Sophie short story

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University of Bedfordshire

A Portion Of Yourself

By

Sophie Giscard

ID : 1216283

English and Theatre Studies

Creative Writing Dissertation :

Short Story and Commentary

Supervisor : Dr. Michael Faherty

28.05.15

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Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my Bonne Maman, my French Grandma for a

lifetime of wonderful tales. Her life was full of adventures that she

shared time and time again with her children and grandchildren. There

was rarely a time we had already heard the story.

I had promised I would translate this short story for her to read when it

was done but she sadly passed away only a few months into the

process, unexpectedly. I wish to still make a French version for all my

French family to enjoy too, for one last time, a portion of her

wonderful stories. The power of story-telling can change a life and I

believe that she changed many. So, I would like to thank her once

again for being a remarkable woman. We will cherish your stories,

always.

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Contents

Page 7 ......................................................................... Chapter 1

Page 15 …..................................................................... Chapter 2

Page 20 ......................................................................... Commentary

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Sophie Giscard

A Portion of Yourself

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Inspired by one of many stories told by my grandmother.

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“When you are older you will understand how precious little things, seemingly of no value in themselves,

can be loved and prized above all price when they convey the love and thoughtfulness of a good heart.”

Edwin Booth

It is up to us to decide if we are happy, what makes us believe in good. Some people believe in luck, others

in coincidence, and others, like me, believe that everything happens for a reason. It is the people in our life

who help us define our own selves. I pay attention to detail, to what makes others happy and bring myself to

appreciate them, that is how to create happiness. If there is one thing that I have learned, it is how to make

the small things count the most. A simple story can change someone's life, their idea of life. If you are lucky

enough, someone close could be the one to inspire you.

To my Bonne Maman.

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CHAPTER 1

There was never a time when my younger sister and I did not enjoy our trips to see our grandma. We

knew that with every visit she would be just as surprised to see us as the time before. When we knocked

on her door, a deep, gritty voice answered, yes. As we peered through, this harsh wrinkled face suddenly

lit up. It put a smile on our faces. She put her newspaper down beside her and pointed towards the extra

chair by her antique bureau. Her room somehow still felt like her own living room. The smells were the

same, she sat in her chair, and the bureau of course was still filled with family photographs. Naturally

she leant over to open a drawer and pulled out her famous dark chocolate, or little French cakes called

madeleines. It was like nothing had changed. As always she asked us about school or if we had been

reading much. We knew what would come next. There was never a day when she hadn't read an article

in her newspaper, seen a headline on the news, or finished her latest book. There was, without

exception, a new topic to discuss. I admired her passion for debate. I suppose I inherited that. That and

story-telling were very much her forte. We just waited for the next story to be told. There was never a

visit without one.

“Oh what a lovely surprise, please, please make yourselves comfortable! How are you both? It

is so lovely to see you. Please have a cake, I'm sure I have some more chocolate around too if

you want it. It is so lovely to see you. So, how long are you here for? Just a few days, I see.

Well, I'm sure it must be nice to have a bit of time off. Will you get to see your Father while

you are here? Your brother and sister really are growing up fast aren't they? They visited not

long ago and the little one really does not stop smiling does she? And your brother isn't he a

chatterbox? You all were when you were that age. Very well. So do you have many plans

while you are here? It is very nice of you to come and see me. And those flowers are beautiful,

thank you. What's that you say? Let me see. Yes this is a picture of my Grandfather's house.

Up in Cherbourg. I was very young when we went to stay there, probably about two or three

years old. I don't really remember much. It was grey and miserable and rained a lot. Haha.

That must have been in 1934, yes around about the time my Father decided to start his own

business before the war. Oh that makes me think, I thought of you girls the other day. I was

reading something about what Churchill did during the war and it reminded me of when I was

a young girl.

I have probably told you this before. I'm sure I have told you but, yes, I was a young girl in

1944. I was only twelve but something I will never forget is the sound of those planes

speeding over the roof. That is probably the time I remember most in fact. It made me think of

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that because I did not know quite how much Churchill had done. I don't really remember him

at the time, but it was very interesting to read about him now. It is the sort of thing that you

only really learn about when you are a bit older. In fact, did you know that the house we lived

in is still there? Yes, it is still there. There were army barracks opposite but they were

destroyed, in the seventies I think. I can't remember. Our house is still there though. I can still

tell you exactly where it is. If you go from the train station, work your way down the street

and you will get to a set of traffic lights. It is a couple of houses before that. Number 74. It

could be quite amusing if you went to look for it one day. It was a lovely house. I wasn't born

there though. We only moved there when my Father opened his business.

