Remembering Camille

Almost six months to the day before Camille died this past February, he and his wife Lucette and the three of us walked to one of our favorite spots in the Vosges, Belbriette, a hidden valley unknown even to some locals, and then had lunch in one of his favorite restaurants, l'Auberge de Belbriette. 

Two months before he passed, Camille was still swimming for exercise in the local pool.  He would have been 89 years old this summer.  He was a renowned photographer in France, a decorated World War II hero, a member of the French Resistance, the founder of the basketball program in Granges, father, friend, mentor, coach.  His absence is felt profoundly by all who knew him and many who didn't. 

When we visit his wife Lucette, it is as she has said--as though any minute he would come walking in the door carrying either his camera bag or his fishing equipment. 

Yesterday, the local chapter of the Veterans association in France honored Camille with a ceremony and a commemorative plaque on his tomb.  The mayors of the surrounding towns came, and his war history was read, including his efforts to support the American troops by sabotaging the Germans who were occupying the area, and by hiding and transferring supplies and weapons dropped by plane.

Lucette calls Camille a phenomenon, and that is what he was--a once-in-a-lifetime phonomenon who loved life and loved people, and who left a hole in the world that will not be filled.

Camille was a believer--he loved to go sit at the foot of the statue of Mary that stands in the woods above Granges, and pray.  On his deathbed he called for the priest and was given last rites.  We will meet him again--we'll probably find him organizing a basketball tournament (Angels vs. New Arrivals?)!

One last thing--For Camille's 80th birthday, we brought him a basketball signed by Coach K of Duke that reads, "From Coach K to Coach C."  From the hospital not long before he died, Camille told Lucette to be sure Ren gets that basketball.  Even then he was thinking of others.

Scotland Part V Etcetera

1) Ren plays with Uncle Dave's Ipad...

2)Cool tower in downtown Hawick...

3) Can you guess the last one?...

Scotland Part IV Magical History Tour

Hermitage Castle, Newcastleton (said to be one of the bloodiest in Scotland.  Mary Queen of Scots visited her lover here.)

Hume Castle (Patrick, Ren, Cindy)

Melrose Abby, where Robert the Bruce's heart is buried.  It's in ruins because Henry VIII had a little temper tantrum when the Pope wouldn't grant his divorce, and he destroyed all the Catholic churches and abbies.  Third one is of Patrick standing in front of flushing canal used by the monks for eliminating waste.

Hadrian's Wall and Roman fort ruins (my uncle Dave, Patrick, and Ren):

Gilnockie Tower, where the famous Reiver Johnnie Armstrong lived:

Scotland Part III Police Constable Little: Redeemed Past

It may have taken a few decades, but it looks like our branch of the Littles in the Borders region of Scotland did redeem themselves, through my great great grandfather Jimmy Little, who was a Police Constable in Hawick in the mid-1800s.  Through police records, we learned that he had blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a fair complexion, and that he was considered a good policeman.  In 1869 he was granted leave to go to America with his new wife.  (Picture of official police record with description of Jimmy and permission to move away.)

 

Through relatives in the US, Cindy had found his actual hand-written police log, which she scanned into a PDF file and transcribed.  After the historic society in Hawick, called Heritage Hub, found out about this, they were so excited to have a copy of the log that they arranged a private meeting for us during off-hours, and they let us have private use of the archives for the afternoon with their help and guidance.  It was very exciting, and we felt honored!  The next picture is of Cindy and the historian looking at the actual handwritten police records from the local headquarters.  We were able to see the eventual results of the cases PC Little had written in his personal log.  They plan to use some of the more interesting cases along with Jimmy's story to help bring local history alive for school children. 

Next piece of exciting news (for us) was that the house across from the archives was the police headquarters where Jimmy reported 150 years ago.  (Picture with orange door)

Through information the women who work in the archives gave us, we were also able to locate and go to the house (or ruins) where Jimmy was born, called Salinside, just outside of Ashkirk:

...and the one where he lived with his family when he was five years old, at Clerklands:

All in all, a productive and exciting visit to Hawick and the surrounding towns.

