75 YEARS

The leading stories on French news last week were all about the celebration of a momentous event in world history: the 75th anniversary of D-Day, the Normandy landing that ushered the end of WWII.

La maison Lafon played its part during WWII

Queen Elizabeth II and heads of states gathered to commemorate June 6, 1944 with all the pomp and circumstance that’s appropriate for such an event. French TV broadcast documentaries detailing the preparation, unfolding, and aftermath of that pivotal day, the carnage on French beaches, the ultimate sacrifice paid by thousands of young soldiers in one single day.

Three of the family houses were built with stones from this quarry

When statistics are mindboggling, I tend to focus on something more relatable. Individual stories that capture the psyche of the moment. Personal endeavors that highlight fear and courage, uncertainty and hope, excitement and dread. I’ve never had to put my own life on the line so I won’t pretend to even have an inkling of the kind of emotions that might rush through one’s mind. But reading about Tom Rice, the 97-year-old US paratrooper who jumped out of a C-47 transport plane and landed pretty close to the very same spot he hit seventy-five years ago, brought a grin to my face and some tears to my eyes. I can only imagine the significance of both these jumps for him.

Stones discarded from the old quarry

So what does D-Day mean to me and my little corner of southwestern France? In the wee hours of June 6, in all rural areas of France, a multitude of French men grabbed whatever weapons they could find and regrouped in le maquis. The 2nd DB Das Reich was based in Montauban; on June 8, a long convoy of tanks, trucks, and German troops left the city and headed to Normandy. In Cahors, they split in three different directions. The 1st battalion Der Führer drove through Gourdon and continued on D704 toward Sarlat.

La maison Lafon is barely seen through the trees above Départementale 704

My great-grandparents’ farm was located next to D704, 4 km north of Gourdon. One of the houses on the property –la maison Lafon, named after its builder– sat on the flank of a high cliff. The location had been chosen due to its close proximity to a stone quarry, one of my playgrounds when I was growing up. The house offers a vantage point on the curvy road. It was unoccupied at the time and served as an occasional meeting place for a small group of local maquisards. On the morning of June 8, they gathered to improvise a way to stop (or at least slow down) the column of Germans. They armed themselves with a few hunting rifles. My uncle René –age 18– had joined the group that day and was outfitted with a pistolet; he had never fired a handgun before. The plan was to fell a tree, drag it across the road, and shoot at the Germans.

Cécile’s house and maison Lafon nestled within the trees

Word about Das Reich retaliation against civilians was spreading fast. My great-aunt Cécile had heard how massive the column was; she figured that a tree trunk and a handful of “kids” with hunting rifles (and one gun) would be no match for the German tanks that led the move. As a young bride, she had lost her husband in the very first weeks of WWI and her only son had been wounded during the current war. René had spent the first five years of his life with her; the other youths were sons of friends and neighbors. In this particular case, she felt the strike would be pointless and inevitably lead to a massacre. She persuaded them to abandon their hasty plan and to join a more organized group. It was still early morning when the battalion of loud tanks and trucks moved past the house and Cécile’s anxious eyes. Fifteen minutes later, five miles up the road, five maquisards and five civilians were shot to death while trying to slow down the battalion on the Groléjac bridge. Two days later, 642 inhabitants were slaughtered at Oradour-sur-Glane and their village destroyed.

Entrance to the cellar

La maison Lafon was inexorably linked to René. When my grandparents split up the property between their four children, he inherited that house and the land around it. In the early 70s, after spending most of his working years in the greater Paris area, he returned to his roots with his family and significantly remodeled the house. The original structure comprised four parts: la cave at the lower level, a real wine cellar that always held about twenty oak barriques; at the second level, a small bedroom and a great room that included a fireplace, a stone sink, and a trap door to dump grapes into the concrete cuve below; a large attic; an open terrace to the southwest. During the renovation, the terrace was enclosed and walls were built up to the attic level; the attic itself was turned into three bedrooms; the main floor now includes two large rooms, a staircase, a kitchen, and a bathroom; the cellar continued to house wine barrels until 1977. The musty smell still permeates its walls today.

The view from the new terrace: a change from looking at the main road!

Rick and I recently moved into la maison Lafon, which now belongs to my cousin. After a year and a half in a retirement home, Mom decided to return to her own house and we wanted her to enjoy all her space. We “think” our house will be ready for us at the end of June. In the meantime, I’ve settled at René’s old desk, in an office that exactly occupies the location of the former terrace. The French doors and balcony give me a plunging view of D704, albeit through the thick lush trees that have grown between the road and the house. Seventy-five years ago, my young and foolish uncle was watching that same road, holding a pistol in his hand, thinking he might have a chance to become a hero.

