Gala Season

Nos poules dans l'herbe!

June is Gala season, when the schools of music and dance have finished their exams and are ready to regale their public with a splendid display of their achievements before closing for the summer. Every single pupil must be exhibited, spotlighted and applauded – regardless of ability. Fortunately they usually perform in groups rather than individually; little clusters of clarinets or saxophones not forgetting the accordion class. Lumped together like this the experienced musicians drown out the beginners and the overall effect is actually excellent. And every Gala is guaranteed a huge audience because, in this country region, every student (except us) has at least four generations of their family living just around the corner, if not in the same house.

Put like this it all sounds like a very good idea, which basically it is. Budding muscians have the opportunity to perform – which is good for them, parents, grandparents, aunties, uncles and friends have the opportunity to appreciate the talent of petit Clement and adorable Orphélie, and the whole of Charbonville gets to appreciate the brilliance of the music school. Each year the gala has a specific theme and each year it must be bigger and better than last year.

It is also, of course, an opportunity for the teachers to congratulate each other, stroke the director’s ego and sycophantically thank the Mayor, who sits through every boiling performance in a jacket and tie. Thanks to His Communist Leadership, the music school is generously subsidised and affordable even for the least affluent citizens – and Charbonville has a higher proportion of those than most of France. Lessons for those living in the communes of Greater Charbonville are approximately two euros an hour – which is possibly the lowest price in the entire world. This maybe the Mayor’s only good point, however. He seems unable to direct money towards roundabouts on deadly junctions or build roads to prevent HGV vehicles using the road in front of the school gates. Rumour suggests that he is also is planning to knock down the disused cafe next to the station and open a zoo, although how this fits in with communist ideology is unclear. Perhaps he is planning to redistribute elephant poo.

So far so good, the Gala season is excellent in theory but the big problem with the music school gala (and I have now sat though several), is its length. While all galas are long, this is the longest, probably due to the number of music stands that have to be shifted and adjusted between every act. We, the audience, swelter uncomfortably on the top pews of the Sports Hall for hour after hour after hour, applauding obediently and watching for our child’s two second slot.

The first year I attended the gala Princess 1 was dressed as a tree and played three chords on her guitar. Since then she has rebelliously refused to take part. Princess 2, as a pianist, seems able to avoid the more bizarre fancy dress and usually gets to play a couple of solo notes. This year she had 18 seconds of a Debussy piece to play entirely alone. The hall was awestruck at her talent, as you can imagine. After that the gala went on for another five hours.
Why not leave? Well, the school have worked this one out and every performance ends in a finale which includes every single pupil thus obliging everyone to stay until the very end – which this year was at 2am.
Really.
It ended, amid the trailing extension leads which would have any European Health and Safety Officer apoplectic, with a large joke cake, this being the Music School’s 20th birthday. The pretend cake was wheeled in and presented to the director who happened to be standing in the midst of his 125 students. On the cake, instead of candles, were fireworks. Two-a-clock in the morning, extension leads everywhere, one hundred exhausted children and – fireworks. This beats even the Great Trout Fest (of which I shall speak at some point) for sheer inanity. Sometimes c’est comme ça, la France.

Meanwhile at Chateau Coldspot, it is raspberry season. Unlike strawberries which are short and susceptible to being overrun by weeds, raspberries grow tall and straggly, like Princess 2. They are therefore able to continue producing fruit despite our neglect. So I have been out picking them and transforming them into jam and crumble – which you will probably be expected to sample, if you come to stay.

The Baccalaureate is thankfully over. Princess 1’s last exam was an English oral. She reported that the examiner was very pleasant and really displayed a good command of the language for a French person. So hopefully that has gone well.

Today we have le Brevet, which is a middle school certificate. Princess 2 is participating in this but has actually already passed as it is based on marks through the year with the exam adding extra points. No one is worried, least of all her.