Monday, September 21, 2009

Roger

Today was the funeral of my next door neighbour Roger. For three years, on and off, I have watched him cycle 50 yards past my house, dressed in his blue denim jacket and field worker's trousers en route to his chickens kept at the very edge of my land. I have listened to him talking to the chicks, strimming their enclosure to remove unnecessary weeds, tending the bamboo that screen their pen from my house twice daily and routinely. The hens and cockerel enrich my life with their chuckles and dawn choruses.

Roger has always worked on the land. A small wirey man, bent over from fused discs. He died aged just 70 after suffering numerous cancers and tumors. Three days before he died I went with Margot his wife to see him in a hospice - he smiled, pulled his thin frame upwards, hugged me and gave me a kiss on each cheek. He asked me if I was dealing with my tomatoes as he had shown me, and if was I starting to think about pruning the vine.

More than 200 people came to his funeral. The choir of Sauveterre sang. The 85 years old priest dribbled. His daughter spoke of her father and cried. He was honoured by two men carrying flags for those who had fought as young men in the Algerian war. His coffin was covered with the Tricoleur in honour of those who have fought for their country. He was buried in the 'communal grave' - he was a man who lived his life modestly off the land. He was a quiet, deeply proud, reserved man who loved his chickens and bees in his last years.

His second grandchild will be born some time in the next four weeks and his name will be Florian.

posted by French Deal @ 2:46 pm

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home