Scotland Part II: Questionable Past

We learned from Aunt Cindy that the Littles were Reivers.  According the website for the North American branch of Clan Little, "The Scottish border Clan LITTLE was named in an act of the Scottish Parliament of 1587 as one of only 51 truly independent clans in all Scotland, 17 of which were clans of the English-Scottish border. A Clan is a tribe with a strong tie of family blood. In the Anglo-Scottish border wars of 1296 - 1603 the LITTLES were one of the fighting clans living close to the border on the Scottish side. They were constantly raiding or reiving on both sides of the border (reivers are thieves and ruffians, a group of lawless independents). They were horsemen and held in contempt all who went on foot, and by the close of the 16th century they had earned a reputation as the finest light cavalry in Europe . The borders clansmen were an ever ready source of fighting men, a permanent mobile task force when war broke out.

"Many clansmen with less warlike dispositions found their vocation as monks in various abbeys such as Sweetheart, Holyrood and the Franciscan convent of Greyfriars in Dumfries, scene of the murderous episode which launched Robert Bruce of Annadale on the road to the throne.
"The LITTLES for over three centuries shared with the Armstrongs and Beatties the steep-sided dales (valleys) immediately to the North and West of the present town of Langholm [which is where Archibald and Barbara's house was, and where they are buried] at the extreme east of Dumfriesshire (county). Each successive Chief resided on an estate at the foot of the side valley half-way up Ewesdale which is beside the present day road A7, near the stretch from Langholm to Hawick.  [We stayed in Hawick, pronounced "hoik", and Jimmy Little was a police constable there in the 1850's.]

"Edward Littil founder of Clan Little (and there have been over 25 spellings of the surname) was active in 1296/7 in South-West Scotland as a guerrilla fighter with Sir William Wallace, the great Scottish patriot who led the first phase of the wars of independence against the oppressive occupation of Scotland by Edward I of England . Many of those who supported Wallace most closely were kinsmen, not the least of whom was “Eduuard Litill” his nephew.

"Simon Little was chief of the Little clan at the ending of the border wars; his son Thomas succeeded him, to be followed by David Little, last Laird of Meikledale, who in 1672 was the last chief to be officially recognized. Since David's time, the Littles have been one of Scotland 's many “heidless” clans (headless - without a chief).

"The clans began to scatter in the 17th century. Littles and Lytles, with neighboring Beatties, Thomsons, Elliots, Armstrongs and Irvings fled from persecution and overcrowding to the Ulster plantations. (Plantations were communities established in North Ireland by England ) Many moved later into neighboring English Cumberland where today, as in Ulster , there are twice as many Littles as in their home country of Dumfriesshire. Many crossed the oceans to North America , Australia , New Zealand , proud of their origins but, over the generations, losing contact with the descendants with those who stayed behind.

"Many of the Littles, Lytles and Lyttles in Ulster re-emigrated as Scots-Irish back to Great Britain or, like hundreds of Littles from the border, headed overseas. The most numerous are in the United States . There are now over 45,000 Little families in the English speaking world, some of English and some of Huguenot origin but most (and especially those in and from Scotland , Ulster and England 's northernmost counties) with deep roots in the old West March of the Scottish border."


We haven't established a direct link from our Archibald to William Wallace YET, but we are hopeful!

In Hawick, a statue (pictured below) shows a Reiver claiming victory for the town.  The other photos show two descendents of the Reivers along with our personal family historian Cindy (excluded from the following comment)--ample evidence that the apples don't fall too far from the trees...

(Actually there were family members of the Littles who were not actively raiding and pillaging, and we'd like to believe our ancestors fell into that group...)

Scotland Part I: Archibald Found

We started our visit to Scotland in Langholm in the Borders region, meeting up with Arthur Bell, a man my aunt Cindy Cochran had contacted before we arrived who is knowledgeable about the history of the region.  Cindy had come across an article published in 1925 about my great-great uncle Andrew Little which states that his father William Little was from "Bombie Bush."  Mr. Bell had never heard of Bombie Bush, but he had heard of Bombie, and through discussion it was concluded that Bombie was most likely the location of William Little's birthplace.  The first picture is the ruins of a house built (most likely) on the exact site where William Little was born and where his father and mother, Archibald and Barbara Little, lived.  (It is my understanding that there is a law in the area that houses may only be built on the location of a previous house, so this is most likely the spot since this location is called "Bombie".)  The lambs were a bonus: they ran up to us expecting food! 

