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Moncontour, Brittany

It was a very small French town - little more than a village - and it preserved the traditional hierarchy of importance: first, the Priest, then the Mayor, and, thirdly, the Doctor. This order sometimes varied depending on whether the parishioner needed an urgent political favor, a cure for sickness of his body or of his soul, but in general society revolved around the triumvirate with this order of respect. Since there was no such thing as television, societal entertainment consisted of a round of dinners given by these three. It was Williams' turn to entertain when I arrived. A dinner would be prepared.

Fortunately, Marie, a beautiful young lady who I had met intimately before, who was imported from the neighboring village Binic to my delight, as well as the good Tante Yvonne, an ancient maiden aunt of the family, would assist his wife. On one occasion, following the lead of the eldest of the Lasker brood, I addressed Tante Yvonne as "Tu -". This was a familiarity to which little old ladies in small French towns do not take kindly. I was firmly and distinctly put in my place, a place, which was not part of the family - I had no right to be 'fresh', and I should henceforth address her as Madame Lasker, or, in extreme cases, as "Vous." It was another lesson in French that I have never forgotten.

French society dinners in small towns, in those leisurely days, lasted from late afternoon to early morning. They were a series of courses, eight or nine at least, each accompanied by the correct wine, and each separated from the next by suitable time to complete the cooking and by suitable time to conduct reasonable conversation. There was no rushing good food and no curtailing good conversation.

Williams' house was a tall thin building, which had been part of the old town wall. Looking out of the front windows one could see the Mairie across the town square, but from the back window one peered down steep walls, and further down a rocky cliff to farm fields outside and below the town. Inside, the house was a maze of narrow winding staircases, thick stone battlement walls with mysterious niches and crannies. The inner walls were made of wattle and daub. Cleaning the home must have been a character builder and redecorating was limited to centennial repairs.

Now, with a ceremonial dinner to prepare, the house was a hive of activity, from Marie upstairs, preparing rooms for guests, to Tante Yvonne lording over a number of volunteer cooks in the dungeon

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