When Uncle Charlie died in 1999 he left us a pecuniary legacy, having previously extracted a sacred promise that we would spend it wisely. We see-sawed between two choices: a once-in-a-lifetime world cruise, or the renovation of two dilapidated buildings on our property in France. The heart said: take the cruise – this is the only opportunity you’ll ever have. The head said: mend the buildings, because if you don’t, very soon they will fall down and you will have to live forever with two monstrous piles of rubble in your garden, because you will never be able to afford to have them removed.
The head won, and the two buildings were reborn as gîtes: Lavande, a two-bedroom cottage, and Pissenlit, a tiny one-up, one-down. For the next six years, throughout the summer months and over the Christmas period, a succession of holidaymakers would arrive, bringing with them their hopes, habits, hang-ups and idiosyncracies. Some, a few, were so quiet and unobtrusive that they came and went almost unnoticed. Many, but not all, would become friends for life.
True, a few of them left behind an impression I could have done without, but looking back, I wouldn’t have missed a single one. There were times when I could have howled with rage or frustration, but there were far more when I blessed Uncle Charlie for having made it possible to bring into our lives unforgettable characters who made us laugh or scream, warmed our hearts or raised our blood-pressure, but were never boring.
Uncle Charlie’s Legacy is the story of some of those people. It’s still a work in progress and subject to final editing, but every Tuesday I will be posting an excerpt that I hope readers will enjoy.
