (modest) role in the abolition of slavery, like Saint-Point, Mâcon, Paray-le-Monial, Toulon-sur-Arroux and Cluny. Had our village not been heavily involved in this politically hot item we would have never paid any attention to Outre-Mer en Bourgogne. So what exactly was Cormatin's role?

The inevitable speeches

The General Étienne Maynaud de Bizefranc de Lavaux had been governor of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti), he had had close ties with the black leader of a slave uprising in Haiti, General Toussaint Louverture, he was a friend of Alphonse de Lamartine, the later advocate of a.o. the abolition of slavery, and he was buried in the cemetery of Ameugny.

Lavaux's tomb

Hence reason enough for celebrating a mess in Cormatin's church, unveiling a plaque at the Château de Cormatin, laying a wreath on his grave in Ameugny, followed by a vin d'amitié and a lecture on the subject there and finally a play in Cormatin by pupils of a school in Montceau about… yes, the abolition of slavery.

Vin d'amitié

Unfortunately Mme Mathos' influence did not reach as far as providing Antillean titbits during the vin d'amitié. We got stuck with the classic omnipresent brioche, a dense type of bread with the consistency of not yet completely cured concrete and some biscuits which could have come from a Sainsbury tin. However, the wine was ok!
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A hat, a hat, my kingdom for a hat

Did you ever get stuck in one of the narrow through roads of Buxy, held up by a huge tank lorry trying to wind its way through the same streets? We see them quite often, these huge trucks painted in camouflage colours, and quite often there is a whole column of them. They are driven by learner drivers, and we never knew where these guys were actually based. Until recently.



Hats for sale, hats for sale!

I said until recently, because a couple of days ago there appeared no parking signs in the centre of town for a certain morning between 8h00 and 12h00. The signs explained that this had something to do with a military parade. Starting to get to know the French a bit in terms of their attitude towards punctuality, we decided that it would be useless to arrive there before 10 o'clock. When we came there at 10h15 we were still 15 minutes early.
On a street corner we saw a handful of soldiers carrying stacks of white military hats. At the same time we heard from another street the muffled sound of marching soldiers singing, something I only know from American movies about commando trainings. Soon the square filled up with brass, whom started to boss the spectators around and telling them where to stand and where not, and around 10h30 the show started. From one side a group of young soldiers marched toward the square, wearing clothing in camouflage colours and black berets. From the other side approached a similar group, but dressed up in dark blue full dress and white hats, each one of them holding a spare white hat under his or her arm.


Groups 1 (left) en 2 (right)

Both groups were lined up next to each other in four files. after a lot of hoo-ha 3 boys from group 1, most likely platoon commanders, were told to come forward and to receive from some of the big shots a brand-new flat white hat, in exchange for their black beret, by the way.
After this, the files of group 2 stepped in between the files of group 1 and started to distribute their spare white hats.
The hats having been dished out some rather muddled drill took place involving some high placed brass and a regiment's banner, and finally both groups of youngsters were marched off to the church. By this time we also had enough of the whole show, and we in our turn marched ourselves off to where our car was parked.
In the mean time we have found out that these guys are quartered in the barracks of Carnot in Chalon, and that they are part of the Base Pétrolière Interarmées. When they are about to finish their training, they still have to do some manoeuvres around Saint-Gengoux. Once the manoeuvres are over, the ceremony in Saint-Gengoux incorporates them as real soldiers in their regiment and they are then allowed to wear full dress, including their brand new white hats.
Anyway, whenever we get stuck again in Buxy, I know now who are to blame for it...



Oi, it's not my size!


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A French wedding

In France, as in the Netherlands, only a civil wedding is considered to be an official wedding; reason why a church wedding, if there is one, always takes place after the civil ceremony. However, the amount of people gathered around a church for a wedding is considerably bigger in France then in the Netherlands.
A week ago we found a wedding invitation in our letterbox for the church wedding of the daughter of some friends in Chazelle. Because we liked the people and because we would not mind to witness a French church wedding, we happily accepted the invitation.
Towards three o’clock we drove off to Cormatin church (the service was supposed to start at 15h30) and found with difficulty a parking space. That is not unusual on a Saturday, but the amount of women with rather exuberant dresses tumbling out of vehicles made us think they came for the wedding. That was even more evident when we tried to find a place in the church. Cormatin church was filled to the brim with friends and relatives of the couple or their parents.

