Events & News Archives – East Hoathly And Halland Twinning Association

Pedalling to Juziers

I am not a fan of coach travel. I’ve suffered it numerous times over the years, mostly traveling abroad, sometimes on 24-hour journeys, but these days my six-foot frame complains at the confinement. Which was why we decided on another mode of transport for East Hoathly’s twinning association trip to Juziers in May

Three years ago, Gill and I cycled to Paris along the Avenue Verte, a green cycle trail linking London with Paris via the Newhaven-Dieppe ferry. The route passes close to Juziers, so we invited a couple of cycling friends to join us. One declined, but David Dobbs, a long time cyclist, leapt at the chance. Not long ago, he completed a marathon cycle ride along the River Danube from its source in Switzerland to the Black Sea, and had long wanted to cycle to Juziers.

To arrive at Juziers around the same time as the coach carrying the main party, we needed to leave East Hoathly three days earlier. Our plan was to meet David at Newhaven’s port in time for the 9am ferry.

Premier petit problème. Gill and I arrived first and, unloading bikes and baggage, found Gill’s front brake had jammed on, preventing the wheel from turning. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to fix but before I could do anything, David and his wife, Fiona, arrived. With le deuxième petit problème.

David had left his passport at home. While I tried to fix Gill’s bike, Gill and Fiona smoothed David’s furrowed brow. There was no time to fetch the passport and return to catch the ferry, so the plan was David would take a later sailing. He would message us later to confirm which one.

Getting nowhere with freeing the wheel, I removed the front brake blocks or, we too, would miss the ferry. Gill still had a rear brake she could rely on, provided she didn’t go too fast down hills. We boarded the ferry and lashed our bikes to the bulkhead. A rough crossing was forecast.

It wasn’t as bad as expected. The ferry easily dealt with the heavy swell, and Gill, not the best of sailors, completed breakfast and lunch without mishap. We arrived in a grey and windy Dieppe, and battled our way past the old harbour at the start of the 23 miles to Neufchatel-en-Bray, before turning towards Arques-la-Bataille. Overlooked by castle ruins, Arques was the scene of a battle in 1589, when Henri IV of France defeated a considerably larger force.

The official Avenue Verte starts at Arques, along a former railway, initially winding through a water park popular with anglers and dinghy sailors. Not on a day like this, though. We were cycling into a strong headwind with clouds closing down. Soon, it began to rain.

When we cycled to Paris four years ago, the weather in late June was brilliant. We kept those images when we set off this year, but they faded rapidly as the weather deteriorated. What was previously a gentle ride had become a torturous climb as we fought against the cold wind. Trees littered the trail, one of which we had to clamber over with loaded bikes.

We rushed past the sights. The chateau at Mesnières, with its towers and witches’ hats, looked magnificent, but no refreshment halts were open. The big plus was that Neufchatel was only four miles away.

We were soon in our room at Le Cellier-Val-Boury farm and after a hot shower and change of clothes we headed for the Hotel Les Airelle, where we enjoyed a well-earned three-course meal and bottle of white wine. We also received news that David was booked on the night ferry, arriving at Dieppe around 5am. He would meet us at Neufchatel’s former railway station at 9.30am.

He was already there when we arrived and we swopped stories for a while. He had disembarked to clear skies and bitter frost, and whizzed through still sleeping villages. His hands were freezing and he had to stop frequently to warm them. He did well to catch up so quickly.

Meeting with David at Neufchatel's former railway station — Meeting with David at Neufchatel’s former railway station

The station café wasn’t open, so we set off for another railway station-turnedcafe three miles away at Nesle-St-Saire. Staff were putting tables and chairs out on the platform as we arrived, and we ordered coffees and croissants, while David added a café colonial for extra warmth. We sat in the sun, enjoying the bucolic scene towards tiny St Saire, nestled around its church.

Eventually we set the wheels rolling again towards Forges-les-Eaux, a spa town known for iron-rich waters. While a little faded, it is still worth a refreshment halt. Here, the route switches from railway to road, meandering back and forth across the River Epte. It also undulates rather more than we were used to.

