Sarah Page story
I thought it would never end 1 – sky my husband
(28.03.2024)
When my friend Milla suggested we go to the Franco-English literary conference, I said to her, "Not on your life! I've been once, and that's it!"
"Oh, Sharon, don't you want to meet some French people? Don't you want to see what people are writing these days?"
"I would have loved to find a person to talk about books, English-language books," I said. "It's the French I don't want to meet."
"Oh! That's harsh."
"It's because of last Thursday evening. I was there at the opening."
"And it disappointed you?"
"That's not the point. Because I speak a little French, Mrs Carruthers asked me to take a French writer in tow for the evening. I said I don't know French that well. But she said, oh no, this woman has a wonderful command of English, she carries a dictionary around with her everywhere and she works at it constantly, so they say."
"What's so bad about that?" Milla asked.
"Yes, but I hardly understood a word she said."
"She spoke only French?"
"No, it's her English that drove me up a wall. And indeed, she refused to speak anything else all evening."
"Well, that really doesn't sound too difficult, Sharon."
"Wait till you hear. I have an excellent memory and though I hardly understood a word, I can give you our conversation almost verbatim.
"First of all, she whispered to me that she was not in her plate1 and hoped she would not be bearding2. I must have looked puzzled, because she immediately explained that she had a little the cockroach3 and gave me a wink. When I didn't reply, she said she hoped she hadn't done a hook4. I must still have looked rather blank, for she hastened to explain that she was afraid a certain man she had met there once before was going to bring back his strawberry5, and then she said we were not out of the inn6 because she could see him already. 'There, she said, see the guy on his thirty-one over there7, fifty brooms8?" She said she had a tooth against him9.
"'What?' I said. I was lost already.
"'He has dog10, has he not?' she said then, beaming. 'Of course he's a big vegetable11.'
"As I had no idea what she was talking about, I merely mumbled something non-comittal. 'You don't think so? she asked. Look at his costume12, is it not of good invoice13? A mantle14 like that does not run the streets15. But of course, she continued, I am very old game16, and at first I saw only blue17. There was a dance and I was afraid of making the tapestry18, but he came up and asked if I would like to go out and break the crust19 at a little place he knew. He seemed such a have you seen me20 and it was a time of dog21, but he said he had a car. I saw he was a little buttered22, but I had nothing to polish23; I was ready to take my foot24. And yet, it was big like a house25, as soon as he put in step26 the motor. He pushed on the mushroom27 and I thought I was going to pass the weapon to the left28.'
"'Wait, stop!' I said, but she only smiled at me more archly," I continued as Milla listened, rather perplexed. "She must have thought she was doing a great job, impressing me no end, because she became even more animated, as she went on with her story.
"'He picked up another man, she said, they were friends like pigs29, but the place they took me to didn't break bricks30. They suggested we eat at the map31, but I was rung32 when I saw how much they were ordering, especially when the other man said, at my nose and my beard33, she's the one to helmet.34 The waiter touched me a word35 and I soon had the flea at the ear36: they were hoping to make the bomb37 at the cool of the princess38.'
"I interrupted again, 'What princess?'
"'Me, she said, I am the princess. By now they were round like the tail of a shovel39 and I could see they thought it was all cooked40, that I was going to pass in the pan41 and all. But it's not tommorrow the day before42 that I will settle for something like that. It is not pie43 to fool me and they were going to fall on a bone44. They were going to make white cabbage45.'
"'Stop, stop, stop!' I said, 'I don't understand a word you're saying!'
"'Oh, she said then, you are hard of the leaf46?'
"By then I'd had it with this mad conversation. I thought it would never end. But she grabbed my arm and went on with her tale. 'But I am passing some, and of the best 47 ! He had the hands going for a walk48. In fact, he only thought of that49. That was the end of the beans50! But I had a map51: I said I had to do my needs52, you dig into me53? So I went to the little corner54, and when I pulled the hunt55 I made myself the suitcases56 and out the window I went. That corked them a corner57! I had made to them wrong jump58!'"
Then my friend began to laugh, in fact she was soon holding her sides. "Oh, Sharon, good lord, don't you get it?"
