storks & steeples

I've had a number of largely positive responses to this year's seasonal e-greet but there seems to be confusion as to what the image actually consists of. 

Let me explain. 

I spotted this singular group of weathervanes on the top of the stumpy steeple that graces the Saumur Hôtel de Ville.  Are they storks? Their tail plumage is all wrong, but that's it, you see,  – they need those atypical tail feathers to catch the breezes and thus turn them to point into the wind, just like the weathercocks that top-off many a church, chapel and cathedral do. The birds appear in profile because I took their likeness with my box-brownie against a blue sky.

But they are by all appearances, pretty much two dimensional.

The two calling birds (on the right of the group) don't recognise these cut-outs as birds at all of course, hence their indelicate perches on the convenient tail 'feathers' of two of the storks:

the 'calling birds' are real —they flew off after a few moments of rest and recuperation. The uppermost stork is a size bigger than the others. They all appear to pivot on what looks like a third leg. Maybe it would have been better to leave each bird on just one leg; more convincing.

I have been unable to discover if storks have a particular significance to Saumur (without success) concluding that whoever crafted this avian group was thinking creatively, playfully even, perhaps without reference to the city fathers, or was given a free hand. Maybe they are cranes? 

I like them, whatever they are meant to be. 

See if you can spot them next time you saunter in Saumur…

I hope this clears up any confusion.

Here endeth my 2025 posts.

Bless!

 

completion

Sometime on Wednesday afternoon, 10th December 2025, at a few minutes to three may be, on a bright crisp day in Sablet I understand, 1 rue FB passed from our possession back into French ownership. Our association with the house has come to an end.

We came to 1 rue FB thirty-eight times in the thirteen and a half years we owned it. True, early visits were a bit fraught at times, as we strove to open up the terrace and refettle the northern aspect. And again, two rather bleak departures (q.v.) was our lot as we dismantled our interiors and disposed of, by a variety of means, most of the carefully collected items that contributed to make our rhomboidal three floor abode in France our very personal home in Vaucluse.

But now the first house on Rue Fortuné Bernard is sold. No celebration though for these sellers. Some relief that the machinations concerned with selling are largely at an end, much of which have necessarily fallen on Mme Melling’s shoulders through the combination of her consumate ability with the language, coupled with her keen attention to the labyrinthine procedures that buying and selling in France involves, further complicated at times by our non national status plus the tightening restrictions and costs that the nonsense called Brexit has thrown into the mix. I wasn’t much use. As is now widely appreciated, my French is close to non existant, IBMS (one last time: I Blame My School). So thank you Mary for your management of our affairs in this episode of our lives together, you done good.

We are pleased that our aspiration, after getting over the shock of putting 1 rue FB on the market, to sell to French locals was achieved. Even better, citizens planning to live in the house at least for the medium term. We did not relish selling to ‘outsiders’ or as a holiday house, or a potential airbnb/rental. We are happy that the Parisians backed out, pleased that our buyers are who they are and confident they will take the house forward, improve it in ways we decided were beyond our needs, perhaps. We wish them success in their venture and that they get as much pleasure as we have had from and at 1 rue FB.

The discomfiture of parting company with our dear and singular diamond shaped house will take a while to heal. I imagine the proceeds from the sale will help in this, as and when we get them, but just now, we feel bereft. We will see the views in and around Sablet again when we return as tourists to the Vaucluse next year, but we know we’ll not replicate the pleasure we felt at being Sabletonians in our angular habitation, the terrace views, the tree trunk roof timbers, resident martins, screaming swifts, chattering black redstarts …… and so on. 

We left the clock hands on the wall in the middle floor sitting room

at 10 to 3… more or less, give or take a minute or three

(they've been that way since I installed them, way back) 

'… stands the clock at ten to three,

and is there honey still for tea?’ 

Not for us, there, anymore. There are other things coming though, so on we go…

Thanks are due to Andrew Hepplewhite, our estate agent and friend

who steered and facilitated matters on our behalf so professionally

 and with such consideration for our feelings.