First refreshment stop after meeting David

At La Bellière, we stopped in the shade of the church for a picnic lunch, then cycled on to Haussez, where the church overlooks a pretty lavoir. Farther on, after climbing steadily out of the valley, the church at Ménerval, with its great views, is another fine picnic stop, as Gill and I discovered on our earlier trip.

The road then descends past Dampierre-en-Bray and through Cuy-St-Fiacre to Gournay-en-Bray where we overnighted at the Hotel de Normandie. Gill and I cycled an easy 28 miles on our second day. David, had cycled two days in one – 51 miles. ‘About my limit’, he said. That evening, we enjoyed a convivial evening in a nearby restaurant, fuelled by specials, a bottle of their finest red and a glass each of cognac.

We slept well that night and woke to the sound of Gournay’s market coming to life. After breakfast we toured the stalls in search of lunch ingredients, Neufchatel’s famous heart-shaped cheese, baguettes and apples making their way into our panniers.

Today’s route was Gill’s and my longest day – 40 miles – but for David it was more relaxing. Or would be if it wasn’t for the trip’s biggest climb. We soon reached delightful St-Germer-de-Fly, and its Benedictine abbey. The Avenue Verte divides here, and we inadvertently added five miles to our distance by heading towards Beauvais,. It also delayed the climb to Les Flamands. We put our heads down and pedalled.

Lunch-stop at Les Flamands after hardest climb of journey

At Les Flamands, we parked by a tree-shaded bench to tuck into bread and cheese, replacing calories burned off en route. Rested, we descended into the Epte valley en route to Gisors. A frontier town of the Dukes of Normandy, Gisors’ chateau was built by William ll of England. It’s an impressive sight in the town, along with the cathedral-like church of St-Gervais-et-St-Protais.

Following further refreshments, we left Gisors, joining the old railway line alongside the Epte to Bray-et-Lû, a small village with a smart chateau-hotel. We, however, pushed on 4km farther to a cheaper and more intimate alternative at Chaussy. Our hostess at the Relais de Chaussy, provided an excellent meal that evening, plus breakfast in the morning, both meals prepared from locally produced food.

Four years previously, we cycled through Chaussy, en route to accommodation near Villers-en Arthies. We did 56 miles that day, the last three miles, uphill in the heat of the sun, a test of stamina. But leaving Chaussy this morning, fully refreshed, we barely noticed the climb.

Beyond Villers, at Villeneuve, we had our first sight of the River Seine. Juziers was barely an hour’s ride away. We were off the Avenue Verte and heading for our destination. Time for one more refreshment halt.

Our route crossed the busy D983 at Drocourt and at the junction we piled into a typical village cafe, crowded with men propping up the bar and sipping coffee and cognac. Marked out by our bright cycling gear, we received a lot of attention. On ordering coffees we were surprised to be handed pains au chocolat on the house. Some mistake, surely, but no, we’d earned it, we were told. Cyclists are so respected in France!

There were just four miles to go, through Sailly and Brueil-en-Vexin to La Chartre, where a minor road leads to the trip’s steepest descent, into Juziers. We were all familiar with the hill, but I offered words of caution anyway, especially with Gill’s brake issue. I led the way down through the hill’s twists and turns until the Mairie’s clock-tower appeared. I turned into the car park, Gill followed, then I heard David’s ‘Oh, oh, oh’, followed by the scrunching of metal on rock.

I stopped and turned to see Gill running towards David, pinned down in the undergrowth by his bike. Gill checked he was alright, then I heard: ‘Hang on, while I take a picture’. ‘Oh, so cruel’, groaned David. Then we extricated him from bike and foliage. Apart from a couple of scrapes and injured pride he was fine. He was going too fast turning into the car park, he said, went wide, clipping a large rock and he was over.

We still beat the coach and sat in the sun on the banks of the Seine before waiting to greet everyone at the Mairie. David went on to play tennis in the afternoon, winning one of his games and, in the culmination of an energetic few days, all three of us joined others in a morris dancing display for our hosts.

John Lloyd

Five Go Mad in Juziers

We were still waist-deep in packing crates, having recently moved to East Hoathly, when friends of my parents called to enquire if we would like to participate in the up-coming Twinning Exchange and excursion to Juzier in France.

