On peut se servir. Please help yourself…
Monday 23/4/2018
Distance 20.6km Total Distance from Canterbury 573.5km
I was sad leaving the Sisters at Clairvaux and somehow they, and the women visitors and the unseen prisoners stayed with me along the route. By chance, I heard an extraordinary sermon about prison and prisoners on last Sunday (as I am writing this). But we will have to wait for the blog to catch up with that I am afraid!
The journey today was straightforward and quite short. The heatwave seems to have finished. It felt much cooler, though you could not possibly say it was cold! There were a few half-hearted rain showers, but nothing to get anxious about. And there is really very little to say about the trip. But not nothing!
In Longchamp-sur-Aujon (quite a big name for a tiny town) I saw the sign below with another long name on it. Colombey Les 2 E. That wasn’t my direction – I was headed for Maranville and Chateauvillain. 
I am not really sure why I knew immediately that this was the village of Colombey les Deux Eglises – a name too big to fit on a signpost. I am not sure why I know so definitely that this was the birth place and is the resting place of General de Gaulle. I guess he was well known and a bit notorious when I was young(er). He famously said in 1963, when I was too young to understand “l’Angleterre, ce n’est plus grand chose” (“England is not that much [of a place] any more”. And with this he vetoed the entrance of UK into the EEC. This I suppose made efforts to enter more vigorous. It seemed a bit ungracious of him, given the fact he was hosted by England during the war. I think he was rather more popular in Ireland.
On 28 April 1969, De Gaulle stepped down and shortly afterwards came to Ireland for a long private holiday. (The parliament.uk website states laconically Denmark, Ireland and Britain joined the EEC in 1973, after Charles de Gaulle’s resignation in 1969. We are left to join up the dots for ourselves.) I can remember being on holiday in Ireland near to that time and passing near to Ashford Castle in Cong, in Mayo, and hearing that he had stayed there. I have just checked the website and Bed and Breakfast for one person for one night this month ranges from Euros 625 to 3,550, depending on your choice of room. Although I am having trouble typing on a French keyboard which my tablet cannot really understand, I can assure there is no mistake in my typing. It is the upper end of the market. (I on the other hand am moving through the land of General de Gaulle at the very lower end of the market.)
I cannot find a record of his stay in Cong, but I can remember clearly hearing tell of their getting a special bed for him – he was 6 feet 5 inches. Here he is with his wife, Yvonne, walking on the beach in Kerry.
As a correspondent has kindly pointed out to me that the words ‘Colombey les Deux Eglises’ are also immortalised in song and you can hear that here. And while you are on Youtube, if you want another song which people of a certain age may remember, and which (may) help with your French pronunciation, that is here.
Anyway. I didn’t think I had time to get to Colmbey Les Deux Eglises, as I was hoping to get to Chateauvillain fairly early and have a rest. As It happens, when I got there I had a few hours to spare, and I am very sorry now I didn’t make the detour. What is an extra 20km or so when you are walking 2,000? I got to Chateauvillain, hoping to collect the key to a dedicated pilgrim gite from the Tourist Office which was closed until 1630 and I had arrived at 1400. This was despite having called into three or four churches along the way and walking around several (non-military) graveyards. I occupied myself with looking for shops, and established there were no shops open, and very few shops at all in Chateauvillain, except for a tabac where I bought a soft drink.
I checked out the church which was opposite the tourist office and happily was open. And It was more evidence for my unshakeable belief that every church has something interesting in it, though sometimes you have to look quite hard. I wondered why St Catherine (with her wheel, by which means she was martyred) appeared twice.
I don’t know the answer I’m afraid.
I saw something else I thought unusual. As often there was a book for people to write in their prayer needs, called touchingly here the Book of Fragilities, but there was a second book, called the Book of Marvels, for people to record the events and graces they wished to give thanks for.
And finally there was a liturgical book open on a stand and I had a little sing – we learned plainchant very seriously in school. Last century. The acoustics and lack of an audience were very encouraging.
Soon after this I read that the key might also be obtained from the bakery, and though it had been closed when I passed I checked it out and it was open. A nice young lady gave me the key and instructions of how to find what was essentially a council flat, owned by the mairie, and next to the fires station (which was not manned). I found it and I also found a supermarket on the main road further out of town and made myself comfortable in a house with eight beds of which, as I am getting very used to, seven were unoccupied.
And I returned to the thought which had stayed with me all day, replacing my fond memories of the Sisters and not driven away by my musical iconographic investigations of the church. It was this.
The note at the top of the page says, ‘Please help yourself.’ I found it outside a church, which was locked, along the way. Here is how I found it.
Two crucifixes and a statue of Our Lady outside a locked church door. And a note saying ‘help yourself’.
It reminded me somehow of the sometimes stated shortest novel ever written, ‘For sale; baby shoes, never worn.’ It is sometimes attributed to Ernest Hemingway though it seems there is no good evidence to support that. And it doesn’t matter. You can read about it here. Although maybe you don’t need to read about it you just need to read it. And join up the dots for yourself.
The little tableau affected me strongly, even though in reality I knew nothing about it. I felt the explanation was probably that someone was down for the weekend, from the city, to clear the house of a deceased parent or aunt or uncle. I imagine a few chosen possessions being loaded into the car. Who knows, maybe a few valuable antiques. I can visualise an immense amount of stuff going into black bin bags. And I see these few items left on a table, and someone not knowing quite what to do with them. They didn’t want them, but they felt it wasn’t quite right to throw them away, So they brought them to the church for the chance of pious recycling. And clearly they could have suffered a harsher fate. I feel there is the evolving history of several generations of people in those few items. And they are a sign of the present times too. I felt sad…