Yes, that's it. My father owned a business with his brother. They worked together in a little

laundry business. It was only very small and there came a time when there simply wasn't

enough work for the both of them. He actually then went on to work with his Father, making

candles. You know at communions, everyone had their own candle. That is the sort of thing

they would make. And then, in 1934 my Father found a small place in Angers, where we all

moved eventually. There you go, it must have been that same year that my Father worked

with his, hence us living with my Grandfather for a while. Angers is where he began his own

laundry business. It shut down in the seventies. That is in fact when he passed away. 1976 that

was. He had been out fishing, and when he returned he was suddenly very ill. He passed away

within a few days of returning home. It was very sad indeed. We never really knew what had

made him so unwell. He was a very honourable man, you know. He was very protective and

extremely brave too. Yes, he was at home during the Second World War. I remember the

bombings in Angers. That is right, Angers was bombed. We weren't very far from the train

station you see. And that is what they were targeting. But of course, anything nearby was in

danger of being bombed too.

It was the middle of the night and I just remember my heart racing as I heard my Father's

voice over the sirens. It only felt like minutes since we had fallen asleep when the bedroom

door was flung open and my Mother fell through it, rushing to my bedside. Our parents

hurried us downstairs. Our poor little dog was running close behind. People forget about the

animals, but they were probably just as scared as we were. They always forget that these poor

little beasts are just as sensitive as humans. Did they ever think of them when they were

bombing those fields? What about the poor cows in all those fields? Then again, they didn't

hold back the bombs when it came to humans, why would they even consider it for animals.

Well anyway. I am curious.

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As I was saying, we reached the bomb shelter and my Father quickly led us underground. You

have to remember there were 6 of us children and then we couldn't forget the poor pup. He

was scared out of his skin he was, shaking. Yes, so you see, my Father had been a soldier in

the First World War Months before the night of that bombing he had spent time building this

shelter. He had taught us a lot about how deep to dig it, how wide, everything you need to

know about building a good trench. I had hoped we would never really need it. I had no idea

what it took to build such a thing. We were very lucky to have him.

Once we were all in, we huddled close together. It was absolutely terrifying. I was only twelve,

but I don't think it mattered what age I was, the sound of those planes was enough to terrify

anyone. And it did. That created such a fear for me, for years to come in fact. Yes, I was very

afraid for a long time to come.

Here, please, please, have another. It's my pleasure. Wait a minute, I might even..

Ah yes, here we go. Have some of this chocolate I was given. It makes a change. Sorry where

was I. Ah yes, we had managed to get to the shelter in time, thank God. We sat closely,

holding each other's hands. I just remember feeling absolutely petrified. As I said, we were

very close to the train station, that being the main bombing point. So we were in an extreme

amount of danger, you see. We could hear the planes a lot more by this point. Father was very

tense, but yet remained so calm somehow. We always felt very safe with him. He was a young

soldier in World War I, he had already experienced this type of crisis. He was a very kind man,

very caring. It is a man's duty to protect his family, and he very much lived up to those

expectations. The planes were still flying over us at this point, at terrible speed it seemed. As I

said earlier, it took me a long time not to be afraid of them anymore. In fact I was absolutely

terrified! But Father had convinced us that there was very little chance of anything happening

to us so long as we stayed down there. There really wasn't much room, forcing us to sit very

close to one another. We were grateful however to have had a place to go for shelter. I will

never forget the frightening sound of bombs exploding, it was deafening. All I could think

about was what we would do if our house got bombed too. But you had to quickly think about

other things, to take your mind off the terrible, terrible things happening outside. Yes, we

were very lucky to have had the shelter. I dreaded to imagine those who didn't or maybe didn't

have the chance to get to theirs before the bombs landed. I couldn't tell you how long we were

down there. It felt like an extremely long time of worrying and being very afraid, that's for

sure. Terrible, absolutely terrible.

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Once it was all over, Father looked up at each and every one of us, with nothing other than a

smile. My Father was this tall bearded man. Very comforting features. When he thought it

safe, he led us out of the shelter one at a time, still cautious, naturally. He had taught us that

bombs explode straight, in a straight line. This is why the shelter needed to be a certain depth

as a bomb, had it landed near us, would have detonated straight over our heads. Well over the

shelter, but you see what I mean, in a straight line. There shouldn't have been any risk of it

going down. Well of course, knowing this, I was still afraid that there might still be a bomb

that hadn't detonated, a delay action bomb. I was petrified. We all were. How could we not be

when we were watching houses burn, we could hear people screaming, it was horrendous. He

assured us that we could all go back to bed, but I can tell you I was not looking forward to

crossing the garden. But, we did. We all walked together, back towards our house to go back

to bed. And that was it. We just got silently back into bed and went back to sleep. Well, it

