Our house in France was part of an old stone farmhouse, surrounded by similar stone barns and outhouses, yards and hedges, vegetable gardens and fields.

There was an ancient orchard of gnarled apple trees among which grazed a sheep and her lamb and a dear old grey donkey. There were also hens, free ranging!!, three farm kittens and a painted gypsy caravan…..just for atmosphere, I suspect.

The couple, Bernie and Caroline, were away in The Canary Islands soaking up sun (what a life) so we never met them. Sharon, another English woman had bought the farmhouse next door … a grand old two storey stone house and accompanying large stone barn where she kept her bike and did her laundry. She moved permanently to France with her teenage son, Lloyd, who loved riding his small motor scooter around the property, and to school in a nearby town.

Our part of the farm had living, kitchen and bathroom downstairs, including an open fire which we lit each night, and two attic bedrooms up a winding staircase. All decorated in French farmhouse style, and so idyllic I could have stayed for almost ever.

We were part of a small village, Brece, on the border of Normandy and Brittany and seemed to be in one or the other most of the time. Every small village or town in that part of France ( or everywhere?) clusters around the church, usually old and most imposing. Tall grey spires were seen from the distance. Our church in Brece, “Eglise Notre Dame”, 15th C, was typical. Around it spread the cobbled streets, plain stone houses with faded shutters on windows with Breton lace curtains, some completely shuttered up (just for the winter), belonging to absent owners. There was a “Boulangerie and Patisserie”, usually always a “Coiffure” and not much more. It was very austere, except for the spring bulbs and blossom. There was always a town square, sometimes a war memorial, in plain gravelled open spaces. Nearby towns, depending on size, had more shops ….”Charcuterie”, “Boucherie” and “La Poste”.

In villages and small towns all older men wore berets of one form or another and walking sticks were common. Everyone over the age of 60 seemed to have one !!

Men and women carried shopping baskets and almost all seemed to carry the inevitable breadstick. We bought ours each day and gorged on fine cheeses and terrines !!

The superb “chateaux” and lakes, moats and town squares of the larger towns were worth exploring. Many cities had remnants of castle walls and the medieval houses within lined narrow, cobbled streets.

The towns close from 12 noon until 2:00 pm except for the restaurants which offer the “plat du jour” on chalkboards outside….so tempting and often the best choice anyway. Everyone eats at that time, tables of workers, couples or singles. Wine and beer are served.

“ ...so while Breton lace still curtains the farmhouse window, a low slung Citroen with Parisian plates lurks in the cart barn: the bakers oven still juts out from the side of the boulangerie but, warmed by central heating instead of charcoal, it houses a tasteful library: the pantiled outshut that was once open to the west winds and festooned with fishing nets is now glassed in and log-jammed with potted begonias and sunny geraniums.” -…guidebook

Many of the houses In Normandy are half-timbered and very old. The cobbled streets are narrow and houses often overhang like The Shambles in York and parts of Ludlow and Shrewsbury in Shropshire.

Travel is never without some hassles. One kitten got into our house and scoffed terrine and cheese (what a find). We became completely lost trying to find our way out of Rouen, a huge city with an old and fascinating town centre.