Thursday, 29 January 2015

MY FIRST TRIP ABROAD


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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