took me a while, as the sounds of those planes still echoed in my head. Life just went on

somehow. That was just the way things went at the time. This was in May of 44, yes. It must

have been soon after the bombings that we were evacuated. Oh, that does make me think of

those poor people who were locked up in concentration camps. Did you know that those

places were designed to kill people in just a few months? And yes, yes, you are very right

about the conditions. More people died because of terrible conditions indeed. It makes my

stomach turn. Just the thought of it makes me feel very uneasy. We obviously weren't aware

of them as children, but as I grew up I heard stories about them. Of course, you know I read a

lot too, and I have read many things about the disgraceful places. It hurts to read them. Even

thinking about it, it's too difficult. That makes me think, we had cousins, and one of them was

a lawyer. He worked between Angers and Le Mans, and he was part of the resistance. Yes, he

was. And it was then that a few German officers occupied a few rooms in the house. They

needed somewhere to stay and that is what happened. It was not uncommon at all, many

houses were occupied by the Germans. They requisitioned certain rooms. My cousins still

lived there, it was just shared with the officers. So yes, then after a period of time, my cousins

were arrested apparently and never seen nor heard of again. Yes, I do find that very curious.

But it is horrendous to imagine where people arrested were taken. They were sent straight

away to be gassed and burned. When we think of that it is astounding. They were my mother's

cousins, yes. Of course, we think that they were sent to camps, but no one really knows. What

is disgraceful is the Jews being arrested for who they were. It was nothing to do with what

they were doing. There was no care at all. Having said that, something that I found whilst

reading an article once, is that every prisoner would have a number assigned to them. What is

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odd is that on the papers, next to that number would be the name of that person. I find that

very obscure, don't you? Many people were found and it was obvious the y had been in

concentration camps. Why did the Germans keep track of who went in? They could have just

as well have left every man and woman without recognition. They didn't seem to worry about

who was going in, so why the sudden interest in naming their prisoners? I do find that very

questionable and a little contradictory. We will never know now I suppose. But it is very odd,

quite interesting. You know I was appalled to know that the French played a part in the

arresting of Jews too. It was in Paris mainly. The French police had authorization to arrest

anyone they saw fit and it wasn't forced upon them. No. They kept it a secret for a very long

time until the president in 1995 - that was the year you were born - in 1995 he apologised for

the role that the French played. I find that disgraceful, and disloyal. How could they have

sided with the Germans? Oh and it was kept quiet. Very quiet.

Do I remember D-Day? Yes, well we had an aunt I believe she was, who lived up in

Normandy. And yes, I do remember it happening. I remember hearing about it. Thank God the

aunt was all right. People said that there were only about three houses standing. My Mother

had quite a bit of her family in Normandy. But there was one cousin, he was blinded after a

bomb had landed nearby, shattering a glass bay and cutting his eyes. Terrible I know. But this

young man, he refused to let it affect him and change his lifestyle. He promised himself he

would keep being the person he was before the incident and he did just that. This one time we

went camping all together, he was our age, and I watched as his friend helped him eat as he

couldn't see his plate. He told him 'A little bit to the left, no, more to the right. Yes, that's it. At

two o'clock'. That was how he knew where he still had food on his plate. He still went all

through school and graduated alongside his sister. He had an extremely supportive family. It

wasn't easy for his sister, I have to say, having to help him graduate. She would teach him

how to do everything again, just without the use of his eyes. Very admirable, both of them. He

then married, happily might I add, and had two children. He even became a chiropractor. I

find that absolutely remarkable and inspiring. He did with his life exactly what he had

intended to do. It just shows us that the war didn't ruin all lives. He proved them wrong in a

way.

Oh yes, I had started telling you about when we were evacuated. Well, we were actually taken

outside of the town in a laundry cart. Can you believe that? Every day or so they had a horse

and carriage transport laundry in and out of the town, and that is how we were evacuated. We

were taken just to the outskirts. It was early one morning when I was woken up by our parents

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in the corridor. They were mumbling, I couldn't quite tell what was being said, but my poor

Mother sounded as if she were sobbing. It was hard to tell through the door. As the door

opened, I quickly went back to sleep, or pretended to anyway.

'Are you awake?', my Father whispered.

When I saw their worried faces I quickly stopped pretending. It was quite obvious that they

had some bad news. I wasn't very old, but the war certainly makes you cautious about things. I

sat up in my bed as my parents knelt by my side. They looked at each other before asking me

how I had slept. Of course, as you can imagine it had been a little bit of a rough few weeks,

we had been bombed, and things were getting awfully dangerous. That is when he told me

that we were, that is my siblings and I, going to be evacuated. We couldn't really fight it, our

Father was very strong-willed. But we also knew that he always did everything possible to

protect us, so we knew that he was right. So that is when we were taken away, to the outskirts.