Surely the Twinning notices that we see signposted on so many towns and villages were just a Eurocratic rubber stamp, was my first thought. And this was swiftly followed by my vocal response: “Sorry, it’s totally out of the question. We couldn’t possibly scoot off to France right now, and then have some strange French people back to stay when we can barely get into our spare bedroom, let alone find our spare bed.”

But if truth be told, I viewed with horror the thought of being crammed into an uncomfortable coach, with a lot of people I didn’t really know, and then being taken to a nondescript French town North of Paris, which I had never even heard of.

Perhaps having three young children didn’t help matters unless, of course, the coach came with a paid up children’s entertainer. But that was wishful thinking.
Or perhaps the general state of the world had been getting me into the doldrums, with all the Brexit doom and gloom, which left me feeling down on Europe and down on France.

But my parents’ friends enlisted more friends to explain to me that this year we were doing the visiting and it was not until next year that we would have to reciprocate and do the hosting.

“You only have to pay for the cost of the coach, and that’s only £65 per adult. Children go free, and then your accommodation and food is provided by your hosts.” We hadn’t had a holiday this year and that sounded like astounding value for a family of five!

And so, six weeks later here we are – congregating at 6am in the centre of our charming village, with our one case and three bleary-eyed children boarding a coach, a little apprehensive, but also brimming with a sense of excitement and anticipation about embarking on a journey into the unknown. On first inspection the coach, with its caramel and ivory livery, is comfortable and roomy. And soon we are purring through the lovely, Spring countryside of Sussex and Kent, lulled by the soft and welcoming words of our designated leader as he outlines our itinerary. He too, as it turns out, is also one of the more fluent French-speakers on the trip.

As I gaze around at my fellow companions I can’t help but notice the smiling, easy-going faces and trill of relaxed conversation. It is as if we are all leaving our home worries behind and entering into a shared adventure.

I turn to my children anticipating the dreaded invocation: “Are we there yet?!” But it never materializes. And it suddenly dawns on me that we have a whole coach-full of children’s entertainers: of all ages – some avuncular, some matronly, and some softly smiling, just like their grandparents. But there are also a few children of their own age and soon they are laughing and plotting as if they have stepped straight into the pages of a latter-day, Enid Blyton story. I exchange glances with my wife and we both know we have made the right decision in coming.

Before we know it, our masterful driver is easing us into one of the “sci-fi” carriages of the Euro tunnel, built specially to swallow coaches and lorries, and I must marvel at the planning, logistics and sheer bloody-minded vision that human beings have exhibited to build this wonder of engineering and construction. A tunnel under the ocean, how amazing! “Will we see the fishes?” my middle son enquires, and for a moment I almost think we do. Whizzing through the French countryside it seems almost too effortless, and fun. Why on earth would I have wanted to drive or take the plane! This is the only way to travel, I decide, as we approach our scheduled picnic stop – Baie du Somme; an equivalent of our motorway service station but more like a nature reserve with a café, complete with carp ponds where the fish will take bread straight out of your hand. We are making friends with our fellow passengers as we laze in the sun sharing sandwiches and swapping stories. Suddenly, I feel that East Hoathly is home, and that our circle of community has just become enlarged, as we watch the children chase pigeons around hillocks in a field which I imagine their great grandfathers might have crossed on their way to a bloody battle almost a century before. And I am reminded again of my mother’s nostalgia-popping aphorism: “There are no good old days. It’s all life, appreciate it while you ha

ve it. Sometimes we learn from our mistakes and sometimes we stupidly make the same mistake again and again.”

As we approach the town of Juziers I remark at the nearness to the Seine and the general size and attractiveness of the houses. I learn later that in the nineteenth century Juzier grew up as a place for Parisians to have a second home, away from the bustle of the city but close enough to the river for easy transport and leisurely fishing. The larger gardens have given way to some in-filling with more modest properties, but the overall sense is one of a quite delightful place to live.

