Category:
Humor
FRANCE OR PRISON
A novel by David Salter
This is an account of a recalcitrant Englishman in his fifties who discovers an idyllic house in remote and rural France and endeavours to retire and live over there with his wife. That is where any similarity with any other such tales ends.
The subject, in his attempts to achieve his desires, encounters difficulties, not the least of which are with the authorities of his homeland. In an effort to arrive at the present the writer attempts to analyse the past by tracing back to the man’s early childhood and schooldays, through to his emerging delinquency and resultant detention at a remand home, just before he was sentenced to be detained at an approved school for two years, back in the early sixties. Not only does the story reveal the explicit brutality of such a life, it is written in a compellingly honest style that portrays the naive and simple humour of the situation of youth and circumstance, as seen through the eyes of the young rogues and adventurers who were relieved of their liberty for their misdemeanour's, the like of which, compared to the deeds of many of their modern culpable counterparts, would today seem trifling by comparison.
After his release back into the community, over forty years elapse during which time the character largely manages to evade the wrath of society, in spite of the efforts of the Inland Revenue, who have been attempting to acquire a larger share of his hard earned income for a number of years.
Just as things seem to be finally fitting into place, the rebel is summoned to appear before a Judge, to provide good reason why he should not be committed to prison, which had been the nightmare born way back in his childhood and from which he had never truly escaped.
Other tales have been told about people moving to France, other tales have been told about youths in detention. This unique and fascinating narrative amounts to an enlightening and entertaining account of both issues. No one who has come from the sixties or anyone whose curiosity may seek an alternative account of the supposed swinging generation should miss the read, neither should anyone who loves France, or indeed anyone less fortunate. As to whether it is fact or fiction, we should prefer that the reader draw their own conclusion.
The book is just over 110,000 words. Part of it is a realistic account of how a young rebel was treated by British Society back in the sixties and sections of that narrative, and the rest of the book, are extremely funny. The background information is revealed by interviews between the subject and the writer which pose some very poignant questions and produces much satirical analysis, whilst inviting the reader to draw their own conclusions. It starts with a journey to France and stops at that journeys end, with the subject settling there. In between start and finish are many most unusual episodes in the life of a middle aged rebel who has never quite escaped from the blunderings of boyhood.
Excerpt
1) "It seemed to Derek that he had only just fell asleep when the door was opened with a bang and the lights were turned on fully. The guard looked into the room and announced in a menacing voice that everyone was to stay exactly where they lay, all they had to do was listen. He then walked away. It was not long before speculative whispering occurred as to what was happening. Someone said that he had been told by a guard earlier that the lad who had escaped the previous night had been caught by the police and was on his way back. Then, the sound of shouting and scuffling was heard rising up the stairs and into their room, which was exactly as intended. It was obvious that quite a struggle was going on. Another voice added that the captive would be caned by the Governor, and had it occurred earlier they would all have been made to watch. He said he had witnessed such a beating before, when, with trousers down, the victims head was held under the edge of a table whilst he was given twelve lashes on the rear. It sounded like the captive was trying very hard to resist such an ordeal. The noise stopped abruptly and the next sound was the unmistakable swish and crack of beaten flesh, a noise which once heard, will never truly leave the memory of a compassionate soul. One lad said it sounded like the birch. The noise was repeated, and then again, and it was on the third stroke that a low moaning was heard, getting louder and louder at each stroke until counting was lost in the screams which were scaling the stairs in the embodiment of earthly agony, like the very spirit and soul of a tortured man in a desperate attempt to leave the pain of mortal flesh behind. The noise abated, the guard came back and shut and locked the door.
Derek, most definitely, harboured no intentions of escape. Neither did he hear of any other plots. Nothing was seen or heard of the beaten boy until the following evening’s shower time when Derek was in the final 'rinsing off' process of that exercise and he was stood by the drain at the end of the line of sprinklers. Someone said, “Look”, and Derek saw the boy behind him pointing to the base of the shower trough where the water was beginning to run red. All eyes then turned upstream to the source of the trail which was a large lad who had just entered the shower trough. His back was tight to the wall but you could see without a doubt that the blood was his, trickling down the backs of his legs to merge with the water in a lurid display. A watching guard shouted at them to mind their own affairs and hurry up. Everyone obeyed. Derek heard later that the escapee, who had been in the same dormitory as Derek on that first night he arrived there, had, when the guard had been distracted, stuffed something into the latch of the lock which had prevented it from being fully fastened. Later in the night he had somehow been able to get the door open and reach his clothes and shoes on the landing, and then get away, which as it then turned out, was to his significant disadvantage.