The second picture is of our wonderful guide Mr. Bell, who is 80 years old.  He's the one talking to Patrick--he looks much younger!  He took us to Westerkirk Church (pictured below), just up the valley from Bombie, where Clan Little donated a stained glass window. 

Mr. Bell arranged to get keys to the church so that we could see the window, and from there we walked a short distance up the road to the cemetery, where, after searching tombstone by tombstone, Ren found what was one of the highlights of our trip: the grave of Archibald and Barbara.  (Pictured: Archibald and Barbara's descendents my uncle Dave Cochran, Ren, and me.) 

The grave stone reads:

Erected in memory of Archibald Little who died at Bykine-burnfoot 30 Dec 1830 aged 79 years. Also Barbara Anderson his spouse who died at Bombie 13 Oct 1807 aged 53 years.  Also John Little their son who died 29 March 1806 aged 25 years and Andrew son of Archibald Little who died at Longholm (sic) 4 Feb 1855 aged 48 years. Also Janet Jackson second spouse to Archibald Little who died at Knockmains 7 Feb 1857 aged 76 years." 

Several things we didn't know before finding the grave: death dates or years, that Archibald had married again, and where he died.  Bykine-burnfoot is located between Bombie and the church and is really just a spot near the Bykine-burn river. 

 

We took a picture of the bridge that leads to the church and cemetery from Bykine-burn and Bombie, built in 1734.  It is certainly the one our ancestors crossed going to and from church.

It is an exciting feeling to find these locations, and we were blessed to have a professional researcher (Aunt Cindy, retired librarian) as our family historian and guide.  I'd like to believe that the connection I felt to the area wasn't just my imagination!  It is a beautiful area, and we felt so welcomed by Mr. Bell that we loved it even more. 

A French Wedding

I was privileged to witness a beautiful French wedding ceremony this weekend.  (Anyone, including total strangers, can attend the Mass in the church. Virginie is the neice of a friend, and we had met her groom Olivier as well, and so I felt comfortable attending.)

In France--at least in this part of France, there are no pre-parties, no bridesmaid's luncheons, no rehearsal dinners here.  There is just one long celebration the day of.

At 10:00 in the morning, we begin to hear horns honking as the wedding party prepares for the day and family and friends arrive at the bride's house.  Residents of the town begin to gather in front of the church to see the bride and groom and all the people in their best outfits. (This is Lucie Jacques, Ida Jacques, and three ladies) 

At around 10:30, with lots of honking and all the cars decorated with tulle tied to door handles and antennae, the wedding party arrives at the town hall for the civil part of the ceremony:

(As we watched from across the street, a woman rode her horse through the center of town.)

At 11, the bride and groom (he's to her right in grey) walk across the parking area to the church, now legally married but not yet married in front of God. 

In the picture above, Virginie is escorted on the arm of her proud father.  Inside, the groom takes his place at the front of the church while the bride and her father greet the last-minute guests in the entry of the church.  (At this point, I took my spot at the back of the church with the other people who were there to witness the Mass but not invited guests.)

Just as in the US, whether or not the couple are believers is not critical to whether or not the ceremony is held in a church. But there is a different feeling when the Holy Spirit is a welcome part of the ceremony, and this was the case with this wedding.  One thing I loved about the ceremony was that it seemed to be for the benefit of Virginie and Olivier as opposed to being centered around Virginie and Olivier.  Some weddings can feel like a show with the bride as the star of the show.  In this one, God was the focus.  Virginie's father spoke; the priest spoke; Scripture was read; Communion was served; the choir sang.  Every part of it lifted the couple up to God; everything was about honoring and blessing the union of these two people, and they were joyful witnesses of the celebration.

When the ceremony ended 90 minutes later, the bride and groom came out to applause and more horn-honking.  You can just see the three yellow post office mini-trucks parked in front--Virginie is a postal worker.  (Olivier is a police officer.)

