Vermont: A Story of Love and Loss, Reconciliation and Hope

By Norman Allen

Inspired by a remarkable house, Vermont is a significant part of a small community in Southern France. The narrative follows the inter-connected lives of those associated with it, as they meet the many challenges of the first half of the Twentieth Century. The tranquil domesticity of the house and the benign rural landscape is the background to the enterprise and fortitude of many diverse characters (real and imagined). They are caught-up in the dramatic events of the Great War, the Depression and then the Second World War in Europe, but they always look forward towards better times. They share humour and romance, tragedy and reconciliation, whilst expressing their faith, empathy and hope. Their stories involve insights into personality, farming, construction, culture, politics, commerce, military tactics and intelligence, birth, life and death. Henry Ford may have neglected history, but the people of Vermont learned many hard lessons, - lessons that should not be forgotten, - if peace, harmony and prosperity are to be sustained in Europe and across the World.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546294153

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© 2018 Norman Allen. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/28/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9416-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9417-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9415-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1 The ArChitect

Chapter 2 The Barbarin Family

Chapter 3 Progress

Chapter 4 Auguste & Odette

Chapter 5 Celebration

Chapter 6 Marriage

Chapter 7 Summation

Chapter 8 The Great War

Chapter 9 Aftermath

Chapter 10 Between the Wars

Chapter 11 Hitler’s War

Chapter 12 German Occupation

Chapter 13 Military Adventures

Chapter 14 Strasbourg

Chapter 15 Peace

Chapter 16 Channel Crossings

Chapter 17 Reunion

Chapter 18 Treasure

Chapter 19 Romance

Chapter 20 Honeymoon

Chapter 21 The New Ringwald Family

Chapter 22 Tante Vivienne

Chapter 23 Resettlement

Chapter 24 Requiem

Epilogue

Author Biography

PROLOGUE

See now the dove’s wings covered with silver and its feathers with green gold ¹.

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Visiting Vermont – the house on the green hill for the first time, I came upon a small book titled, - "Le Pauvre Jose". Inside the well-worn brown front cover are the names of Louis and Odette Barbarin. Their juvenile signatures (dating from about 1900) and the moral story of their little book prompted me to wonder who the Barbarin children might have been. What life might have offered them in the first half of the Twentieth Century. And then there was a name, among many others on the Village Memorial to the Great War. Could one imagine, - even to dare to tell their stories, to suggest answers to many questions, - set against the turbulent events of their time?

St Augustine was a prolific author, who wrote as, - one of those who writes as they progress and progress as they write ². However, nothing is ever quite finished, least of all our own stories. We are all work in progress, for we are like houses, - houses constructed to a plan (or our own genetic combination), to be inhabited as private, domestic and public entities; - organic structures that may be developed, or even re-modelled! People and buildings mature and change with the many benefits and the pitfalls of age and experience, to finally subside into obscurity. For all is, - La change, plus ça change!

Vermont is a commodious house, set among the gentle hills and the benign inhabitants of Southern France. More than a striking building, it is and has been a home, - a safe refuge that has embraced many different people, as it has adjusted to frequent changes through the first half of a tumultuous century. The tall house still stands boldly on its hill, as an enduring statement of stability and hope. It is the focus of the mysteries of unforeseen relationships; of hope and love, - love that should sustain us through life’s challenges, and hope for ourselves and for those who may follow us. This story follows the supposed adventures, - the ups and downs of people’s lives. They are, - The People, who I have come to love, as I have imagined how they might have responded on their various journeys through life. Their lives, extending far beyond the microcosm of Vermont, are set against the challenging, too often violent scenarios of the World at large.

Some individuals reflected in this story I have had the privilege of knowing, others I would have wished to have known! To anyone who may have been inadvertently misrepresented, I offer my sincere, profound apologies.

NOTES:

1 Psalm 68, 13.

2 St Augustine of Hippo (354 – 430), Epistle 143, 2.

CHAPTER 1

THE ARCHITECT

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AUGUSTE RINGWALD

Auguste Hector Ringwald was on his first solo commission, having been recently appointed to be a junior partner of Bertrand Fils, the long-established architects, of 48 Rue des Basses-Trielles, in Poitiers. The Bertrand’s busy Atalier had long served as the official architects, responsible for the maintenance of the historic Cathedral and for many of the fine churches in the City.