As the coach pulls up outside the mayoral stone-faced offices, opposite the town’s little station, we are greeted by our hosts waving flags and congratulating us on our up-coming royal nuptials. One can’t help but smile. There is so much bonhomie and twinkling eyes and bad English and even worse French being bandied about (mainly from us) that it is simply heart-warming. These are people coming together, across cultures and national divides, and breaking-bread together and sharing their homes and making friends. EU politicians should be forced to attend. This is what Europe should be about, and it can’t, and shouldn’t, be measured out in pounds or Euros.

We are immediately whisked to a large hall and plied with three different types of wonderful French wine and delectable patisseries, and speeches are given and old friendships are re-kindled. I am all at once made aware that many people are being hosted by families they have met many times, some say over twenty years! This is not a one-off trip. Once you come for the first time, it is very hard not to want to come again.

I won’t mince words, our host family are plain wonderful. Dad is a space rocket engineer (yes really!), and mum is a curator at the Musée d’Orsay, but two humbler and less complicated people you could not hope to meet. Their three children are equally as lovely, and soon my kids are communicating with them in a way that only kids who don’t know each other’s language can – by laughter and play.

After the speeches we make our escape and decide to forego the annual “international”, inter-village, tennis tournament and opt for some R&R at our host’s lovely home. We have their spare room and our own shower and we feel like kings, as the children scatter into the garden and the children’s bedrooms that they are sharing. Curiously, our hosts don’t drink coffee but only loose-leaf, English tea, which we accept gratefully as we make use of their Brazilian hammock on their patio. And with the weather forecast for thirty degrees and scorching for the whole weekend we are in Francophile bliss.

The only formal event of the trip is the mayoral banquet which we all dutifully attend. And why wouldn’t we! The bunting-filled hall, located next to a wonderful old and austere Norman eleventh century Church, is the setting for the banquet. Thankfully the courtyard outside is locked to the road as the supper commences and we can relax as the children run in and out of this throughout the next seven courses. The atmosphere is as one imagines some Mediterranean bridal feast. We all have assigned tables, and during the meal more speeches are made and songs sung, and even spontaneous dancing breaks out after our village Morris Dancers provide the initial impetus with a set of rhythmic stepping, stick-banging and handkerchief waving. And by the end of the evening the whole hall, of some two hundred people, are doing a Conga line figure of eight, intertwining all the tables.

The next morning I have to scratch my head, were our children really up from 5am until midnight?! And no tantrums!

Sunday is the excursion day. We can do whatever we like. I grasp that this is the chance to burrow into the real France. All the families are visiting different places, and anything goes, just so long as you can visit it in a day. But that still leaves quite a wide radius. I later learn, from some of the old hands, that they have got to know France in such an intimate way that no package holiday could ever hope to replicate. You are travelling with the locals and you discover things you just wouldn’t under your own steam or under the thumb of a jaded tour operator.

We opt for Giverny, the fairy-tale home of Monet’s creation, with its magical gardens and lush water ponds; made famous by his water-lily paintings. It is just the place for us and the children. Beautiful, stimulating, inspiring but not too-intense. And considering that the place is packed with tourists, we are able to feel wonderfully relaxed and refreshed after the ‘big night out’ we have just experienced. In no time we are dining in a poppy-fringed meadow that could be straight out of one of Monet’s canvases, indulging in local organic beer and home-made ice cream and quiche. The beer is so good, in fact, that our hosts take us via the local, award-winning, micro-brewery on the way back to their home – just so we can take some samples back with us to remember our trip by.

Back at their house we spend the evening reminiscing and bbqing, as we watch the sun set over Juziers, slightly dumb-founded that tomorrow at 10 am we will boarding the coach and bidding farewell to our new friends. It is impossible to convey quite how much we have packed into one weekend, whilst at the same time not feeling exhausted or over-awed. If anything, I feel invigorated and ready to take on the world afresh.

And so we come home, but not without a final little memory of France as our daughter decides to showcase her acrobatics on a toy car and breaks her foot moments before we board the coach. Of course, we don’t know its broken but our hosts wrap it up well and we put on a brave face. And deep down I know, as I calmly carry her to her seat, stroke her head and offer up some comforting paternal words, that in anywhere else but Juziers, I would have been beating my chest and screaming the roof down.

David Chapman

Juziers 2018 Video

Jennifer ‘Jenny’ Cowling

We are sorry to announce that Jenny Cowling died on 23rd May after a long illness.

