Finn
Today Mum decided we should take the Old Lady out to see the sights on the island. I think she was using it as an excuse to make me go outside too because she didn’t swallow it when I said I needed to stay at home and read the sailing book again.
Dad was busy talking to some of the parents on the phone about the arrangements for the camp next week.
He says it’s like trying to herd cats getting everything organised.
I asked him when he’d been a Cat Herder but he just laughed.
It wasn’t a joke, I genuinely wanted to know as I hadn’t realised that might be a job until now.
Not that I’m a fan of cats. The only animals I like are the donkeys that graze in the field up the road.
They’re usually quiet and placid, and they tend not to do anything sudden or unexpected, unlike cats and dogs.
There are some eating the grass in the old earthworks, too, which are the fortifications surrounding the citadel in Saint-Martin, and Mum said that was one of the places we were going to show Mrs Philly Delaney.
So I went upstairs to put on my trainers and get my ear defenders because I like going to the citadel.
It’s really a high-security prison but everyone pretends it’s just a marvellous historical fortress, because they don’t like the idea of people who’ve done such bad crimes having to serve a life sentence in the middle of a tourist spot.
I find it quite interesting. There’s also Fort Boyard, which is out in the sea, and it was used as a military prison once.
But then it was abandoned and only used for a game show on the telly.
If the weather’s OK, Dad is planning to end the sailing camp with an outing to go and see it.
He says it will be the Highlight of the Week.
We drove to Saint-Martin and Mum parked the car, then we walked along the embankment to the citadel. The Old Lady uses a walking stick, which is covered in flowers. It can be collapsed down and carried in her bag too, which is pretty handy.
I had my usual – salted caramel with salted caramel sauce.
It’s the best and it’s a speciality of the island.
The salt comes from the salt pans which are further along the north coast. I’ve sailed there in the dinghy before.
The salt pans are also why there are so many donkeys on the island.
They were used to carry the baskets of salt that had been raked from the shallow seawater in the pans.
The donkeys used to wear pantaloons made of striped material to protect their legs from bites when they worked in the salt pans because the shallow water was the perfect place for mosquitoes and biting flies to breed.
After I’d finished my ice cream and Mum and Mrs Philly Delaney had drunk their coffees, we got back in the car and drove to the other end of the island to visit the lighthouse.
The Old Lady’s cup had a big print of red lipstick on the rim.
We passed the salt pans on the way, but there are no donkeys working there anymore.
Nowadays, the salt is transported by tractors.
The lighthouse is at the very end of the road.
There aren’t too many cars on the island.
It’s very flat and people mostly use bicycles to get around.
There were more bicycles (13, which made me feel a bit wobbly) than cars (8) parked in the car park.
3 more people arrived on bikes while we were buying our tickets, so then there were 16, which made me feel better.
I think the caffeine in the coffee must have given the Old Lady some energy because she insisted on climbing the stairs to the top of the lighthouse.
There are 257 steps, but I don’t mind it being an odd number because by the time you go back down again you’ve done 514 steps, so that makes it even.
I was pretty impressed that she managed it with her false leg, although she needed to use both her walking stick and the handrail.
She was puffing a lot by the time we stepped out on to the viewing platform, but she said it made it worthwhile to see so far out to sea.
I put my ear defenders on because the wind was so loud up there and also the kittiwakes and gulls were screeching as they swooped past us.
I thought about Bernoulli’s equation again and I wondered whether the Old Lady was thinking about flying planes, too, because she stood there for quite a while just gazing out to sea at nothing.
By the time we climbed all the way back down again, it was time to go home and have lunch. Mrs Philly Delaney said she was ready for a Post-Prandial Pause, which meant she wanted to lie down and have a nap. I think we’d worn her out with all that sight-seeing.
As we were driving back to the house, we passed the gates of the cemetery at Le Bois-Plage-en-Ré.
The Old Lady’s head swivelled round to look at it.
She seemed very interested in it, so I said, ‘Would you like to go and visit the graves?’ I was making Polite Conversation, but also thinking I could do some more rubbings to add to my collection, even though I prefer the ones that were carved by the living prisoners into the citadel walls.
Mum looked a bit exasperated and glanced at her watch. It was already 1 p.m.
‘Yes, I’d very much like to do that someday,’ Philly said. ‘But today I’m a bit too tired. And I think I need to get back to the house.’
When we got home, Dad was supposed to have gone to the shops to buy some things for lunch, but he was still writing emails on his computer. I heard Mum say, ‘It was the one thing I asked you to do. And now the shops are closed. What the hell are we going to give her?’
In France, everything shuts at 1 p.m. and doesn’t open again until at least 3 p.m. It’s because they have a rule about not working too many hours in a week and so everyone goes home for a long lunch.
If the government tries to change the rule, everyone goes on strike.
Dad says going on strike is the French National Pastime, and that gave me an idea.
While Dad was moving his computer and all his folders and pieces of paper off the kitchen table, I told him I was going on strike and not doing the sailing camp.
He ran his hands through his hair, so it stuck up all over the place like when we’ve been out in the dinghy on a windy day.
And then he said, ‘Nice try, Kiddo, but no dice. You’d have to join a union first. And you’re not French. ’
I don’t like it when he calls me Kiddo. He only does that when he’s trying not to lose his temper.
He put the laptop and the pile of folders down on a chair and they slid off and went all over the floor just as Mum was carrying the water jug.
She tripped and the water went all over the laptop.
I put on my ear defenders and went upstairs to look at my scrapbook of rubbings again because I don’t like it when they fight, even if this fight was in hissy whispers because of the Old Lady being in the sitting room.
In the end, we all had Marmite sandwiches for lunch. I ate four because I was pretty hungry, even after the ice cream.
Mum looked pleased. ‘I told you the sea air would do you good, Finn,’ she said.
‘We’d better pack extra sandwiches for the camp next week then,’ said Dad. ‘There’s going to be sea air a-plenty when we’re out on the boats all day.’
I’m trying not to think about it.
I’ve laminated the rubbing of Durtaud Robert (7 jul. 1943) and added him to my collection.