I find it quite amusing that we were transported in such a way. Don't you? Yes, it is quite

different. It was also one of the safest ways too, but that is something I won't forget. Quite

amusing indeed.

It was beautiful down there, where we had been taken to stay. We often played down by the

river. It was all in the countryside. It being May or June time, the fields had only just been cut.

So you know, when they have been cropped, the stubble becomes extremely painful to walk

over. I'm sure you have noticed before. The fields near my house were like that weren't they?

Well, this one afternoon, we were playing down by the river and that indescribable sound of

planes returned. We ran, and we ran, as fast as our little legs would carry us. And of course,

those previously unbearable fields weren't an issue. Our little legs ran as fast as we could, our

bare feet shredded to pieces but nothing was going to slow us down with that amount of fear

and adrenaline pumping through our veins. We eventually made it to she lter, right by a

windmill I believe it was. Like I said, nothing was going to stop us from getting to safety with

those planes on the way. To this day I remember the fear it instilled in me. Oh, we knew that

as long as they couldn't see us we were fine, they were going elsewhere anyway, but

nonetheless, it was terrifying for us children. In fact, I know that I was young but, yes, I

believe that happened around about the same time that she had been arrested. What's her name,

Veil. Simone Veil. She had been arrested, yes. In fact it might have been a few months before

my evacuation with my siblings. I wasn't very old, but I do remember this. I still have a lot of

admiration for her. Do you know who she is? She was better known for promulgating abortion,

making sure it was done medically and with an interview beforehand. It was to avoid young

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women, or any women for that matter going abroad and getting it done. You have probably

heard about terrible stories. Well, she believed that was her duty. She did not want women to

feel as if they didn't have options. But that was later on in her life. So yes, she was arrested in

the war, she was Jewish, but she wasn't arrested for being Jewish. No, she was stopped for

being part of the Resistance believe it or not. But, she came back and fought. She fought at the

National Assembly for the legalisation of abortion. Men called her an abortionist, a killer

when all she was trying to do was defend what she thought was right. About that, what do you

think could be done to reduce the amount of unwanted pregnancies and abortions? Young

girls should be made more aware of, of, means of contraception. I do think that young people

settle down quite quickly nowadays. It's your choice of course, - but there are risks - because

abortion is appalling when you think about it. I know that there is no other way to have

children, and it is frightening and difficult sometimes. There are 200 000 abortions a year in

France. That is a lot, yes. There are people who have nothing better to do and use it as if it

were a contraceptive. I suppose I might be a bit old school, but there are so many other ways

of avoiding unwanted pregnancies surely. Or maybe not, I just think that it is a disgrace to just

use abortion as a contraceptive. Well, maybe I am being a touch dramatic, but it is true. But

then, what do I know. Although, I do know that it takes two to tango.”

And there it was, that famous look. Anyone who didn't know her could take it as her being smug, but we

knew. She knew that she might be a little bit out of touch, but as she said, what did she know. These

people, my Grandma included had survived things that our generation wouldn't dream of. And that

story about the young boy who was blinded just brought admiration and inspiration to me. She was

right, he had proved them wrong. We'd been sitting there for forty minutes already by this point. We

watched as she relived these memories and shared every second of them with us. Her passion for story-

telling was inspiring. She was inspiring. And of course, she did know.

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My Grandmother's childhood house today

My Great-Grandfather’s farmhouse

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CHAPTER 2

“Another cake? Please, please. Are you sure? I will leave them here, do help yourselves. So,

erm, yes, what else did I want to tell you? Oh yes, I nearly forgot, we were bombed a second

time. This time it was on a Sunday, we were at church I remember now. That dreadful sound

of planes came from the distance, we were half way through the service, and before we knew

it they were above our heads. The whole place shook, it almost felt like an earthquake. That is

the only way to describe it. So we all leapt to the floor, hiding under the benches. There was

nowhere else to go this time. It was terrible. That aching feeling of not knowing what was

going to happen had come back. We were very lucky, they only flew over us to go a little

further away, but still not very far. Bombs hitting the ground, people frozen with fear. It was

close enough for us to feel in danger. It was such an awful feeling. You know your

Grandfather was further away at the time, on the other side of the river. He wasn't affected by

the bombings like we were. His family had a house on the outskirts. It was only because my

family lived so close to the train station that we were at risk, hence our parents making the

decision to evacuate us. We were lucky that our houses weren't occupied by Germans like

other places such as my cousin's house I mentioned earlier. I don't know about you but I think

it must be quite intimidating knowing that you are helping the enemy in some way. Well, I

know my Father wouldn't have been very happy. He probably would have refused. He wasn't

a very big fan of the Germans. In fact after Algeria's independence, all the soldiers were

relocated to Germany because the French, they didn't really like Algeria, the Algerians and

people born there. I mean we weren't from there but still. Your Granddad was an officer

during the war in Algeria as you know. So even when you Grandfather and I lived over in

