The Bastide (it’s what they call the castle but I have no idea why)fell into ruins and had become a bit of an eyesore until a local man thought of building it all back up again.
This wasn’t going to be easy, as no one had thought fit to lodge the original plans with the town council. So they brought in this famous architect who poked around for a while and drew up what he thought it should have looked like.
It has been suggested he added a few extra towers with pointed tops to make it look nicer. He seemed to be very fond of these as they were everywhere. So while a couple of bits remain from the past, a lot of it is new, less than 200 years old.
And I sensed this, even in the streets surrounding the castle. It did not have the same vibes as Fontainebleau or Hampton Court where you can feel those who lived there long ago. (All other writers will understand this). In one of the courtyards, there were some red steel frames leaning against the walls and I wondered if they were still doing restoration work, but I was informed this was a modern sculpture. It looked so out of place I deleted the photo I’d just taken in disgust.
Of course in those days when you built a large home it had to have a chapel or church to show how religious and good you were and in this case, it was the Basilica of Saint-Nazaire.
There were two rose windows which faced each other east and west and I suspect this must have been the original building?
The problem was Edward VIII kept turning up everywhere with this obviously
unsuitable woman. The Dowager Queen Mary of Tek refused to even acknowledge the American’s presence when they were forced to meet.
Then parliament got involved, and they all threatened to resign if the wedding went ahead. Edward VIII had already discovered that being king was not much fun after all. There were a lot of papers to read, and boring meetings to attend, and behind the scenes, he had to do as he was told. He was by now completely besotted with this social climbing upstart and was lost without her. He was given the ultimatum and decided to hop off the throne and let his younger brother have it. As far as I know, he’s the only British king to do this by choice.
This is the opening to the second Amie book – Amie and the Child of Africa.
The silence of the night was shattered by the sound of approaching vehicles. Bright lights split the night, illuminating flying insects in their beams as the trucks drew nearer. There were excited shouts and one driver blasted his horn which immediately woke everyone in the camp. Whoever had been on guard duty barely had time to shout a warning as the new arrivals thundered towards them.
Jonathon wriggled out of his sleeping bag and seized the rucksack that was always next to him before pulling Amie to her feet.
“Run. Run,” he whispered loudly. “Run as you’ve never run before.” Stopping only to grab their shoes, they left the tent and raced off into the darkness.
Amie didn’t need to be told twice. They’d been discovered and the only thought she had was to get as far away as fast as she could. There was no time to jump in the two trucks parked next to the tents, their only chance was to make for the other side of the valley on foot and hide in the trees on the lower slopes of the mountain range.
She ran blindly, trying to keep up with Jonathon. His legs were so much longer, he was just over six foot tall and she was seven inches shorter, so he was forced to slow down to keep pace with her. She didn’t stop to think she might step on a night adder, or crash into one of the smaller termite mounds she couldn’t see in the dark. Nor did she stop to think of all the dangers beyond the safety of the camp. There were lions out here, hyenas, buffalo, jackals, wild dogs and elephants. Anything they might bump into could easily turn round and attack.
As soon as they were on the other side of the wide, dry river bed, they stopped to put on their shoes, Amie’s feet were already bruised and bleeding and it was more painful with her shoes on.
They set off again, running over the veldt, not caring what was in front or to the side of them, not even stopping to see who else was also running. They only knew certain death lay behind them. Low hanging branches slapped their faces and legs, and twice Amy stumbled over shrubs as she tried to zigzag round the odd acacia tree that loomed in front of them. The only piece of luck was the moon. It was bright enough to cast deep shadows near the larger objects which lay in their path, but not bright enough to make Jonathon and his wife too easy a target.
Till next week, take care.