"All I got was that she was mad--"
"Hammer 59, you mean, stamped60 in fact."
"What? Now you're as bad as she was."
"Sharon, you just don't see it—she was a walking internet translator. Taking every expression literally, using any old word that comes up in the dictionary, and of course it all comes out nonsense. But if you want to know what she was trying to say, I've got a little book for you—have you never read it? Sky my husband61, by Jean-Loup Chifflet. Try it out, it's lots of fun."
So I got the book, and she was right. It's just like internet translation!
+ 1015 wds
Glossary:
1 ne pas être dans son assiette to be out of sorts
2 être barbant to be boring
3 avoir le cafard to have the blues
4 faire une gaffe to make a blunder
5 ramener sa fraise to show up
6 ne pas être sorti de l'auberge to be just at the beginning of one's troubles
7 être sur son trente-et-un to be dressed up to the nines
8 avoir cinquante balais to be fifty years old
9 avoir une dent contre quelqu'un to hold sth against s.o.
10 avoir du chien to be sexy
11 un gros légume a V.I.P.
12 costume suit
13 de bonne facture well made
14 manteau coat
15 ne pas courrir les rues to be rare, not easily to be found
16 vieux jeu old fashioned
17 n'y voir que du bleu not to suspect anything
18 faire tapisserie to be a wallflower
19 casser la croûte to have a bite
20 un m'as-tu-vu a conceited person
21 un temps de chien bad weather
22 être beurré to be a little drunk
23 n'avoir rien a cirer not to care
24 prendre son pied have a blast
25 gros comme une maison obvious
26 mettre en marche to start (eg. a motor)
27 appuyer sur le champignon to accelerate
28 passer l'arme à gauche to die
29 copains comme cochons great friends
30 ne pas casser des briques to be not much to talk about
31 manger à la carte to order from the menu
32 sonné stunned
33 au nez et à la barbe de quelqu'un right in front of s.o.'s face
34 casquer payer
35 toucher un mot to mention, or to hint
36 avoir la puce à l'oreille to suspect
37 faire a bombe to paint the town red
38 au frais de la princesse at somebody else's expense
39 rond comme une queue de pelle completely drunk
40 c'est tout cuit it's in the bag
41 passer à la casserole to get laid, or, to be killed
42 ce n'est pas demain la veille que je ... I don't intend to ...
43 ce n'est pas de la tarte it's not easy
44 tomber sur un os to meet up with a problem
45 faire choux blanc to fail utterly
46 être dur de la feuille to be deaf
47 j'en passe, et des meilleurs! that's not all!
48 avoir les mains baladeuses to have wandering palms
49 ne penser qu'à ça to think only of sex
50 c'est la fin des haricots that's the last straw
51 un plan a plan, or a map
52 faire ses besoins to go to the toilet
53 piger (slang) to understand
54 le petit coin the toilet
55 tirer la chasse flush the toilet
56 se faire les valises to leave
57 en boucher un coin à qqn to knock s.o. for six, to amaze/confound s.o.
58 faire faux bond à qqn to stand s.o. up
59 marteau crazy, nuts
60 timbré round the bend
61 ciel, mon mari! Good lord, it's my husband!
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Paula' story
But let me count, now. It has been, ummm, let me see, 137 days of straight sunshine. The constant glare and the heat are killing me. I have been suffering with headaches from the intensity of the sun on my windows, in my kitchen, when I drive to the grocery. I am tired of all the laundry that piles up because we are sweating through our clothes every day. My plants and vegetables in the garden are shriveling; I cannot keep them watered enough to sustain them.
I find I huddle in the house most days. Take a walk? What? And trudge through the hot, dusty countryside protected only by a pair of sunglasses and a straw hat? The glare and the heat make me so uncomfortable I want to scream. Go work in the garden? Are you crazy? There’s no protection whatsoever there from the sun, and I soon feel every bit as limp as the plants I am trying to save. Eat lunch outside on the deck? Who are you kidding? Even underneath the umbrella, the uncomfortable heat of the sun finds its way to me, and the brightness and overwhelming glare make the pages of my book so shiny that I can’t read the words.