As teenagers, Auguste’s parents had both moved with their families from Alsace to Paris, in the turbulent aftermath of the Franco-Prussian War (1869-70). They had met through mutual friends and were married in 1883. Auguste, their only child was born in 1885, to be brought up as the only son of Monsieur Hector and Madam Honore Ringwald. Hector, a prosperous barrister-at-law, had had legal ambitions for their son. However, although Auguste was an excellent scholar, he had a strong artistic bent and was determined to pursue a career as an architect, with his vision of designing grand modern buildings.

Early on a hot July afternoon in 1910, having travelled by the slow, country train from Poitiers, Auguste arrived at the quiet station of the small town of Suaux de l’Etang in Aquitaine. Before continuing to his destination in the village of St Bernard de Clairvaux, Auguste enjoyed the Plat de Jour at the Lion d’Or, - the inn facing onto the square of the little town. The cheery Landlord regretted that there was no means of transport available for hire, so Auguste reluctantly set off on foot, to walk the ten kilometres or so to St Bernard’, carrying his valise and his precious architectural credentials. The bulky portfolio contained his meticulous drawings, the perspectives and detailed refinements that were so highly commended by the professors, when he was awarded his master’s degree at the Ecole Nationale Superieure d’Architecture de Paris-Belleville in 1908. It was the architectural portfolio that had also much impressed Monsieur Alfonse Bertrand, when he applied for the junior position in Poitiers.

ST BERNARD DE CLAIRVAUX

During his walk along the dusty roads through the quiet countryside towards St Bernard’, Auguste had considered the vague terms of his commission. They were challenging, at least in their brevity; - To enlarge and to decorate Vermont, the residence of Monsieur and Madam Henri Barbarin. He wondered what this might mean among the medieval farmsteads set among the rolling hills, pastures and the oak woods. There were few signs of life in the afternoon heat; - walking in the hot sun, Auguste soon regretted the strictures of his clothes. Formal dress was demanded of architects working in Paris and expected by Monsieur Bertrand, and also by his only daughter; the decorous, but cool, Vivienne Bertrand, who was a mere half a decade senior to Auguste’s twenty-five years.

Having followed the St Bernard de Clairvaux sign from cross-roads at Quatre Bras and passed the hamlet of Bignac, Auguste was relieved to be nearing his destination. He crossed the stone bridge over a modest stream that was scarcely more than a succession of pools in the summer drought.

He climbed the steep hill towards the little Church, its spire reflecting the late afternoon Sun, to finally arrive in the village of St Bernard’. Tired and very thirsty, he was relieved to find the Mouton Bleu, the small hotel and restaurant, opposite the School and the Church. It was too late to proceed to Vermont and his first priority was to find some refreshment. Auguste was content with the modest price of a comfortable room, to drink a litre of beer and to wash the dust from his face and hands. After eating a simple dinner, Auguste went outside. In the warmth of the gathering darkness, he reviewed his busy day. He had admired the sweeping vistas from the train, as it made its leisurely way from Poitiers, passing by the lake, as it approached Suaux de l’Etang. He had almost enjoyed the long, hot walk through the quiet country-side, with many oak woods, sheep resting under shady trees and crops awaiting harvest. The rural vistas drowsed in the sun, - during his walk he had seen no one, - and assumed that the farmworkers were resting from the heat of the day. At the cross-roads by the Church he read the finger post in the fading light, - Rue Vermont! So Vermont must be significant, if it deserved a road name, even if it was only marked by a gloomy tree-lined lane.

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

Early the next day, Auguste looked South through early morning mist, across a wooded valley towards a house standing among trees on rising ground, about a kilometre distant. He appraised the symmetry of the building with his professional eye. It was well-built in stone and brick, with three large windows above, and two windows either side of the substantial entrance below. He noted that the steep roof was clad in dark blue slates, probably from the quarry at Angers, - an expensive status symbol among the ubiquitous terracotta Roman tiles of Southern France. He guessed that it had been built in the 1870s. With rising anticipation, he relished his challenge, to enlarge and to decorate! After breakfasting on coffee and croissants, Auguste set-off along Rue Vermont, carrying his portfolio and his large leather-bound note-cum sketch book.

