Gentle memories of kisses and singing

“To the soul, memory is more important than planning, art more compelling than reason, and love more fulfilling than understanding.” 
― Thomas Moore, Care of the Soul: A Guide for Cultivating Depth and Sacredness in Everyday Life

This quote has me reflecting on the nature of my memory, an unease that memory is more important than planning. My future orientation has affected some of my memories and I am being made even more aware of it in this letter memory blogging. 

What I love about this extract from one of my letters to Mom is the simplicity. I am pleased with my weight loss and have just had lunch with Fred near his office. 

And I can feel my pleasure in being a mother. Barry's kisses which are 'a big open-mouthed 'ahh'', I tell Mom how he enjoys walking along the furniture.

Shawni is singing. I am proud to tell Mom that Shawni likes to sing English nursery rhymes and that she sings in French too, 'Alouette' and 'Claire de la Lune' and 'at night she hums tunes to herself'.  

She is so like her father, they sing and surround themselves with music. Such gentle memories.

Deja 1 An, Barry has his first birthday in France

We celebrated Barry's birthday on Saturday, a brunch and I looked at this man at the table and smiled to myself how the years have crept up on all of us, everything has changed and nothing has changed.

Today, 28 years ago, I wrote this letter from St. Germain-en-Laye to my family in Howick. 'Well Barry's birthday is just upon us'.

I am delighted to read about his party or 'little do' and just love how I baked decadent Austrian coffee cakes, if I am not mistaken this was a recipe from Lee. Something else I should go hunting for. The birthday favours sound fun too, 'I'll be making each kid a 'train'. Bought rectangular cakes and biscuits and sweet to make them'. With my inadequate sketching ability I did an illustration for Mom.

I wonder at what point I no longer considered myself a baker?

The summerhouse was decorated for the birthday tea, in my photo album I made for Barry I wrote 'no photos, 'cause Mom's camera was not working'.

The few photos I do have are so lovely.
And as predicted in my letter, Shawni is on the Fisher-Price Explorer, the car we bought Barry and  it looks like she is loving it.

'Deja 1 an', Barry has a birthday in Paris.

Postscript:

I found my recipe for the Austrian Coffee Cake.

So will find an occasion to make it again.

'We had lots of fun on the beaches'

Family time on the Normandy beaches

My card starts with 'Isn't it spectacular!'

I was very taken with Mont St Michel, it left an impression on me, the experience of the tide rising through the sand is remarkable, the steep narrow roads of the medieval village and the imposing cathedral.

And as written by de Maupassant.....


Legend of Mont St. Michel

by  Guy de Maupassant 
(1850-1893)

Translators: Albert M.C. McMaster, A.E. Henderson, Mme. Quesada, & others.

---

I had first seen it from Cancale, this fairy castle in the sea. I got an indistinct impression of it as of a gray shadow outlined against the misty sky. I saw it again from Avranches at sunset. The immense stretch of sand was red, the horizon was red, the whole boundless bay was red. The rocky castle rising out there in the distance like a weird, seignorial residence, like a dream palace, strange and beautiful-this alone remained black in the crimson light of the dying day.

The following morning at dawn I went toward it across the sands, my eyes fastened on this, gigantic jewel, as big as a mountain, cut like a cameo, and as dainty as lace. The nearer I approached the greater my admiration grew, for nothing in the world could be more wonderful or more perfect.

Looking at the post stamp from the rather souless Marly-le Roi Grandes Terres, brings back so many memories, having a coffee, going to the Post Office for in and outgoing mail and those horses, Les Chevaux de Marly, we would walk past these monumental horse statues in the park near the house.

Janet's visit to Paris gets me thinking about my parenting

I was chatting to a mature mother recently with a two year old daughter and it struck me when she said she loves her confident, feisty child with her independent streak.

I was not a young mother, already in my early thirties yet when I read my letters from the these years in France, I am painfully aware of my naiveté and that I could have parented in a different way.

I should have taken more pleasure in Shawni's 'joie de vivre' and been more in touch with her independent streak, her alertness and strength of character. Rather I seem to do a lot of whining to my mother, talking about Shawni 'going through a difficult phase again'. During Jan's visit with Lexi in May 1987, I write pompously that 'they do not understand the concept of sharing'.

Looking back I do realise that this phase in my life was challenging and my escape was into planning, into travel, with a cafe au lait and a pen in my hand. As I still do, but as I matured I coped a little better and managed some of my blind-spots when it came to my parenting skills.

Janet and I enjoyed our times together when she visited from Germany. I see from my letter that we did a guided tour around the Cafe Procope, the oldest cafe in Paris and some shopping too. The shirt that I mention is now in my quilting stash, it has been cut up and used in a quilt I am making at the moment.

