GRAPE
PICKING IN FRANCE
I
was sixteen years of age, had recently left school, and was in my
first job. I was working as a Nurseryman, getting paid just £15 a
week. Well, it was 1974! I had never been abroad before, and had only
ever had one holiday in my life, but all that was about to change.
My
friend Derek, who was four years older than me, told me of a chap he
knew who was soon to be leaving for France to do some grape picking.
Derek asked me if I would fancy going to do the same. Would I? I
didn't need long to think about it! The only problem was, however, I
would have to lie about my age as they were only employing people
eighteen and over. The temptation was too much. The forms were duly
completed, and in no time at all we had received our offer of
employment.
Our
employer was Champagne Jardin, Le Mesnil-Sur Oger, near Eperney. We
were to be paid 46 francs a day (about £4.50), half as much again as
I was earning on the Nursery. Our job description was 'Harvester',
and we were told to take waterproof clothing and boots.
We
left on 26th September 1974. After catching the London
bound train from our home town into Liverpool street station, we then
made our way across London to Victoria station where we were to catch
the night 'boat train'. Even this first stage of our journey was a
big deal for me, I had only ever been to London once or twice before,
and never without my parents.
The
train from Victoria station would take us to Dover where we would
then travel by ferry to Dunkirk, and then onto Paris by train. We
were travelling on a young persons ticket (under 26 years) and the
price for this journey was just £5. Due to the length of the journey
and timings of the overnight train and ferry, it was no surprise to
find that most of our fellow passengers were young people, taking
advantage of the cheap fare. We soon started to make friends and one
Australian guy, who was most interested in our plans, asked if he
could tag along with us.
We
slept very little on, both, the train and ferry. The ferry was
overcrowded, with people resting and trying to sleep where ever they
could, on the floors, the stairs, anywhere! Once in Paris, we had to
make our way to Gare De l'est to catch our train to Eperney. It was
all very rushed and none of us, neither Derek, myself, or our newly
found Ozy friend, really knew what we were doing. Eating properly was
the last thing on our minds, yet we did manage to grab a hot dog at
some point, but I was soon to regret that purchase. On the train to
Eperney I was taken ill, I felt very faint, almost passing out and
falling onto another passengers suitcase. I had to rush to the toilet
to be ill.
After
such a dreadful start to my adventure, I was glad to arrive in
Eperney, where my employer, a middle aged woman, was waiting to drive
us to the vineyard. Another new experience for me, driving on the
wrong side of the road! As part of our contract, we were to receive
all meals, including wine with dinner, and sleep in dormitories, one
for the men and one for the women. We also had access to hot
showers.
The
next two weeks consisted of us getting up very early and being loaded
into the back of a truck, having had only a cup of coffee, breakfast
would follow after an hour or two of work. Most days lunch would be
served out in the fields, only returning for dinner after a full days
work. The food provided was very good and plentiful, with table wine
offered every night with dinner. One night our Australian friend
decided to sing our employers a song, accompanying himself on guitar.
The self penned song was basically asking the boss for Champagne
instead of wine, it worked, and for one night only we were all
treated to Champagne, a memorable first experience for me!
Most
evenings we entertained ourselves within our dormitories, but there
was a village pub within walking distance which we visited on one
occasion. One night my fellow Harvesters threw a party, but,
unfortunately, I was unable to attend as I was ill in bed with a very
bad cold. We had experienced some torrential rain during the harvest,
it was so bad one day, that many of the workers refused to go out
into the fields. Our employer, who was clearly unhappy with the
situation, went around opening all the windows in the dormitories,
until it was just as cold inside as it was outside, soon convincing
them to return to work!
Our
fellow Harvesters were a mixed bunch. I was obviously the youngest,
which came as a huge shock to my fellow workers when I accidentally
let it slip at dinner one night. The majority of the others were in
their twenties, with a few in their thirties, all of various
nationalities. Towards the end of our stay, a few of our work
colleagues talked about going on to Spain to do some fruit picking
there. The idea of extending our experience so appealed to us that
Derek and I were quick to put our names forward for this further
adventure.
On
our final day, we went into the office to receive our pay. We then
hitch hiked to the railway station in Eperney. There was eight of us
in total who had teamed up for this Spanish adventure, so we split up
into pairs to make thumbing a lift easier. Derek and I watched as one
by one we saw our travelling companions passing us in cars and on the
back of trucks. We even heard, before we saw, two of them singing '
Hi Ho' (the song from Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) as
they passed us, waving from the back of a truck. Incidentally, this
had become our little group's team song. Our turn finally arrived,
when we too managed to get a lift, and we met up with the others at
the train station.
From
Eperney, we caught the train to Paris. We then decided to get a bus
from Paris to Fontainbleau, some 43 miles south of Paris, stay
overnight in Fontainbleau and then, splitting up into pairs again,
make our own way to Spain. We arrived in Fontainbleau late at night,
in darkness and heavy rain. Derek had brought his two man tent with
him, and one of the others also had a tent. We pitched our tents in a
wooded area, fighting against the wind and rain, and settled down for
the night. However, it wasn't to be a very restful night's sleep, we
had four men in a two man tent, cosy for the two in the middle, but
very cold and wet for the two on the outsides, pressed up against the
wet canvass. I was fortunate enough to be one of the ones in the
middle when we first settled down for the night, but this,
unfortunately, was short lived, as following a trip to the toilet, ie
the nearest tree, I returned to find my space now occupied. I was,
therefore, forced to spend the rest of the night squashed up against
the cold, wet canvass!
The
next morning, the rain had stopped, the sun was shining, and we could
now see where we had pitched our tents - in the grounds of a school
or university, which must have been a source of amusement for any of
the locals who may have spotted us!
Once
again, we set off in pairs, heading in, what we hoped was, the
general direction of Spain. I don't know what knowledge or experience
of travelling any of the others had, but Derek and I had none, and it
soon began to show. Derek and I had walked ten long miles without
getting a single lift, and we found ourselves on the outskirts of
Nemours. We had been walking along country roads, through villages
and now we were confronted by a motorway. There were barriers across
the road and small booths barring our way. I had no idea, then, what
these were, but having driven many times in France in latter years, I
now know that these must have been toll booths for the motorway. We
started to approach the barriers with the intention of asking for
directions, however, two Policemen started to walk towards us, with
their firearms clearly on display. Not being used to seeing Police
carrying firearms, we decided to take no chances and turned around
and left.
We
called into a petrol station by the entrance to the motorway and
tried to thumb a lift from there, but all to no avail. We could not
see any alternative route for us other than the motorway, so after a
while we, very naively, started to walk along the side of the
motorway. We hadn't gone far when a Police car pulled up along side
us and we were told politely to leave the motorway and make our way
back to the petrol station.
Resigning
ourselves to the fact that thumbing a lift in France wasn't going to
be easy, we decided to return to Paris. Knowing that the night train
to Barcelona left from Gare De Austerlitz, we made our way there.
Having purchased our tickets to Barcelona, we sat in the waiting room
and pondered our situation. Neither of us had much money on us,
basically, just our wages from grape picking, we didn't have any work
lined up for when we reached Spain, and neither of us had any
experience in this sort of thing. By this point, feeling somewhat
despondent and homesick, we decided to postpone our trip to Spain for
another year. We went back to the ticket office and got a refund on
our tickets. That night we slept rough in a bus shelter, close to the
Bastille, another cold and very restless night. The following day we
returned to England.
I
returned home a little richer financially, a lot more worldly wise,
and with a burning desire to travel more. Derek and I did make it to
Spain the following year, but, as they say, that's another story.
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