A short way down the hill from the village he passed a fine, tall modern house on his left, announced by a boldly decorated sign stating, - Verger des Fruits. After crossing a small bridge, he came to a simple wooden cross (scarcely a calvary) and a hand-painted sign proclaiming Vermont. A narrow footpath led up to the hill top, - the summit surmounted by a cluster of farm buildings and a house, - the house that he had been engaged to improve. Having been taught that buildings should always be in harmony with their surroundings, Auguste walked slowly up the path assessing the prospect. He later discovered that the main access to Vermont was further to the South, by way of a broad drove-way, flanked by mature oaks leading directly into the farmyard adjacent to the house.

A few days before, Auguste had sent a letter announcing his intended visit, but he now wondered if it had been delivered. Approaching the front door of the house, he could hear sounds of animals and human activity in the farmyard beyond. Climbing the six steps, he addressed a large fist-shaped knocker. Having waited a few minutes, when no one came to the door, Auguste set-off to explore around the house. Opposite a side door stood a substantial brick bake-house, with dressed stone corners and lintels, capped by a Roman-tiled roof. A drift of blue smoke eddied from the chimney and there was an appetising waft of fresh bread from the open door. Inside he was confronted by a rotund, red-faced woman of perhaps fifty summers. The lady baker was wearing a brown linen dress, a large white apron, heavy clogs and a dusty cap. Her surprised expression was occasioned by the sudden appearance of a tall, elegantly-dressed young gentleman, so early in the morning, or at any time of the day in the vicinity of remote St Bernard’. However, Auguste’s Parisian manners required that he should address this lowly farm servant with formal politeness, Good Day Madam, I have an appointment with Monsieur Barbarin. The woman nodded, went to the doorway pulled the chain on a bell and bawled "’Enri, - ‘Enri!".

The tolling of the bell and her very loud cry set-off a commotion among dogs in nearby kennels and cattle in the farmyard beyond. A sergeant major would have been proud to call a whole regiment to attention with a voice like hers. Amazed by her clarion call, Auguste considered for a moment what she might have achieved, if only her voice had been trained. Perhaps she had missed fame and fortune on the stage of the Paris Opera! After her stentorian shout, Auguste and the lady baker remained silent, as she busied herself removing hot loaves from the oven, with the aid of a long wooden paddle, whilst Auguste waited outside. After a few minutes a squat, weather-beaten man appeared, wearing breeches, riding boots, a ragged smock and four days of ginger stubble, beneath a straw hat (it being Thursday, he would next shave for Sunday Mass).

Could this be the Monsieur Barbarin, the important client that Auguste had come so far to see? The farmer held out a gnarled right hand, ’Enri Barbarin! He said briefly, pausing to carefully eye Auguste up and down. The elegant Architect presented his engraved business card. Henri Barbarin scanned the piece of pasteboard with great care, especially as he lacked his spectacles and was unaccustomed to reading such small documents, in French, or in any language ². Having decided that Auguste had come to Vermont at his behest, he relaxed his suspicion, cracked a wry smile and they shook hands once more.

IMPROVEMENTS

When they had decided to enlarge their home at Vermont, Henri and Natalie Barbarin had not known who to write to, what to require, or what they might expect. Henri had asked his old friend the Maire, Jean-Pierre Lenfont to pen a letter in formal French to the Architect in Poitiers; - Bertrand Freres had been recommended by Canon Hubertus, who often spoke of having church business with his Eminence, the grand Bishop. Henri had been content when they had moved from their first home above the stables, to the fine house built by his parents in 1881. But now it was deemed not to be large enough. His wife, Natalie wanted more space and especially more style, in order to confront the supposedly superior de Bergerons, who lived just across the valley in Verger des Fruits. And, Natalie Barbarin now had money, having inherited several hundred thousand francs from her elderly Aunt. Dear Tante Jeanne Jalladeau, an only child, had enhanced her own significant inheritance by making careful investments, but she had never submitted her independence to the rigours and uncertainties of marriage. Despite many proposals from young farmers, who extolled her homely virtues, and the potential opportunity to extend their limited hectares. However, she had resolutely preserved her maidenhood, to live to a fulfilled old age, tending her flowers, her chickens and her bees in the garden of her charming Manoir at La Fanais.