At this point, the first group of invited guests heads to the rented hall for an aperitif and appetizers.  As the afternoon wears on, everyone except the inner circle of invited guests (usually the immediate family and closest friends, plus the Godparents) leaves the "festival hall."  And the long celebration meal begins and lasts several hours, including party games between courses and a lot of celebration.  Several hours later, those who are invited, who left earlier, come back to join the "inner circle" for dancing and more of the celebrating.  It goes on all night--all night.  It was around 5:00am when Ren heard the some of the wedding guests walking (thankfully) home.

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into a French country wedding!  I love the way they celebrate, but I'm not sure I'm up to an all-night party anymore...

Market Day in 1823

Once upon a time there was a man named Laurent Baradel.  He lived on a farm in the mountains above a town in eastern France.  Once a month, there was a market in the town, and since farms were so far apart, it was a reason for celebration and social gathering--and sometimes, people had a little too much to drink.  On one such market day in June of 1823, Laurent's neighbor, Claude, who had already returned to his home in the mountains after market, noticed Laurent and his friend walking past his house.  Now Claude was the jealous type, and Laurent always seemed to do well on his farm.  And Claude had had a little too much to drink.  So he yelled something out to Laurent that wasn't very neighborly, and the two men began to fight.  Words thrown at one another became fists thrown, and then suddenly Claude had a knife...and Laurent lay bleeding on the road between the two houses.

Laurent's friend ran as fast as he could to the town to get the local magistrate, but by the time they returned, Laurent was dead.  After a lengthy trial, Claude was found guilty of murder, but because of a technicality, he was released and set free.  He returned to his farm, next door to the family of the man he murdered, and lived out his days.

Laurent's wife had a stone cross erected on the spot where he was killed, which reads:

"Cross erected in memory of Sire Laurent Baradel, age 43 years, died here the night of 17-18 June 1823 by a violent act."

Laurent's son, who was 19 at the time, went on to have his own family.  Eventually, in 1929, one of his descendants Lucie Baradel married Raymond Jacques and settled in the town, Granges-sur-Vologne, in eastern France, and they had seven children, one of which was named Rene.  His namesake is pictured below:

(Left) standing on the ruins of Laurent Baradel's farm in the mountains above Granges.  (Right) Ren reenacts the fatal act on the spot where it happened, next to the memorial cross Laurent's wife erected, about a half-mile from the ruins of Laurent's house and a few feet from the ruins of Claude's house.

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day to all the Dad's out there, especially  mine.  We had a terrific day Sunday, starting with church in the morning in Granges:

...followed by one of Patrick's favorite meals for lunch: American meatloaf with chess pie for dessert. 

The best part of the day for us was playing Belote, a French card game, with Patrick's Mom Ida. It is a game for four people that is a lot of fun, and Ren learned it quickly. Ren and Patrick beat Ida and me for two matches out of three. We played all afternoon (since it was about 50 degrees outside) and had a great time.

Some of you may know that I descend from some of the best Old Maid players in America (in their minds at least) so playing cards is always an enjoyable way to pass a cold afternoon.

Happy Father's Day!

Working the Garden

A small plot of land is set aside as our garden in France.  It came with the house and already had a few plants in it: two strawberry bushes, some lilies, and some bulbs that bloom in the spring (we have no idea what they are).  Last year, I planted perennials and wondered what would come back this year.  When we got to Granges, we were told the garden was a mess of weeds, but after pulling out the dandelions (they are massive here) and other weeds, some of the plants were evident.  And even without pulling weeds, two things were immediately obvious: the lavender we planted were healthy and spreading.  And the digitalis--foxgloves--had returned as well. 

The significance of the foxgloves lies in who they represent for the three of us.  A few years ago, our friend and mentor Camille Lievaux came to pick us up in Granges, telling us, "You have to see this--I've never seen anything like it.  Come on--right now, just as you are."  We hopped in the car with him and his wife Lucette, and he took us to a hilltop not far away.  He explained that before the "Storm of 2000" which knocked down entire forests of trees, this area had been completely wooded, but since the storm, it was clear.  As we pulled up, we saw with wonder the reason he was so excited: it was filled with foxgloves, mostly the traditional pink but with some rare white ones mixed in.  Camille, a photographer by trade and never without his camera, took many pictures that day, and a couple of them ended up in one of his books of photographs. 