Finally, on the 138th day, a sprinkling of heavenly rain arrived, and I gasped with anticipation of another gray, rainy, gloomy Bourgogne winter. Because, quite frankly, although I had been so looking forward to summer, I thought it would never end.
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Jackie's contribution
I thought it would never end
I couldn’t put it down – 600 pages of romance, family reunions then squabbles and then the fall - The death of the matriarch ruined and broke up the family home – personality’s changed and everything fell apart The father, heartbroken, checked himself into a nursing home and never went back
Two of the boys left the family home – one to NY one to Rome and the third son stayed behind to manage the farm. A classic story – an intriguing romance between the boy who had stayed home to farm and the local politicians daughter a beautiful spiritual child of 18. An angel haloed by light with beautiful blonde hair cascading down her back – you know the scene she wears flowing gowns and silk dresses with delicate stockings and velvet shoes.
The passion grew and developed between the farmer boy and this young girl – a beautiful couple – forbidden to see him, she sneaked out in the dead of night and he hid in his hayloft avoiding unwelcome visitors from the said family.
The young beautiful girl is being terrorized by her rich politician of a father who could only see his own future at stake – his daughter to marry a local farmer?– the worst nightmare he could imagine. She was destined to choose from a number of wealthy eligible men in the region and thus help him on his social climb; but no she had to choose a local famers boy. Ugh. There were also three brothers protecting this girl – threatening rugby built boys who were afraid of their father’s wrath who, at the slightest contretemps, would raise the roof of their mansion and threaten to cut off their inheritance if they were disobedient.
The farmer boy, covered in hay and wearing rubber boots went to ask for her hand in marriage. Driving up to the immaculately kept grounds in his tractor – lawns, flowers flowing into the distance and tall tall trees swaying in the wind the gardens matched the immaculate mansion – he presented himself at the front door and the butler greeted him with disdain … the father refused him his daughters hand … He wasn’t good enough for them.
Humiliated and sad he learnt that that the family had sent the young girl away – to where he wasn’t told and vowed there and then to find her. His one wish was to hold her in his arms forever and build a family that he felt he had lost
– the pain and passion bled off the pages into my heart making it unbearable to even think of putting the book down even for a while.
The story grabbed your tears and poured them into a mountain of Kleenex tissues, part of me was the young girl I imagined being in the situation and it was totally absorbing – it made me keep turning the pages and propelled me into a romance-devouring gluttony that lasted every moment of each day ….. my guilty soppy secret
Then the story moved on and the girl and the boy married eventually and had several children – he developed into the most powerful farmer in the region and thought about becoming a politician …. The children were under his thumb and he thundered and shouted in the house…..again I was gripped and entered into the story …
Wait a minute, hold on, this is starting all over again
It was then I discovered that this was a trilogy I was on a roller coaster of repeating passion and when would it ever end ?
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Annemarie's story
I Thought it Would Never End
Moho wa' Kepiro, a Gikuyu medicine man, once prophesied that “ the colonialists would bring an iron snake with as many legs as a monyongoro (a centipede). This snake would spit fire and would stretch from the big water in the east to another big water in the west of Gikuyu country.”
And so it happened.
I am six years old clutching the Spanish dancing doll, still in her presentation box, the present from my parents for my first day going to school. I am hiding in the compartment; the moquette seats have a rough velvety texture I had never experienced before. In fact I had never seen a train before, let alone the monstrous steam engine at the front. This is the E.A.R.& H. mail train which will take us on 250 mile journey to our boarding school. Going at 25 - 30 m.p.h. it takes a minimum of twelve hours - if no unforeseen hiccups occur.
I don’t know any of the other girls or boys who are all hanging out of the windows, waving wildly and shrieking goodbye. The wail of the whistle blares as the train rumbles and chugs off from Kampala station - clunkety-clunk, clackety-clack, a rolling cloud of steam blowing in its wake. There are no barriers where the rail line crosses the roads. Through the dusty windows I can see women in brightly coloured clothes, bandanas round their heads which are topped with baskets of fruit, bananas and sweet potatoes. They scatter and jump out of the way, the dust swelling up around their bare feet. I look at my new sandals bought from the Bata shop and at my blue-checked frock and sleeveless pullover (for the cold evenings). This what I will wear all the time except at weekends when I can wear the dresses mum made for me.
