Toussaint

'Toussaint' is a time of reflection here, as well as being a special time of year for family and friends - a bit like Thanksgiving in the States, only a bit more sombre and minus the turkey and pumpkin pie. At this, the very start of winter, families get together from all over the country to remember their departed and count their blessings. I am constantly amazed to see people that I haven't seen all year arrive from Paris, Marseille, or wherever, for their annual get-together whatever the weather. It is always a weekend 'en fete' and, I suspect, a uniquely French celebration.

Since American film makers hijacked 'All Hallow's Eve' and turned it into a beanfeast of witch's hats and orange and black-iced cupcakes, most of us have forgotten the ritual significance of this time of year. 'All Soul's Day', the day after 'All Hallow's Eve' was a big event in my childhood. It was the day the dead returned to earth to make their presence known to us again, and we needed to acknowledge them big-time if they were to leave us be for the rest of the year. Pre- Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' video with his brilliant coterie of ghoulish dancers, it was a terrifying time for a child. Very sadly, and somewhat ironically, he has now become one of the departed himself.

I see that Sting has written a song called 'Soul Cake' for his latest album celebrating both winter and north- eastern folklore. According to him, the soul cakes were made to give to the dead when they returned on 'All Soul's Day'. The poor, though, being both very hungry and very canny, offered to exchange the cakes for prayers for the dead instead. According to him, it is a tradition that goes back five hundred years and was the precedent for 'trick or treat'. Amazing! We can't blame Hollywood then for all the ghastly commercial spin-offs that make today's Halloween a largely unpleasant experience, especially for terrified pensioners too frightened to open their doors.

All Saint's Day' [Toussaint], in complete contrast, was a time of light. We still had to go to Mass, but to give thanks rather than out of fear for peripatetic malevolent souls. The priest wore a white surplice, I recall. I don't remember it being anything particularly special, other than having to take flowers to my father's grave in Epsom cemetery afterwards. By then, as kids, we were much more excited at the prospect of fireworks on November 5th. Collecting old socks and scraps of fabric to make a 'guy', and firewood and kindling to make a huge bonfire to put it on, was much more of an adventure. Thankfully, my Irish mother had no real grasp of the nuances of English history, so it was party-time in our garden.

This year, I spent 'Toussaint' in the Lauragais, with my good friends Caroline de Roquette and Christian and Inez Sarramon. Christian and Inez come down from Paris every year to visit the family grave and spend time 'en famille'. This year, like last, was particularly poignant because Louis-Charles de Roquette, Caroline's husband and Inez's brother, and my darling friend, was killed in a tragic car accident in May 2008. Caroline's lovely farmhouse was filled with seasonal crysanthemums, in glorious, autumnal, deep red hues, in his memory. They had taken many more to the cemetery in St Felix Lauragais after a special mass for him. The pain of loss never really goes away.

I met them for a delicious dinner at Inez's house, where she had prepared her signature dish of 'blanquette de veau', one of my favourite traditional French dishes and one that she makes brilliantly. We talked and laughed, reminiscing over the old times but also looking forward to new ones. It made me think how sad it is that none of my siblings meets up to remember our mother, and that I am as guilty as they are for not organising it. The great thing about 'Toussaint' is that the date is always fixed in the calendar so there are never any excuses for putting it off. It is a great institution and it is such a shame that in the UK there is no real equivalent.

Christian had two new books, hot off the press and still wrapped in plastic, to show us. One is called 'Delices', full of fabulous photographs and history of the patissiers of Paris, and the other is called 'Linge', with stunning pictures of old linens from all over France. He is a genius! I had just bought 'France, A Sense of Place' and 'Gourmet Bistros and Restaurants of Paris', new, on Amazon's secondhand site for a knockdown price, which I just happened to have in my car. He kindly inscribed them for me for the biblioteque at Bardies.

Tellingly, he wrote in 'France', "quelques morceaux de France d'avant les e'oliennes". At Merveille, they have been invaded by enormous, triffid-like wind turbines because the Lauragais has a huge number of windy days each year. There is a price to be paid for everything and France has not shirked difficult environmental decisions. The 'e'oliennes' can look very striking when seen from a distance, but if you live in their shadow they are an ominous and noisy presence. Would we want them here? No, I don't think so!

'Toussaint' is a special time, and I am so pleased that they allowed me to share it with them. Without Peter and 'les enfants', I have time to reflect on the summer just gone and think of the year to come. We need this time to take stock, to batten down the hatches, especially when the wind is as strong as it is here right now, and to give thanks for what we have. Our need for preparing ourselves for the hardship of winter seems to me to be celebrated in so many ways at this time of year - Bonfire Night, Harvest Festival, Michaelmas, Thanksgiving, Advent and, the ultimate winter festival, Christmas. After that, sadly, unless you're a skier, it's downhill all the way!