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IF YOU WERE TOLD ABOUT MY BOURBONNAIS


ISBN 2-9504430-6-0

" I was lucky to belong to a happy generation, the one of the " baby-boom ", which was born just at the end of the second world war, and too young to get involved in the colonial events. I spent my childhood in a geographically limited area, but such a rich and varied one: a schoolyard at the foot of the townhall and a vast and peaceful square. I took great pleasure in bringing this world back to life: games, friends, the class, the family. The personality of my father. In the background, the Bourbonnais of the merry years, the taste for celebration, the unconcern of the post-war period "

VARENNES-SUR-ALLIER: The Fifties

" From the first pages, the reader is conquered by the beauty of the style, its discreete humour, the delicacy of the thought, the meticulousness of the details... " Romuald Galetti, Vichy: Regional press.

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ALONE AGAINST MAFFIA

ISBN2-9504430-4-4

" Why did Jean Dalcin live in the certainty that Italy was his true country? What was the obscure reason why he could not he be satisfied with the soft and safe life that his immigrant parents had gotten for him in the South-west of France? What torment was he complaining about? Life difficulty and the digs at his sel-esteem made his life topple over. But Sicily with its frightening and bloody whirl, would not be long ruining his illusions. Death was on the watch in the the path. "

ACTION, DANGER in the heart of the town of Palermo.

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HAPPY HOLIDAYS

ISBN2-9504430-01

" Let ourselves be carried towards the Mediterranean, this world where it is forbidden to take oneself seriously: a daily experience, its charm and its limits, its small worries accepted with a sense of humour which makes the good times lived in Bourbonnais come back to us."

"... I took great pleasure in reading these memories of holidays. They reminded me of... this proverb which is current in the country of DonCamillo: Chi ride toglie un chiodo alla bara. (The one who laughs removes a nail from his coffin.) Thanks to you, I removed several of them..."

JEAN ANGLADE

" Immagini variopinte, dai toni vivaci si succedono offrendo dell'Italia molteplici sfaccettature, in un clima a volte ironico E critico. " MONICA MARTINELLI, Bollettino del Centro Interuniversitario di ricerche sul viaggio in Italia, Moncalieri ITALY

PRECEDENTS TITLES: U PINZUTU, MEDITERRANEAN POSTCARDS, and of J.FERRIEUX: TALES FROM BOURBONNAIS

EDITIONS SCALEA


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Some extracts:

IF YOU WERE TOLD ABOUT MY BOURBONNAIS

Being a child of the post-war period, suffering from no shortage, without benefitting for all that by the abundance the following generations were to know, I grew up as a fragile boy, almost weak at times, but I usually enjoyed a good health and except the normal epidemic diseases, I didn't often know the joy of the sudden high temperature which justifies the family mobilization, a dry wood fire, the serious and reassuring melody of the diagnosis...

MISS JULIE

Another person was in service with our family once per week. Miss Julie, ironer by trade...

Miss Julie had only one failing, a single one. Poor Miss Julie! To be used to living lonely in a lower ground floor in the poor part of the town, to go only on foot through a district criss-crossed by trucks, to be able to widen one's horizon only very seldom by going up the hill which dominates the city to consider the nice round forms of a deadened volcano keeping whatch over its subdued pack, required some compensation.

Miss Julie would begin with " a small drop " at 1.30 p.m., which was undoubtedly followed by several others when she was alone, since my father who was the owner of a farm let in share-cropping, gathered various barrels of wine and a great many bottles of marc every year. In the evening, he exclaimed: " My wine is tasteless. He (the share cropper), gave me pressing again ". In fact, he finally realized that with the complicity of the tap Miss Julie compensated small misdemeanours which she did not certainly wish to reveal. Never did my father dare go and reproach her for that. At the most he gave back to Miss Julie personally the light wine she had watered down the week before. That bottle had an unusual longevity.

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ALONE AGAINST MAFFIA

... My troubles had begun a few days before because of an imprudent glance a simple glance. What a shame !

A double-dotted line of detonations had torn the night. I had stuffed the key of the front door down the bottom of my pocket, I had rushed in a stupid reaction, ( quite a french reaction), towards the parapet which dominates the small dark square where I parked my car. I had leaned forward; the figures could hardly be distinguished: a lying body in the ultimate convulsive movement, losing its blood, and the murderer, young man who leaped on an enormous motor bike controlled by an inscrutable helmeted character. *** TRANSLATION ENDS HERE ***

 


 

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