Chazelle church can handle approx. 120 church goers; Cormatin church, which is much bigger, easily holds over 200, and the church was soon chocker block full. The service was relatively simple, bride and groom and their respective parents radiated happiness, in a word, this was the day of their life.
After the ceremony we went off to Morlay for a vin d’honneur, where another acquaintance of ours sometimes hosts parties and weddings. Fortunately we knew the way; hence we managed to arrive early by making a little detour, this way arriving just before the whole column of cars turned up.
Everything was organised very well. The kir flowed amply, there were all sort of snacks to accompany the drinks, all in all it was, apart from the stunning view over the Grosne valley not dissimilar to a Dutch wedding reception.

We would have loved to stay a bit longer, but on a Saturday we have to be home as well, if only to receive gîte guests who had said they would arrive late…..




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A bit boring, this time!

Yesterday it was 11 November, the day when in many countries the armistice of 1918 which ended the First World War is celebrated and remembered. Strangely enough (at least in my eyes) is the wreath laying of 11 November the one that is attended by the biggest crowd, far bigger than the one on July the 14th. Unfortunately the man who normally unwillingly turns these events into something more amusing than just a wreath laying, Monsieur P., was unable to attend. The wreath laying takes since 2009 on instigation of Monsieur P. place at both monuments, the one for those fallen during the wars in Cormatin, and the one for the deportees at Bois Dernier. Everything worked smoothly this time. The traditional flag-bearer, Monsieur N., took Monsieur P.’s place to operate the CD-player, and the flag was this time carried by Monsieur G. No ramshackle old cassette-deck, no hick-up in the Marseillaise, no frantic searching for the off-button, no, actually everything went too smoothly...
The attendance however was so unexpectedly big, that the mayor had to move the venue for the vin d’honneur from the small Café de la Poste (which was supposed to host the drinks) to the bigger Les Blés d’Or.

That these sort of last-minute logistic changes often cannot be implemented without any problems was proven by the fact that there were insufficient tables, chairs and even standing room available for the crowd. But the rest of the ceremony went like clockwork, after the mayor had uttered a few times the word “Bordel” (“What a mess!”) to the owner end the first drinks and snacks had been passed around. Let us hope that next time Monsieur P. will be present again; with him there has so far never been a dull moment!

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Mental arithmatic

On 18 June 1940 General de Gaulle called the French to stand up against the Germans via the BBC from London. Of course this is something to remember, and how can one remember something in France without wreath laying and vin d’honneur? The “Appeal” results in only one wreath laying, at the monument near Bois Dernier. Apart from the low turnout (14 people in total) nothing shocking passed. The mayor read de Gaulle’s proclamation, Monsieur P.’s centuries old cassette deck blurted out part of the Gaulle’s speech followed by the Marseillaise, and then we marched off to…. No, not to one of the 3 usual cafés, but to the Camping Municipale.

The management there had told the mayor that their cafeteria was also more than capable to pour the vin d’honneur, and since the mayor is an honest man, who likes to distribute the commune’s money for these events evenly, the campsite as of now is on the list. The mayor even said hopefully, that as of today we would have a different venue for each wreath laying, until he counted them out on his fingers, and came to not four but five in total!

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Modern times

It was again monsieur P. who managed to turn a normally rather boring ceremony into something slightly more exciting. This time it happened on Liberation day, the 8th of May.
Although there were more people attending than a week ago, the amount of attendants was still a bit disappointing. Fortunately the Sappeurs Pompiers turned up in great number, thus making the parade look more like a parade than just 10 people strolling along the main street. At the monument in front of the church monsieur P. took a little stool out of his car, followed by the modern amplifier with built in CD player. After the minute silence (French minutes, I have noticed, last not more than 35 seconds) and the speech monsieur P. squatted behind the amp and started to fiddle around with the knobs. After two international minutes from 60 seconds each the crowd started to get a bit restless. No trace of the French national anthem yet. Monsieur P. appeared red-headed from behind his devilish machine and asked the flag bearer, monsieur N. for advice. Finally, after a good 4 long minutes, the Marseillaise sounded across the church square.

Next the parade, this time motorised, moved off towards Bois Dernier. Now monsieur P. did not take any risk. After he had installed the amplifier, het took over the flag from monsieur N., who, like an experienced DJ managed to elicit the Chant des Partisans and the Marseillaise from the CD player. With a sigh of relief the meeting broke up, and everyone, light at heart and glad about this happy ending went to Les Blés d’Or for a bite, and more important, for a drink….

