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Natalie
Dec 15, 2021 16:23:19 GMT 1
Post by pcpa on Dec 15, 2021 16:23:19 GMT 1
I will ask on her next visit. I'm glad that you took it in the spirit it was written, you may write a card or something to her one day.
A neighbour called Laurent I thought was Laurence, I had never seen his name written & sent an Xmas card to Laurence et Delphine, they took it very very badly but turned out to be not nice people in the fullness of time.
There are plenty of French parents who want to be a bit different who would register their childs birth name Natalie.
My most embarrassing was a young lad in the dive club called Joffré, perhaps Joffret, or so I thought, thats how everyone pronounced it, his mother as flirting ith me saying how she had always liked the English hence her choice of name for Joffré, I had to ask her to spell it,
G............E.............O.............F..............F...........R............E.............Y
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FFS
Member
As usual, in front of my laptop when I'm here
Posts: 2,797
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Natalie
Dec 15, 2021 17:36:55 GMT 1
Post by FFS on Dec 15, 2021 17:36:55 GMT 1
The young girl if she is real is more likely to be named Nathalie. That was a bit uncalled for. And if she was named after the actress whose surname is Portman and who is married to the French dancer/choreographer Benjamin Millepied, then Natalie is the correct spelling.
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Natalie
Dec 15, 2021 19:28:01 GMT 1
Post by pcpa on Dec 15, 2021 19:28:01 GMT 1
Not sure if you have chosen to take that the wrong way, it becomes tiresome having to explain and justify and you end up thinking twice or not posting. I am pleased the OP took the posting in spirit in which it as written, that is the important thing.
I did not know (nor care) if the superb piece of writing was fictional or if another name was chosen to protect the childs anonymity, it was a beautiful very moving tale and must happen the world over since time immemorial.
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FFS
Member
As usual, in front of my laptop when I'm here
Posts: 2,797
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Natalie
Dec 15, 2021 20:35:32 GMT 1
Post by FFS on Dec 15, 2021 20:35:32 GMT 1
What on earth would make you think he made it up?
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Veem
Member
Posts: 11,992
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Natalie
Dec 15, 2021 20:51:10 GMT 1
Post by Veem on Dec 15, 2021 20:51:10 GMT 1
What on earth would make you think he made it up? Perhaps he thought it may have been creative writing? For all I knew it might have been - I haven't come across stinky's writing before. You clearly know of stinky (and the Voice) from elsewhere. But for those of us who don't, these posts could have been posted as wonderful pieces of creative writing, which would have inevitably included the name of the little girl. Stinky spoke of 'daily tales'. Tales can be based on truths or creations of the imagination.
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Natalie
Dec 15, 2021 21:03:58 GMT 1
FFS likes this
Post by Stinky on Dec 15, 2021 21:03:58 GMT 1
To be fair FFS, I am a newbie, and most members here will not know of my ramblings, whether fictional or not. If previous writings of my days shovelling horse shit and being bullied by chickens and dogs and horses and a highland cow had been seen, then perhaps that comment might not have been made. But I take no offense. Not at all. Some of my stories are embellished to liven them up a little. They happened, but changed a little in telling. Such as Kenya. Those that are fiction are obvious. The next girl foal born at Jerome's is to be named Natalie.
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Natalie
Dec 15, 2021 21:16:06 GMT 1
Post by pcpa on Dec 15, 2021 21:16:06 GMT 1
Not sure if you have chosen to take that the wrong way, it becomes tiresome having to explain and justify and you end up thinking twice or not posting. I wasn't sure and gave you the benefit of the doubt, your subsequent response leaves no doubt.
Thankyou to Veem & Stinky for your understanding, it was indeed a wonderful piece of creative writing whether based on real events or not, I wasn't being creative when I said that I had tears in my eyes.
No Stinky I had not heard of you or read your writings before but look forward to reading more of them, I will in future limit my appreciation to a thumbs up icon that will not do them justice.
FFS has outed you as a male, I had thought the sensitive writing was the work of a woman.
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Post by Stinky on Dec 15, 2021 21:19:59 GMT 1
Nope pcpa. I am a retired drain cleaner. Hence the avatar. Hee hee. Comments are appreciated instead of thumbs up. That is how I learn.
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Natalie
Mar 29, 2022 22:24:18 GMT 1
Post by Stinky on Mar 29, 2022 22:24:18 GMT 1
Been a long time. Thought that I was forgotten. But the car is back. Little fists on my gate. Screams of, ‘Pol, Pol, Pol!’ Open the gate and a few pounds of pre-school child hits me with a power beyond her weight. My belt gripped and she is climbing up me. Ye Gods, such excitement. Arms round my neck, face in my ear and all I can hear is ‘Jonquille’. Mum is stood just back a bit. The Cheshire cat has nothing on her grin. A girl is with her. ‘Allo Pol, I speak English’. And so Natalie has been riding a friend’s horse. But wants Jonquille, her first horse love. A shrug from me and a nod towards the farm gets a scream from Natalie. I think her shyness might be in a losing battle. Phone Jerome to let him know. Chaotic mischief is coming. I walk with Natalie. Fist and thumb. Mum and girl in the car. Five bar gate is just limbo’d. Driveway dust raised by frantic feet. Feet splayed, knees knocked and a little girl is on a mish. Jonquille. She sees Natalie and wanders slowly up the paddock. No rush. I will be there child. Natalie is actually shivering. The girl looks to Natalie’s Mum with questioning eyes. The Cheshire cat grin is still there. Jerome comes, and the rapid French is too fast for me. Mum and girl dive into the car and boots and helmet are retrieved and fastened onto Natalie. St Vitus Dance has nothing on this child’s excitement. Small racing saddle fastened on. Jonquille, patient as ever. And a vest for Natalie. It ties to the saddle and is the the equine version of an airbag. Seated on Jonquille, she leans and buries her face in a copper mane. Less of a giggle, more of a cackle, she just exudes joy. And Jerome vaults up behind her. No saddle, just knee grip. Takes the bridle. Tongue click. And Jonquille goes. And not slowly. I hear Mum gasp. And she has my hand. With a grip. And the screams are legion. At a fast canter towards us, Natalie has her arms outstretched and is howling joy. Jerome, arms either side of her, is guiding Jonquille directly towards Mum. Jonquille plays the game and skitters to a halt, raising dust, just to the side of Mum. Natalie is dancing in front of Mum. Think Dervish genes mixed with that of an Irish setter and you get the picture. Not a bad day. Both Jerome and I get kissed a lot by happy ladies.