She was a loyal friend and supporter of East Hoathly & Halland and Juziers since 2002 and a hard-working Hon Treasurer for the last 12 years. She will be sadly missed.

Family Impressions of a First Twinning Weekend

A couple of years ago we were contacted to see if we’d be interested in taking part in the twinning association and hosting a French family during their visit to East Hoathly. We attended some fundraising events and met a number of people involved in the twinning but, sadly, for a variety of reasons, we were unable to participate in the 2015 festivities.

In 2016 the dates didn’t work for us to go to France however, earlier this year, everything seemed to fall into place. A family was found and the ball started rolling for their visit. We exchanged emails to learn a little more about each other and began planning what we might do once our guests were with us. Everything was set and it was with a certain amount of trepidation and nerves that we arrived en famille at the village hall on Saturday 29th April, ready to meet our famille française.

A cheer went up as the coach pulled in and our visitors disembarked. We were introduced to Magali, Bertrand, Quentin, Evann and Jade and were then invited into the hall for canapés and champagne. We spoke in a mixture of English, French, gestures and hand signals whilst enjoying the hospitality laid on by the twinning association. Almost immediately the children began to play together and managed extremely well, despite each not speaking much of the others language.

After a short speech to welcome the French families to the village and introductions around, we took our family home to get them settled before returning to East Hoathly for the traditional Juziers v East Hoathly & Halland tennis match. Stuart and I are not tennis players but Magali and Bertrand were playing in the match and Evann and Emilia joined in with the children’s tennis games run by Greg, the EH tennis coach.

Whilst the matches continued, Jessica and Jade played at the park expertly supervised and entertained by a number of the Juziers teenagers. Stuart and I got to know some of the other twinners and watched some exciting tennis which was eventually won by the team from Juziers. The evening was ours to do with as we wished and we could have entertained our guests at home but, not having done this before, we weren’t quite sure what to cook so, instead, took the easy option of dinner at the Kings Head.

Most of our party enjoyed a delicious fish and chip supper whilst the two non-fish eaters ordered a burger (fantastic by all accounts) and steak and kidney pie (also gaining rave reviews!) Due to our new friends early start and long coach journey, we did not stay too late at the pub and retired home for everyone to get some well earned rest.

After a very relaxed Sunday morning, of course including a traditional full English breakfast and a lot of friendly conversation, and having found out that our visitors liked history and monuments, we headed off to Battle Abbey. Once again the children got on famously, climbing the towers, racing around the battle field and finding the arrows in the trees with great glee. The adults took a more sedate route, chatting amiably (and gesturing!) all the while. After a few hours of exploring, we rewarded ourselves with afternoon tea in the café and then returned home for a rest before the gala dinner which was to take place in the village hall.

And what an evening it was! Seated with our family, exchanging stories (as always in English, French and gestures!) we enjoyed a lovely buffet meal with wine and beer and then were entertained, first by a variety of songs and dances from Juziers, then with a wonderful arrangement of James Bond tunes by Michelle Titherley, followed by singing and a sketch from the EH&H twinners. At the end of the evening, the Juziers teenagers led everyone in a dance as the start of the disco.

Monday came around all too soon and we knew that the fun was about to have to come to an end. As the grown ups packed and prepared picnics for the journey back to Juziers, the children zoomed around the house (it rained!) on a broomstick playing Harry Potter games. Screams of laughter I am sure could be heard all the way to East Hoathly!

As we waved goodbye outside the Pavilion and the rain continued to fall, the girls shed tears and tried to stow away on the coach to avoid having to say goodbye. They have already started to make plans for our return trip next year…Emilia is determined to improve her French so she can understand more when we are in France and Jessica has found some bilingual French/English books in the library that she is trying to read.

Before the weekend began, we really did not know what to expect but we can honestly say that it was a fantastic and fun experience and goes to prove that language need not be a barrier to friendship. We are really looking forward to going to Juziers next year and would highly recommend getting involved in the twinning to anyone who might be considering it.