Camille passed away this past February just shy of his 89th birthday.  So when the foxgloves came up in the garden, full and strong, I saw again the hand of God blessing us and reminding us that we will meet Camille again.  I can only imagine what pictures he is taking now--and the team of basketball players he is coaching!

We visited his wife Lucette this week, and she told us that the foxgloves have never come back to the place we visited that day--it was a one-time event, the rainbow after the storm, and a perfect reminder that God redeems everything, even the "Storm of the Century."

Counting Our Blessings

We are safely in France, in our little "pied a terre" in Granges.  Cloudy rainy skies greet us each morning but the sun peaks through once a day, and the cool temperatures are welcome after North Carolina heat and humidity.  We have been amazed at how quickly we have recovered from the jetlag--usually a week-long process.  But thanks to the funky read couch we found during the 7 hour layover in London, we got almost a full night's sleep (in pieces) during the travel. 

The amazing thing was that there were almost no places to rest in the waiting area at Heathrow.  Terminal 3, where we had to wait after passing through security, is a huge area filled with shops and restaurants and groups of seats, all with arm rests--as though they really don't want anyone to nap.  We walked the length of the "airport mall" without finding a single bench or flat area that wasn't the floor.  Then, just when thoughts of sitting upright for the 6 hours left of our layover were getting us down, we spotted four red couches, and one of them had a family that was packing up to get to their flight.  God is good! 

I am amazed at how He blesses us--and often it is the little things, like finding one of only four places to rest in a sea of uncomfortable seats.  And being in this pretty little town surrounded by green mountains, family, and friends. 

Heading to Granges

T minus 15: We leave for France on June 13.  A wonderful man named Bruce M. will be housesitting for us.  He works in the Orange County school system and comes highly recommended.  I am excited to be going...but stressed about getting everything done.

Eat, Eat, Eat

All we have done this past week is go from meal to meal. Saturday at noon, we went to the same restaurant where we celebrated Ren's baptism when he was a baby, the Bleu Marine in Gerardmer, but this time we were celebrating Patrick's brother Philippe's 50th birthday. Here we are, left to right, back row: Patrick, Dennis (Christine's bro), Ren, Lucie, Philippe, Florian, me, then Christine in front of Patrick, then sitting Bernadette (Christine's mom), Gladys (Patrick's aunt and godmother), Ida, and Remi.



Then Sunday, distant cousins who have become friends recently, came to Granges, and we went to dinner and celebrated my birthday a day late. First picture, Philippe and Ren. Who does Ren remind you of? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, although it may skip a generation! 10 points for the first to e-mail me with the answer!



Below, same night in our kitchen. Clockwise starting from bottom left: Gladys, Ida, Coco (Jean Francois, the cousin), his mother Pacquerette (meaning "Little Easter"--she was born on Eastere morning), Coco's wife Sylvie, their baby Helene (they are our age, and yes, the baby was planned), and me. Coco is the artisan who did all the windows in the new house and our beautiful ash staircase.


Coco and me. Notice the two delicious cakes, and Ren's homemade birthday card, the highlight of my day.



On Tuesday, we went to a favorite restaurant called Auberge de Belbriette, with Lucette and Camille. Here are the four of us at my favorite spot in the Vosges, the lake at Belbriette (not the same one the restaurant overlooks).

On Wednesday, we drove up to the mountain tops to eat at a Ferme Auberge, a restaurant that produces 75% of what it serves. Check out the view! Left to right, Gladys, Bernadette, Christine in front of Philippe, Ida, Patrick, me.

Finally we got a day of walking! Patrick, Ren, and I went on a hike that took us past some WWI barracks and trenches. This is Patrick and Ren in front of German bunkers from the first war.

And this is "graffiti" on one of the bunkers telling the date, 1916, and the name of the bunker.

This will most likely be the last entry in the blog. We go back to the US on the 19th. It will be hard to leave, especially for Patrick, and I think for his mother too. It is very difficult for Patrick to live this far away from family, and it is a blessing to me that he is willing to do so. Please say a prayer for him and for his Mom, and for us for Travel Mercies as we go back next week.

Diet starts on August 20th...