La cabane espagnole: friendship and film on the beach
Sofia loved to talk and told me her story. When she lived in a quiet tropical seaside bay Her folks had rejected her and her friend. In town they’d set up an open house And showed a film in the late afternoons.
Some youths attended and all had fun Soon they’d brought some more friends. After viewing, they’d talk of film making. Girls and boys learnt cinema techniques Studying photo effects, angles and hues.
After Sofia ran out of cash and electricity They all went outside on the beach front The youths took to the stage and acted A story inspired by one of their films. Their title was ‘The Spanish Beach Hut’.
Later the two friends built a hut on the beach. Students came from overseas, moved in and stayed Until they decided who were their best friends. The End
Who would still confuse Simone Veil (1927-2017) with Simone Weil, a humanist and mystic philosopher who died young in England (1909-1943)? Both women with similar names are from France, my country of origin.
Her father and brother were deported to Lithuania. Never seen again, they were listed as executed. With her mother and two sisters she went to Auschwitz and later went on the ‘death march’ to Brobeck and Bergen-Belsen. There her mother died of Typhus while Simone who said she was below eighteen was enlisted to do forced labour. The three sisters managed to be released separately from 1945.
On her return Simone studied law and politics and later became the French Minister for Health. I was thirty years old when in 1975 the 'Veil Act' to legalise abortion was passed. I heard her dedicated speeches in the National Assembly that affirmed a woman’s right to bring pregnancy to interruption. She was convincing and managed to rally all the male representatives of the National Assembly.
This was significant for me who had witnessed through some good friends of mine the difficulties women had to survive because of numerous illegal abortions in the 1960s in France. Since then Simone Veil received the nickname of ‘La Merveille’ [La Mère Veil - The Marvellous Mother] from women and feminists who respect and revere her.
Later a Prize, awarded on International Women’s Day, was instituted in her name to honour people who fight for women’s causes. Living overseas, I am lucky to have had access to ‘A Life,’ her 2009 memoir and to the 2022 film ‘Simone Veil A woman of the century.’
Qui encore continue à confondre Simone Veil (1917-2017) avec Simone Weil, une philosophe humaniste et mystique qui mourut jeune en Angleterre (1909–1943) ? Deux femmes aux noms semblables venant de France, mon pays d’origine.
This morning I was again in the imaginary house that I often dream I live in, especially when the nights are warm. On this occasion, I ran to the shops to order a birthday cake for my son, Mark. Short of breath and exhausted, I went back to bed to sleep the effort off.
Earlier that week , in my real life, I’d invited a few of Mark’s friends to celebrate his birthday with us on Saturday at noon.
Later that Saturday morning I stretched and yawned in my ‘real world’ bed. Getting up was hard until I remembered I had to collect a cake before lunch. Eyes wide open I sat at the wheel driving to town to pick up the birthday cake. I realised I’d gone to the wrong shop which had already closed.
I panicked and rushed back (to my real home) where I hoped the cake had been delivered. There, not only was there no cake, but there was no Mark. His friends had arrived and were chatting on the verandah. Inside I spotted a note on the table ‘Gone to training. Back around 3pm.’ I suggested that Mark's friends join me at a pizza bar, but they replied ‘No need, ‘No thank you.’ I was ashamed, flushing with embarrassment.
Later that afternoon when Mark returned, I froze on the spot as he reminded me his birthday was on Saturday the eight of March and not on Saturday the eight of February.
Best wishes to you at this turning point. What did you do five years ago ? What will you do in five years’ time? I hope to follow the five senses of life. Wish me luck
Time for my eyes to look around? I scan my world and see the friends that are near me
Is my wish now to taste? I relish the food and enjoy eating what’s good for me
Am I ready to sense aroma? I spread fragrances and take in the scent around me
Do I have a feeling to touch things? I pat textures and feel the kind surfaces that I'm able to stroke
Do I have the need to hear sounds? I listen to noises, and heed the gentle murmurs surrounding me.
Je vous envoie mes meilleurs vœux en ce tournant de vie Que faisiez-vous, il y a cinq ans ? Que feriez-vous dans cinq ans ? J’essaierai de suivre le principe des cinq sens Souhaitez-moi bonne chance
Est-ce le moment de regarder ? J'inspecte mon monde et je vois les amis qui m'entourent
( Thanks to Salvatore Adamo, Joe Dassin, Yves Duteil – Lyrics below)
A tune and a few words. I hum a song or two. I remember Tombe la neige At the trail end of the nineteen sixties. Adamo sings of a lover’s distress Emotions buried by steady snowfalls.
I leap into action with the energy and passion of the adults and the parents who relish their new lives and will revel in inclusivity. Prendre un enfant par la main Walking with a child near you, and holding their hands as a way of 'giving them the confidence to walk' Going with Duteil to find snow And maybe the gift of optimism.
Yves Duteil – Prendre un enfant par la main Prendre un enfant par la main Pour l’emmener vers demain Pour lui donner la confiance en son pas Prendre un enfant pour un roi
As soon as I left home, I grasped a life of change riding a motorbike and smoking cigarettes to counter my parents’ humdrum daily lifestyle.
A milestone came for me the year of moon landing, I took one giant step, went to Mwinilunga. In North Western Zambia, at the Zambezi source, new folk shared food with me.
No electricity. We burnt wood in the stove, kerosene in the lamps and had a few candles Often left stains of wax on students’ homework books.
At open air concerts, villagers came to sing, to booming drums we danced the Congolese Rumba. I even joined when eight months’ pregnant.
No newspapers in town. A radio and batteries. The sun shone over us its healthy radiant heat. At night, the stars sparkled.
Traces of defiance and of independence are still burning in me. I’ve danced myself away at cultural events, backed First Nations’ requests that their voices be heard.
Yet I’m still waiting to see sparkling stars enlighten the modern world I live in. Suburbia be damned!
Comme je voudrais encore vivre en marge de ce monde
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