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I declare the season opened!

With the closing of the hunting season, the season of the wreath layings is now officially opened.
My last blog on this subject goes back to July 2010, hence it is time for an update. The last Sunday in April is France’s official day to remember the deportees of the Second World War. That coincided this year with Easter Sunday, possibly the reason why, despite it being a lovely sunny day, there were not many people present. Or contrary, was it due to the blue sky and high temperatures? Whatever the reason, at 9h55, only 10 minutes later than planned, a small cortege of cars drove direction monument in Bois Dernier. It is every time a surprise what goes wrong this time, hence I was watching everything with more than the usual attention. Which amplifier was going to be used to play among others the French National anthem?

Monsieur’s P. old car was parked close to the monument, and there was no amp in sight. Was this a new attempt to force those present to sing the Marseillaise live?
The wreath was laid by Monsieur P., a survival of Buchenwald, assisted by L., whose parents were deported and never came back. After the obligatory speech, dictated by Paris, Monsieur P. walked towards the hedge that lines the monument, pressed a button of the machine hidden in the hedge, and as if it had never been away it produced the crackling version of the Marseillaise I gotten quite fond of. In the past I have been using a mock picture of this machine (actually a picture of one of my old transistor radios with built in cassette deck, positioned on the hat shelf of my car), but this time I managed to take a picture of the genuine product, hidden in the bushes.

I used my camera whilst Monsieur P. read the speech from Paris. After which everybody went back to Cormatin, to Café de la Poste for a verre d’amitié. And because there were so few people, and the wine was ordered well before hand, most of the wreath layers staggered home, not quite sober one and a half hour later ….

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The holy corkscrew

Anyway, I was well impressed by the scale of the event. There were several hundreds of people in the procession, which started in Vaux, and climbed the short distance uphill to the church of Saint-Ythaire. The various Guilds had their banners and their different uniforms, whereby the “Chevaliers” of the “Confrérie” were not only carrying their Saint Vincent, but also other paraphernalia. Their coat of arms depicts a cork screw and something resembling a hand grenade. Today we had a better look at this coat of arms and only now we found out that the holy hand grenade, on the other side of the holy corkscrew, was in reality a side view of a tastevin, a shallow metal, often silver platter which is constructed to display the colour of the (red) wine, and used by professional wine tasters. All members of the Confrérie were wearing a big tastevin around their neck, and one was carrying a huge corkscrew.
The mass was celebrated in a normal French way. However, because the church was chocker block full, and we were seated in a recess, right behind a bunch of 10 (ten) horn blowers; I almost got a heart attack when completely unexpectedly all ten of them decided to join the congregation in a song.
Then there was the inevitable wreath laying at the war memorial, followed by a vin d’honneur at the town hall.
But what is a fête in France without a lunch? After two o’clock we piled into the Foyer Rural of Saint-Gengoux, where I did a quick count; the tables were laid for 200 people. We found out quickly who did the catering; a company from Montchanin (about 25 km away) had brought over food, professional cookers and cooking utensils and prepared a stunning meal for all present.
Just to make you jealous:
Pâté de canard avec son foie gras et quelques feuilles;
Dôme de sole, queues d’écrevisses sauce du chef avec riz et fleuron;
Trou Bourguignon;
Souris de cerf braisé et ses légumes;
Fromage plateau servi avec noix et raisins;
Mignardises - Café.
And of course there were plenty of excellent local wines served with this meal....
At the end of the meal another ritual had to be performed. A few members of the communes involved were invited to join the Confrérie, and some were even appointed “Chevalier”; they were given the accolade by means of what we have dubbed the holy corkscrew.
As usual with these sorts of events these lunches last at least four hours, after which the real diehards go on dancing until the wee wee hours. We however are spoil sports in this respect; after the last cup of coffee we were completely worn out, and only wanted to go home. And the fact that the band was in shrill contrast with the rest of the day had not much to do with our wimping out, after an excellent day....

