Ark and Fliss

By Sheila Longman

Felicity and Armand met in France in their teenage years. They bonded in friendship and fell in love after their first few years as students. Ark, as he was known, came from a complicated family background but had the courage to make his own decisions to change his university studies. They began their married life in London but soon moved to Surrey where Ark could follow his career in Art. Fliss enjoyed teaching French. They had to face some real sadness but they worked at making a life together and travelled to both Germany and Romania making lifelong relationships, before settling in Surrey to work through their spiritual life and their loving contacts with their extended family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398486713

Sheila Longman

Sheila Longman is a retired teacher of modern languages, including English as a foreign language. She began writing novels during lockdown having only written some magazine articles and poetic meditations. After writing a memoir of her spiritual journey, she decided to use her experiences in education and worldwide travels to create family stories dealing with anthropology, racism, spirituality, mental health, art and belief systems, relationships and sexuality. She has followed courses in indigenous spirituality, Romanian and post-colonial theology. Relaxation is in art and crafts.

Book preview

About the Author

Sheila is a retired teacher of Modem Languages and English as a Foreign Language (EFL)

Until Lockdown she had only written a few articles for magazines and some Christian Poetry.

Inspired by attempting a memoir of her spiritual journey, she decided to use her experiences

in Education, travels in Europe, Canada and Australia to create family stories dealing with

anthropology, racism, spirituality and mental health, indigenous art and belief systems and

relationships, counselling and sexuality. In her retirement she studied Romanian, Creative

Writing, Indigenous Spirituality and Post-Colonial Theology. She also did Prison work and

teaching for the Probation Service.

Dedication

My dear European and life long friends in France, Germany and Romania who inspired this novel.

Copyright Information ©

Sheila Longman 2022

The right of Sheila Longman to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398486706 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398486713 (ePub-e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Felicity Roblon decided to write the story of her life with her husband Armand. They first met in France when they discovered they both had French relatives in their families. They kept in touch through their student years spending working holidays in different parts of France. Felicity spent her year in France in Lyon, where Armand’s mother had grown up. Armand made a brave change to his studies despite his mother’s opposition then began his new studies as an artist. He proposed to Felicity and they settled in South London. Through her teaching posts and the church, they attended, they gained ever more contacts with France and then with Germany.

Personal sorrow caused them to question their beliefs and seek for a deeper meaning to life. They became involved with exchanges and conferences in France and Germany and developed a deep love and understanding of the people and culture of the two countries. Felicity saw mingling melodies in the unexpected links through art, poetry and philosophy.

Later in life they were invited to make a new link with Eastern Europe and spent time in Romania. Battling with loss, sorrow and pain, Felicity looked back at all the people with whom they had meaningful and loving relationships in England as well as abroad. As they approached old age, Felicity tried to make some sense of their spiritual journey.

At school, Felicity was called Fliss by her friends. It remained her nickname for the rest of her life. Armand was known as Ark because his school friends took his initials and formed a nickname which stuck, Armand Rufus Keston. As an artist, he signed his paintings ARK.

Introduction

I jumped up to answer the landline and was pleased to hear from Flora in Germany. She and her husband Andrei were planning their next visit to Surrey.

We’d love to put you all up if you have any free days, I said. We have two double beds and a spare room and someone can sleep in the conservatory.

I always speak English with Flora and her Romanian husband as they both spent several years in England before settling in Germany. Their children were at school in Stollberg and thus spoke fluent German as well as some English. I expect Andrei has taught them some Romanian.

We talked through their schedule and agreed on a long weekend during their tour to catch up with their many good friends in Surrey. We had met Flora in Leipzig during our various exchanges and conferences. After completing her degree at Leipzig University, she found a good job in England as she was highly qualified in Computer Studies.

I was sitting in the conservatory beginning my memoir writing when she called. The term mingling melodies came to me as I thought back on the way our relationships with significant friends in France and Germany had mingled over the years. Armand was in his studio so I put my head around the door to say I had the dates for Flora and Andrei’s visit.

Isn’t that the weekend after Corin’s daughters are with us?

Yes, we won’t have time to be bored!

My brother Alan had two married children. His son Corin and his wife Lilly had two daughters who enjoyed spending time with us. They lived in South London so visiting was easier than with my sister Sylvie who had married a Frenchman and lived with their children in the Massif Central area.

Ark’s sister lived with her family in Canada. We kept in close touch with them over the years making Canadian tours and supporting them through the grief of losing a child.

Chapter 1

I went back to my papers and decided to begin my story.

At school I had studied German and Spanish to O level and French to A level. I applied for a teacher training course majoring in French and Education. We were encouraged to spend some weeks of the long summer break in France to improve our accents and knowledge of the language and culture. I had the advantage of a French grandfather, René Roblon born in Dieppe. He had moved to England in the 1930s before the War and married Audrey Green. Their first son was my father, Richard and their second was called George. Both had names which worked in the two languages. Granny Audrey did not speak French so my dad grew up mainly speaking English but knew a little French as his Grandpa René read French stories to him. In my early years, Grandpa was active and lively and read French to me and taught me many phrases. My younger brother and sister were born after the decline in his health so they did not enjoy the same benefit.