Germany for a few years, all my Father said was that he was going to plot revenge. Can you

imagine? Haha. He was very proud of his country and did not like the Germans much, or at all

for that matter. For years and years after he would say silly things like that. We knew he didn't

mean it really but I am sure that somewhere deep down, he did. My Father was a very

protective man as I mentioned before. He would always tell us to watch out for ourselves and,

oh that reminds me of the time we had driven to La Roche sur Yon. We had been near,

actually near where you live in Champ St Père. We must have been picking up a car. There

were already refugees at the time too. Anyway, Mother had a cousin near there and Father had

bought the car off the man who was a prisoner then I think. They couldn't get the thing to start

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but eventually they managed to fire it up. This was earlier, right at the start of the war, when

the Germans had only just begun coming into France. 1939 that was. Anyway, all this to say,

what was I going to say? Ah yes, my Father had managed to do just that and we had driven up

to La Roche. Once we got there, I just remember him looking at us, my siblings and I and he

said 'Whatever you do, don't accept any sweets that the Germans give you. Nothing, don't take

anything if it is being offered by a German soldier'. We would smile, we knew he was only

trying to protect us, but this hate for the Germans became a bit of fun for us. But again, we

were extremely lucky to have someone as protective as he was but I will never forget the way

he felt about those Germans. Oh dear, yes, we did have a bit of a laugh about it. Can you just

imagine him in Germany plotting his revenge? Oh dear. I did love his bad sense of humour.

Of course, we knew he was probably right to tell us that. He had every reason to believe that

no good would have come from it. You know, men from the first war had really suffered. It is

difficult to imagine how they survived it. Father didn't show it but we knew that he had

endured a lot. In the trenches it was terrible. Obviously he never spoke about it. The fact that

we were constantly surrounded by soldiers, walking past the house probably brought back

some bad memories. We always had to be very cautious. After the Allied landings especially,

we would see, from one day to the next, German soldiers, then American soldiers, then maybe

Germans again. We never really knew who was going to be marching by next. I could see

them from the garden through the fence railings. I would just sit and watch. As I peered

through the gate I always asked myself what could possibly happen now, and more

importantly, when. The not knowing part was the worst. At just twelve years old I felt as if my

brothers and sisters and I already knew too much about the world. We were trapped. Yes,

trapped, at times that is how it felt. There was nothing we could do apart from hope for the

best. At least we were lucky, we still had the whole family at home. Those poor mothers who

had to watch all their sons go to the front-line. Talk about not knowing what is going to

happen. We had heard it all, sons being killed out there, husbands disappearing without any

news. Well, I wasn't supposed to have heard it, but we always eaves dropped. And I liked to

read the newspapers. How did those mothers cope? I'm not sure I could have dealt with that.

No, you are right, even the thought of it makes it seem unbearable. What they must have gone

through, well, I suppose I will never really know. We had neighbours who hadn't heard from

their sons in a while, their brothers. Yes, we were lucky and we had to be grateful. They knew

they had to let them go, but that didn't make it any easier. It was usually on a Sunday at

church that we younger ones noticed the absence the most. And as I told you earlier, even that

moment got taken away from us that one time. Church was supposed to be the time of peace,

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and somehow that had been interrupted by war and hatred with those damn planes. You know

we had our cousins up in Normandy, in St Laud, well at the time of the landings there was the

big farm house that they all lived in with a tower. Well, the farmer had said how about they all

took cover in there as that would mean more chance of the bombs going around the wall as

opposed to them hitting a straight wall. So, inside, they sat with their feet nearly touching.

One day it would have been the Americans giving them some food, the next day it may have

been Germans. Every now and again they got out, or one person got out to milk the cow.

There was even a young couple with a baby. No, we would have loved a written version of all

the stories, but my aunt never did.

Do you girls still go to church every now and again? Not as much anymore, I see. There is no

harm in that. We brought you up to decide what it was you wanted to do. This sort of thing

happens when you grow up, of course I understand. I am sure that you do what is best for

yourselves. That makes me think, I saw this article in the newspaper the other day and I

thought of you. If you reach behind you there, yes, just on that shelf there, you will find a

book. Yes, that's the one. I just thought of how much you love sewing, and wanted to get you

that book. It is very interesting the way that the pictures tell the story. And look, have a look

at the style of drawing. Isn't it wonderful? Yes, I thought of you and bought it straight away. I

hope that you will enjoy reading it, I know you don't always have time to read books other

than your school ones, but I enjoyed how different this one seemed.

