Читать книгу A Vineyard in the Dordogne - How an English Family Made Their Dream of Wine, Good Food and Sunshine Come True - Jeremy Josephs - Страница 10

IT WAS A spring to remember. At the Nanterre campus on the outskirts of Paris students had been protesting both about the shortcomings of the educational system and the practices of the international capitalist order, whose fundamental immorality seemed to be all too clearly illustrated by American policy in Vietnam. A combination of police brutality and ineptitude on the part of the University of Paris authorities ensured that a normally marginal group of Trotskyists, anarchists and Maoists were able to successfully stir up public discontent. During the afternoon of Friday, 10 May 1968 huge crowds began to assemble in the capital. The CRS (Compagnie Républicaine de Sécurité), the French riot police, were likewise out in force. As they donned protective clothing and braced themselves for action, students in the Latin Quarter’s fifth arrondissement were urgently erecting the first barricade in the rue Le Goff. The stand-off did not last long, with paving stones soon being ripped up and cars turned over as violent confrontations erupted and continued throughout the early part of the night.

By the following morning the world’s most beautiful city more closely resembled a battleground. Three hundred and sixty-seven people had been wounded, four hundred and sixty students arrested for riotous behaviour and one hundred and eighty-eight cars either burnt out or otherwise destroyed. And that was but a foretaste of further trouble to come.

For the demonstrations rapidly spread into the provinces, with massive strikes and sit-ins around the country, involving over ten million workers. Not to be excluded, France’s school students needed little encouragement before taking to the streets, listing a series of grievances and demanding urgent and immediate reforms. In the normally sleepy city of Béziers in the sunny southern region of Languedoc-Roussillon, the state-run Lycée Henri IV was obliged to shut down early, thereby prolonging the already generous summer break, as its pupils occupied classrooms and distributed leaflets setting out their case.

There were not the slightest signs of any such stirrings or discontent, however, at the privately-funded and fee-paying Pensionnat de l’Immaculée Conception, only half a kilometre away. Popularly known as the PIC and created by a religious order at the beginning of the nineteenth century with a view to meeting the educational and religious requirements of the sons of the local bourgeoisie, the school occupied rather drab premises in the heart of the old town, dominated by the imposing fortified cathedral of St Nazaire, and overlooking the meandering River Orb. The pupils might well have read about the troubles in the press or watched television news reports, but every boy there had just one thing on his mind: to pass his baccalauréat math-élém, which meant a disproportionately heavy dose of physics, maths and French, and in so doing acquire the first and most important stamp on his passport to eventual success. With only a few weeks before the examinations were scheduled to begin, this diligent and devoted approach to study was particularly well exemplified by the twenty-year-old Henry Mondié. Having already repeated two school years in his academic career to date, including the key class of terminal, he had no intention of sitting for his ‘bac’ a third time. He would succeed in the summer exams of 1968 or never at all.

Maurice Mondié, Henry’s father, might well have wished his own position was otherwise. But the fact was that he would have had much difficulty in offering practical assistance to his son should he happen once again not to score sufficiently high marks. For although he was a wine-grower by trade, with over twenty hectares of vineyards to his name, his estate had only ever been capable of generating one income, not two. And since his father was only forty-eight at the time, with retirement many years away, Henry knew perfectly well that he himself was unlikely to find a future in the vineyards of the Hérault. So too did his younger brother, Claude, who had no intention of toiling the land and was hoping to pursue a career in either banking or commerce.

The Mondiés were from the small village of Cruzy, twenty-five kilometres west of Béziers and not far from where the historic Canal du Midi cuts its way through the attractive reddish landscape on a small part of its long and winding journey from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. With vineyards stretching out as far as the eye can see and producing for the most part the red vin ordinaire of the region, Cruzy fell within the Minervois and St Chinian appellations (vintages). Unlike the smart vineyards of the Médoc, where the vines often surround a show-piece château, the Mondié’s estate consisted of fifteen different plots, in many cases separated from one another by nothing more than the garrigue, the rocky scrubland of the south of France.

Dark-haired and dark-eyed like the majority in the Midi, Henry had spent a very happy childhood close to the vineyards of Cruzy before being sent off to board in Béziers at the age of eleven. Cruzy, with its population of just 1,500, had been the centre of his world, with relatives, friends, school and catechism all within walking distance of his home. Although a small village, it boasted the magnificent church of Ste Eulalie, dating from the days of Pope Urban V, with a coquettish statue of the Virgin Mary inside, her hips inclining slightly to one side, and carved in the best traditions of the Italian Renaissance.

