Patricia Sands

Author

Social issues

Lest we forget ~ November 11, 2018

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Remembrance Day ~ Canada

Tomorrow at the 11th hour of the 11th day in this the 11th month, our country will pause for two minutes’ silence to remember those  heroes who have given their lives and in respect of all who offer their service … in every country. 

We owe so much to so many.

1452417_430285330427581_1903646163_n

I have posted this page in years past on this date. Since there are many new followers of my website, I want to share it again for those who haven’t seen it. For others, I hope you don’t mind the repetition. I feel these stories can never be shared too often.

In 2010, my husband and I went on a journey to locate the grave of my Uncle Harry whose Lancaster bomber had been shot down on June 13, 1944, near Cambrai, France. All six crew members  perished.

dsc06602

We discovered they are buried in a small Allied cemetery in the middle of farmland, rather than in one of the major cemeteries in France.

It was quite an experience just finding it, but that’s a story for another day. When I inquired as to why they were in that location, the Office of Military Affairs explained that they had been buried there by the nearby villagers at the time and so would remain close to where they had died. The cemetery was immaculately tended … and watched over by curious cows.

France-PSandsPhotos

Coincidentally, just a week before our visit, another relative of one of the crew had visited the cemetery. He left a note in the guest book (found in metal boxes at every cemetery) that gave us some personal information about the day these men died. They had been on a bombing raid over the rail yards in Cambrai. The war was being won. The men were heading back to their base in England to make it in time for the local dance that evening.

Sadly, they did not get there.

Learning this small piece of personal information, made our visit that much more emotional and intimate.

As a child, I had always been intrigued by stories about my Uncle Harry, the youngest of 5 boys, and only 20 years old when he died. There were framed photos of him in his uniform with a dazzling smile in my parents’ and grandparents’ homes. You could feel his pride. And theirs.

When we went on our mission to ‘find Uncle Harry’, we also spent a few days in Normandy and did the tours of the WW2 landing beaches, something I recommend to everyone who has the opportunity.

It’s an emotional experience as the history of the war becomes vividly presented by guides who must take courses in this information and pass exams before receiving a license to guide. The French take the preservation of this history very seriously and are to be commended for doing so.

DSC06954

As we toured the museums and memorial centres, it struck me that in so many of the photographs of men and women in service for their country, pride was stirringly evident in their expressions. It seems to go with the wearing of the uniform and the understanding of what that represents.

Thank you to every one of the members of armed services – past and present – for putting yourself in danger for your country and taking on that onerous task with such commitment. We are proud of you and eternally grateful.

Thank you, Uncle Harry.

Normandy 2010

Wear your poppy proudly. Please make certain to preserve and keep alive the stories of the members of your families who have served in the armed forces. Always remember. In doing some research, I discovered this excellent video. It only pertains to the American cemeteries but could be talking about all of the Allied burial grounds.

Normandy

No matter what our country, hearts are touched by the selfless giving of all who serve. The museums and preserved landing beaches of Normandy offer an emotional lesson in historyto all who have the good fortune to visit there.

Most Canadians proudly wear a poppy for a week or so before November 11th to show their respect for veterans. Click here for an  excellent explanation of how the poppy came to be such a strong symbol of remembrance.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Have you preserved stories of your family’s service?

Pétanque? Paul Shore explains in UNCORKED!

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It’s a pleasure to have a visit today from Canadian author, Paul Shore, who currently lives in one of my most favourite places on the planet (apart from the south of France, of course) … the magnificent mountain community of Whistler, British Columbia.

Paul has written a delightful memoir, Uncorked,  about the year he spent in France living in Saint-Paul de Vence ~ another stunningly beautiful venue.  He did not realize his good fortune when he first discovered he was going to live in this ancient hilltop village. But the affection he gradually developed for his temporary home is obvious as his tale unfolds.

The charm of Saint-Paul is widely known and it is a popular stop (to say the least) during tourist season, with its close proximity to the Côte d’Azur. However, when visiting during quieter times, one understands immediately the lure that drew so many famous people to stay here (Chagall, Miro, Bracque, Picasso, Yves Montand and Simone Signoret ~ to name just a few.)