I would always have a book by my bed. Yes, even from a young age. I remember sitting on

the front porch reading. I'm not entirely sure why I sat out there, but I did enjoy watching

people walk past. At a time like that there was not much to hope for, I suppose we simply had

to enjoy the little moments. I remember one of my younger sisters coming home from school

one day and she said that she was sad. She was worried that she was going to fail her year. I

placed my book on the lower step asking her to come and sit by me. Looking her right in the

eyes I reminded her 'Odile, you will be just fine. You are a smart and bright girl. You have

nothing to worry about, just keep believing that you will manage.'

Her little eyes looked straight up at me as she smiled. I watched her run into the house calling

for our parents. War time seemed to make everything so urgent. No matter what, I would

never have wanted anyone to feel as if they were failing. Even without knowing what was

going to happen later that day, let alone tomorrow, everyone deserved to see that they could

still achieve something good. Sorry? Oh yes, you are right, even with my own children and

grandchildren I was the same. I hope that I have always encouraged you all to do your best, as

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I am sure you will do the same with your own children. You have to work hard for what you

want, and I know that you do. It is lovely to hear about all the things you do. I am sure you

will have very successful careers, both of you. What we have to remember is that your

generation will never have to worry about another war in Europe. We will never fight against

the Spanish, the Germans, the British and God knows we have battled against the British! I

just wish the same could be said for the rest of the world. What is pitiful is those men

kidnapping all those young ladies claiming that they shouldn't have an education. Absolutely

disgraceful. God forbid anything like that should happen in Europe again.

Oh dear, where did that rain come from? It was such a lovely morning. You know, I really do

like this room, when I sit in my chair I have a very nice view onto the garden. I know there

isn't much of the garden itself, but this tree here, do you see it from where you are? It

blossoms so beautifully. Sometimes when I can' t find the energy to go outside, I can just open

the window and it has just about the same effect. I have asked my physiotherapist to start

working on my legs again. I don't like not being able to get around as well as before. What's

that, sorry? Oh yes, I agree. I really do think it will help me to feel better too. I haven't been

feeling great lately, so I thought I should certainly try and get myself up and about again. It's

so lovely to know that you two are lovely and fit. And so you should be. All of you, your

cousins too, you are all so young. You have worked very hard to keep yourselves healthy, I

can tell. Back in the day so did I, but the years catch up with you eventually. I used to smoke

quite a bit do you remember? It has been a long time. I had to stop, after I had my stroke. I

thought it was time. But you needn't worry about that just yet. Oh, did you catch the smell in

the hallway? Aha, yes that is the lady in the room across the hall, just opposite mine. We

aren't allowed to smoke in our rooms, but she always sneaks one in. It is hilarious. She is older

than me and she just acts as if she can do what she wants because she assumes she is going to

die soon. It does make me laugh. She pretends that she doesn't when people ask. The smell is

sort of a giveaway. How are your grandparents by the way? I hope that they are well. It has

been years since I last saw them, - very respectable people indeed. They are younger than me

aren't they? Ah yes, that's it. About 10 years, yes. Well, do tell them that I send my regards. I

am glad you girls are doing so well at school. Do you have any exams coming up? I see, well

I hope all goes well. I know you will be fine. You always have been. You study hard. I hope

that you find some time to read a bit though. I have lots of books you can borrow if you feel

like it. I think of you both sometimes when I read books about Britain. There were some

fascinating people during the War weren't they. Churchill was a remarkable man indeed. I

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think I read something about the Queen too. Well anyway I am sure you know all about it. I

should probably think about getting ready for supper. But thank you so much for coming to

see me. I hope that all your exams go well for you both. I really do hope that you manage to

fit some reading in too. I do think that you would like a few of the books I have. Oh I forgot to

show you. I have been knitting this for Hannah. Look, isn't it sweet? I haven't quite finished

yet but I think that she will look very sweet in it. She is a beautiful little gir l isn't she? Your

father gave me a picture of both her and your brother. I would love a picture of all four of you.

I do try to have pictures of all my grandchildren as you know. Yes I still have them over there,

look. I am proud of them, all of you. I like to show off to the other residents, what can I say. I

am a very lucky grandmother. If you could, yes, that would be great if you could send me

those pictures, thank you. Oh and say hi to your Mum for me would you. Well, very well. I

will see you very soon then girls. Bye girls. Bye, thank you for coming.”

She couldn't always stand to say goodbye anymore, but we knew she would always try. We moved

towards her, insisting she stay sitting. Once we had kissed her on both cheeks, we told her vaguely

when we would be visiting again. As we walked away, once again we left feeling filled with new things.

