Returning to Blighty

A French friend called me this morning and as I spoke to him I looked out of the window and saw grey skies and raindrops hanging off the washing line.

I very nearly shed tears that matched them. Why? Because it is now years since I left my beloved Languedoc Roussillon in the South West of France after living there for six blissful years and am now residing in West Yorkshire.

I miss the many friends I made there – most of us think that the French despise the Brits but I found this untrue. Except when England beat them at Rugby! Of course in many towns, and especially Paris, the people are sometimes just plain right rude to anyone who can’t speak fluent French. But go to the many villages and you will find them charming and very helpful as you struggle to find the right words!

I can hear you shrieking “Why return?” believe me at the moment I feel like joining you, but I had reasons, very valid ones.

Firstly I wanted to be nearer to my daughter, who lives in London, and fleeting visits and texts, emails and lengthy calls weren’t enough.

I had been buying, renovating and selling houses but thanks to the economic state in France (called “Le Crunch”)the price of houses plummeted, and the once enormous numbers of foreigners buying either a holiday house, or a full-time home dropped rapidly. So did employment for any foreigners, leaving many without a penny and living off their savings.

Thirdly financially it made sense to return to my country of birth. I loved the French countryside and the friends I made there but I missed the English humour, a decent pub and a good slice of beef with Yorkshire pudding!

But oh what a shock………….I rented a house while I looked for somewhere to buy, so my beloved Jack Russell and I arrived, together with about four inches of snow a week later. I don’t know who was more shocked her or me, so there was much buying of thermals (for me), and a rather fetching quilted coat for her. She hated it. Every time I put it on her she refused to move at all so I gave up the battle!

All my potted plants, carefully tended for years disappeared under thick white blanket of snow and all I could do was to cross my fingers and hoped they had survived. Of course we did have snow over there, but it used to be a rather meagre two inches which melted almost immediately. Obviously in the Northern regions of France, rather than the South West they do get lots of snow, which is why I so carefully researched temperatures before I decided where I was going to live!

I sometimes still wake up each morning and lie in bed with a sinking heart, wondering what on earth I have done. It is often necessary to stay in my bed until the heating clicks on and it is safe to get up without risking frostbite.

The differences between the two countries were as much of a shock as the snow, although I thought I had prepared myself. Wrong! In the first few weeks I nearly got killed a dozen times because I was looking the wrong way each time I crossed the road.

I found myself unable to remember English words, or how to spell them. And baffled many people with my accent! I remember asking, on one of my first trips to the supermarket where they kept the dog food. The poor chap thought I wanted duck food and I had to resort to saying “dog” very loudly, followed by “woof, woof” before he understood. Much as when I arrived in France, armed with my very basic French and a copy of my daughter’s dictionary from her secondary school!

The weather was a major challenge for those of us who chose France, it was so hot we followed the habit of the villagers and fled to sit in the cool of the house at every opportunity. Here it is a case of running outside at the first hint of a ray of sunshine. In fact I got so carried away by the two weeks of sunshine we have just had that I promptly bought a sun lounger and deckchairs. They haven’t had a lot of use, but Hey there is always next year.

The dog misses France where most restaurants and cafes/bars accept pets readily, even providing water for them. And the endless people who would stop us on our promenades to give her tummy a tickle.

However I am glad I am back home in Yorkshire, and if I miss France I remind myself that I am now close to my friends and family. Plus I can watch East Enders!

Written by: Jane Buckle