66 French Property News August 2019 http://www.completefrance.comtrees in a spooky deserted hamlet and, last but
not least, the house of flies.
During our viewing trips, we stayed with
Dick and Annie Jory in their fabulous chambre
d’hôtes, La Maison de Landerie, just outside
Ste-Hermine in Vendée, and it became the
centre of our visits. Dick had been an architect
in a former life and was happy to give his
advice freely on French property, as well as
delivering Annie’s delicious canapés and
pre-dinner drinks. Talking with Dick prompted
us to fall in love with French architecture,
while Annie, who had run restaurants in Devon
and was a trained Cordon Bleu chef, promoted
local French produce in all five courses on a
nightly basis. When it got to the stage where I
could hardly see my feet, though, we had to ask
her to drop the cheese course – with some
considerable regret.The ‘one’
Adrian, our agent immobilier in the area we
finally settled on, was patient, persistent and
helpful, but more than once he drove us past
the Art Deco façade of the house he knew that
we’d buy. Art Deco properties are a rarity in the
UK, even in South Devon where we live, and
come with a hefty price tag too, but it is a style
that I am very fond of.
Eventually, Adrian took us into the blue
bedroom, opened the French doors and the
shutters and stood back to smile at us, as westepped onto the balcony, open-mouthed in
awe, and looked out at the wonderful view. No,
it wasn’t perfect; the decor ranged from
challenging to moderately hideous (that French
shabby chic style is a bit of a myth in rural
France, by the way), but it had those fabulous
views and a charming garden with a terrace. It
sat on a quiet road in the old part of town.
What could be better? Oh, and it was (just)
affordable too.
With the compromis de vente signed and the
eight owners of our little house having signed
the contract, we met in the notaire’s office four
months later for the final signature with
Madame F. The notaire explained that we were
buying two addresses; our house had more
than just a dual aspect, as the very next week
the town would be renamed Argenton-les-
Vallées. This, he said, was normal in France.
After 500 years with the same historic name, it
was obviously time for a change.
We all finally signed every page, were
handed an enormous ring of keys, shook hands
and strolled down the hill to take our
photographs with the diminutive Madame Foutside our little French house. Madame F was
kindness itself and posed for photos as we
towered over her.
She gave us a guided tour of the rooms and
pointed out the items of furniture that we had
bought from her separately. We had been
warned that the selling of a house in France
involved stripping the place back to its basics,
with the removal of light fittings, bulbs, shades
etc, even if the current owner had no use for
them and they were déchetterie-bound. We
loved some of the fixtures and fittings and, as
they had spent their lives in the house, made
sure they stayed there in their retirement.
Madame F also instructed us in the use of
the brûle tout boiler. Burning both oil and
wood, hopefully not at the same time, it had
been connected in the 70s to a diverse
collection of radiators ranging from the antique
to the vintage through a collection of pipes of
every size imaginable. I asked her whether it
worked, having not even bothered to have it
assessed. She said that it worked well and that
her godmother, the equally tiny Madame Blanc
who had lived there since the Second World
War, latterly had the oil tank filled twice a year.
I tried to avoid working out the cost of 3,000
litres of fioul (fuel oil) as she showed me the
hand-written instructions on the operation of
the beast. All in good time. Next month: Catching a bigger fishWe stepped out onto the
balcony, open-mouthed in
awe, and looked out at the
wonderful view
Caroline and Peter with their daughter Nicola at a regional producers’ eventArgenton-les-Vallées has a Romanesque
church and a windmillMartpan - Wikimedia Commons
Père Igor - Wikimedia Commons