A Vineyard in the Dordogne - How an English Family Made Their Dream of Wine, Good Food and Sunshine Come True. Jeremy Josephs
a strong pair of secateurs, as together they methodically worked their way from one row of vines to the next. But as soon as his body began to develop his father saw to it that he was given more physically exerting work, carrying large wicker baskets laden with ripe red grapes, towards a central collection point.
But cutting and carrying was not the role which Henry had in mind for himself. For as long as he could remember there was only one job which he aspired to or deemed to be sufficiently exciting and worthwhile — driving his father’s red Pony tractor. When, at fourteen, he was finally given permission to take the wheel for the first time, it was as if a magnificent moment of liberation had come. Shuttling back and forth between the various vineyards and then heading off again towards the chais, the overground cellars where the grapes would begin their miraculous metamorphosis into wine, he bubbled over with enthusiasm and joy. And it was then that he began to wonder if a life in the vineyards might not represent the best pathway for a future.
The work was particularly hard throughout the wine-harvesting season, yet the atmosphere was one of an almost continuous fête. Of the twenty or so people working together, sharing in the common cause of stripping the vines of their fruit, the majority were Spanish, seasonal workers who had travelled up from the border, only a couple of hundred kilometres away. They would arrive at the beginning of September with two cases, one full of clothes, the other crammed to bursting point with Spanish food, which they evidently could not bear to be without and which always included spicy sausages and tinned sardines. The working day would begin at approximately 7 a.m. with a ninety-minute stint of picking and collecting before stopping for the casse-croute du matin, the mid-morning snack consisting of pain de campagne, charcuterie, cheese and ham, with a glass or two of wine to wash it all down. Then it was another few hours’ labour before a still more filling lunch. And so on throughout the day until late in the afternoon. But since the same people, a mixture of Spaniards and village folk, would return year after year for the vendanges, strong friendships were forged, with more than the occasional romantic encounter. The same people would then meet up again during the evening, and basking in the sunshine which still remained, they would eat and sing and drink and dance their way into the early hours. And then the partying would abruptly come to an end for Henry, for, with hardly a grape left in sight, he knew that the time had come for him to return to the disciplined dormitory life of his boarding school in Béziers.
Every now and then, though, the Mondiés would themselves pack their bags and travel to Spain and visit the erstwhile vendangeurs in their new incarnations. There the patrons from France were received in a manner befitting royalty on an official engagement abroad, with magnificent paellas being served, the saffron-yellow rice always garnished with the most extravagant seafoods. It was a warm and friendly time when patrons and pickers alike would in turn relive the triumphs and disasters of that year’s harvest.
It was as well for Henry that there was another passion in his life. He had been encouraged by his parents to join the scout movement at an early age, and the Baden-Powell philosophy of the teaching of practical skills combined with a healthy approach to outdoor living and adventure soon struck a chord in the boy. Before long he had fallen under the influence of his leader, Gilles d’Andoque, a man who impressed upon him the importance of assisting the underprivileged in particular and of doing good deeds in general. It all seemed to accord with everything Henry had learned both from his parents and during catechism in church. When the scout leader mentioned the possibility of assisting in the restoration of a rather run-down church in the area, as part of a long-term project for the group, the first and most positive voice in favour was young Henry’s. In fact it was with more than a tinge of regret, even though he was by now twenty, that Henry realized that the time had come for him to leave his scouting career behind and move on.
In any case the baccalauréat (final school exams) now beckoned. And there were audible sighs of relief in the Mondié household, from parents and pupil alike, when, in the second week of July 1968, the news came through that this time Henry had been successful. At once the best bottle of champagne was brought out to celebrate the long-awaited occasion. Within a couple of days Henry was pondering his next move. He was tempted to study the new subject of computer science, having heard that the Institut Universitaire de Technologie de Montpellier, situated in the handsome capital of the département of the Hérault, offered an exciting and well-structured course. But anxious not to stray too far from all that was familiar to him, he was equally tempted to study oenology, which offered the possibility of his emerging with the prestigious status of qualified wine-maker. Encouraged by his school to set his sights high, he applied to the École Nationale Supérieure d’Agronomie (ENSA), also based in Montpellier and unquestionably the finest school of its kind in France. Hardly surprising, therefore, that when the selection board offered Henry a place he gratefully accepted it without hesitation.
Although hardly a hotbed of radicalism at the time, Montpellier’s ENSA had been affected by the student uprisings during the course of recent months, in common with most other academic institutions. While there had been none of the violence that had characterized the demonstrations in Paris, classes there had been suspended for one month, as lecture theatre blocks were occupied and students voiced demands for a review of the school’s approach to teaching. Because the ENSA came under the auspices of the Ministry of Agriculture in Paris, officials from the school hurried north to the capital to see which points, if any, they might be able to concede. Anxious to practise the politics of pragmatism, they had a number of reforms approved and rushed through by special decree, instantly making the school more democratic and meeting many of the students’ demands.
By the time Henry first set foot in the school’s imposing premises in the Place Pierre Viala, the wave of protest had passed and the administration had every reason to feel confident that the new term would get underway in an atmosphere of normality. Not that Henry had the slightest intention of reading the small print relating to the changes which had recently been introduced. His outlook was easy enough to understand: having spent eight years as a boarder in Béziers, where the concept of democracy was noticeable only by its absence, he felt that any kind of regime which the ENSA might have to offer was bound to be a dramatic improvement. Anyway he had come to Montpellier to study, not play politics, and he soon applied himself to the school’s first-year programme of physics and chemistry, essential prerequisites for the detailed study of wine.
Student politics might not have been much to Henry’s liking; but there were nonetheless other distractions lurking not far away. For the first lesson which he learned in Montpellier was one which did not feature on the school’s syllabus at all — that the city student’s life was very agreeable indeed. Then he made another major discovery that distinguished his present programme from the anguished days of Béziers and the bac — that once a student had been admitted to the ENSA, then, provided he worked reasonably hard, the chances were that he would in due course acquire the school’s coveted diploma. By the time he returned to Cruzy for the Christmas holiday he had succeeded in making many new friends, having enjoyed a most hectic social life, attending parties in student flats and elsewhere several times a week — another far cry from his school-days. Now, instead of viewing the end of the holidays with a growing sense of unease, he could hardly wait for the new term to begin. Nor was it too taxing a task for Juliette and Maurice Mondié to detect the reason for Henry’s uncharacteristic impatience. It was abundantly clear that their son had been applying himself with considerable energy not just to the subject of wine but to the study of women too.
The ENSA course did not disappoint Henry. Striking an excellent balance between theory and practical work, it required students to go off around the country for periods of work-experience training, and to make additional excursions to vineyards in various regions of France. Every aspect of wine-making, it seemed, was covered, Henry selecting a special option on the economics of rural areas. He would never have dared say so in public, but the truth was that to himself he would periodically praise his own good judgement for having selected the stimulating subject of oenology.
As for the old university city of Montpellier, where sand, sea, sunshine and snow are never far away, it continued to provide the setting for the most magical years of his life. The place was teeming with students of all kinds, many of them drawn towards the famous medical faculty founded at the beginning