{"id":143,"date":"2017-09-19T12:25:18","date_gmt":"2017-09-19T12:25:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/?page_id=143"},"modified":"2025-01-20T14:38:41","modified_gmt":"2025-01-20T14:38:41","slug":"lawrence-durrell-2","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/?page_id=143","title":{"rendered":"Lawrence Durrell: More information"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>New Information:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Amsterdam, 26-04-2024<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Dear reader,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It took me quite some time to solve a piece of mystery that ran throughout &nbsp;<em>A Bite of Ice-cream<\/em>. Finally I\u2019ll soon be able to take the necessary steps for publication.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>On this website you now can read some fragments from chapter 5 of <em>A Bite of Ice-cream, <\/em>with accompanying lyrics in French and English. In a few weeks the accompanying music can also be heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Until then, dear reader.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\"><strong>Chapter 5: Chanson Flamb\u00e9e <\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-audio\"><audio controls src=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Chanson-flambee.mp3\"><\/audio><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p>(Lyrics and music, Piano and Voice: Eleni Sevin. Buma\/Stemra no. 1020979)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">The event which I review in the lyrics of the old-fashioned protest song which ends this chapter mainly concerns my recollections of the forest fires that cropped up time and again in the region. They were often fanned by the exceptional force of the mistral. More than once, such fires were started deliberately, so that the ravaged ground could later be sold cheaply, in order, for example, to build <em>HLMs<\/em> (blocks of flats) and villas on. The fire which the song concerns raged around our own Sommi\u00e8res in 1990,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">Although Sommi\u00e8res itself had not suffered from it, the air had been considerably polluted and specks of ash were drifting about all over the district. But I had experienced the fire at close quarters, since Thierry and I were camping in the garden of my house in Fontan\u00e8s at the time. And we narrowly escaped having to be evacuated\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">For this song, I\u2019ve taken poetic licence, transposing the location of the fire to your garden. The former owner of your home Maison Tart\u00e8s, a rich tonnelier (cooper), had planted an orgy of exotic trees in that garden, which the inhabitants of Sommi\u00e8res called \u2018Le Parc\u2019. Although I was impressed by your friend Ludo\u2019s Paradis des Plantes, the most marvellous memories I have are of your \u2018Paradis des Arbres\u2019!<br>In my song, that garden of yours serves as a symbol of all the gardens in the region that were threatened by the fire. During the blaze, roughly two and a half thousand hectares of land were devastated, and of the five hundred fire-fighters, one was killed and others wounded or overcome by fumes. Damage ran into the billions\u2026 Rage and incredulity were expressed in the issue of Le Midi Libre dated 24th August 1990. The article emphasised that police and firemen too were positive that the great majority of such fires were started deliberately. Newsmen referred to: \u2018De v\u00e9ritables assassinats.\u2019 A gendarme stated that he had observed suspicious vehicles in the vicinity. Neither was the wind innocent: all day long, speeds of around eighty kilometres an hour had been registered.<br>\u2018That old devil the mistral,\u2019 you might have growled\u2026<br>Early that evening, Thierry and I had been trying to eat a meal in the garden of our former house, but all of a sudden the strings of vermicelli in the soup were joined by half-burned pine needles, and then the entire ridge of the hill on the north side of the village was bathed in a sea of bright orange flames. We went to the spot where the villagers were gathered and, together with them, we peered with difficulty through the darkness of the choking smoke, trying to gauge the seriousness of our situation. Indeed, everyone had to shield their eyes more or less completely from the cutting mistral as it buffeted our faces. Through the roaring of the storm we heard the crack of huge pine-trees splitting apart. Later, the tumult was increased by the engine noises of the Canadairs and \u2019choppers coming and going, as they ploughed their way through the soot-black sky. Later still, along the burning hill-ridge where you left so many footprints and I loved to cycle, lines of flashing lights were moving, like flaming torches borne along by a long row of processionary caterpillars\u2026 In reality, the patients from the psychiatric institution accommodated in the monastery of Notre Dame de Prime Combe were being evacuated in all haste by Red Cross workers and volunteers. That monastery, together with a small chapel and the \u2018Road to Calvary\u2019, full of the stations of the cross, was and still is a place of pilgrimage, one which supposedly originated around the year 887. And all this right in the middle of a dense forest of pines, spruces, laurels and \u2013 not to forget \u2013 the arbutus, with its tasty orange-red-yellow fruits. So the entire place, with all its flora and fauna, was threatening to go up in flames.