Saint-Paul de Vence is also the home of the iconic restaurant and inn, La Colombe d’Or. Its history is well worth reading and informs more about the charm of the area.

But today our story is all about Paul and pétanque.

He’s explained a bit about his book in our brief interview here.

PSands ~ How did you come to live in the village of Saint-Paul de Vence?

PShore ~ I was assigned by the software startup company I was working for to relocate to the Nice area because our largest business partner, Texas Instruments, was based there.  I told the relocation agency, who had been hired to find me a place to live, that I wanted to live in a small village, rather than living directly in Nice.  The first apartment they showed me that wasn’t a run-down mess was in Saint-Paul, and I jumped at it because the town was quaint and I needed to find a place to quickly, so that I could get on with my work. Little did I know what an amazing place I was about to live in, or that Marc Chagall had lived there for much of his life.

PSands ~ Why did you want to play pétanque?

PShore ~ I love games that involve coordination and strategy and, just by watching, it was clear that pétanque required both. I also was having a hard time making friends and breaking in to French culture, and I thought that if I could learn this game that might change.

PSands ~ How did you meet Hubert and get him to teach you pétanque?

PShore ~ Hubert was a neighbor, who ran the town’s website, so we connected easily over our common interest in technology. Getting him to teach me pétanque was difficult though. At first he didn’t want to teach me because I was a foreigner. After a lot of persistence (and nagging) on my part, he finally agreed to teach me… in the dark of night, when nobody would see.

 

PSands ~What is your fondest memory of your year in France?

PShore ~ After having been accepted as a good player, who deeply understood the game and its importance, I was surprised one day to be invited into the private member’s club that no tourist ever is allowed to set foot in.  I was then presented with a permanent membership card that I still cherish to this day.  With this little card I was welcomed into the local pétanque fraternity, with a kiss on both cheeks, by one of the respected older female players, who I had always looked up to.  I will never forget the emotional moment that deep honor was bestowed on me!

PSands ~ You write with a wonderful wry wit and yet you manage to always show respect for French culture.  How do you maintain that balance?

PShore ~ I make frequent use of self-deprecating humor to tell anecdotes that find humor in my missteps rather than needing to poke fun at locals.  And when I do happen to poke fun at a local or at a local tradition, I make it clear that I am fond of the very quirk that I am targeting.

Thanks so much for visiting my blog, Paul. It’s an absolute pleasure to get to know you and share your work here.

Buy UNCORKED by clicking here.

Paul Shore is an award-winning author and technology industry veteran, who has worked around the globe. His second book, “Uncorked”, is an Amazon Best Seller, a Whistler Independent Book Award Winner, and a Next Generation Indie Book Award Finalist.

Learn more on Paul’s Amazon Author Page, Facebook and his website www.pshore.com.

Note to readers ~ The game of pétanque is played every day in every city, town, village, hamlet throughout France. Everything you ever wanted to know about the game of pétanque, or boules, is explained in great detail in Paul’s book. He leaves no nuance left unturned! For the first time, I actually understood the game after reading Paul’s book.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lest We Forget ~ November 11, 2017

by

Remembrance Day ~ Canada

Tomorrow at the 11th hour of the 11th day in this the 11th month, our country will pause for two minutes’ silence to remember those  heroes who have given their lives and in respect of all who offer their service … in every country. 

We owe so much to so many.

1452417_430285330427581_1903646163_n

I have posted this page in years past on this date. Since there are many new followers of my website, I wanted to share it again for those who haven’t seen it. For others, I hope you don’t mind the repetition. I feel these stories can never be shared too often.

In 2010, my husband and I went on a journey to locate the grave of my Uncle Harry whose Lancaster bomber had been shot down on June 13, 1944, near Cambrai, France. All six crew members  perished.

dsc06602

We discovered they are buried in a small Allied cemetery in the middle of farmland rather than in one of the major cemeteries in France.

