The depths of tranquillity

Peace came dropping slow. I have never regarded west Flanders as part of la France profonde, but here we were, only a few miles from Lille, in the depths of tranquillity. Earlier in the summer, there had been an excitement. An enormous wild boar had erupted into the garden. Our host shot him, and excited littlies promptly renamed their grand-père: Obelix. I had entertained Yves at a club table. His reciprocity was embarrassingly more generous than his excuse for it.

Inevitably, the conversation meandered into politics. The house had a complex history. Vauban is said to have billeted himself there before fortifying Lille. It suffered some damage in both world wars. The family lost relatives during that cruel necessity, the Allied bombing of Normandy to expedite D-Day. Other relations perished in German slave labour camps. The younger Yves had been a disciple of Jean Monnet, that most formidable of French federasts.