After that display in the showers he was not seen again. Someone said he had been taken to somewhere more secure. His presence though, was recalled every night by the guards, when they carried out a thorough inspection of the lock to the dormitory door.
The days went by slowly, Derek did his chores without getting into any more trouble but he did not have the same success with the afternoon lessons. The Maths and....."
2) "Technical drawing lessons were held in the converted loft above the engineering block. Both sides of that room housed a row of individual desks, each with their own drawing board. To supplement the inadequate lighting, each position had its own adjustable reach lamp or 'anglepoise' lamp, as they were then known. Through no fault of his own other than having an irrepressible urge to interfere, Derek was given to fiddling with things and one day when he had finished his project before the end of that lesson, he unscrewed the cover that was right at the top of his lamp, at that position which was normally grasped to adjust the beam to where it was required. Now, as the electric supply cable ran right through a hole in the centre of that same cover, and you must appreciate that design safety was not as advanced as today, then the two brass screws into which the positive and negative wires connected, were then exposed. As it was such a long time ago, Derek could not for certain recall exactly whose idea it was that a boy could thus be electrocuted. Not that anyone actually wanted to electrocute someone to death, it was just considered that it might be funny just to 'stun' someone a little, more as an experiment than as any intention of harm or desire to cause offence.
The chosen victim was quite a big fellow, but he was also of a slow and ponderous disposition and he was picked, kindly, because it was considered that the treatment might actually do him a bit of good, as well as for the chance that he might be least likely to retaliate. Derek had shared his choice of test subject with another philanthropist and it was he who had opted to keep watch while Derek entered the room at the start of the next lesson, unusually early. It did not take long to unscrew the cap and Derek was easily sat at his own station by the time the others filed in. Grabbing the lamp was an automatic reaction, you did not need to stop and study it, it was just there above your head and a little to one side, so after having done so countless times, you just reached up for it whilst looking at your drawing board. The poor lad screamed at first, but that turned into a howl as the pain was extended by the phenomena of being unable to let go of the source of the shock. At that same time his head shook rapidly and his cheeks expanded and contracted at such speed that the overall vision became a blur to the eyes, more like seeing a sketch in a comic book or a clip from a cartoon, rather than something which was real. Derek and his accomplice fell about laughing, as did everyone else when they turned around and saw what was going on. It was not that they were heartless or lacking in compassion, it was because they were boys.
His pain ceased when he fell off his stool, breaking the connection. Being a robust sort it did not take long before he was none the worst for it and he......"
3) "The stars were not the only source of entertainment, and no tale of rural France could ever be complete without an account of the sonorous sound of the most amazing symphony ever sung by two legged creatures, they being the little frogs that lived in and around the lake, which lay close beyond Derek’s garden gate. That sound, when it first began early in the day, did not sound anything like a croak such as you would ever recognise as originating from a tiny being like a frog. It was more like a noise that you might imagine came from cattle, which had accidentally swallowed the frogs whilst trying to drink from the lake, and were desperately trying to clear them from their throats. The sound usually started around mid morning, but that was mainly in short sporadic bursts, which would cease if the sun hid behind a cloud. By mid afternoon the frogs were more organised and the sound level surged, but the compact choristers would still stop and start with no real sense of rhyme or rhythm. Proper practise, only commenced when the sun sank below the treetops. Then, for the next two hours of diminishing daylight, earnest orchestration began. Come dark, or even more spectacularly, come dark by moonlight, the serious show commenced. They always started with a pronounced pause, that which could never be achieved without the complete and devoted discipline of a most assiduous assembly. The whole ensemble, as if to a perfect count, would then burst into the blazoned broadcast of a choral croaking concourse, with intermittent falsetto chirruping and chirping harmonies, blending with the lower base of the common croakers, resulting in an altogether amazing medley of musical merriment that magically mesmerised all men and women within hearing. Or at least those who had not heard it all before.
Derek was convinced that the frogs had acquired professional assistance, but when he scoured the lakeside for evidence of wires and amplified speakers he could find no trace of such. He once tried to intrude in the middle of a late concert, in the aim of identifying the conductor, but the sound ceased before he had got but halfway to the lake. When he examined the auditorium by torchlight for evidence of the act, he encountered not one frog, nor even one tadpole, as if they had never hopped hitherto. Even more curious, were the short silent interludes, and the abruptness of them. To pause an entire ensemble, in one exact instance, would take the most competent of conductors anywhere on the planet. To restart, after perfect silence, and in perfect tune and harmony, after counts that varied from within five to twenty seconds, that which they achieved after every three to four minutes of the overture, merely compounded the confusion of Derek’s already overwhelmed senses."
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