This story called 'One Good Turn Deserves Another' is the next instalment in our French Life Series. It's all about making friends and helping each other.
One Good Turn Deserves Another
We live part time in a little village that's nestled amongst maize fields and grazing cows and this stay at our French house Paul (my husband for any new readers) got sick and to be honest it was driving me crazy. Normally, I am quite a kind and understanding person but in these circumstances I was a bit short of empathy and well, a wee bit cranky.
More...
Let me explain, every time we head to France to reside in our second home, we have plans of what house maintenance work we will do, gardening projects that we'll complete, new villages or towns we'll visit with the kids and catch up dates with our friends. With a limited time period to get all the fence painting done, windows washed, garden tidied up and inside jobs done that I'd planned together with all the fun holiday stuff we all needed to be fit and healthy.
After all, when you live so far away, which we do (we live in Australia and visit our French home throughout the year) you do have to knuckle down and just do it. Well, Paul came down with an infection and, oh my goodness, he was not his usual happy self. He was unwell! I was outside working away in the garden from early morning to late evening to try and complete all my chores, so we could then have some fun, visit our friends and go touring.
Needing A Doctor in France
Anyhow, Paul wasn't getting better, so desperate for some help I talked to our good friend Helen who lives only 30 minutes drive away at Mur de Bretange and asked if she knew a local doctor that spoke English. As I was waiting for her to get back to me with information, I vigorously added more layers of white paint onto the fence's woodwork. It may or may not have been fate that I was outside painting the fence when I was, but a robust and down to earth looking lady, whom I'd briefly seen before, came up and started chatting with me, and in English. While this is not really amazing, it's a rare thing in our petite village.
It really was so nice to fluently speak and have a full conversation without halted speech, mental word translation, and of course the obligatory hand gestures. Anyhow as we were chatting away, she tells me she's a registered nurse back in the UK and explains where she lives. I at once realise where her home is, it's the house with all the animals in the neighbouring village. This lively nurse lived in the sprawling home with 4 dogs, 2 goats, at least 6 cats and numerous chickens. Her animals and kids's toys were always strewn over the laneway when ever we drove through her hamlet, and now I had a face to put to the menagerie!
Our New Friend The Nurse
Anyway, chatting away, she starts talking to me about my family, and I tell her how Paul is inside and unwell. She wants to know all the details. She wants to know all the gossip. I'm thinking, well, it's not too inappropriate given that she's a nurse and I proceed to tell her all the personal details of Paul and take her to see him. She might know what to do. And Susan does, she tells us what to do, explains who the best local doctor is and promises to call in the next day to check on her new patient.
I had learnt, having a chat with Susan that her family had opened an English style sweet store and imported items to supply to the expat community throughout the neighbouring towns. Her main import was turkeys at Christmas time and a range of sweets. Feeling one good deed deserves another, come Saturday market morning, I grab my basket and drive to the town of Quintin where her store is.
Saturday Morning Market at Quintin
After filling my basket with strawberries, cheese and mussels at the marketplace I visit her son who is manning the store for the morning. I start piling lollies, and even more lollies into my basket reasoning that (a) I am supporting the business venture of Susan, my new friend, (b) the lollies looked particularly delicious, and (c) I knew when Paul was better he would love some sweets too.
On my drive home through the winding woodland roads, I thought how funny that some of these sweets that were made in the UK and sold in France would most likely end up in Australia with my kids not wanting to leave them behind. I also dwelt on how happy I was feeling. Susan's good deed had definitely deserved one in return from me.
More Stories on Living in France
