See you soon Caroline! Chapter 17 Collioure

Chapter Seventeen:

Collioure

 

That night, Caroline lay awake for a long time. It wasn’t that she couldn’t get to sleep, rather it was because there was so much to think about. She had come here to discover more about the camp where her Grandfather lived as a small baby, but now she had somehow stumbled onto another story altogether, a camp for Spanish refugees fleeing from their bombed and battered homeland. How extraordinary that this beautiful part of the world, which was never known for its battlefields or campaigns, should hide so many dreadful secrets of the past.

She was thinking too about Pierre. There was so much about him that she liked, the friendly, open way he chatted to everyone, his sense of humour, his love of his ancestral  homeland, Catalonia. And of course, it was undeniable that he was a very attractive young man! Did he have someone special, she wondered? Was he with a girlfriend somewhere outside the camp when he wasn’t there on duty at the bar? She would like to know, but she could hardly ask him such a question!

The more she thought about it, the more she realised how little she actually knew about him. He had been very good at getting her to talk about herself, where she lived, what she liked to do, and above all of course, the reason why they were all here in Argeles. But what did she know about him? Did he have any brothers and sisters? What did his parents do? Come to think of it, he had never mentioned anything about his family at all, except that both his grandfathers had been in the camp at Argeles back in that bitter winter of 1939.  

That was all she knew about him. She felt that in some ways he was very like John Bond. Like him, Pierre seemed something of a loner, and like him he was obviously very knowledgeable and probably clever at school. She remembered one of the remarks on her last term’s report. “Has done well, but could do so much better if she really wanted to!” She couldn’t imagine either John or Pierre getting that sort of comment!

He was very different from John Bond in many ways of course. No one would ever call him a geek! Yet there was a kind of sad loneliness about him that she had glimpsed last night in the Spanish cemetery, when she had wanted so much to say something to break the spell of gloom that had come upon him, but knew that she hadn’t the right words to say. She felt that he would be a difficult person to get to know, and there were only a few days left!

It was with these thoughts chasing through her mind, that she finally fell asleep.

 

Already it was Tuesday! They were moving on to the next campsite on Saturday.  That only left three days after today, and one of those would be taken up with the long awaited visit to the camp at Rivesaltes!  At breakfast there was the usual discussion about what they would do today, and the usual disagreement about any idea proposed.

Mr Weaver thought it too hot to do anything energetic, and proposed lazing round the pool all day reading an English newspaper. His wife would dearly like to go into Perpignan and have a good look at the shops, and perhaps a coffee or even a glass of wine in a department store. Caroline’s brother, Simon, was set on visiting the nearby Aquapark with its multitude of attractions – which included a couple of girls he had overheard planning such a trip yesterday!

And Caroline? Well, Caroline wanted to find out more about the Argeles Concentration Camp of seventy odd years ago. What had it been really like? And why had it been allowed to happen? She felt that armed with this knowledge, she might be able to get a little closer to Pierre. Then she felt  immediately very guilty, and told herself that she should value knowledge for its own sake, and not as a means of impressing  others!

In the end, the problem was settled by agreeing to go their own ways. Simon set off down the road to walk to the Aquapark. Caroline walked in exactly the opposite direction to find the tourist office where she hoped that she might get further information, and Mr Weaver relented and agreed to drive his wife the fifteen kilometres into Perpignan.

At the Tourist Office, Caroline found several leaflets giving information about the former camp. There were some very graphic pictures showing a beach totally invisible under a mass of human beings. There were soldiers in greatcoats, old men in rags, barefoot children, women huddled in groups, and apart from some crude shelters made from driftwood and branches from trees, and a few scraps of canvas, there appeared to be no shelter. It was very much as she had imagined it from Pierre’s description. She wandered down onto the beach, which although busy, still had vast areas of open sand, and she realised  just how many folk there must have been here on that icy night in February to fill the beach in that picture.

She wandered slowly back to the campsite, her mind taking in all that she had read and seen.

There was nobody in the chalet, which didn’t surprise her. They wouldn’t be back for hours yet. She took the brochures that she had picked up in the tourist office, and sat in the shade on the private terrace of their chalet.

She must have dropped off she supposed, because she came to with a start as she heard her name spoken. It was Pierre, standing there outside the fence which surrounded their little garden.

He grinned, “Sorry if I’ve disturbed you!” he said.

She wondered how she must look, having been caught napping! “I was just resting my eyes” she said. “It’s the sun, it hurts them when it’s so strong!”

“You should try dark glasses” said Pierre still grinning. “I just popped over from the bar, I’m on duty this morning, so I can’t stay! Would you like to come out with me this afternoon to Collioure?”

Of course she would! But should she say so?

“I’ll have to see what my parents say” she responded. “Maybe they’ve planned something. I don’t know, they’re in Perpignan at the moment.”

“OK! I’ll come back about two-o-clock. Will you know by then?”

“Maybe! What’s this place you mentioned? They’ll want to know where I’m going!”

“Collioure! It’s a beautiful fishing village. It’s only a few minutes from here. You’ll love it! Bring your camera! I must go! À bientôt !”

There was that grin again! He knew that she would say ‘yes’, and she knew that he knew! 

Her parents were back soon after one. Simon hadn’t appeared, he would probably be gone all day. As they sat down to a quiet snack of cheese and  baguettes and white wine (diet coke for Caroline), she thought carefully of how she was going to bring up the subject of going off with Pierre this afternoon. She was still anxiously turning the question over in her mind when he appeared!

He smiled at the family and said “Bon appetit!”

Mr and Mrs Weaver were somewhat bemused by this, and replied “Bonjour!” as that was the only greeting they were confident with.

Turning to Caroline, he asked “OK for Collioure  then?”