Proud of their Occitan past and always anxious to respect both local and regional fêtes, the people of Cruzy, like those throughout the region, led a life that revolved around the production and consumption of wine. Each stage of the complex process of winemaking was the subject of intense scrutiny and heated debate — from the art of planting to the skills of bottling and storage. Whenever Maurice Mondié bumped into a neighbour or acquaintance in Cruzy’s village square or Béziers’ allées Paul Riquet, named after the engineer who constructed the epochal Canal du Midi, the conversation would inevitably turn to wine. And in the best traditions of village life every viticulteur seemed to know every other winegrower’s business: what grape variety he was cultivating, where it was being grown, how many hectolitres he was likely to produce, precisely what stock was stored in his cave (cellar) at any one time and an informed opinion on the key issue of the most advantageous time to sell. In fact, by contrast with the many parts of France where talk of the joys of food is paramount, here the importance of wine surpassed even that sacred ritual.

Maurice Mondié might not have been able to guarantee a future to either of his sons. But that did not mean that life in the vineyards had not served him well. His twenty hectares constituted a sizeable asset compared with other holdings in the area, and he was very much the petit seigneur of his domain. This brought undeniable advantages, such as working entirely at his own speed, and with more than the odd day off he would often stalk through the garrigue with his lightweight Plume rifle slung over his shoulder, in search of rabbit, partridge or hare. And since his wine often fetched healthy prices from the local cave coopérative (wine cooperative), to which he sold his entire produce en vrac (unbottled), thereby avoiding the costly processes of bottling and labelling, there was seldom any shortage of money for Maurice and his wife Juliette. For this reason it never once crossed his mind that he would in due course do anything other than enrol both of his sons at the Pensionnat de l’Immaculée Conception in Béziers, unquestionably the most select school in the area. For Maurice, tending to his vines was more of a way of life than a mere means of employment and, master of his own destiny as he was, it was a thoroughly pleasant way of life at that.

For his son Henry the greatest pleasure of growing up in such an environment was the simple joy of being out in the open. The undisputed highlight of his week was to be able to join his father, who, together with four or five of his workers, would have set off for the vineyards earlier during the morning to avoid the searing heat of the sun. These excursions would always take place on a Thursday, the day off from school in France during the fifties. Securing his balance on his red Motobécane bicycle, and drinking in the beauty of the landscape all around, he would pedal off to meet up with this small and informal party of workmen. But first things first. For Mondié junior always made sure that his arrival was timed to coincide with their hard-earned break for lunch. Then, settling himself among the adults in the tiny, ramshackle hut built on the site of the vineyard, he would look on as each worker in turn produced from a small container a delicious meal of sausages or stew. The men took turns to heat up their lunch over a camp-fire of old vines and with the smell of herbs and seasoning soon filling the air it was never long before the boy’s mouth would begin to water in anticipation of the dish which his father would patiently prepare for him.

Henry Mondié’s wholesome outdoor lifestyle was brought to an abrupt end, however, when the time finally came, as he always knew it would, for him to be sent off as a boarder to Béziers at the age of eleven. At first he found it difficult to adjust to the new and rather strict regime, where concern for the boys’ moral well-being was accorded as much importance as their instruction in Latin and maths. But he at least had the opportunity of returning to Cruzy every weekend, only half an hour’s drive away, when he would often accompany his father on an impromptu tour of inspection of his scattered parcelles of land. In addition, there was also the vendanges (wine harvest) to look forward to, which invariably took place in September and thus overlapped with his return to school. Aware of the importance of wine-growing to the livelihoods of almost everybody in the area, the ecclesiastical authorities responsible for the running of the school would issue a series of special derogations, allowing wine-growers’ sons to remain at home for the duration of the harvest. During these few frenetic weeks the impression was given in and around Béziers, as in countless other wine-producing regions of France, that virtually every able-bodied person was hard at work in the vineyards, having heeded the urgent summons to assist.

Not that it was particularly glamorous work. At the age of twelve and thirteen Henry would find himself working alongside women whose job it was to cut the grapes from the vines with a strong pair of secateurs, as together they methodically worked their way from one row of vines to the next. But as soon as his body began to develop his father saw to it that he was given more physically exerting work, carrying large wicker baskets laden with ripe red grapes, towards a central collection point.

