Kermesse

Sunday, August 23, 2015

     The new day dawned rainy, so the kermesse --the church bazaar-- for Notre Dame du Cros was moved to the village auditorium, the Foyer Francois Mitterand near the Narbonne road.

     I got up early as planned and started walking towards the chapel at 8:30 a.m., making it to the turn-off to N.D. quickly.  Just as I started my ascent I saw car coming towards me flashing its lights.  It was Jean Lacroix, the retired gendarme, whom I've known since I started cycling with the C.C.C.M.  three years ago.

     Jean told me the kermesse had been moved to the foyer and would I like a ride there.  As I was supposed to help with the preparation of the dishes to be served as appetizers, and was supposed to be ready to work by 9:00 a.m., I readily accepted the offer.

      The foyer was a hive of activity, but not efficiency.  The melons that, with some foie gras and sliced cured ham, would make up the appetizer, had not yet arrived.  The bread had not arrived.  There was some discussion as to whether the bottles of mineral water needed to go into the refrigerator or left out, to allow room for meat, which absolutely had to be kept cold.

      The melons soon arrived, brought in on two hand trucks by a couple of farmers, a husband and wife.  They brought in 10 cases each.  As the wife passed me --she knows me because I sometimes buy fruit from her at the weekly market in Caunes-- she commented,

      Well, it's been ten years since there was rain at the kermesse, so you have to accept that every single one will not take place on a beautiful day.  It will be a success, anyway, no matter what.

     Not everyone shared her optimism, but everyone went to work nonetheless, of course.  Folding tables and chairs were lifted off their gurneys, opened and lined up in three long rows starting from the auditorium stage.  Ten were taken away to use for tables where items donated would go on sale: at the entrance to the foyer the hand-embroidered lavender sachets, the antique embroidered bed linens, the handmade linen aprons made of antique linens, decorated with a pocket made of a piece of toile de jouy, antique linen and cotton night shifts and blouses.  Also, vintage pocket books and scarves, ceramics, articles for traveling and for enjoying cocktails.  At a table opposite were sold missals, rosaries and prayerbooks donated.  The books were often in mint condition, bound in exquisite leathers and placed in decorative cases with their own locks.  At the gourmet table, inside the auditorium at the back, in addition to home-made cakes and sweets, were sold home-made thyme jelly to serve on meat dishes, jams, home-made vinegars.

     Although the Mass at N.D.C. would not begin until 11:00 a.m., and parishioners would not be expected at the foyer until about 12:15 p.m., people began arriving by 10:30 a.m.: the vide grenier --a village-wide yard sale in Villalier, fifteen minutes away, had been cancelled.

     A vide grenier is a chance to find something you have wanted for very little money --a CD, a DVD, clothes, a bicycle-- so in France they set off something like a feeding frenzy.  A church bazaar is a distant second.  However, the animal rescue organization of Caunes was also having a vide grenier, albeit on a smaller scale than Villalier's, so the kermesse was where many people stopped to get directions to the animal rescue vide grenier, as their hopes of enjoying Villalier's were frustrated.

     I spent an hour cutting melons and plating them, then chose a few items from the crafts tables.  I needed to go to the bank to withdraw the cash to pay for them, so decided I would stop at the animal rescue event on my way.

     The event was strictly small-scale, run almost entirely by Brits, who had donated used clothes, yarn for knitting, lots of British books and English language CDs.  I hit the jackpot when my eye caught sight of an edition of Rembrance of Things Past in a giant six-volume edition published by The Folio Society --for 6 Euros for the lot.  There was also another big book to take home, one about the loveliest English villages, a sort of traveller's guide with photos and directions.  Rumpole of the Bailey stories, the autobiography of Sir Edmund Hilary, a memoir of life in Ireland, and another of life in France, and another Folio Society imprint, this about London, along with three others whose titles I can't remember, completed my book-buying spree.

     The problem was that I now had a deadweight of books to bring home.  I mused about this out loud for a moment, which was fortunate, because someone willing to bring the books over to me at the end of the day cheerfully presented herself.  Her name is Laura, and she is coming by shortly.  I was so astonished at her generosity that I immediately asked her if she would like to have a glass of wine when she came by.

      "Oh, yes, that would be nice" she said, and I was glad.

      "--Red or white?"

      "Oh, white, please."

      Nothing easier.

      On the way out of the donkey farm where the vide grenier was held, I stuck out my thumb, hoping for a ride.  I was picked up by an older man, M. Petit, who turned out to be a village councilman (conseiller villageois).   He took me right to my door, and again, I gave thanks for my luck.  I returned to the kermesse in a jiffy after stopping at the bank.

      Qui paye ses dettes, s'enrichit, Roselyne said, taking my money.  (He who pays his debts, enriches himself, an old French proverb.)

       She put me to work selling to non-French speaking customers --and there were many: Brits, Germans, Dutch.  There was one woman --she must be in her late seventies-- who bought quite a lot from me.  She is Australian, brought to that country from Scotland by her parents when she was twelve and has no financial constraints, judging from the way she did her shopping --making bulk purchases of doilies, linens and lavender sachets.   In appearance, she was a bit off-putting: she is as tanned and injected and dyed and diet-ed as any woman of her type in New York who lives comfortably between Manhattan and the Hamptons.  She also bought five books from the table with religious articles, telling me that she wanted to buy them for her daughter with her first husband.  He is French, and her daughter is taking care of him now that he has brain cancer.  She bought a Marian Missal, a traditional missal, a book of prayers, a translation of The Imitation of Christ, and a child's Missal, along with a rosary, which I threw in for free.

      "I know these will mean a lot to my daughter.  She prays so much that my ex-husband will go peacefully", she told me as she completed her purchases.  She lives in Caunes and is staying here until the end of October, so perhaps I will run into her again.

      You can't judge a book by it's cover, is the moral of the story.

      At the end of the day, the kermesse was a complete success.  The crafts table took in well over 300 Euros, the tables were fully filled for the lunch and the gourmet table did a good business.  And I --who am a terrible waitress, have found my milieu at the kermesse: trilingual saleswoman at the crafts table!