Special times in France

A postcard from Etretat

Étretat is a commune in the Seine-Maritime department in the Haute-Normandie region in north-western France.

A postcard to South Africa from Etretat. 9 May 1987.

This part of the French coastline was spectacular and we walked the cliff edge and the beach at Etretat. 

A close look at the photo below has Fred in the righthand foreground as the 'pack-horse' on the beach, he carried Barry in the backpack and used to carry Shawni too when she got tired, which was often.

Kersten family visiting Etretat.

A little Normandy magic

As much as I remember my first experience of the Ile Flottante for desert, I have no recall of this little magic intervention for Barry. Makes me wonder on a whole lot of levels.

My photo album record for the Robert the Devils Castle.

Milk from a cow and the delicious 'Ile Flottante'

Our Normandy farm stay, May 1987 with the family Leroy.

Some of our touring was hard work in France, challenging with 2 very young children but this trip was a delight.

We were made so welcome at the farm stay, living and eating with the family. They were generous and certainly confirmed our belief about the 'gourmand' nature of the Normandie people.

I see from my letter that the littleys were in a room with one of the daughters, how quaint.

I remember Shawni watching the cow been milked, her amazement at been given this warm full cream milk in a bowl, with sugar added and a spoon for breakfast.

The sunday lunch has been a lifetime memory for me because of the total surprise and the deliciousness of the desert. The captivating 'floating island' desert, a soft meringue floating in a lake of creme anglais, a heavenly thin custard.

I never tried to replicate this desert, it has always intimidated me but I ordered it regularly during our few years in France. Maybe it's time to try making it after all these years.



Ile Flottante:
Ingredients

1.5 cups of milk

split vanilla pod

3 eggs, separated

115g caster sugar

Make the 'islands':

Method
Beat the egg whites in a clean dry bowl, with a little pinch of salt, until the eggs have firm peaks.
Continue beating the eggs, while slowly adding the remaining 40gm of sugar.
The eggs can now be put into boiling water to cook or, quicker and cleaner, cooked in a microwave on low power for 45 seconds. An alternative is to poach spoonfuls of the egg white mix in the hot milk for 2 minutes, before adding the egg yolks to make the custard. (Note: the egg-white can be cooked as a normal meringue if preferred - in a very low cooker for an hour or so - popular, but not really very traditional...)

Make the custard:

Method
Heat the milk over a low-medium heat, with the vanilla pod. Heat until slightly bubbling, then remove from the heat.
In a bowl, mix well the egg yolks and 75gm of the sugar, then pour on the hot milk and mix well. Pour the mixture into a clean saucepan, and heat over low heat for 5 minutes, stirring continuously. It should not boil during this time. After a fex minutes the custard will have thickened (about the consistency of double cream).
Pour into a jug and remove the vanilla pod.
The custard can now be put into bowls, and the islands placed on top. The ile flottante are now ready to eat straight away.

Finding Martie in my letter this morning

This old photo makes me smile, little Shawni waving from the kitchen window of the house we rented in Marly-le-Roi in the mid eighties.

I would write my letters at a small kitchen table near where Shawni is standing in the photo, mostly with a mug of tea in hand. Looking at my letters again this morning I saw my comment to Mom about Martie. 'She is such a good person, I really miss having her around." Bernie had organised a canoe paddle for Fred and Martie used the opportunity to put together treats for us all.

Martie and I chatted a little earlier about all the decisions that she has to make about her pending spinal surgery. Not an easy time especially when she feels so drained from all the discomfort and how it is limiting her days.

So Martie dear friend, twenty years later, you are more than a good person, you are remarkable and I so value all the years of friendship.

We do not write letters anymore but if I was sending you one it would be a thank you, it is still a privilege to be your friend.

Spending time with family

Our home in Les Ombrage, Marly-le-Roi with the 'summerhouse' we used for visitors.

Living in Europe during 1987 we had the opportunity to meet and spend more time with Fred's Dutch family.

Their first visit to our home in Marly-le-Roi got Fred and I into a spin to complete the outside room or 'summerhouse' as I called it and to make it liveable and warm. The building was about 400 years old and when we went back to Paris a few years back I was disappointed to see the building had been pulled down.

We had gone to IKEA, a favourite store we frequented to the north of Paris, bought many meters of dark blue fabric and I 'spent the rest of the weekend sewing 12 curtains'.

I am impressed. Fred wove the tiebacks, hung the curtains, finished the skirting, we moved the beds in and I decorated with 'odds and ends'.

Our first visitors from the Netherlands were Fred's Uncle Piet and Tante Grada Kersten, and his Tanta Lies and Uncle Wim. I write to Mom that 'all of them very nice people'.

They had a special zest for life and we enjoyed our times with them. 'They are really so full of fun and very easy to please.'

