Advent Day Twenty-three, seeing the light

Christmas lights

Advent Day Twenty-three

Seeing the light

Light is important at this time of year, and with the solstice this week, we (in the northern hemisphere) can celebrate those precious extra minutes of daylight each day. In the nativity, it was a bright light that announced the birth of Jesus to the shepherds and even with the energy crisis, Christmas lights are popping up everywhere. These can be anything from a simple advent candle to a house and garden flashing away and visible from space. In the last few weeks, my Mum has attended a couple of Light up a Life services where candles have been lit to remember loved ones who have died this year.

 

A December rainbow

Our region of France has a small number of unusual historical features called lanternes des morts. These lanterns are tall, thin needles of stone with a cross and an opening at the top, that date from the 11^th to 13^th centuries. Traditionally found in cemeteries, they were lit when someone died and are thought to have helped guide the soul to its final place of rest. Many were destroyed during the Revolution and others were lost when the original cemeteries they were constructed in were moved to larger plots further out of town, meaning those still in existence are quite rare. There is one in a cemetery in Poitiers that when we drove past it this week, I noticed was lit. As there is still quite a lot unknown about them, I find them fascinating and will always try to detour a bike ride to visit one.

 

La Souterraine Lanterne des Morts

This year we have also seen the one in La Souterraine, in the Creuse and Sarlat, in the Dordogne. In La Souterraine, the lantern is fairly typical, with a hexagonal column, topped by a pyramid and a cross and set in the centre of the cemetery, although it’s only been in this location since 1850.

Sarlat Lanterne des Morts

 

The one in Sarlat differs to most of the others we have come across as it has a domed roof, typical of the Perigordian church turrets, and is much larger and more rounded. It is said to have been built to commemorate the miracle of Saint Bernard de Clairvaux and the healing loaves. Returning from the crusades, according to the legend, St Bernard passed through Sarlat and blessed bread that went on to cure the sick or injured who ate it. It is certainly worth a visit if you are in Sarlat.

 

I’ve had a lightbulb moment this week and am now convinced that not only do I feel better and sleep better if I’ve been out on the bike, but that there is also a direct correlation between pedalling and my brain’s ability to remember things. Basically, for every day without a bike ride, my brain cells are dying off - eek!

 

On this day in 1888 Vincent Van Gogh cut off his left ear. Was it madness or because of an argument with Paul Gauguin? Or maybe it was the stress of Christmas that drove him to it, or simply the fact that he hadn’t been out on his bike. 

Book review of Dead in Tune by Stephanie Dagg

Dead In Tune by Stephanie Dagg

Dead in Tune by Stephanie Dagg

 

It’s nearly Christmas, a time for peace and goodwill. Or maybe not.

 

First the house of a young Spanish family is burned down, and then a Dutch clog dancer is battered almost to death with his own footwear. On the night of the carol service, at which the Worldwide Friendship Club’s choir is singing, a Scottish bagpiper is found dead. By Martha, who has come across enough dead bodies already this year to last her a lifetime.

 

Convinced there’s a link to the choir, Martha and best friend Lottie set out on the trail of the murderer. Their unconventional sleuthing methods land one of them in rather a lot of trouble…

 

‘Dead In Tune’, the sequel to ‘Hate Bale’, is an entertaining, festive cosy mystery set in rural France.  

Dead In Tune by Stephanie Dagg

 

My Review

Following our family Christmas adventure last weekend, I’m returning to the sleepy French rural idyl that is the Creuse, with a great fun, cosy Christmas who dunnit, Dead In Tune by Stephanie Dagg. 

 

We are back with Martha and her friend Lottie (see my review of Hate Bale here) as Christmas is approaching and the Worldwide Friendship Club is organising a carol service. Despite some rivalry over the mince pies, everyone is looking forward to the event until some sinister goings on look set to disrupt their plans, and once again Martha finds herself more involved than she would like.

 

This book is full of humour and colourful characters as Martha and Lottie undertake some amateur sleuthing, convinced they know more than the police. I enjoyed the twists, and the real sense of drama, especially as things got quite heated towards the end. 

 

Having followed author Stephanie’s life in France for many years, her obvious eye for detail and the snippets of her experiences, cleverly woven into the characters and storyline, added authenticity to what was already a very readable mystery. I hope there will be more adventures for Martha and Lottie next year.

 

This is a must read for anyone who wants a trip to the real rural France this Christmas.

Purchase Links

 

Amazon UK  

Amazon US   

Stephanie Dagg

Author Bio

 

I’m an English immigrant living in France with my family, after many years in Ireland. We have a seventy-five acre farm with animals ranging from alpacas to zebra finches. I work part-time as a freelance editor. The rest of the time I'm helping to run our carp fishing lake business and inevitably cleaning up after some or other animal.

 

I’ve written both fiction and non-fiction books, and plenty of them - somewhere around the fifty mark now! Originally I was published by two presses in Ireland, but more recently I’ve taken the self-publishing route. I’m a keen book blogger, and I also love knitting, natural dyeing, gardening and cycling.  

