Trifter

A few years back I went to France to work for a year. I had a job as personal assistant to an American lawyer.

The village was called Pusignon and was on the outskirts of Lyon. The Abbey where they lived ,  I later discovered was actually a working  farm   where the monks grew  crops and were self supporting during the French  Revolution.

It was  nice old place covered in ivy over its stone walls , the grounds were huge and full of fruit trees  and towering chestnuts. There was a swimming pool and  large expanses of grass aswell  as a patio  to sit  out on for a late evening glass of wine.

My employers entertained a lot  and  there were always  guests for dinner or overnight.

However often they would go overseas on a trip and I would look after the place alone. In the dining room  there was an old stone fireplace  with 12th century engraved in the stones, opposit  this was an enormous fish tank    but no fish , it was just  full of dark green plants  all enter twined and plastering the walls of the tank , one evening I looked across at it to make sure the pump was working  when I saw faces in the glass! it was as if the monks from time gone by had remained behind and were watching me. I did not feel afraid more a feeling of peace. Then at night when I was upstairs and the house was quiet I would hear the  monks chanting, a soft whispering chant until finally I fell asleep.

Sunday was always my day off and on one particular  Sunday when they were away  I  drove the car to the  bus station as I often did   then the bus to the train station and took  the metro into the city. The old part of Lyon was fascinating with the narrow alleyways and cobblestone streets.These were used by the silk merchants in the old days. I would    visit St jeans cathedral marvelling at the architecture  and   listening to any service that might be taking place. Then I would make my way to the rivers ,the Rhone  and  Saone where on a Sunday there was a  large market, on Sunday mornings there were arts and crafts and  flea markets and fruit and vegetables  that stretched right on down the banks of the rivers, then   after 2 pm the book markets would open and one could  buy  every  book imaginable  in English and  in French. I am sure many people have bough some  antique books there and first editions.

The artisits and street performers would be  each doing their thing and entertaining  shoppers. After wandering around for some hours I would go up on the funicular to La Fouvier  and view the great expanse of the city from its walls.

Once back down into the town it would be time to eat   , Lyon is well known for it’s food which is some of the best in France and the choices are    many, often though I would settle for a small outside cafe where I could eat a Lyonaise salad or some crepes and  watch the world go by.  One last visit was always to the chocolate shop   en route to the metro station, was its position by design one wondered!

Arriving back in Pusignon I picked up the car  and drove the quiet country roads to the Abbey , on arrival at the gate it was  almost night and  the dark was creeping over the grounds making  austere shadows near the house and  chestnut trees. I looked up at the upstairs window and saw a shadow,it was the shadow of a monk , I knew no one was at home  as I was on my own for the week. On opening the door into the hallway I   immediately heard the  voices chanting softly and music  , such sweet soft music.I miss that peaceful beautiful place. Were the     ghosts a figment of my imagination or were they really there still protecting the Abbey.