It was stinking hot, we'd given up on trying to follow the L'Aigle canal and headed north for the Margne. Coming into a small village in the middle of grain crops as far as the eye could see, we were brought to a stop by people standing on one side of the road and bowling a wooden boule onto the road and into the gravel of the roadside; on closer inspection there in amongst the stones and debris of the tabledrain was a small jack. We were seeing road boules for the first time. All down thge hill past the village houses, teams of six were doing the same. We went on down weaving in and out until near the bottom of the hill a side street ran up to an open area near the church, here others were assembled, drinking beer, champagne (this was the Ardennes, Champagne country) and the odd fruit drink. This turned out to be day three of the Village Saints Day; we were welcome to stay and could put our tent up on a bit of grass at the bottom of the road out of town.
We bought a beer and sat down. Val had a chat to one of the locals, there was more boules to be played, then a barbeque followed by music and dancing. Did I want to stay asked Val, I'm not feeling too comfortable yet I said; the words were barely out of my mouth when a party going past on their way to the "boules pitch" stopped in front of us; You are from New Zealand one of them asked, pointing at the flag on Vals bag, yes, are you staying the night and have you somewhere to stay? The only person who spoke english was called in to help. Jerome has a mobile home and you are welcome to stay in it if you want. Off the group went and I said to Val that that was the sort of feedback that suited me and yes, it would be great to take up Jeromes offer.
A couple of champagnes later we finally tracked Jerome down, he was just off to ply the final of the Boules tournament. We went down the hill and there they were in the entrance to a farm shed, playing the last end. Jerome embraced his two opponents, did a double cheek kiss with his partner, turned and signalled to all and sundry to follow him, turning as he departed to make sure we understood that we were to come too.
In the tiled kitchen of Jeromes kitchen the champagne corks were popping and shot glasses put out for the nine or ten people in the room. Glasses filled there was general toasting to the Champions, followed by a second top-up of glasses, then Jeromes parntner, suntanned shaven head, well built, fixed his gaze squarely on me and rattled off something in French and came around the table to stand alongside me, glass poised below his lips and looking for me to meet the challenge, what could I do, the reputation of the All Blacks was at stake, I may drown in the attempt, but what a way to go; drowning in pink champagne on the rolling country of the Ardennes.
We drank two glasses each in quick succession and the mob in the kitchen went wild. Fortuitously one of the boules officials arrived at the door just then and summonsed the winning team back up the hill for the presentation ceremony.
What followed was a great evening, we got stuck into the dancing (one french lady was deluded by the way Val and I were cutting around the floor (ashfelt actually) in the first dance and got me up for the second, where she was soon disolusioned and delivered my back to Val before the DJ started the second bracket!
Jerome was a gracious host, we were to use his bathroom and kitchen whenever, we got to bed lqte qnd got up late, packed and rode off into a stinking hot day with great memories of a little village of around 100 people who allowed us to share their Saint, and it must be in the running for the town with shortest name in France, "Son".
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