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Practice makes perfect

After the last ceremony on the eight of May, where the Marseillaise played a prominent part, it was time for a new episode on the fourteenth of July. Everybody was gathered around the mairie, waiting for marching orders, when the flag carrier Monsieur N. whispered something in Monsieur P.’s ear. He in turn opened the boot of his car, got the new amplifier out and started prodding and poking at the back of the thing, following the whispered instructions of Monsieur N. After a short while we heard the beginning of the Marseillaise at an acceptable volume. In one word, Monsieur P. was ready for the challenge! Although ten minutes later than usual, we were ready to face the music in front of the monument, at quarter past eleven. The wreath was laid, and it was time for the obligatory speech dictated by Paris. However, this bit was skipped, and Monsieur P. asked for attention. He read out a letter he and some of his friends had written to FNAC. FNAC is a big French chain, which recently had written out a photo competitition. The winning photograph in the catagory “Politically incorrect” had been one of a young guy, trousers down on his ankles, wiping his behind with the French Tricolore. This sort of thing does not go down very well in Sarko’s France, and it certainly did not go down well with Monsier P. He ended his speech with the words “And I am curious to read their answer”, after which we indulged in a shortened version of the Marseillaise.
In the mean time the "Journal Officiel" has published a decree instigated by Michèle Alliot-Marie (Minister of justice), whereby an insult of the French flag is punishable with a fine of max. € 1500. Monsieur P. should be a bit more careful in the future; before you know it, fooling around with the Marseillaise could become a crime as well!

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Back to the future

Since I started this blog I have already written so many articles about the various ceremonies around here, that I have created a separate label for those pieces. Those interested in the continuing story of Monsieur P. and our mayor, and the struggle with modern technology of those two, can click on the label “Ceremony” in the right hand menu.
The call to arms of General de Gaulle in which he ordered the French to take up arms against the Germans in stead of collaborating with Pétain and his gang 70 years ago was celebrated big time this year in France. We were rather curious how the ceremony at Bois Dernier would go this year. Would Monsieur P. be able to handle the brand new amplifier, or would he again require the assistance of the flag carrier Monsieur N.?
Around six thirty in the evening an extremely small group had gathered near the Mairie. It was really only a handful of people, which surprised us in view of the 70 years celebration of the event. Even the thriving force behind it, Monsieur P. was not there. Anyway, what had to be done had to be done, Monsieur P. or no Monsieur P. We were spread over fewer cars than normal, and the co-voiturage equippe drove off to Bois Dernier. To our relief we saw that Monsieur P. was already there, his car parked near the monument. After the wreath laying was done and after the mayor had read the speech from “Paris”, Monsieur P. asked one of the youngest pompiers, a girl in her early teens, to read out De Gaulle’s words. After this had been accomplished, it was time for the musical closure of the ceremony.

We were completely baffled when Monsieur P. walked to his car, opened the boot, and revealed to us his pre-historic cassette player. As if it had never been away, it churned out a shrieking, howling and crackling rendition of General de Gaulle’s speech (very authentic!), a ditto version of the Chant des Partisans and the best version of the Marseillaise ever played (apart from the one in Casablanca of course).
May we draw the conclusion that Monsieur P. has given up when it comes to modern technology? Time will tell....

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Village gossip

It may be clear from this Blog that village life in Cormatin is not dissimilar to the stereotypical life in the fictitious village of Clochemerle.
A previous posting got an unexpected follow-up.

Understanding of modern technology by older citizens and progress of this technology do not always go hand in hand. The new amplifier cum CD-player, recently obtained by the commune (and not, as I wrongly stated earlier, by our war veteran and deportee Monsieur P.) was supposed to make the most recent ceremony (the wreath laying at the Monument for those who gave their lives for France during the wars) last Liberation Day a feast for the ears. After the various speeches the Marseillaise was supposed to be played through the amplifier at an acceptable, but clearly audible volume. However, Monsieur P. had forgotten how the thing worked. After what seems to be an eternity, during which Monsieur P. pressed buttons, turned knobs, at the end assisted by the flag bearer, who had to lower the flag for this purpose, all of a sudden the Marseillaise blurted out over Cormatin at House Party volume. It was loud enough to wake the fallen from their graves. But the official part was not over yet. Once every heart had recovered from the sudden shock, the whole group moved off to the monument for the deportees, just outside the village. Those who thought that Monsieur P. had left the amplifier running, just to be sure, were wrong. This time he could not get the thing working at all. The crowd started to get a bit restless, but Monsieur P. had a solution: if the blooming thing would not work, we could beat it, by SINGING the Marseillaise! There are French politicians, who are adamant that foreigners and French should be able to sing and know the words of the Marseillaise. If these politicians had had their way, the performance would have been great. However, obviously they had not had their way, and the majority of those present hummed away, or (amongst others the mayor) kept their mouth shut.
Anyway, after this rather embarrassing intermezzo the mayor announced the venue of the vin d’honneur, and he also explained that a number of ex-combatants and/or resistance fighters would be presented with “Un diplôme d’honneur pour les vétérans de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale”. This had to be handled before the wine started to flow, and one of the “lucky” ones was Monsieur P. After this last eruption of the ceremonial part of the day, Monsieur P. said that he would like to say a few words. But instead of thanking Mayor and Government for this generous diploma, he complained about the fact that “Paris”, so many years after the events, could not come up with something better and more apppropriate than a shoddy piece of paper in flyer format. Every other word he used was “ridicule”. And I think, that most people present, including the Mayor, deep down in their heart agreed with what monsieur P. had to say that day.