It was quite an experience just finding it, but that’s a story for another day. When I inquired as to why they were in that location, the Office of Military Affairs explained that they had been buried there by the nearby villagers at the time and so would remain close to where they had died. The cemetery was immaculately tended … and watched over by curious cows.

France-PSandsPhotos

Coincidentally, just a week before our visit, another relative of one of the crew had visited the cemetery. He left a note in the guest book (found in metal boxes at every cemetery) that gave us some personal information about the day these men died. They had been on a bombing raid over the rail yards in Cambrai. The war was being won. The men were heading back to their base in England to make it in time for the local dance that evening.

Learning this small piece of personal information, made our visit that much more emotional and intimate.

As a child, I had always been intrigued by stories about my Uncle Harry, the youngest of 5 boys, and only 20 years old when he died. There were framed photos of him in his uniform with a dazzling smile in my parents’ and grandparents’ homes. You could feel his pride. And theirs.

When we went on our mission to ‘find Uncle Harry’, we also spent a few days in Normandy and did the tours of the WW2 landing beaches, something I recommend to everyone who has the opportunity.

It’s an emotional experience as the history of the war becomes vividly presented by guides who must take courses in this information and pass exams before receiving a license to guide. The French take the preservation of this history very seriously and are to be commended for doing so.

DSC06954

As we toured the museums and memorial centres, it struck me that in so many of the photographs of men and women in service for their country, pride was stirringly evident in their expressions. It seems to go with the wearing of the uniform and the understanding of what that represents.

Thank you to every one of the members of armed services – past and present – for putting yourself in danger for your country and taking on that onerous task with such commitment. We are proud of you and eternally grateful.

Thank you, Uncle Harry.

Normandy 2010

Wear your poppy proudly. Please make certain to preserve and keep alive the stories of the members of your families who have served in the armed forces. Always remember. In doing some research, I discovered this excellent video. It only pertains to the American cemeteries but could be talking about all of the Allied burial grounds.

Normandy

No matter what our country, hearts are touched by the selfless giving of all who serve. The museums and preserved landing beaches of Normandy offer an emotional lesson in history to all who have the good fortune to visit there.

Most Canadians proudly wear a poppy for a week or so before November 11th to show their respect for veterans. Click here for an  excellent explanation of how the poppy came to be such a strong symbol of remembrance.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Have you preserved stories of your family’s service?

A breast cancer journey …

by

 

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month in countries all around the world.

If you are like me, your life has been touched in one way or another by this pervasive disease. My mother had breast cancer in her eighties that resulted in a mastectomy. One of our daughters is a THRIVER … a term I learned many woman choose to use as they move on with their lives. After a vicious attack, double mastectomy and reconstruction, chemotherapy and radiation, seven years later she is strong and healthy.

Treatments have improved so much, the future is bright for so many who receive the initial frightening diagnosis.

Today, to honour the fight against breast cancer, I would like to highlight the journey of a friend and fellow author, Liza Perrat. I was so pleased when she agreed to write this post for us. Liza is a talented author, originally from Australia, who married a French man and has raised her family in France. More about that later. Here is the story she would like to share with us:

A Reluctant Journey

Reluctant because you’d not planned it, did not want it, had no time for it in your busy life. But most of all because you feared this breast cancer journey that had been foisted upon you one chill autumn morning of 2016.

No, no, no, not you! Surely not? There’s a mistake? No mistake, Liza, this time it’s you. And, whether you want it or not, you are going on this journey.

Reluctantly, you pack your suitcase: passport (with visa stamped, “To Hell and, maybe, Back”), bottle of lavender oil to massage away chemo headaches, tube of special cream to avoid radiotherapy burns, all-cotton-sports-support-wireless-bras in assorted colours.  Oh and don’t forget the “fighting, positive” spirit; you’re going to need barrels of that, where you’re off to.

You lock up the house, take a big breath and lug that suitcase out into the cold. The next three seasons –– the time you’ll be away (if all goes well) –– stretch before you, dauntingly, fearfully, as if you are standing at the foot of Mount Everest.

From your hospital bed, post-surgery, you watch the leaves turn their brilliant autumn shades of scarlet, mustard, cinnamon. Beautiful, you think, when the surgeon says, “I think we got it all… it only metastasized to one lymph node.” Those autumn hues are more exquisite than you’d ever noticed before.