Her harsh wrinkly face had lit up, as a proud grandmother's face should. It was true, she had always

been proud. We had stayed longer than usual. She had seemed more lively than usual too. The stories

just never stopped coming. It was nice to see her enjoying it so much. It was about one thing, then

another, then another but it was important to her that we know about her life. We had all grown up

around it. That is probably why we enjoyed it so much too. Next time she would tell us yet another

chunk. Little did we know.

We walked back to the car park, passing through the corridors as we breathed in the smell of cigarette.

And then, I smiled.

Word count: 6517

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Commentary

It is always difficult to come up with an idea for a story. I find it difficult anyway. We

are always tempted to think of our plot first. In short stories we were taught to know

our character before anything else and the rest will come. I had decided that I wanted

to write about something inspiring, something that would make the readers feel

inspired themselves. I began by thinking about stories I had been told over the years.

Both sides of my family always have exciting tales. My Mum reminded me of a story

about my Dad's mother. She told me that we still had a picture of a farmhouse that

used to belong to my great grandfather, in the north of France. She told me that most

of that house was occupied whilst they lived in it by German soldiers in World War II.

This gave me the bri lliant idea of working on true events towards a creative non-

fiction piece.

After recording a conversation with my Grandmother about her time during World

War II, I felt very inspired to begin writing more of the story. I found out that the

picture was of her Grandfather's house indeed but that it was her cousin's house that

had been occupied by the Germans. Prior to our conversation, I had begun writing

bits here and there, not knowing about events much. It was more of a case of

deciding which person I wanted to write in too. I wrote two shorts potential beginnings

first in third person narrative then attempting to write that same bit all in the first

person. As I transferred the third person to first some arrangements had to be made

to make it seem more natural. I decided, for the time being, that I was going to use a

diary form to include first person narrative and then transfer back into third person.

What I did not realise straight away was that I did not have any form of dialogue once

I began speaking in the third person. I wrote 600 words on paper in one go, writing

what came to me, and only after did I realise none of it had any dialogue. I am not

sure if this was because of the scene I was writing or if the style of writing did not

need it. I thought I should attempt more dialogue to explore more styles.

After a little while I found myself bouncing backwards and forwards between first and

third person. I mentioned this at a presentation we had to do. We were to present,

just in a few words, our project and a few points that were going well and others not

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so much. I brought up the issue or not knowing which way to go with the narration. I

got some extremely helpful feedback, most saying just to keep writing and see which

one became more dominant.

I unfortunately received the news the day following this presentation that my

Grandmother in question had passed away. All I could think about was how this was

going to affect my writing. I was distraught by the news, pushing me to contact my

tutor straight away. I said that I did not know if this would bring more ideas or have a

completely negative effect on my writing. Naturally I was told to put my work aside

and focus on getting myself back on track.

Having spent some time with my family after the funeral, it occurred to me that maybe

this sudden change from third to first person was the natural way to write this story. In

fact, I began to think that instead of creating a new story out of all the little stories my

Grandmother had told us about her time in the war, why not tell the story of her telling

us.

This new challenge has created many obstacles as a writer. I found myself needing

to be true to her technique which has proved difficult in some ways. I have to

translate the story, as it were, all by keeping her little mannerisms or expressions.

I decided to simply write. If I could write as much as possible it would make the

stylising easier. I figured that it would be the easier way for me. I could then decide if

I felt like moving the passages around a little bit and play with the form and style of

the story.

Battling with the idea of using only her voice, I was trying to come up with a way to

translate all those small expressions of her own. Over Easter it was planned for me to

go to France. While I was there we went to Angers, her home town. As we walked

through the town I could picture it. It made it easier to imagine what it used to look

like. While we were there we attempted to find her old house. Unfortunately, we only

had a vague location rather than the exact number so we took pictures of three of

four houses that could have been hers. A few weeks later I got confirmation from the

archives of the city that we had in fact managed to guess which house it was. Using

all of this, I attempted to put more and more detail in the story. After doing this, by

accident I had finished one of my chapters with a few lines of narrative, giving that

extra little bit of detail. It made me think that maybe the way to include even the

slightest bit of narrative could be by featuring it right at the end of the chapters, as a

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sort of conclusion. It seemed a good way to lead into the next part.

I listened back to the recording of the conversation with my Grandmother. It was a

very strange experience. It certainly helped me to keep the feel of her telling the story.

I used her exact words in places, and then when I went to develop the story further, I

tried to keep in mind the type of thing she would say. It is important to me that the not

only the story stays true to itself, but that the intention of her words are exactly as

they were.

