By Hamish Brown

MILTON AND ISSARLÈS (cont)

There was no way out of course. I was stuck with Gentianne whose very name was an offence. "My name is from that of a Alpine flower," she had written. I took vicious pleasure in changing 'a' to 'an' and correcting any other errors in her writing which was part of the set-up. Andy kept all of lovely Monique's dull letters and wrote out copies rather than send back the corrected originals. He kept the real ones in a locked drawer in his dressing table and Monique's photo in his wallet. He was in love with that pretty round face with its pout like Brigid Bardot's.

Gentianne's letters however always sounded more cheerful and sometimes even funny so I hid her photograph and pictured her in my mind as someone like Monique. As the months and years passed we exchanged a few more photographs. Rien change, tout ça change. Gentianne may have been cheery but Monique was the busty beauty of them all. More than Andy kissed her photo when it went round the class. Slowly I came to like plain old Gentianne however. When I let Andy read her letters he would laugh or sigh and admit she beat 'Bardot' Monique for writing English then he'd pout his lips and wiggle his hips and quote that Elvis song at me: "It's now or never

We all grew up I suppose over those years of the Swinging Sixties. The French girls became almost relatives, sort of distant cousins, whom we'd meet one day, yet we never quite lost the fantasising about our 'correspondents' (we refused the juvenile terms 'pen-pal' or 'pen-friend'), and both Andy and I fiercely defended 'our girls' from any slighting comments from our peers. By our last year I'd developed a real relationship with Gentianne which was obviously reciprocated. While we swapped discs and chatted about film stars and all the inconsequentials of teenage life we also opened our hearts to each other as we might not have done, face to face. Ladies' man Andy no longer had my Gentianne's letters to read and his 'Plain Jane' taunts were ignored. I came to believe I had the best of the bargain.

Some correspondences naturally failed, (poor Fatso's never survived after 2B even) and others stuttered on or were replaced so, by the time it came for our visit to the Ardèche, about half the class had survived Ma MacKendrick's course. We both spoke and wrote reasonable French and the last term, when our tyrant teacher seemed to relax somewhat, we had classes in French manners and customs rather than just language - and hilarious it often proved. We'd also seen plenty of boys and girls from Issarlès at Milton over the years and they seemed good sorts and came to our discos and enjoyed everything.

They joked about Issarlès being the Ponderosa of France, stuck away in nowhere, which I suppose it was. To reach it we went by our own coach, staying at youth hostels on the way so we could imbibe a bit more 'culture'. We had two days doing Paris (my feet ached after the day in the Louvre) then went by Valence to Le Puy, a very odd place. We'd all read Robert Louis Stevenson's "Travels with a Donkey" so made a diversion to visit some of its sites. Our last night was at Aubenas youth hostel then we wended back into the hills, saw the source of the Loire on Mont Gerbier de Jouc, passed the lac and so came to Issarlès, the air mountain fresh and juniper-scented.

In part it was familiar from pictures and things and was quite bonny: 'une panoplie de paysages très attrayallls' as one tourist brochure declared. At the marie we were met by the families we were to stay with for two weeks. Mine was a Monsieur and Madame Gardès and their twin kids Paul and Michel. They called me Allain instead of Allan. He had a charcuterie so we ate well! Next day, at the lycèe, we'd meet the girls - or boys - our class had been writing to, in some cases for as long as three years. You can imagine my state. And Andy's.

All this was a long time ago now of course but, with hindsight, I now reckon I had my honeymoon before my wedding. Gentianne and I twinned together like the cut halves of an apple. We had already agreed so well across the miles and years apart that we were instant friends and, before long, much much more. The letters we wrote after that were extremely private!

With a certain irony we still wrote in the other's native language. When I told Ma MacKendrick this at our wedding reception (Andy was best man) she was tickled pink and, though retired, was still sharp enough to recall a story she'd once told me and to wish that we would live happily ever after. I had to explain the frog princess bit to Gentianne.

Miss MacKendrick died years ago but I still see Andy whiles (thrice married, twice divorced!) and we seldom part without a wry mention of that first meeting of our class with its Issarlès counterpart.

The Gardès père drove me to the lycée and we had a formal sort of gathering with some boring old farts making speeches while all we - boys - wanted was to meet our girls. I managed to catch a glimpse of Monique. Cripes! She was gorgeous (Lucky Andy!) She gave a secretive finger wave and a smile to melt mortals. I glanced at Andy beside me. He was studying his hands on his lap. I looked at Monique again. Another smile, quite definitely at me. I tell you, I went scarlet.

Eventually we were turned loose and this gorgeous creature came bustling over and immediately put her arms round me and gave me a kiss on each cheek While such a greeting was expected it left Andy and I dumbfounded especially as a bigger, unremarkable girl embraced Andy straight away as well

"Oh. Allan." smiled the beauty. "Welcome to Issarlès at last. I am your friend Gentianne."

"But you're Monique!" I somehow croaked, almost wondering at my own identity, never mind these crazy Ardèchoise antics over names.

The girl's eyes dropped, the Bardot pout was there, and she had flushed in obvious embarrassment. I just wondered what I had said. Then her startlingly bright eyes cleared as she looked into mine

"Oh. Allan, forgive me but years and years ago Monique and I played a silly joke and then could never reverse it. Those very first pictures we sent, we sent each other's photographs. Monique and I. I really am your Gentianne."

And there she spoke the most wonderful, abiding truth, thirty years on she still is my Gentianne, as real and sweet as an Ardèche apple from the banks of the Loire.

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