francofiled

It has long been the custom in our family to celebrate Bastille Day and this time for the 14 July we had booked an evening meal in Bastille Restaurant, Belfast We arrived to the sound of jazz music rising from the basement entrance and were warmly welcomed into the restaurant, under the canopy of a huge French flag suspended from the ceiling. We were escorted to our table and were soon enjoying a welcome glass of fizz having been invited to choose our meals from the extensive à la carte menu. We ordered and, fizz in hand, sat back to enjoy the atmosphere. Diners were in party mood and t he place had filled up well. There was plenty of lively conversation, punctuated by the voices of a group of French people on a short visit to Belfast. It wasn’t long before our starters of quail salad, with provençal olives and quail egg; and foie gras arrived. Senses heightened with the aromas, tastes and sounds, Belfast soon melted into France . We continued with our main courses of seatrout...

French voices are increasingly common around Belfast as we make progress towards becoming a more metropolitan place to live and work. Although the city is quite compact and well signposted you occasionally see people consulting their maps, wondering where they should go next. It’s a particular pleasure to hear visitors speaking French and so when I overheard a group discussing which direction they should take to get to our “big fish” I decided to introduce myself. To their obvious delight, I got them going in the right direction and walked part of the way with them, speaking French. That makes my day. I get to use the language and it is an opportunity to sustain the reputation for being friendly and welcoming. The truth is that I don’t get to France as often as I would like these days and look for ways to keep the connection strong. This francofiled blog is part of that process and so too is surfing social media to keep up to date through Facebook, Twitter and the web. If you...

Kensington Palace Gardens, backing on to the grounds of the Palace itself, is an impressive avenue of varied architecture, the London homes of many of the world’s ambassadors. I had come, on Monday 29 March 2010, with my family and some friends to the French Ambassador’s Residence for a ceremony in which, along with a dozen others, I was to be decorated as a Chevalier in the Ordre des Palmes Académiques for services rendered to French culture. We were made to feel very much at home, although I was a bit anxious as I knew that I had to make a short speech to the gathering later on. The welcome glass of a crisp white wine helped to steady the nerves and I was able to relax into the occasion. The Residence is a beautiful, elegant home embellished with marble busts and tapestry. The salon being used for the ceremony was infused with a soft purple light accentuating the colour of the palme’s ribbon. The Ambassador, a charming man, immaculately dressed, introduced himself and welcomed us...

I find it hard to part with books and have several old texts from my school days. One such is a book of French Translation Passages. It dates from the late 1960s and when I found it again recently I flicked through to an extract that has come to mind several times over the years since. I have the book beside me now, open at Passage #42, relating to the writer, Anatole France . The extract appeals to me. In summary it refers to a charming, greying man, nearly 70 but with a young disposition. Someone whose age suited him and who in the salon preferred to give way rather than argue. Described as a seductive speaker, drawing on literary references, he disliked stubborn, argumentative people, saying about them : - They think it is important to be right! That sounds to me now like good role model behaviour. I wonder if I also thought that as the 17-year old translating the piece for the first time. As I engaged in the lengthy, technical process of translation back then I wonder if those desc...

A light rain made us hurry our steps up Bond Street, past the tempting array of small restaurants and into Manchester Square to Hertford House, home of the Wallace Collection . We had learned much about Sir Richard, son of the fourth Marquess of Hertford at various events organised by the Richard Wallace Trust (Lisburn) and this was our first time at his London home. We recognised the building immediately as it bears very close resemblance to his home, Castle House in Lisburn, now occupied by the South Eastern Regional College. Another clear sign was the presence of a Wallace Fountain to the right of the entrance. We had arrived. Inside, what struck most was the sumptuous elegance of the place. A gorgeous red carpeted staircase with marble columns on each side. We went upstairs leaving the armoury collection for another time. There were several galleries. Art everywhere. And left to us as a philanthropic legacy. Wow! Boucher's The Rising of the Sun (1753) caught my att...