But cutting and carrying was not the role which Henry had in mind for himself. For as long as he could remember there was only one job which he aspired to or deemed to be sufficiently exciting and worthwhile — driving his father’s red Pony tractor. When, at fourteen, he was finally given permission to take the wheel for the first time, it was as if a magnificent moment of liberation had come. Shuttling back and forth between the various vineyards and then heading off again towards the chais, the overground cellars where the grapes would begin their miraculous metamorphosis into wine, he bubbled over with enthusiasm and joy. And it was then that he began to wonder if a life in the vineyards might not represent the best pathway for a future.

The work was particularly hard throughout the wine-harvesting season, yet the atmosphere was one of an almost continuous fête. Of the twenty or so people working together, sharing in the common cause of stripping the vines of their fruit, the majority were Spanish, seasonal workers who had travelled up from the border, only a couple of hundred kilometres away. They would arrive at the beginning of September with two cases, one full of clothes, the other crammed to bursting point with Spanish food, which they evidently could not bear to be without and which always included spicy sausages and tinned sardines. The working day would begin at approximately 7 a.m. with a ninety-minute stint of picking and collecting before stopping for the casse-croute du matin, the mid-morning snack consisting of pain de campagne, charcuterie, cheese and ham, with a glass or two of wine to wash it all down. Then it was another few hours’ labour before a still more filling lunch. And so on throughout the day until late in the afternoon. But since the same people, a mixture of Spaniards and village folk, would return year after year for the vendanges, strong friendships were forged, with more than the occasional romantic encounter. The same people would then meet up again during the evening, and basking in the sunshine which still remained, they would eat and sing and drink and dance their way into the early hours. And then the partying would abruptly come to an end for Henry, for, with hardly a grape left in sight, he knew that the time had come for him to return to the disciplined dormitory life of his boarding school in Béziers.

Every now and then, though, the Mondiés would themselves pack their bags and travel to Spain and visit the erstwhile vendangeurs in their new incarnations. There the patrons from France were received in a manner befitting royalty on an official engagement abroad, with magnificent paellas being served, the saffron-yellow rice always garnished with the most extravagant seafoods. It was a warm and friendly time when patrons and pickers alike would in turn relive the triumphs and disasters of that year’s harvest.

It was as well for Henry that there was another passion in his life. He had been encouraged by his parents to join the scout movement at an early age, and the Baden-Powell philosophy of the teaching of practical skills combined with a healthy approach to outdoor living and adventure soon struck a chord in the boy. Before long he had fallen under the influence of his leader, Gilles d’Andoque, a man who impressed upon him the importance of assisting the underprivileged in particular and of doing good deeds in general. It all seemed to accord with everything Henry had learned both from his parents and during catechism in church. When the scout leader mentioned the possibility of assisting in the restoration of a rather run-down church in the area, as part of a long-term project for the group, the first and most positive voice in favour was young Henry’s. In fact it was with more than a tinge of regret, even though he was by now twenty, that Henry realized that the time had come for him to leave his scouting career behind and move on.

In any case the baccalauréat (final school exams) now beckoned. And there were audible sighs of relief in the Mondié household, from parents and pupil alike, when, in the second week of July 1968, the news came through that this time Henry had been successful. At once the best bottle of champagne was brought out to celebrate the long-awaited occasion. Within a couple of days Henry was pondering his next move. He was tempted to study the new subject of computer science, having heard that the Institut Universitaire de Technologie de Montpellier, situated in the handsome capital of the département of the Hérault, offered an exciting and well-structured course. But anxious not to stray too far from all that was familiar to him, he was equally tempted to study oenology, which offered the possibility of his emerging with the prestigious status of qualified wine-maker. Encouraged by his school to set his sights high, he applied to the École Nationale Supérieure d’Agronomie (ENSA), also based in Montpellier and unquestionably the finest school of its kind in France. Hardly surprising, therefore, that when the selection board offered Henry a place he gratefully accepted it without hesitation.

Although hardly a hotbed of radicalism at the time, Montpellier’s ENSA had been affected by the student uprisings during the course of recent months, in common with most other academic institutions. While there had been none of the violence that had characterized the demonstrations in Paris, classes there had been suspended for one month, as lecture theatre blocks were occupied and students voiced demands for a review of the school’s approach to teaching. Because the ENSA came under the auspices of the Ministry of Agriculture in Paris, officials from the school hurried north to the capital to see which points, if any, they might be able to concede. Anxious to practise the politics of pragmatism, they had a number of reforms approved and rushed through by special decree, instantly making the school more democratic and meeting many of the students’ demands.

