As I gazed around, I noticed high above said hole, not only a long metal chain hanging to flush the toilet, but also an old metal pole with a shower head, from which water dripped. Then I saw that, propped up against the wall, was a slatted wooden rack. The supervisors showed me how I was to place the rack over the “toilet” and stand on it while I had my shower. I was speechless. I knew, as proved to be the case, that if I dropped anything (a bar of soap, a face cloth, a razor), it would be gone forever, through those slats to some monolithic wastewater and sewer system several stories below.
The room contained no shower curtain, no towel rail, nothing but the typical two-door French window with its external wooden shutters. I felt as if I was going back in time, to an era that no longer existed, surely? But, obviously, yes, it did, here in rural Cantal, and I was staring at it. To make matters worse, as I soon found out, unless I timed my bathroom visits for when all lessons were in session, this bathroom would have me clutching my toiletries and my towel, going up and down the ancient wooden stairs, whilst surrounded by students heading to the classrooms nearby.
I was beyond shocked, but presumed this was the norm in buildings in this part of France. I must be luckier than some local inhabitants, I reasoned, because, after all, hadn’t I just seen those peasant-looking women in their wooden clogs, carrying their water jugs, gathered round the stone fountain in the market square to get their water for the day? At least I would have some form of plumbing available.
So began my year of living in a medieval building, isolated in the middle of the Auvergne countryside, high up on the Plomb du Cantal, France, miles from any town of note. It felt almost surreal to me to be in such a place in 1967-68. It was such a far cry from my home in Rhodesia.
One thing struck me, though. I couldn’t imagine that anyone at all spoke English around here, so I was certainly going to improve my spoken French, wasn’t I? There was no alternative. How else was I going to survive?
Survive, I did, despite endless difficulties and enormous political upheaval which none of knew was to hit France the following year.