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Post by cernunnos on Apr 2, 2022 19:38:41 GMT 1
Thank you Stinky , as beautiful as usual. I wish that the world was as you describe it !
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Post by Stinky on May 7, 2022 22:47:48 GMT 1
The fists are back. Or rather, they are not. Just one. One little fist gripping the gate upright. Mum by her car, just waiting. Gate open and Natalie just stands there. She wants you Pol, says Mum. And a child stands in front of me. Plastered wrist. Rainbowed face. Purples and yellows screaming outrage at the damage. The horse? School steps is the reply. And a child I have only met four times raises her arms. Brown eyes wet enough to swim into. Big enough to lose yourself in. One arm lift and I have a limpet. Legs clamped round my waist, one hand gripping my collar and the other held in front of my face. Jonquille? I say and she nods. No fist and thumb this time. My little limpet is not letting go. Jonquille comes a wandering to see the mini being. Leccy fence opened and I sit. Head down and a friendly snuffle to a child’s face. No excitement this time, just an exploring hand running Jonquille’s face. These two have something. Something that many of us will never have. She cannot ride but I can offer something else. Nod to Mum and we go to the stables. One of them is not for horses. Chickens. Nine of them and twelve chicks. Past the fluffy yellow stage, cocky little raptors. Strutting, running and trying to be fierce. I sit, bum in the corner and wait. Mum by the door Natalie still clamped to me. Five minutes and we are forgotten. Brooding hen leaves the eggs and just walks past us. Huge eyes get bigger. Cockerel checks us out. We are no threat but he bellows his challenge not a metre from Natalie. Well done girlie, no fear. Just a great,gappy grin. And the raptors come. Bobbing and cocking heads. And Natalie is doing the same. Two walk up my leg and just look at the girl. Mum is silent, but her eyebrows are pushing for the sky. And the raptors decide to remove Natalie’s shirt buttons. And when two start, the others come. Natalie does not laugh, she shrieks and cackles and snorts and just…….lets rip. Having saved her from the wicked buttons the chicks get bored and are gone. We are crying with laughter. And I wonder about handing back a small giggling child that is covered in bird shit. Holding her one handed, I point to the eggs. I take one and hold it out to her. Shock at the warmth. But holding it close. Time to go. The change in her in just one hour is incredible. Confidence and Natalie is back. My gate and a goodnight. Legs still gripping me. A childs sloppy kiss and wide eyes that say ‘you are mine’. And she is probably right. Collar pulled and a chaste kiss on the forehead from Mum. Thank you. But it is Natalie that I thank. And the chickens.
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Post by cernunnos on May 8, 2022 18:29:45 GMT 1
For a retired drain cleaner , you have a pretty good grip of the English language Stinkypo. I have rarely met anyone that has your talent !
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Post by Stinky on May 8, 2022 19:12:31 GMT 1
Thankyou C. Loved my work, a choice not for all, but I loved it. Turn up when all is chaos, solve the problem and leave as the 7th Cavalry riding over the horizon. Reading was my education, but I had never written anything at all until I wrote a poem for my Daddy whom I lost 6 years ago. I am lucky, I have people such as Natalie and her Mum walk into my life and give me something to write about. If my writings please, then I am happy. If they result in laughter or tears then they have achieved my aims.
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Nifty
Member
Posts: 4,986
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Post by Nifty on May 9, 2022 11:40:35 GMT 1
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Post by Stinky on Jun 8, 2022 21:41:18 GMT 1
Yesterday. A day without rain. Jean-Marc or J as I call him to his amusement, is here with his Granddaughter. Wife long gone. Eyesight just blurred glimpses. Work broken body, razor mind, wicked humour and no mercy for my butchered French. Sophie has brought him at my request. Bacon sandwiches. Apple branches on the barbecue. And the bacon is ready. Dry cured for nigh on three weeks. Pastis in hand and Sophie negotiates the minefield of our language barrier. His hand held in love. He has told her of the Anglais sandwich. Turn the wood over to settle. And a hand takes mine. Natalie, silent by my side. Fist and thumb. Everybody laughing, I had not heard her approach. Kneel and my little limpet is back. Legs clamped and face in my neck. Cooking will be one handed. Six of us ruining shirts with bacon juice. Natalie of the greasy face takes a shine to J. Lap sat, finger running through the crevices in his face. Wispy beard played with. Battered fingers smooth over her face and hair. And I can see his tears. And his smile. This child has something that the world needs. Natalie’s Mum. Shy to the point of retreat. Our conversations mostly smiles, gestures and a few words. Sophie leaves J and sits with me. Aware of the barriers. And so I ask. And her name is Natalie. And her Mother’s. And her Grandmother’s. Her Great Grandmother saw Natalie Wood in a film. And so named her daughter, Natalie. And all the girls born are Natalie. Gentle snores. J has a smile. A smile that says thank you. A child is curled, sleeping on his lap.
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