I’m only holding a pencil.

P.S. My grandmother turned the gun over to the gendarmerie after the war.

You might also like Cent Ans and This Old House

Lily sitting at René’s old desk and watching the action through the French doors.

Vocabulary
Le maquis: shrubland; in this context, it also refers to résistance guerilla bands that were hiding and operating in rural areas.
La maison: house
Le maquisard: guerilla band member
Le pistolet: handgun, pistol
La cave: cellar
La barrique; barrel, wine cask
La cuve: vat for grape crushing and fermentation

DEMOLITION

Farmhouse renovation, episode 1

The biggest challenge when tackling a house renovation is choosing what to keep and what to give up, let go, abandon. Finding a way to retain the feeling of the original structure and tweak it to fit the new owners’ lifestyle. On ne fait pas d’omelette sans casser d’oeufs. So, we broke a few eggs…

The house in February, prior to renovation

Our renovation project started many years ago, at least in Rick’s mind. He already had several sketches ready when we approached my aunt’s friend Richard last year. Richard used to be an architect in Great Britain. He and his wife bought and restored an old farmhouse twenty-five years ago; they now live in France year around, 15 miles away from us. Richard got his French architect credentials as well and is fully bilingual: as our maître d’oeuvre, he is the perfect liaison between our tradespeople who don’t speak much English and Rick who is far from fluent in French.

Northeast corner of the main room. French doors will be set into that large opening.

Because my grandparents’ house sits in an area designated as a site protégé, the building permit had to be approved not just by the mairie but also by the Bâtiments de France: they focus on architectural elements to make sure the future construction respects and blends in with the specific heritage of the area. Pitch of the roof, tile design, metal used for gutters, paint color on the shutters, etc. are some of the elements reviewed before the project is approved. I had heard many horror stories about the process but everything went very smoothly for us.

See through! In addition to opening the back side to instal French doors, we also enlarged the old cellar door on the front side. It will lead to the new kitchen.

Our building permit was issued late 2017 and we had hoped the chantier would start in March so we could move in early Fall. Alas, a wet Spring delayed all masonry work in our area and work had not been started when we arrived early July. The updated schedule listed that the demolition work would commence the last week of July; the masons would then take four weeks off in August, as is customary in France; and resume early September.

Thierry frames a new window upstairs

The first order of business was to create new openings in the old structure. Traditionally, stone farmhouses didn’t have many windows in order to stay warm in winter and cool in summer. There never was central heating in this house and my grandparents chiefly relied on the cantou to heat the main room downstairs. I have vivid memories of carrying a hot brick wrapped in wool to the small bedroom upstairs and placing it between the sheets fifteen minutes going to bed. As much as I enjoyed spending Christmas breaks here, I confess it was hard to get out of bed in the morning: the bedroom was so cold, I would literally see my breath. I could (somewhat) laugh it off when I was eighteen but I’m pretty sure my amusement would be short-lived if I had to do it again.

The masons’ ladder substitutes for the demolished wooden staircase

Since all the wood floors were rotten and had to be removed anyway, we made plans to install “some kind” of heating system (more about this in a future post) and we were anxious to add a few windows in order to bring more light into the rooms. Large chunks of stone were removed and gaping holes appeared on three sides. Once the floor trusses, old parquet, and original escalier were removed, the house looked like a war zone, a shell of its previous self. I emailed pictures to a couple of friends who had visited in prior years and they both asked how hard it was for me to see my beloved house in such a sorry state. Honestly, I did all my grieving last February when we completely cleared out the house. Sure, there was some sadness when the doors were ripped out and the jackhammers brought in but, overall, I could at least maintain a “neutral” state of mind. I knew from the get-go that we would only be able to salvage the walls and the roof trusses.

Thierry removes the old plaster

It’s not easy to get excited about demolition; and yet, breaking stuff sometimes leads to beautiful surprises. I was filled with joy when the masons removed the interior plaster and revealed the stone underneath. We knew the murs de pierre were quite thick but they were completely covered when the house was last renovated in 1940: I had never seen the exposed stone before. And my, are they glorious!

Stone wall revealed!

The downstairs bedroom was added in 1967 and never communicated with the great room, as I like to call the one room that served as kitchen, dining and living room when my grandparents were alive; a door opening was created between the fireplace and the old stone sink.

Michel framing the opening between the main room and the downstairs bedroom

Downstairs bedroom: another war zone

We also pretty much demolished grandpa’s shed as it will become an ensuite bathroom.