 

Social Media Links   

 

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Christmas in the Creuse

The nativity scene in the village of St-Martin-Ste-Catherine in the Creuse

Christmas in the Creuse

 

It was a genius of an idea. A spur of the moment change of plan that immediately felt so perfect it actually ignited my Christmas spirit – something that never happens in November. 

 

Let me take you back a few weeks, to early November, when Ed and Pearl were home for a weekend visit. We checked our calendars and found a weekend when they were free to dog and house sit for us, so we could escape on the bikes in the hope of catching some fine autumnal colours and exploring some more of France. Adrian, being our chief planner, had found a few accommodation options, when he stumbled upon a bargain that couldn’t be ignored. Rather than a bijou studio apartment for two, with just enough room to squeeze the folded Bromptons in, he’d found a gite that slept six people and was happy to accept dogs, for the same modest price we always search for. A quick chat with Ed and Pearl confirmed they were happy to join us there, direct from Poitiers, and have fun with Mini exploring some new walks. As we won’t all be together for Christmas or New Year, it seemed the perfect opportunity to combine a weekend away and a family pre-Christmas celebration.

An evening stroll, autumn in the Creuse

 

Adrian and I arrived on the Friday, just as the sun was setting, bathing the rural landscape of rolling hills, fields of Limousin cows and autumn-leaved trees in a soft gold. The fire had been lit, adding to the warm welcome we received from Sally and Mark, who had even thought to add some Christmas decorations when we’d explained our weekend plans. We unpacked the car that was stacked to bursting with bicycles, walking boots, food, drink, clothes and the dog, before setting off along the lane for a quick evening stroll. Mini met the resident dogs who were as welcoming as their owners, and they all got on just fine once the ritual bottom sniffing had been attended to.

 

When Ed and Pearl arrived, it was quickly decided that Pearl would be our weekend fire chief. While our heating has always been of the push-button boiler variety, her parents have a woodburning stove and all Adrian and I had succeeded in doing so far, was either letting it go out or, poking it and stoking it, thus filling the room with smoke. With Pearl in charge, we were nice and toasty. 

Setting off for 70km on the Bromptons

 

Once the morning fog had lifted on Saturday, Adrian and I set off for a 70km ride on the Bromptons, exploring an area where the cycling was hilly enough to be challenging, but the autumn colours were stunning and the scenery was gorgeous. We are used to rural French cycling, following the back roads between villages and rarely being bothered by traffic, but the Creuse took quiet, lost lane cycling to a whole new level. It was as if we were the only ones in the world, as village after village slumbered behind closed shutters. Luckily there were cows to keep us company, lots of cows. Their gentle eyes lifted from the seriousness of grass chewing and followed us past their fields, their chestnut colouring blending perfectly with the trees and hedges framing the landscape.

The scallop shell that marks the Camino pilgrimage routes

 

Once again fate had thrown us onto the path of one of the French Caminos, the long-distance pilgrimage routes that cross France heading towards Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. This time it was the route from Vézelay that then heads through Limoges and Bergerac on its way to St Jean-Pied-de-Port in the Pyrenees. So many of our adventures cross the camino, the call to follow it becomes stronger each time.

The 16th Century frescoes in St-Martin-Ste-Catherine

 

As the afternoon drew on, we realised it wasn’t just us who were thinking of Christmas. A pause to rest our legs and look at the sixteenth century frescoes in the rather damp and crumbly church in St-Martin-Ste-Catherine, revealed the nativity scene tucked under the altar, ready for the first Sunday of Advent. The figurines were chipped and worn, no doubt touched by many hands over the years, the manger empty and waiting for its Christmas Day arrival. It was about this time that I began to doubt myself. Daylight was fading fast; the air had become noticeably colder and my legs were tiring with each pedal stroke. What 51-year-old fool thinks she can cycle 70km in an afternoon and then prepare a special four course feast for dinner? That fool would be me! 

A family festive feast

 

It was dark before we returned, but the chatter over aperos soon revived me enough to put together my Christmas flavours risotto; chicken, pumpkin, mushrooms and cranberries, served with side dishes of spicy red cabbage (prepared in advance) and sautéed lardons, leeks and walnuts – the leeks were a good substitute for the Brussels sprouts that didn’t look very appetising when we shopped. We dined like kings, pausing between courses to play games like Boggle, Uno and Head Bandz as the music played and the fire crackled in the background. Ed was our chief entertainer and when I could no longer sit upright, we sprawled on the sofas as he played his guitar.

The gite

  

The gite had everything we needed, including an enclosed garden, endless walks that took in views of the lake, woodlands and fields, and cosy, comfortable beds topped with soft flannelette sheets and heavy, down-filled duvets. The icing on the cake was that it was owned by an Australian ex-pro road cyclist who was happy to talk about cycling and share his knowledge of the local routes. A weekend here was not long enough. For more information you can contact them by email: s.fenner@ftptraining.com

Sunrise from the bedroom window

 

Life has been turned on its head a number of times since the summer and sometimes you just need to stop the madness for a moment. This weekend gave me the chance to reset my head and experience the sunrise from another bedroom window, and it’s always good to see things from a different angle.

 

Thanks for the fun and great memories. You guys are the best.

 

My family - an autumn walk in the Creuse