It gets difficult at times. I am nearly there, and yet I keep stopping. The memories are

flooding back, and sometimes that is a very good thing. Then, other times, it makes

me a little sad, so I move on and try and work on something else. At times, I need to

leave it, and simply stop thinking about it all together. I know exactly what I want to

achieve with this story, I just have to remain positive and confident that I can do it. I

think what is important is to keep it is real as possible, as I mentioned before. I have

tried to keep this constantly in mind. It is all taking a lot longer than planned by this

point. The deadline is approaching fast and I do not want to feel rushed. I decided

that I needed a little more research. Having emailed archives in the town that s he

used to live in, I was given some information on her Father. That for me was

essential as her father plays a big part in the story. In fact, she seemed to mention

him a lot more than her mother. I am curious about that. The information about her

Dad gave me the opportunity to develop some events I had already written about.

Although I made up some of the links in the story, the main elements are all true. I

suppose I followed Gutkind's advice in his book about non-fiction, You can't make

this stuff up. He says it is necessary to create some parts to make a story but remain

true to the original story. That is what creative non-fiction is about. This made me feel

more comfortable making certain links up or using events from another time and

putting them in conjunction with the ones I already had. There is nothing wrong with

adapting.

I listened and listened to the recording, making sure I captured it all. When the last

few words were missing I decided to simply write the exact conversation that we had.

It was very emotional. There is something about the process that became all the

more important since she passed away. I wanted that to be translated through the

words in my story. I would say through my words, but that is the point, they are her

words.

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I had pieces of story, so I began putting them together. Soon I started to see a

pattern for chapters. Unsure about how many I wanted, I thought it wise to keep

writing and piecing together until the end of a chapter felt natural. I tried not to force

anything as I knew that I would feel uncomfortable with the outcome. I only ended up

with two chapters but that didn't seem an issue. I couldn't find a place to include a

third one, or split what I already had into chapter number three.

As I was attempting to complete the story, I thought even more research would do

the trick. If I was able to put more detail in, that would be key to making it authentic. I

looked up a few more events that had been mentioned, for example the Vel' D'hiv

Roundup. This was when the French were involved with the Germans, rounding up

the Jews. It was very hushed up and my Mum reminded me how my Grandma felt

about it. She had very strong opinions about the whole process and was appalled

when she first heard about it in 1995. Learning more about the event itself gave me

confidence about writing down the feelings she had regarding the sensitive subject.

The structure of the story is a challenge. I felt the need to make it more interesting.

When reading my work back a few months ago, it always seemed a little plain. I tried

to come up with a way to solve that. Using the first person, I attempted to make it as

if the questions were implied but never really asked. This was the biggest challenge. I

took out, but did not delete, the parts where I would comment. For example, there

was a point when I wanted to add that I saw myself in her for being sensitive about

the animals. Originally, it clearly said that. Then, as used my narrative at the end of

the chapter, I thought I could make the most of it to include a few more of my feelings

at that point. It all seemed rather complicated at the time, a little disorganised but I

raised my expectations and the stakes by doing so. Things began to clear up as I

structured the last paragraph of narrative. It seemed possible to then remove

permanently any narrative whilst my grandmother would be speaking. The use of

small words such as “yes”- that I avoided using too many times – was key to that

implication. As I was listening back to the recording I noted all those things that she

would say to link, agree or disagree and planted them in there. When I read back my

first draft using that method, I felt a lot better about the style and structure making the

story more creative and interesting. The use of different fonts had been suggested to

me by my tutor. He said that I could play around with that, the cover and why not add

some pictures in the body of the story itself. I decided to have a little bit of fun with

that. I didn't want to add too many pictures, but I thought it appropriate to use the

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ones about the houses I mention throughout the story. I took one of my

Grandmother's house as it is today, and the original picture of my Great-

Grandfather's farm, the one that originated the story.

I wanted to be creative with the title, however I have never been very good a

choosing them and that is the one thing that was not decided until the very end. I had

a few suggestions but I was told that they weren't what I were looking for, or they

were too simple. It would not be until a few hours before printing off the work that I

made a decision.

The excitement had begun to grow as I watched the words hit the page. I had a goal

and I was aiming high. However I preferred to have fewer words but a more precise

story. After all, I hit the word count, as that is a requirement for the project. However,

it didn't feel like work at times. Writing this story has been an honour, a challenge and

a journey of discovery. Even in the time I have had to work with the soul use of a

recording and previous stories, I felt as if I were learning more about my Grandma

still. I am now able to say that a portion of her stories will remain with me and my

family forever on paper. When I did my last word count, the tears just poured out. It

has been an emotional roller-coaster but I have enjoyed every second.

Word count: 2232

Sophie short story

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Transcript of Sophie short story