By the time Henry first set foot in the school’s imposing premises in the Place Pierre Viala, the wave of protest had passed and the administration had every reason to feel confident that the new term would get underway in an atmosphere of normality. Not that Henry had the slightest intention of reading the small print relating to the changes which had recently been introduced. His outlook was easy enough to understand: having spent eight years as a boarder in Béziers, where the concept of democracy was noticeable only by its absence, he felt that any kind of regime which the ENSA might have to offer was bound to be a dramatic improvement. Anyway he had come to Montpellier to study, not play politics, and he soon applied himself to the school’s first-year programme of physics and chemistry, essential prerequisites for the detailed study of wine.

Student politics might not have been much to Henry’s liking; but there were nonetheless other distractions lurking not far away. For the first lesson which he learned in Montpellier was one which did not feature on the school’s syllabus at all — that the city student’s life was very agreeable indeed. Then he made another major discovery that distinguished his present programme from the anguished days of Béziers and the bac — that once a student had been admitted to the ENSA, then, provided he worked reasonably hard, the chances were that he would in due course acquire the school’s coveted diploma. By the time he returned to Cruzy for the Christmas holiday he had succeeded in making many new friends, having enjoyed a most hectic social life, attending parties in student flats and elsewhere several times a week — another far cry from his school-days. Now, instead of viewing the end of the holidays with a growing sense of unease, he could hardly wait for the new term to begin. Nor was it too taxing a task for Juliette and Maurice Mondié to detect the reason for Henry’s uncharacteristic impatience. It was abundantly clear that their son had been applying himself with considerable energy not just to the subject of wine but to the study of women too.

The ENSA course did not disappoint Henry. Striking an excellent balance between theory and practical work, it required students to go off around the country for periods of work-experience training, and to make additional excursions to vineyards in various regions of France. Every aspect of wine-making, it seemed, was covered, Henry selecting a special option on the economics of rural areas. He would never have dared say so in public, but the truth was that to himself he would periodically praise his own good judgement for having selected the stimulating subject of oenology.

As for the old university city of Montpellier, where sand, sea, sunshine and snow are never far away, it continued to provide the setting for the most magical years of his life. The place was teeming with students of all kinds, many of them drawn towards the famous medical faculty founded at the beginning of the thirteenth century, and Henry counted a couple of medical students as among his closest friends. One aspiring young doctor, having completed his internship in Narbonne, had taken it upon himself to invite both the student nurses and their teachers back to Montpellier for a surboum — a huge gathering of what appeared to be a significant percentage of the future doctors and nurses of France. It was at that party that Henry set his eyes for the first time on a pretty teacher of nursing, Gabrielle Montez, from the Lot et Garonne region, who had found work at the nurses’ training college in Narbonne. Within two years they would be wed.

On completing the four-year course at the ENSA, Henry, though delighted to graduate, at the same time instantly regretted the passing of his carefree student days. And at twenty-four he did not need his parents to inform him that it was high time he found a job. Yet his prospects of finding suitable employment were not at all promising. But instead of bemoaning the fact, he decided to travel to Mexico to visit and work with his father’s brother, Georges Mondié, who had a property and vineyards in that faraway land. At the same time he combined the trip with an extended honeymoon with his wife Gabrielle, whose job in Narbonne was to be held open for her. Three months in Mexico seemed to promise both an ideal transition from the years of study and an introduction to the world of work. But since the job was only a temporary assignment, it was not long before the newly qualified young oenologist began to wonder what the future might hold.

It was while tending his uncle’s vineyards in Mexico that Henry received a letter from France. An old friend, Jean Abeille, had decided to get in touch. It was clear from the rather breathless tone of his letter that when he was not working, the greater part of his time and energy went into managing the association of former ENSA students. Aware that Henry had still to secure long-term employment, he wondered if he might be able to assist. And he proceeded to describe a particular client of his who had recently acquired a vineyard and who was anxious to recruit a qualified wine-maker. Not only that, Jean explained, but the person concerned was adamant that any candidate should be a graduate of the Montpellier school of oenology. That evening Henry sat down and set about drafting his reply.