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The times they are a-changin’...

I have always liked the way the official holidays are celebrated here. In earlier Blogs I have mentioned several times what the most common procedure is; whether the wreath is available or not, whether the official speech, dictated by “Paris”, is read or not, to which of the two monuments we have to go this time, and the real highlight of every occasion, namely the opening of the boot of Monsieur P.’s car from which, through a rickety tape deck a crackling, whining Marseillaise will be played. Last Armistice day (11 November) it was yet again one of those occasions.
Traditionally the wreath laying takes place in Cormatin only. We were stunned, when we noticed that Monsieur P. had indulged in buying a brand new neat and tidy amplifier, on batteries, which hosted a cassette player and a microphone. The mayor could now use a microphone to address his audience, and the Marseillaise was this time actually recognisable as such. At the end the mayor invited everyone for a vin d’honneur, but that was not what Monsieur P. had in mind. He is the last survivor of Buchenwald in Cormatin, but that is not the only reason why Monsieur P. has authority in the commune. A week earlier there had been a celebration at the monument for the deportees, to commemorate the fact that the monument had been erected 60 years ago. Obviously Monsieur P. was not impressed with the turn-out that particular day, so he strongly suggested that the whole crowd (which was exceptionally big this day) should go to Bois Dernier as well, even though there was no wreath. A week before the monument had been enhanced with a new inscription and a flagpole from which the French flag was flying proudly. The inscription reads “Nous sommes libres, notre drapeau flotte à nouveau, ils ont fait don de leur vie.” ; which means something like “We are free, our flag flies anew, they gave their lives”. After a minute of silence the Marseillaise sounded like it had never sounded here before. Still, whenever I pass by one of the monuments, I think with a bit of nostalgia of how it sounded in the good old days.....

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Getting to know your neighbours

Living in a beautiful old house, located at the edge of the forest, and about 2 km away from the nearest other house has a few disadvantages, which I was not aware of before we moved. One of those is the fact that there is no neighbour in sight when you want to practice your French. Before we moved to France in 2005 we had taken French lessons at the Alliance Française in the Netherlands, knowing that speaking the lingo is essential if you want to be part of your new environment. Once settled in here, we found a lady and retired teacher in a nearby village, Agnès R., who gave French lessons for foreigners.
But apart from those lessons, there were not many occasions to speak French. The conversations we have at the till in the supermarket, the baker or the Tabac, do not go much deeper than “Bonjour, Madame. Une baguette s’il vous plait. Merci, au revoir, bonne journée!”
We decided that we had to come up with something better.
By accident we stumbled on the various ceremonies in Cormatin. There are five in total; the last Sunday in April (day of the deportees ’40-’45), 8 May (liberation day 1945), 18 June (call to arms by de Gaulle from London 1940), 14 July (Bastille day 1789) and 11 November (armistice day 1918). Those taking part gather at the given time at the Mairie, and from there the group walks to the monument, the mayor puts flowers down, asks for 1 minute silence (which lasts 10 seconds), delivers his speech, the Marseillaise is played, and finally the Mayor invites everybody for a vin d’honneur in one of Cormatin’s bars. And during this vin d’honneur one can finally practice his or her French, and pick up the latest village gossip.
Needless to say that we were quite keen on these events. Everything went smoothly until the last Sunday in April 2007.We drove to the Mairie, past one of the two monuments, and we noticed that the flowers were already there. It was around 11 o’clock, which seemed to be the standard time for these ceremonies. Some of the regulars were having a beer on a terrace, and we could only assume that we were too late. Although the crowds at these ceremony normally consist of the Mayor and his deputy, the town council, the sappeurs-pompiers, a few veterans and a handful of people who are interested in this sort of thing, we were quite keen on not missing one. At least we showed there that we were interested in village life.
To make sure we did not miss out on the next occasion, 8 May 2007, we went into the Mairie to find out at what time we had to gather. A terrorist attack could not have caused greater chaos than our relatively simple question. The secretary did not have a clue, and asked her assistant, who also did not know. The deputy mayor was vaguely aware that there was something going on that day, but could not confirm the time. People were phoned, it was suggested that the information was faxed to the local newspaper, but the fax got lost in the process….
Finally the Mayor came out of his cubicle, asked what the problem was, went back into his office and came out with his diary; nothing in there either. In the end they rang the newspaper, and they confirmed that the wreath laying was planned for 11 o’clock on 8 May. We finally went home after half an hour, with the assurance of the Mayor that, because we were such “sympa” people, we would get a written invitation for the ceremonies in the future.
And we have never missed one since!
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Patriotism