Autumn quickly recedes to dismal winter, its grey moments of despair, self-pity and depression hovering like storm clouds over that mountain. Some days you feel like your journey is a never-ending uphill climb, the peak receding like a desert mirage.

But as the surgical scars begin to heal, the melting snow washes away the darkness. You look towards the next mountainous challenge: chemotherapy.

You turn up every third Thursday very early in the morning. No sleep in for the wicked! You slump down in the waiting room with other travellers, many of whom you guess, by the looks of them, are going nowhere. You breathe sharply. You’re ok, you’re going to be ok. You’ll make this journey; you’re climbing to that mountain peak. Between those dark clouds, you catch glimpses of a sunny summit.

You shed most of your hair along the sinewy trail, but, hey, who cares? It’s still cold; you can wear a pretty hat. Besides, a comb or brush is one less thing to carry in your bag. No razor either. Your legs have never been smoother, wow! No eyebrows is ugly though, and your red, stinging eyes make you realise that eyelashes really do have a purpose.

You tell your family and friends it’s not really that bad, this journey, as you keep dragging the heavy suitcase behind you.

Incredibly, you discover some surprises along the way. Pleasant surprises about your own strength, and the loveliness of your supportive network of friends and family who relentlessly cheer you on towards your destination with flowers, ginger sweets, fluffy socks, cashmere shawl, homebaked lasagna and cookies

Spring arrives and you leave behind the chemo. Yay, champagne! Only 6 weeks of radiotherapy left! You lumber down the other side of that mountain, the birdsong cheering you on, the tiny leaf buds nodding at you in the gentle breeze, as if saying, “Yes, keep going, you’re almost there.”  You’re breathless with the scent of new flowers; the heady fragrance of hope. The fabulous smell of happiness to simply be alive.

It’s summer now, and you stagger across the Welcome mat of The Refuge: place where you can unpack, recover, get “back to normal”.

“Normal” though, has become an incredible privilege, because the journey has taught you that you’re lucky. Luckier than many of the travellers you met along the way; lucky that your ticket was not a one-way. This time.

Yes, you can relax a bit, for now. Go on, smell the jasmine, gaze in wonder at the starry night sky, laugh at muddy dog paws on the sofa, bake a chocolate cake and eat it all.

Drink in your luck, savour it, guard it preciously. Because now you know that one day you might have to pack that suitcase again and travel back out into the cold. Return, or one-way. Because, who knows if that mountain will beckon once again?

To celebrate everyone who has faced or is facing the cancer journey, Liza is offering a giveaway: 2 sets of her French historical trilogy: The Bone Angel series (3 e-books each set). To enter, leave a comment below and Liza will draw two names. Good luck!

The Bone Angel trilogy consists of three standalone stories exploring the tragedies and triumphs of a French village family of midwife-healers during the French Revolution (Spirit of Lost Angels), WW2 Nazi-occupied France (Wolfsangel) and the 1348 Black Plague (Blood Rose Angel). (Note from Patricia ~ I absolutely devoured all three stories! The details are fascinating and the reader is truly drawn into the history of the time. Good luck, everyone!) Click here to order.

 

 

 

 

 

Liza Perrat grew up in Australia, working as a general nurse and midwife. She has now been living in France for over twenty years, where she works as a part-time medical translator and a novelist.

Her latest novel, The Silent Kookaburra, is a psychological suspense set in the 1970s of her homeland, Australia.

Liza is a co-founder and member of the writers’ collective Triskele Books and also reviews books for Bookmuse.

Sign up  for information on Liza’s book releases and receive a FREE copy of Ill-Fated Rose, short story that inspired The Bone Angel French historical series.

Connect with Liza online:

WEBSITE

BLOG

TWITTER

FACEBOOK

Liza, thank you very much for writing this post for us and sharing some of your journey. What happy news that you have already celebrated the first anniversary of your recovery. Onward! To all those still in the midst of a battle, we are all in this together and hold each other close in our hearts.