Every time I drive past the Grand Hotel–a somewhat exaggerated description– on my way to the market in Castres, I’m reminded that the building served as local Nazi headquarters from the occupation in 1942 until the Liberation in August 1944.
It’s hard to believe that this pleasant market town best known today for its successful rugby team, Castres Olympique, saw German troop patrols and Maquis operations designed to disrupt them–in my lifetime.
The town did not suffer the physical destruction that London experienced in the Blitz, but living for years with the constant threat of betrayal to the occupiers and a knock at the door, leading to deportation and death, carried its own heavy psychological pressures.
We had this in mind when we made the five minute journey to Lautrec mid-afternoon yesterday to cast our votes in the European elections.
Voting for us has become a rare treat.
Losing the right in the UK after living here for fifteen years, meant not being allowed to vote in the 2016 referendum on whether to leave Europe or not–something that would affect us directly.
We felt sore about that.
We can vote in the local elections–but have to wait until we are granted French citizenship to be able to vote in a national election.
We remain (!) citizens of Europe–until the UK leaves–so found ourselves unexpectedly still eligible to vote.
Becoming a French citizen will not involve my magical transformation into the classic British stereotype of a Frenchman.
Beret-wearing, moustache-bearing, onion-selling, garlic-smelling, baguette-carrying Pierre from “over there’–I will always remain inescapably English.
But I will feel–even more than I do now–a sense of belonging.
En plus, I will be able to VOTE for the government to whom we pay our taxes.
This afternoon, one member of the four man crew engaged in cleaning “our” church is the German boyfriend of the daughter of Jean-Luc, our super-talented builder.
It is a chilling thought that this young man, 75 years ago, could easily have been a member a different four-man crew–a Nazi patrol, hunting the Maquis in the hills around Castres.
Happily for us–and for him–the European Union has been an agent for peace and the Grand Hotel operates now, as just that–a hotel, for visitors from all over the world, including Germany.











































