A Place in Normandy
““The wine we had last night, was that something you particularly enjoy? or—well, we’ll see what else they have,” Ben said. He’d taken heed of everybody’s warnings before heading to Europe and had supplied himself for the visit with large red flannel sleepwear, in which he was adding color to the breakfast table. He and Margaret and Teddy had been discussing whether or not they wanted to drive to the other side of Caen to find a village boasting a street called Place Donnelly, named after a frie...nd of theirs who had brought one of Churchill’s so-called amphibious tanks through the town (this one had floated, rather than sinking, like the first he commanded) during the liberation in 1944. But everyone was concluding that the best way to spend a rainy day in Normandy, aside from participating in market day, was in the solitude of the farm.
“It’s seductive just sitting around this big house,” Ruth said, “and figuring out what you should do with it.”
The previous afternoon—because I myself hoped to sidestep this bit of local color this time, if I could—I had made a point of showing them the covered market in and outside of which organized gangs of competing farmers, shopkeepers, and traveling chair caners, clothes- and boot-sellers, florists, and merchants in trinkets once a week set up shop.MoreLess
“It’s seductive just sitting around this big house,” Ruth said, “and figuring out what you should do with it.”
The previous afternoon—because I myself hoped to sidestep this bit of local color this time, if I could—I had made a point of showing them the covered market in and outside of which organized gangs of competing farmers, shopkeepers, and traveling chair caners, clothes- and boot-sellers, florists, and merchants in trinkets once a week set up shop.MoreLess
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