We cross over the Nile on the iron bridge and some of the boys are hanging out of the window with homemade balsa wood propellers which whizz round and their hair blows back leaving open, breathless faces.
As we go round a bend I can see the engine far away in front dragging our carriages and slower and slower as it chuffs up steep inclines At every country station the train stops to take on water. The brakes hiss and screech when the train slows down to a stop. The verges and platforms are crowded with hawkers shouting and selling their wares, baskets of naartjes (tangerines), bunches of sugar cane balanced on their heads. The two escorts (generally two mums) accompanying us, shout at the giggling boys who have made water bombs to throw at the hawkers. Early evening, the sun sliding quickly behind the fields of maize and grazing ankole cattle with their huge arching horns and big dangling flaps under their throats. It iis time for the compartment to be transformed into four beds. I get the top bunk, held in with a webbed fence. I am numb, with no knowledge of where I’m going, when will I see my mum and dad, my brother and sister again, this clunkety-clunk, clackety-clack journey …I think will it never end? Silently sobbing I hold tightly the hard Spanish doll, feeling it’s swishy, shiny red tarantella dress and the long black nylon hair tied in a sophisticated bun. Some of the girls get tubes of condensed Nestlés milk out and start sucking the thick sweet cream leaving dreamy looks and sticky marks on their faces. They are making fortune-telling paper games and playing hangman until the escorts tell us to go to sleep. I will learn these tricks on future journeys.
The train arrives at Kaptagat station at 5.30 in the morning; I don’t know where I am and I'm still so sad and sleepy as we are driven off to my new boarding school. I thought it would never end. But… the girls are friendly, the teachers, mostly, kind and in twelve weeks I will be back on the train going home! Hooray!
Looking back, the going-to and coming-back train journeys from school were one of the highlights of the school term. In 1999 when we had a family holiday in Africa. I wanted to take the family on a nostalgic trip on the Lunatic Line. However the infrastructure was down. The railway line, administered by a single body, the East Africa Railway and Harbours, became non-operative when the East Africa Community broke up. The break-up meant each country ran its own railway systems. The railway, which had now been expanded to span three countries - Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, - had slowly collapsed in each country. From 1970’s the Uganda line deteriorated so far that the service barely existed, the route was unusable, vandalised and tracks were buried.
In 1893 a plan for an exorbitantly costly railway from the coastal port of Mombasa in Kenya, to the inland towns of Uganda was conceived.This metre-gauge railway became known as the ‘Lunatic Line’, so named by the British politician Henry Labouchere. He considered the line directionless and an irresponsible use of public money, money which was granted following a campaign that portrayed the line as necessary to the aims of the British Empire. Between 1895 and 1903 a total of 36,811 workers were recruited, mainly from India. During the construction between 1895 and 1903, out of these the Indians, 6,500 were badly wounded, 2,500 died of malaria, black water fever and other tropical diseases and an estimated 100 were dragged from their tents and devoured by the Tsavo man eaters, two male lions.
The number of Africans who died or were wounded was never recorded.
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I THOUGHT IT WOULD NEVER END
by Geraldine C.
We had been sitting in front of the chalet watching the sky, trying to guess where and when the next thunderstorm would hit, and hoping for it to clear as there was this lovely walk to the Refuge above that we had planned for the afternoon.
The chalet we were staying in belonged to friends who had fell for it, just as they had had a small heritage from the latter grandpa. With this little sum of money, they could easily have bought a bigger place to live in for themselves and their 3 children, or acquired a better car that wouldn’t break down every now and again, but they fell in love with the little « alpage chalet » in the Alps. And that was also bliss for their friends…
It was one of these places that you could only attain by walking at least an hour on a small narrow path : if you were invited, you would come with heavy rucksacks with warm clothes for the evenings and nights, duck feather sleeping bags and a lot of fresh food : meat, charcuterie, cheese, butter, eggs, vegetables, fruit and so on.
