Just How Do You Entertain A Priest If You Can't Speak French and Are Not Catholic?
This memoir is another in our French Life Series where we share what living in France is really like for our Australian family. We went on holiday to France with our daughter, and bought a house in Brittany while we were there, and have been living between our homes in Australia and France ever since. This story is from our early years in France ...
After settling, to some degree, into our new life in France we decided to attend a Sunday service at the local église catholique (Catholic church). We had previously had a failed attempt at this rather simple activity as it was not obvious that, rather than having a service every Sunday, the commune took turns in conducting the Sunday service on a set roster with priests doing the rounds of the local villages. This of course meant that on our first attempt to attend a service, we had turned up on a Sunday our village was 'un-rostered'.
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Due to declining numbers in many small villages, (and possibly non attendance by the younger generation), the commune priest would rotate around the villages, so everyone could attend their local church once every five weeks or make the travel on the other weeks to neighbouring villages if they chose.
Attending Church in France
I’m not sure where this roster is displayed, maybe in an obscure place on the Tabac (local shop) notice board or maybe pasted on the wall between the fresh baguette stand and the boxes of pasta, or maybe you just had to be “in the know”. Anyhow, not being ‘in the know’ or finding any notice, we had previously rugged up against the bone chilling cold by donning gloves, boots and hats and headed to the church. We stood and waited, stood and waited a bit longer, and then eventually realised church was not on for that day and walked home. Much colder and not really any the wiser, we later asked around and got enough info to understand that there was a rotating roster in place.
So, for the next two Sundays we peered through our frosty windows around service time watching for the tell tale signs that Church was on, that is, more cars than normal driving through the main street and heading in the general direction of the église or chatter from church goers walking along the footpath. We struck lucky on the third Sunday, and when we noticed all the extra activity, we did the usual winter layering dance of piling cloths upon cloths, and took ourselves off to church.
Sneaking Into Church - Almost Unnoticed
Having waited until we knew for certainty that a service was on, meant that by the time we reached the church courtyard ourselves, the service had began so we made our way as quietly as possible to the little rear door. Have you ever tried walking on scrunchy graveyard gravel? You can't do this quietly! Well, with me and the kids scrunching our way to the little rear door, we then made a bit of an entrance when the ancient side door squeaked its annoyance at being used. Apparently not many people sneak in the side door. Trying to hide, we tiptoed into the very back wooden pew and slowly peeled off the extra winter layers. While the large church was not warm, we didn’t need all those extra layers so eventually after taking jackets, gloves, scarves and hats off we were able to relax and take in our surroundings.
Feeling a little conspicuous, I was delighted when the priest looked our way and without missing a beat gave us all a little smile and twinkled his eyes as if to say ‘it’s okay – welcome’. Not being Catholic I had no idea of the service procedure so we just stood when everyone else did and bowed our heads when everyone else did. Add to the fact that everything was in French (and none of us know French) we were never going to know what was going on anyway. We still loved the chance to be able to experience another aspect of French village life, and with services like this having been conducted over the ages, I felt we were witnessing something very ancient whilst also modern.
Standing Out In A Crowd
I think we must have stood out amongst his normal parishioners because at the end of the service the priest quickly made his way over to us and tried to engage us in conversation. Not understanding French, I really had no idea whether he was speaking classic French or our regional Breton dialect. I figured however after casting my eyes over the attending parishioners and putting their collective age over 1,000 (no one under the age of 60 at least), I thought regional Breton was likely the winning language. This though I will never know.
With smiles, gestures and maybe a bit of exaggeration, we both seemed to think we understood the other a little but at the end of it, it appeared we had invited the local priest (who I dubbed Monsieur Priest) to our house.
So, leaving him to lock up his church we walked home and not much later Monsieur Priest was at our front door. Now, how to entertain a non English speaking Catholic priest? Well, I thought I’d gesture for him to follow me into the kitchen and I could ask him to enjoy a warm drink. That worked well and tea it was to be for him. He chatted away to the kids in his friendly way and they, while having no clue as to what he was saying, where happy to look at him and be talked to. His robes and adornments were a novelty to them and I think they found it all rather entertaining.
Entertaining Our Religious Guest
After tea and biscuits, I wasn’t sure what to do next so a tour of the house seemed a good idea. So, gesturing once again I motioned for him to follow and using one or two word phrases I explained what each room was – which in retrospect was a bit pointless because a child’s bedroom looks just like what it is, and a bathroom looks just like what it is. Anyhow, as we went from room to room and climbed staircase after staircase, once we reached the attic I realised that my idea maybe wasn’t a good one at all as Monsieur Priest was breathing hard and looking quite flushed.
As I took it in, he was most likely in his late 70s or even 80s and seemed to have only just made it up the three flights of stairs. Oops, I now had to get him safely downstairs, particularly down the narrow steep stairs that had lead him up to the attic. All I could see racing in my mind was that the 'crazy Australians' had caused the local Catholic priest to have a heart attack in their house. My thoughts flitted to ambulances, inadequate French speaking skills and police questioning. If he didn’t have a heart attack then at the very least he was likely to trip and fall down the steep stairs with his teetering steps, unbalanced walking and ceremonial long robes. Oh, what had I done?
Playing Scalextric Cars With The Children
Maybe understanding more than me that he needed a breather, Monsieur Priest pointed to the boys Scalextric track and cars that was set up in the attic bedroom and motioned that he wanted to play. As the three kids had followed Monsieur Priest around the house mesmerised with his long cream and golden robes they were only too happy to have someone new to play with. So I pulled over one of the bedroom armchairs and Monsieur Priest gratefully took a seat and played with Thomas and Anthony, who sitting on the floor, were delighted to play with their very distinguished guest.
After a bit, having caught his breath Monsieur Priest motioned he would need to leave us and so I swiftly made my way down the stairs ahead of him holding firmly to the side walls, thinking I could break his fall if need be. Thankfully our visitor made his way safely down the stairs descending slowly and carefully and once downstairs, he invited us to attend future services. However, with a handshake for the boys and I and a gentle stroking of Emily's head, our kindly and gentlemanly guest bade his farewells and walked back down the street to his car.
That day Monsieur Priest walked to his car and out of our life – we have never seen him again, but we will fondly remember the day we entertained the genteel and gracious man we call Monsieur Priest with his twinkling eyes and deft skill at Scalextric cars.
Related Stories of Living in France
A Nativity Play at Chapelle Sainte-Anne, Corlay - disaster was diverted at a children's nativity play one Christmas
Monsieur All-About - the funny, elderly gentleman who seems to be everywhere, all the time