ROMAN CAMP

Before their architectural business could begin, Monsieur Ringwald was politely invited to inspect the garden and, if he wished, the farmyard beyond. Auguste proceeded to explore the grounds around the house. At the end of the footpath, on the boundary of the unkempt orchard, he had noted a shallow depression. He followed it as it surrounded the hill top, the eminence that included the house, the farmyard and its barns. He counted about one hundred paces to each side of the square perimeter. The buildings occupied a plateau with a distinct boundary. In some places there was a fall of two, or more metres down to the surrounding fields. Most likely it was a vallum, - a ditch marking the remains of ancient ramparts. With clear views across the little stream to the North, it would have been an excellent site for a Roman cohort to establish a semi- permanent fort, - much more than a transitory marching camp. After half an hour exploring the hill top, recalling the history of the Gallo-Roman wars ³, Auguste’s reflections were interrupted by a discreet cough from Henri Barbarin.

THE TURRET

Now clad in checked trousers, a short frock coat and a high cravat, Henri Barbarin invited Monsieur Ringwald ceremoniously into the house; - by way of the steps up to the front door and into the Salon, where he formally introduced his wife. Madam Natalie Barbarin was now demurely wearing her best black silk bombazine, black shoes and a crisp white lace cap. Her polite sotto voce contrasted with her previous hoarse bellow. Before business began, coffee (in delicate Limoges porcelain) and oaten biscuits were served from a silver tray by a maid, who bobbed a quick curtsey. She was a pretty girl of perhaps sixteen years, simply dressed in a striped pinafore, apron and clogs. Her auburn hair escaped from under her linen cap, whilst her bright, searching blue eyes carefully examined the new-comer.

Auguste listened carefully to their strongly accented, polite conversation regarding his health, the weather, the state of farming and Monsieur Ringwald’s journey from faraway Poitiers. Then Henri Barbarin raised the business of the extending the house: We want it bigger, he said, With more rooms said Madam Natalie. After a pause she said, - "And it must be more stylish than Verger des Fruits. They don’t have turret, so we must have a turret, with a pointed roof". Auguste made notes, bigger, more rooms and a turret. He then asked What else? Henri blinked and growled, More rooms and a turret. Madam Natalie added, And a big kitchen and a bathroom with flushing lavatories, downstairs and upstairs (the privy just beyond the bake-house continues to serve as a reserve convenience and for those who may be in a hurry). Auguste enquired, Including a bidet? - Yes of course, replied Madam Natalie, unaware of the nature of the item, but quite sure that it would be a necessary facility in her modern house. Auguste added bidet to his notes. Having had their say, the Barbarins, - husband and wife looked expectantly to Auguste.

Gathering his thoughts on the architectural challenge vaguely outlined by his clients, Auguste opened his portfolio, displaying the pictorial results of his visits to the architectural splendours of Paris, Reims and Strasbourg. He spread his precise drawings before his admiring clients. They pointed excitedly to tall chimneys, steep roofs, elaborate windows, chequered brickwork, sculptured masonry, metal shutters and decorative ironwork. They wanted all of the grand architectural features, but in no particular order! Monsieur Henri then asked, - "How much do bathrooms cost?" Auguste explained that it would be necessary to install a septic tank to deal with the waste effluents. He added that estimating costs depended upon the final plans and the materials that would be required. Meanwhile, the pretty maid had slipped back into the room unnoticed, to look wonderingly at Auguste’s drawings, before handing an envelope to Henri Barbarin. Auguste recognised the letter as his own, announcing his intended visit. Such was the slow pace of the rural postal service, especially in the summer heat!

1 Quercus robur and Q sessiliflora.

2 Compulsory free education was not introduced in France until 1882; by then Henri was aged 24.

3 Vercingetorix was finally defeated by Julius Caesar at the siege of Alesia in 52 BC.

CHAPTER 2

THE BARBARIN FAMILY

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