Katharine & Stuart Ruff – Halland – May 2017

Twenty Years of Twinning

It was like a scene from Night of the Living Dead. At an unearthly hour, people lurched, zombie-like, in the darkness towards the coach parked outside the King’s Head, dark rings circling their unseeing eyes, bared teeth set in ghastly grimaces. Citizens of East Hoathly and Halland were departing on their biennial visit to our twinning friends in Juziers.

Several zzzzs later, and feeling more human, we arrived at Cheriton for the subterranean crossing of La Manche, only to find an earlier train was stuck in the Chunnel and we would be delayed for two hours. Time to switch to la mode française and breakfast on coffee and croissants. And, before we knew it, we were on our way again.

We arrived in front of Juziers’ Hotel de Ville about 3pm and immediately went in to the welcoming reception hosted by Juziers’ mayor, Philippe Ferrand. 2016 is a special year. It is the 20th anniversary of the first twinning visit between Juziers and East Hoathly and Halland. Following Philippe’s welcome speech and John Graham’s response, Linda Allen, who was on the very first visit to Juziers in 1996, made a short speech thanking the people of Juziers for their welcome and hospitality over the years.

Then came an exchange of gifts to mark the occasion. East Hoathly artist, Keith Pettit, presented a wooden sculpture, a series of overlapping circles which mesh together to form a stronger whole, representing the links between the two communities; Philippe presented a decoratively painted milk churn to John Graham and Pat Duke.

Afterwards, we were whisked off by our host families to settle in, before some of us wandered down to the tennis courts for what has become an annual tournament. Each community put up its star players, from which our own Pat Duke emerged as supreme champion. Hip hip hooray!

The evening was spent with host families, some of which linked up for dinner parties. Gill and I were taken by our host Annelise Martin to dinner with a group of her doctor colleagues, two of whom later performed piano and guitar recitals. We eventually reached our beds at 2am, 21 hours after answering the call of our alarm clock in East Hoathly.

Our Sunday was a time for relaxation before lunch en plein air, when Annelise’s friend, Sylvie, and her East Hoathly guests, Liz and Jonathan Ritchie, joined us in the sunshine for what must have been the warmest day of the year, certainly for us vitamin D-deprived Brits. Several courses and glasses of wine later, we were ready for our tour.

This year, our Sunday tour was a choice of Giverny, some 25km down the Seine, or Chantilly, north of Paris. Annelise and Sylvie had decided on Giverny, and the home of Impressionist artist, Claude Monet. The house is especially known for its gardens which in the warm sunshine were magnificent, with ranks of colourful tulips. Those who went to the beautiful chateau of Chantilly were also treated to a superb demonstration of horse riding skills at the chateau’s renowned stables.

Back in Juziers, we gathered at the Salle de Fêtes beside the Église Saint-Michel for an informal supper with a Caribbean flavour, prepared by Gaeton Binet. We started with a planter, a rum-based aperitif, followed by Assiete Créole (Chiquetaille de morue), Colombo de poulet and Flan coco antilllais. All the men were also presented with the ingredients to make a Créole taster, while all the women received a rose and lily-of-the-valley spray.

Entertainment followed, with older members of our hosts singing songs while younger members did a Créole themed dance routine. It transpired that the two lead dancers were chaps in frocks and sparkly wigs! The East Hoathly and Halland Choir did a rendition of Chanson d’Amour (the Manhattan Transfer version, not the more difficult one by Edith Piaf), which was sung with such gusto that we were required to do an encore. By the end we were so exhausted we headed for our beds.

Monday morning we assembled on the steps of the Hotel de Ville for the group photos and after exchanging farewells boarded the coach for the return to the Channel Tunnel, breaking off en route for a couple of hours to explore Rouen and its ancient sights. These include the magnificent Gros Horloge clocktower, the Place du Vieux Marché, where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431, and the cathedral, which Monet painted 30 times from exactly the same viewpoint at different times of the day and year to show the effect changing light has. Or maybe he just couldn’t get it right the first 29 times…

The Channel crossing was hitchless for our return and we arrived outside the King’s Head exactly on time after un Weekend Magnifique.

With thanks to our hosts in Juziers, headed by Philippe Ferrand, and to the organisers at our end, lead by Pat Duke and John Graham.

John Lloyd