Alain and Christine, the owners, would have all the other stuff heliportered at the beginning of the season : gas bottles, booze, coffe, tea, chocolate, flour, canned food, lentils, tinned sardines, potatoes, corned beef….and don’t forget the matches and candles as there’s no electricity up there. It was a place for Heidi or « The Small House in the Prairie » kind of « you all do it by yourself ! «
The cattle would be moved up there as from the end of May and stay for 4 months without fences, grazing the wonderful grass and just looked upon by a local herdsmen who would also climb up for a very frugal but fullfiling life during the summer months.
The little bench in front of the chalet was just the most wonderful place to sit, watch, hear and dream. You could hear the water dashing down nearby, see, if you were lucky, the chamois hopping here and there and, sometimes, way accross, a Royal Eagle would fly in the distance. The sky was mainly deep blue except on this particular day where big white cumulus were coming and going without either settling or bursting.
I had proposed to Claire and her friend Mary, both iddle 14 year old teenagers not knowing what to do with themselves, to take this walk to the Refuge on the top which meant a 3 hour run which would help them use the energy they couldn’t really cope with… A few loud rumbles came accross and the sky finally cleared. So, after a little pow wow and scanning the horizon, we decided to set off.
You couldn’t really see the Refuge from the chalet, but it was upwards and that’s where our steps took us. As we climbed, we left the trees below, came accross more grass and the smell of the mountain flowers was strong. The grasshoppers were happily chirping and dancing around us. We had taken a solid pace trying to avoid the muscular cramps that usually assault you when climbing. We were breathing in unison, looking up from time to time and when the Refuge appeared in the distance, against the purple sky we knew we weren’t far and hasted the pace.
Like in a film, the Refuge became bigger and bigger as we approached : it was a large wooden lodge made with logs, surrounded by a wide wooden terrace with bright red geraniums hanging down from it. The big large groundfloor room was a place where you could shelter, but also order fresh drinks, hot drinks, icecreams, and a few treats. And apparently above were the dormitories where the hikers could find elementary beds to soothe their bodies and feet and spend a night.
As usual, when hiking in the mountain, we were happy to get to the top, knowing the return would be steeper but faster.
The view from the terrace was fantastic with all the peaks to bee seen in the distance. We couldn’t see our chalet, but could easily guess where it stood. We were quietly sipping our refreshing drinks when we heard rumbling and rumbling again. And within seconds, the sky became anthracite and lightenings started popping up all over. Everybody dashed into the Refuge’s main room, all commenting how sudden the storm was on us… and how lucky we were to have reached it in time.
The place quickly became damp and humid, with armpit smells, dirty socks, wet fleece jackets scents in the air. And the rumbling and lightening kept on with their show for such a long time I thought it would never end. By this time, my two teenagers were frightened and looking exhausted ! We still had to get back.
A lot of people in the Refuge were making bets : « shall we stay, or shall we leave » !... Each time we thought the storm was leaving, a few would take their chance and come back running 5 minutes later. Too dangerous.
But finally after a desperate end game, the thunderstorm moved away and
we could consider leaving the place and running down to the Chalet. We watched a few people taking leave :
they didn’t seem to be running back. So
after a while I told the girls it would be allright now and off we went. The grass was wet and slippery and the slope
quite steep. After no longer than 5 minutes, a huge drum roll cought up with
us : the storm was back.
Fortunately, a small shelter with holes in the roof was just in front of
us and we quickly sheltered inside : well, the roof had many leaks but it
was better than outside ! And we felt better being in when we heard the loud
tap tap of the hailstones on it. Another 10 minutes stop and we decided we’d
had enough and were going to run down the hill as fast as possible till we’d
reach our chalet.
And that’s what we did, a lot of it sliding down on our bums, and maybe that’s what decided the storm to
definitely find another place to hit.
This happened almost 40 years ago, but whenever we talk about going for a walk with Claire, she still asks : is it going to be worse than the one in the mountains !
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