The website of La Tuilerie de Chazelle
Blog of La Tuilerie de Chazelle by Sue

The French are very proud of their past. The fall of the Bastille in 1789 is celebrated with great vigour throughout the country, and every little village has got fireworks on that day, or at least a brocante or vide grenier in the main street, which turns passing through the village into a nightmare.
But a great past has also its shadowy sides. The French have lost a tremendous amount of young men during the Great War, and on 11 November, Armistice day, again every village has a wreath laying ceremony at the omnipresent war memorial.
Our commune (Cormatin) forms no exception. Interestingly enough, Cormatin has two war memorials.
In front of the church there is the monument for those who fell during WWI, WWII and the colonial wars, and just outside the village, near the hamlet of Bois Dernier, lays the monument for those who were deported to the various concentration camps by the Germans. This monument has an urn with sand from Bir Hakeim, a piece of stone with Buchenwald written on it, which was brought to Cormatin from Buchenwald by one of the survivors, Monsieur P., and a quotation from one of the radio broadcasts General de Gaulle made from London in 1940.
The ceremonies in Cormatin follow a strict logic, although, strict…..
The last Sunday in April is the (national) Remembrance Day for the deportees. Until recently there were two survivors of the camps in the village, but now only Monsieur P. is still there. He is the one who knows how everything works, or should work, in the village. A wreath is laid at Bois Dernier only.
8 May is Liberation day, and wreaths are laid at the Cormatin and Bois Dernier monuments. The same applies to 14 July. On the 11 November a wreath is laid only in Cormatin.
That is how it should be. But our Mayor is not always as interested in these things as he should be, and sometimes he is a wreath short, or has one too many, and then one can hear the grumbling of some grumpy old man: “I told you, we never go to Bois Dernier on this day!”.
Not all these ceremonies are well attended.
One of the least popular is 18 June, in commemoration of General de Gaulle’s call to arms addressed to those who lived in France. The procedure is quite simple. At a given time everyone gathers at the Mairie (town hall does too much honour to this run-down building!), and when the Mayor sets the example, everybody goes to his or her respective car, and off we drive to Bois Dernier (about 500 m from the Mairie). That walking is not done, must have something to do with the way the French go from one place to another, which is preferably not on foot. That the average age of the participants plays a role as well, would not surprise me.
This year the participation was minimal. Half the city council was not there, only a handful of Sappeurs-Pompiers turned up, and also quite a few of the “ordinary” citizens were not there. The mayor was supposed to read a letter from the Minister of the Interior, but that part was skipped after consultation with Monsieur P. The mayor put the flowers on the monument, and then there was the obligatory 1 minute silence, which last normally not much longer than 30 seconds. Next Monsieur P. read out the “Appel du 18 juin 1940”. The last part of the ceremony is always the best. Monsieur P. has a very old car, almost vintage, and in the back of it he has a cassette deck. He opens the boot, plugs in the deck, inserts a cassette, and then the racket starts. His cassette deck and cassettes must be as old as his car, which makes understanding a 1940 radio broadcast recording not exactly easy to follow. After the Gaulle’s speech the Marseillaise is played, which sounds like it was recorded under water.
After all this is over, the Mayor invites all participants for a vin d’honneur at one of the local bars (they all get their turn).
And then it is time to clamber back into the cars, drive to the allocated pub, and enjoy a (free) glass of wine. That is also the time to catch up with the latest village gossip.
What one has to go through for a free glass of wine……