When the French au pair who was to become my wife arrived in Darlington - well it sounded nice if translated as ville des choux choux - one local custom perplexed her.
As I mentioned long ago at Another Place, she could not believe her eyes when she saw that the local evening newspaper was available from an open, unmanned stand.
There was also an honesty box into which, almost without fail, people conscientiously placed their coins. The French, she laughed, would be far too "crafty" to respect such a custom, and no newspaper publisher would be daft enough to trust them to.
A delightful French teacher and singer called Flossie Malavialle, of whom you can read, see and hear more at Salut! Live, has been telling me of the eye-opening aspects of her own first impressions on following in Mme Salut!'s footsteps from France to the same northern town.
No crafty dishonesty here. Stand by for a painfully honest if ultimately affectionate assessment.
Flossie had set her heart on teaching in the UK. Her first ambition was a post in Scotland, but there was no Scottish counterpart available to complete the exchange.
In Stockton-on-Tees, however, was a woman who, irrational as it may seem, had formed the view that life could well be sunnier and more fun in Nimes. Flossie accordingly found herself heading for the North East, to take the Englishwoman's job in Stockton. She went home after the year-long exchange but soon returned to the North East and settled in Darlington.
Decide for yourselves which photograph depicts Nimes and which Darlington....and let Flossie take up her own story:
Adjusting to life in the North East was something else for me...although I could speak English, I found it hard to understand the locals and the kids in school as well!! So it was a long process to get to grips with the accents, expressions etc...I also found life very expensive (and still do!), especially diesel. Everything in general seemed to be so much dearer here than in France. I was also amazed at the number of people being tattooed, pierced, wearing the same tracksuit bottoms and caps... the number of pushchairs and young irresponsible mums behind them.. I discovered the chav culture! And the consumption of alcohol in this country never ceases to amaze me. Appalling rather than amazing, really.
But at least we have saving graces:
....I do find people in the North East friendly and helpful. I drive a lot with the singing and I get to meet loads of people along the way. I must say I've always been nicely surprised by the smiles and the help I get whenever I'm lost or stuck somewhere. Overall, I prefer the respectful attitude of the English in shops, on the roads etc...and in life in general. I don't like the arrogance of some French people and the way they think they can always get away with it when they are on strike. Of course, the sunshine is not particularly present here but it's not just about sunshine, is it? It's about doing something that you like....I've only come across nice friendly people who didn't care whether I was French or not. So much for the so-called animosity between the French and the English and vice versa! People give me bookings because I'm French.
Flossie is hardly the first French person to be taken aback by our drinking excesses, our social and climatic shortcomings and the occasional lapse in fashion taste.
But nor is she the first to warm to the friendliness of northerners. During nine months of living in Le Lavandou, we received no invitations from neighbours to visit their homes.
Within hours of setting up our first marital home, in north-west Durham, we were being offered endless cups of tea, a full rundown on the local gossip and even the information that another Frenchwoman lived in the same one-street village.
There was also no shortage of neighbours' spades, shovels and elbow grease to help us dig our car - actually it was a van - out of three feet of snow. But then, there'd have been no need to dig anything out of snow in the south of France.
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