I love that I seem surprised that they praised my cooking and said it was very French.

I have been inspired by these letters to get back to some of my favourite french recipes that I cooked during those years.

So last night I made french onion soup for Ian and Julie here in Cape Town, with its topping of melted gruyere on ciabatta.

Still good so many years later.

I have a couple of photos of the family during their visit, not good photos but everyone looks well and content.

Fred with his family in 1987.

Post script:
I was going through photos and cards and found this birthday card to Barry from Tante Grada thanking us for their few days with us in Paris.

Fred's aunt writing to us from Holland

My Parisian houses

My framed cross-stitch tapestries hang in our Cape Town flat.

I have been completely absorbed in finding out more about my grandmother Nellie's family, that it is now time to get back to my letters.

April is a special month for birthdays and anniversaries in our family.

So I dipped into my pile of letters that Mom preserved for me and the letter of the 30th April 1987 triggered lots of memories.

Fred and I had gone into Paris to buy pieces of original ceramic art to celebrate our 8th anniversary. I was sharing it with Mom and sent her a portion of the brochure so she could see what the ceramic houses look like.

The pieces are still in my lounge, one or two got broken or a little chipped but otherwise they have survived the decades.

Sometime later I found a cross-stitch pattern and made up two pieces as they looked very similar to the Parisian houses we had bought. The cross-stitch tapestries hang in the flat here in Cape Town and I still enjoy looking at them.

For our anniversary in 1987 we had dinner at a French Bistro on the Seine River. I mention to Mom that it had a great atmosphere and we had lovely seafood.

A few days back Shawni sent me photos of their evening out to Hippopotamus at the Museum Hotel in Wellington to celebrate their first anniversary.

She and I are a function of the masterchef phenomenon and share a love of yummy food beautifully presented.

Her menu choice: Beef fillet, beef cheek cannelloni, braised short rib with truffle mash and roast marrow.
Craig's choice : Venison with pickled beetroot, poached prune, salted caramel ganache, chocolate chilli crumble.
New Zealand oyster's to start and French Champagne. Yum.

I wonder what my Mom would have thought of that menu!

Finding a record of the divorce...

We are linked by blood, and blood is memory without language.

Joyce Carol Oates

I spent hours on my laptop last night following leads to find out more about the disappearance of Kathleen Argyle, my maternal great grandmother, from my grandmother Nellie's life.

And then I stumbled on a site that has divorce records.

William Argyle divorced Kathleen in 1902.

Oh my.
I had a moment of feeling shocked that she had not raised Nan, her little Nellie, she had not died but had got involved with Arthur Merchant, the co-respondent sited in the divorce.

Reference:	J 77/772/3487
Description:	Divorce Court File: 3487. Appellant: William Argyle. Respondent: Kathleen Arglye. Co-respondent: Arthur Merchant. Type: Husband's petition for divorce [HD].
Date:	1902
Held by:	The National Archives, Kew
Legal status:	Public Record
Language:	English

In the 1901 Census when Kathleen and little Nellie were living with her parents in Chirstchurch, Arthur Merchant was 23, the same age as Kathleen and a soldier from Wolverhampton, Staffordshire, at the Shoeburyness Barracks.


By 1911, Arthur and Kathleen are living in Eastleigh, about 30 miles north-east from her parents in New Milton, they are married and have been for 7 years. 

What is puzzling to me is the response to the question of the number of children. Kathleen has noted 3 children, one living and 2 dead. We know that her first daughter Edith died, but Nellie is certainly alive and well in South Africa at this point and William, which I am assuming is their child is 5. Does she not know how to deal with a child not living with her? And this little boy called William, the name of her divorced husband, all a bit odd.

Arthur is now a Blacksmith's Striker in the Carriage Department of a Railway Company. A striker would have been the blacksmith's assistant, working with iron using a furnace, anvil and hammer. 

Nolene's thoughts on the new insight about Kathleen:
'As William divorced her (appears to have been for infidelity) that may explain why he had custody of Nellie and was able to take Nellie to South Africa…………….Perhaps William went out to South Africa to establish a base and when he came back to the UK to collect his family he discovered that Kate had been seduced by an irresistible Royal Artillery soldier……………….'

Arthur John Merchant  in the England & Wales, National Probate Calendar (Index of Wills and Administrations), 1858-1966 I am fascinated about all the information one can glean about our ancestors. Here is another snippet that Nolene sent to me from the National Probate Calendar, which is an index of wills. So Arthur died in 1957 and William inherits his estate. It looks like Kathleen died in June 1949 aged 71. She did not know her daughter nor did she meet her granddaughter, my mother Daphne Estelle who would have been 16 in 1949.  I will never know the real story but it has been an extraordinary search to learn this amount about Kathleen Guster/Argyle/Merchant.