This used to be the shed; it will be a bathroom. The cistern is to the left.

A door opening was carved into the old cistern: we will use that space as a wine cellar and pantry. The top of the cistern will serve as an elevated terrace, a few steps down from my future office.

Peeking into the cistern

Work in progress… View from the West

Of course, I would need a kitchen… and this could only happen through an extension to the original house. The bobcat had to work extra hard to dig deep enough for the foundations: in that area, the hard rock layer is not far from the surface.

After removing the stone wall on the road side, the masons dug out in front of the old cellar to create the footprint for my future kitchen.

Naturally, we encountered a few setbacks. For instance, we found out that the ceiling of the downstairs bedroom was a foot lower than the ceiling of the main house. The height on some windows needed to be fine-tuned. Adjustments had to be made when walls did not intersect at 90 degrees… I have to say that our masons have been extremely accommodating. Instead of complaining when things don’t go according to plan, they have come to us with different options to work around obstacles. These guys are true craftsmen with years of experience dealing with the idiosyncrasies of old homes, and their owners. They get a kick out of Rick who communicates with them with a little bit of French and a lot of gestures. He spends an inordinate amount of time observing their work, not because of lack of trust but out of genuine curiosity: they just don’t build houses the same way as in the US.

Demolition complete!

Read more about This Old House before the remodel
Read Episode 2 of the renovation

Vocabulary

On ne fait pas d’omelettes sans casser d’oeufs: one doesn’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs
Le maître d’oeuvre: general contractor
Le site protégé: protected site
La mairie: city hall
Les Bâtiments de France: a government agency that –among other responsibilities_ monitors the harmonious insertion of new construction and renovations into areas protected for their architectural or cultural heritage
Le chantier: construction site
Le cantou: walk-in fireplace
Le parquet: wood floor
L’escalier (m): staircase
Le mur de pierre: stone wall

THIS OLD HOUSE

After I announced my retirement from Joie de Vivre and my impending return to France after thirty-six years in California, I was deluged with phone calls, emails, and beautiful hand-written cards and letters from my customers: although sad to see me go, they wanted to wish me well on my new adventures. And many, many of them were also very curious about this old house I was returning to, the house that Rick and I (along with a team of skilled artisans) will be renovating.

I’ve known this place all my life. It’s located near Gourdon (in the Lot), about 15 miles south of Sarlat. Until moving to the US, I pretty much spent all my summer vacations there, along with most of Easter breaks, and a few very cold weeks at Christmas time (no central heating.) It’s a tiny farmhouse that my great-grandmother Françonette inherited. We don’t know exactly when the house was built but we do know that the (still existing) boxwood trees in front of the house were planted on Françonette’s wedding day, which was around 1870. So, the house is at least 150 years old. Originally, it was a typical stone house of the Quercy. Pigs and chickens were kept at ground level; an exterior stone staircase led to the upper floor where humans actually lived in one “large” room with a walk-in fireplace, and a bedroom to the side.

The house was extensively renovated in 1940. My grandparents were living in the Paris area with their four children at the time; they thought it would be prudent to update the house in case they needed to relocate to the Free Zone, below the demarcation line. At that time, Françonette was staying with one of her daughters; the house was vacant and no longer an “active” farm. The exterior staircase was demolished and the fireplace relocated downstairs. The lower level comprised the main room and a root cellar. An interior wooden staircase was built to lead to a couple of bedrooms upstairs. Running water was only brought to the house in 1966: until then, we relied on the cistern and the well. At that point, the cellar was partitioned to accommodate a tiny bathroom and toilet: we gladly abandoned the outhouse next to the rabbit hutch! An additional bedroom was eventually built on the west side, replacing the old shed. My aunt Maguy gave me a small painting of the house showing the way it looked in the 1960s.

From right to left: the linden tree planted in 1965; the main house; the late 1960s addition (downstairs bedroom); the shed; the cistern; and the 150-year-old boxwood trees.

In preparation for the remodel, we emptied out the house during our February trip. It’s tiny, only 750 square feet, but it has good bones: stone walls that are 18 inches wide and solid oak trusses supporting the roof. Pretty much everything else has to be redone. When the project is completed, we’ll end up with a 1250 sqft, 2 bedroom/2 bath house with a kitchen extension and an office: two essential rooms for me because I just can’t cook meals in the fireplace like my grandmother used to and, duh, I’m only semi-retiring!  That’s going to keep us busy for a while; I’m pretty sure the project will generate a few blog posts.  Stay tuned for updates.