We were a large and happy family. Eight brothers and sisters born in eleven years, between 1947 and 1958. Happiness for the parents, happiness for the children. As everywhere, we had our quarrels, but in our egocentric group and not very open to “others” good understanding reigned. I didn’t have friends at school and when people asked me why I said, “I have my sisters, I have my brothers. » The clan generated the admiration of many, the jealousy of others.
I was the third and oldest child. That is why my parents, traditional Catholics, rather left-wing, gave me an important role, and I assumed it without always realizing what this represented for the other members of the brothers. We lived in a large house on the outskirts of Paris. When my last sister was born, in 1958, the parents said that the ideal would be to have a vacation place with enough space for the five girls and three boys.
One day during Holy Week they take me by car, a long trip away from the tourist circuits. We are going to the Var, the region of origin of my mother’s ancestors. I am 8 years old and I am discovering Grand Jas with them. It is the house of your dreams. House says a lot. The owner, who showed us around, offered to sell us the land and offer us the “pile of stones” that was on top. Le Grand Jas is a large, ruined sheepfold, with rooms everywhere and stairs in every direction. The walls are washed by the rains and lashed by the mistral. Half the ceiling collapsed, dragging the upstairs floor down to the vaulted ceiling downstairs. There is no running water or electricity. It is uninhabitable.
However, very quickly, this place becomes our adventure playground. The boys cross the street to go, equipped with large jugs, to draw water from the spring. Everyone washes in the courtyard, where wheat was once threshed. We illuminate ourselves with candles that we hang on the edge of our beds. In our children’s books, even today, the pages are burned or glued with wax. It’s a miracle nothing ever caught fire!
wonderful memories
We go there twice a year: once at Easter and once in summer. To cross France on national roads, my father bought a Citroën Traction station wagon, the one with three windows on each side, equipped with an extra row of seats (a wooden bench improvised by my grandfather father) and a baby hammock hung on each one of them. side. We place our twenty feet wherever we find space. We left at 3 in the morning and arrived at dusk, lunch break, breakdowns and punctures included.
You have 68.82% of this article left to read. The rest is reserved for subscribers.
