Monday's Diary

Last tuesday in Rostrenn I showed a pub landlady photos taken inside her bar during the dance festival last summer, I promised I would give her copies tomorrow. I had to drive 10 miles and back to get blue, in the shop there was a new batch of guide books and being curious I looked up the bar and even though it burnt down 14 months ago it was still there, at least in one; as I was nearing home I decided to drive on a few kilometres to Kerelcun a hamlet I visited last saturday. On arriving I parked my car, got out with my camera and a book and took off my top clothes to begin a walk about in shorts & mocassins. I took a a couple of photos of old wells, then on seeing the only person out, an old lady slowly walking down the road I stopped her to ask a few questions about the place, the Bretons call the hamlets villages, it was a good stop because it turned out she'd been running the village bar for more than 50 years. I mentioned the preponderance of attractive signs, all of them written in Breton, yes she said we are Bretons here, I told her that in my village the many signs recently put up were in French, to which she responded, why, aren't they Bretons in Plouie? I explained that the Mayor is a first language Breton speaker but that he spent all his working life in Paris and now that he's spending his retirement back home he's brought his Parisian ideas with him. I walked on, found a picnic table near a well & lavoir, opened my book and read a bit under the sun; St. John is trying unsuccessfully to persuade Jane to marry him so that they can go together as missionaries in India. After folding my book I carried on with my walkabout every now and again taking photos before going back to my car. I'd noticed a sign indicating the hamlet of Ruguellou less than a kilometre up the road so I drove there, had my 2nd walk about, said a few bonjours, took photos but didn't stop for a chat or a read, all the signs were again attractively written in Breton with a little coat of arms of Ar Fouilhez, the village with its mairie to where these are satellite hamlets; the French give it a double L pronounced the Parisian way, but the H signifies it may have had a double L pronounced the Welsh way. I enjoyed my little walks, but on my way back I did something stupid out of curiosity, I saw a sign to another hamlet over a small country lane which I took even though it was obvious after a while that it was only good for tractors and anyway ended up in a field, part of the way I nearly got stuck, managed to carry on, reversed, got stuck, with my heart pounding I managed to extricate the car, went forward to the field, used the expanse to turn around, back on the lane the car bottom was hitting the high tractor only used middle, got back to the churned up mud from earlier, metaphorically said my prayers, succeeded in getting through, heart still pounding, said thank you to I know not whom nor what, greatly relieved I calmed down and carried on home. Tomorrow morning I'm off to Rostrenn to try selling my tee shirts a collection built up over the years, side by side with my photos.