I was always very attracted to France, the language, the songs, the food and the scenery.

I decided to become a teacher of French when I was still in the sixth form. We belonged to an Anglican church in London which taught us to read the Bible using Scripture Union Notes. One day a speaker came to show slides of the SU camps in France, inviting the young people to spend a working holiday in a camp. I applied to this idyllic looking camp called Maison Fleurie in the south of France. I was disappointed when a letter came to say that it was already fully booked. My application had been sent to another camp. This camp, or ‘Colonie de Vacances’ was on the edge of a town called Guebwiller just below some foothills covered with vineyards.

I was accepted for a four week stay in August. Dad helped me find it on a map and helped me get a passport, train tickets and French Francs. Guebwiller was near the towns of Colmar and Muhouse in Alsace, not far from the border with Germany. I boarded the train in London, seen off by the whole family. I was just 17 when I undertook that train and ferry journey to the far side of France. I remembered noticing the very different countryside and houses. Everything was fascinating. The long night journey was broken up by a group of Japanese tourists who all seemed to carry big black cameras around their necks. They walked up and down the corridors and came into the carriages and asked, mainly with sign language and smiles, if they could take photos of us. No one objected so most of us had several portraits taken.

In Colmar I looked around the station forecourt for the Bus Bleu. I found one and asked for Guebwiller. Sitting by a window and watching the passengers get on, watching the scenery, farmland, horses, woods and villages; I became aware that I did not understand what the people were saying. I heard some familiar phrases, ‘Bonjour Monsieur, Aurevoir Madame’, but then I could understand nothing of what they said in between, it was unlike any French I had ever heard.

Guebwiller! shouted the driver.

Several people alighted on to the cobbled pavement.

We were outside some shops which resembled Tudor houses with heavy wooden beams.

I saw a small lady dressed in dark blue and black and asked her for ‘rue de la Gare’ for the camp. She pointed but did not speak in French. I turned to another lady who gave me instructions to the main road and said I would soon see the sign for ‘La Ligue pour la Lecture de la Bible’.

I staggered along with my heavy case which had no wheels. On my left was the high pointed roof of the mansion and the SU sign in French. I rang a bell and was warmly welcomed by a lady with a black chignon. She introduced herself as Tante Lilly. I soon learned that all the women staff were Tante and the men were Oncle.

I shared a room in a chalet on the edge of a field behind the main house. This was the sleeping place for six girls from England, Austria and Germany. We had a single bed each, a table and chairs and a cupboard. I loved looking at the stars at night. There were no lights around so they were very clear. Every evening I saw the same two bright stars above the chalet and dubbed them ‘les étoiles du chalet’.

After unpacking I was taken to the kitchen and there was the little lady in blue. She was Madame Katrine from Hungary. If I had followed her, she would have shown me the short route to the camp. She laughed and laughed at me, repeating ‘rue de la Gare, rue de la Gare’. She did not seem to know much French. She was sweet and friendly. She cleaned the kitchen, the offices, the bathrooms and toilets and the corridors.

I had a wonderful time working there. I soon learned that Alsace had been German until 1945 when it was given back to France. The older people all spoke German, the younger generation had their schooling in French but they all used the Alsatian dialect. No wonder I had understood nothing on the bus. It was much more German than French. The local newspaper had poems and articles in the dialect on one page. Newspapers, posters, church services were all in both languages. I heard people talk about ’les Franҫais de.l’intérieur. I realised that it was less than twenty years since the end of the war.

I learned so much working in the kitchen, including how to make several dishes which I used all my life. Some of the vocabulary caused us fun and laughter. The other English girls talked of a ‘cup of the’, amused that a cup of tea was ‘une tasse de thé’ in French. When I was given a large glass bowl and sent outside to fetch ‘Persil’. I learned that I was not expected to go the laundry for washing powder but to pick parsley from the garden. I loved the fresh smell as I picked it and then ground it on a herb mill. The bowl was filled with oil and vinegar, salt and pepper which I had to whisk into vinaigrette to pour over the 25 bowls of lettuce.

Every morning we were called to prayers and hymn singing for about half an hour. The staff from the kitchen and the offices met in a small room for daily worship. It did wonders for my French. One morning I offered to give out the hymn books.

Je distribue ’Sur les Ails de la Foi?

Everyone laughed.

The garlic of faith! explained a friend. The word is ‘ailes’, meaning wings, On the Wings of Faith!

A small difference in pronunciation.

It was all great fun; with three languages there were puns and word games galore.

We had free time to go shopping in town and to walk up the hills to the large cross at the top where we had lovely views over the countryside. I watched the children who lined up outside their chalets, outside the dining room and then went off for various activities. Some of them were only about seven. They were divided into teams and were looked after by ‘moniteurs’ and ‘monitrices’ who were mainly students from French universities.

In the evenings the young workers met together for drinks and singing. One was a Bible School student from Switzerland and strummed a guitar. On some occasions we sat around a bonfire and roasted potatoes in the ashes. This is where I first met Armand. He was confidently chatting in French with the guitarist. I was amazed at his fluency as he seemed to be having a disagreement about some aspects of the Bible course. There was a happy atmosphere in the ‘Colonie de Vacances’ but gradually I saw just how strict and narrow was