‘Oh God!’ thought Caroline. ‘Here we go!’ Addressing her parents, she found herself saying in a voice she didn’t recognise as her own: “Pierre has invited me to go with him to a fishing village near here. Is that OK?”

“Where is this place? How are you going to get there?” demanded her father.

“It’s Collioure  Mr Weaver!” replied Pierre. “We’ll go on my scooter!”

“Not with Caroline on the back, you won’t!” said her father sharply. “She’s not going on any scooter with anybody! She hasn’t got the kit for it, and that’s that!”

Caroline was mortified with embarrassment. She hadn’t known what Pierre was going to propose, if she had she could have told him that her parents would never agree to such an idea.

“Couldn’t we go on the bus?” she asked Pierre.

“Yes!” he replied somewhat unexpectedly. “There’s quite a good bus service. Every hour or so, and it’s only one euro each way!”

Mr Weaver raised his eyebrows. This young man seemed to have an answer for everything. “How long will it take?” he asked.

Pierre assured him that the bus ride was no more than about twenty minutes, and that he would promise to get Caroline back at whatever time Mr Weaver proposed.

 

 “Well, what do you think of it?” asked Pierre.

They were sitting on the top of a flight of stone steps which climbed up from the path below. Above them was a canopy of olive trees, providing welcome shade from the burning sun. In front of them was the harbour, the white sails of yachts bobbing in the breeze, and beyond where the harbour wall curved round, an ancient church rising apparently from the sea, and crowned with a dome which sparkled in the sun.

“It’s marvellous!” breathed Caroline. She had thought Argeles was pretty good, but this was out of this world. “What a view!”

“Many famous artists used to come here to paint” said Pierre. “You can see why!”

They had walked to the bus stop where they had caught the train-bus the other day, and taken the bus to Collioure. The journey had been brief as Pierre had promised, but it had also been stunning. The road had twisted and turned along the cliffs, giving views in all directions, sometimes of the broad sweep of the bay past Argeles and St Cyprien and on into the hazy distance, and sometimes ahead to the foothills of the Pyrenees tumbling into the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean.

“What would you like to do now?” asked Pierre.

“Can we just sit here for a while and look at the view?” pleaded Caroline. “It’s so hot out there, but there’s a lovely breeze under these trees, and there’s so much to take in!”

So they sat there together as the world passed by just below them. Youngsters rushing about on their way in or out of the water, elderly folk strolling along, children with buckets and spades, couples with their arms round each other and oblivious of all else as they chattered and giggled. Caroline had to pinch herself to be sure that it was really true, that she, Caroline Weaver, was sitting here in this paradise with a boy she had only known for two or three days! And what did she know of him? Hardly anything really!

“You’re quiet!” said Pierre. “What are you thinking about?”

“Well, you actually!” replied Caroline rather daringly. “I was just thinking that I don’t know anything about you really! You know all about why I’m here, the story about my Grandad and so on. You know my brother and my parents, but I don’t even know your second name!”

Pierre smiled. “There’s not much to know really!  There’s thousands of people like us in this part of France. We’re the leftovers from the Retirada of seventy years ago!”

“The Retirada? What’s that?”

“It’s the Catalan word for the great wave of refugees who left Spain to escape General Franco!”

“But I still don’t know anything about you!” exclaimed Caroline. “Do you have brothers and sisters? Where do you live? What do your parents do? And what do you do when you’re not working in the bar?”

“You don’t want to know much, do you!” retorted Pierre. “OK – I’ve a sister, we live in Argeles, my Dad is a plumber, and I’m about to start my last year at Lycee before going to University.”

“And what are you going to study at Uni?”

“Well, not plumbing, that’s for sure! But exactly what, I haven’t decided yet. There’s plenty of time for that!”

“And your grandparents, are they all still alive?”

“I think I told you that my two grandfathers were in the camps after the Retirada. They are both fine. So is my Mum’s mother. But Dad’s mother, that’s a bit complicated. Come to think of it, it’s a bit like your family. My Dad’s mother died when he was born.”

“So you only have one grandmother?” asked Caroline.

“Well – my Grandad couldn’t manage his work and look after my Dad when he was just a baby, so he got a young lady to help him, and not long afterwards they were married. So I have got two grandmothers, but only one of them is my real grandmother!”

“That must have been awful for your Dad!” said Caroline. Does he have any brothers or sisters?”

“He has two step-brothers, younger than him of course. But he doesn’t have a lot to do with them. He’s always felt somehow different, having a different mother I suppose.”

Caroline wondered whether this explained the strange kind of loneliness that she had noticed in him. Was it because he was a Spanish boy brought up in France, and in a family which was broken by a death and remarriage? Was this the reason for his dwelling on the sad events on the beaches at Argeles?

“Now what are you thinking about?” enquired Pierre teasingly.

“I was thinking that perhaps we should be moving along!” she lied. “Remember you promised to get me back by five!”

She got up quickly and started to descend the steps, but she misjudged both their height and width, and stumbled into the arms of Pierre who had anticipated her move. He held her for a moment, and then taking hold of her hand, said “Here, let me help you down these steps, they’re more difficult than they look!”

Not knowing what to say, she obediently let him guide her down to the pathway, where, after a while he eventually released her hand. They walked on beneath the massive walls of the citadel built hundreds of years ago to protect the harbour, both of them aware that something had just changed in their relationship, and neither of them daring to speak first!

Arriving at the bus stop, it appeared that there was nearly half an hour to wait for the next bus, so they sat at a nearby café with tables and chairs on the pavement and ordered cooling drinks. Somehow, conversation seemed hard to commence, and when Caroline eventually reached her parents’ chalet, she couldn’t decide whether her first date with Pierre had been a success or a failure!