<br>A farmer manoeuvred a number of skittish horses past our leaden-grey figures. Everyone flinched backwards. And then the anxious barking of dogs\u2026<br>In the village, fire brigades were now arriving from other provinces, such as Vaucluse, Is\u00e8re, Loz\u00e8re and even the Loire. Swiftly they disappeared again, heading for the seat of the fire. In our spot, there was feverish speculation about the danger that the fire represented for our village. The tourists from the camping-site at Vic-le-Fesq were already being evacuated, as were the residents of Combas, which lay nearly three kilometres away from Fontan\u00e8s. During the heated discussions, it appeared that the older winegrowers were gambling that the broad strip of vines between the village and the sea of flames would act as a fire-break. The grapes were ripe, so the bushes were full of juice. Worried nonetheless, one after another the men disappeared to their houses to take precautionary measures. Although I wasn\u2019t consciously anxious, still I must have been quite rattled, for I was experiencing steadily stronger heart-rhythm disturbances; in the heat of the moment, I couldn\u2019t afford to pay them any attention. So I just swallowed several tablets and hastily began gathering together our luggage, hauling it as best as I could onto my bicycle and Thierry\u2019s child\u2019s bike. I was determined, in an extremity, to make my way with the lad through the night-time woods to the H\u00f4tel du Nord in Sommi\u00e8res, which was owned by friends. Several villagers had already disappeared in the direction of the town, but in the end we stayed, passing a rather scary, in my case sleepless, night in our small tent, threatened by the danger of a burning pine needle or cinders falling onto the canvas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">Morning, however, revealed that the vine shrubs had indeed formed the predicted barrier and, with their expertise, courage and equipment, the firemen, together with the aeroplanes, had largely succeeded in subduing the fire. Around ten or so, Thierry and I climbed on our bikes, which as always stood ready for us to use in Fontan\u00e8s, and rode past the burned bushes and trees, heading for Prime Combe, because I wanted to offer a helping hand there, should it be needed. A saddening ride it turned out to be. The ridge of the hill had been baked black \u2013 not one bush or tree had survived the fire. Only a lonely little branch left, here and there. The mistral had dropped, giving way to a soft, nebulous mist through which an unearthly summer sun was vaguely peeking. The gentle fragrance of thyme and other herbs had been replaced by a penetrating smell of burning. Crickets and birds, silent\u2026 Yes, the silence was complete, save for the sound of helicopters still flying to and fro, disturbing the surreal atmosphere from time to time. On the steep road leading up to the institution we were halted by a motorcycle policeman, because it was too dangerous for us to cycle further. However, we, the sole spectators, were invited to stay and watch the firemen, who were busy damping down the flames which time and again still flared up from the few remaining bushes in these lower-lying fields. About thirty metres from our spot, amid the charred vegetation, an enormous rubber reservoir had been placed on the ground. Above, the helicopters continued hovering, dropping gigantic amounts of water into this temporary pool. Firemen, in turn, were using the water to quench the flames. We were very impressed by the courageous behaviour of these exhausted men, who had already been slaving away all night\u2026 Later in the day we saw them driving through Sommi\u00e8res. They tooted their horns at us and one of the men shouted out that the job was done. He laughed with relief, while the others waved. We waved back, and I stuck my thumbs up for victory. So at last the fire had been successfully extinguished; I already knew that my garden in Fontan\u00e8s was safe, but how relieved I felt that your garden in Sommi\u00e8res, Larry, had also remained intact. For that I was very grateful, because right from the start \u2013 from the time of my job interview with you \u2013 I had felt a special bond with your garden, a bond which so much impressed me at the time (1979) that I had to commit it to paper:<br><strong>\u2018So there I stood in the late afternoon, on the pavement in front of a barn of a house with a garden surrounding it. Me nice and smart in my aubergine-coloured wrap-around jumper and new denim jeans. Shortly before, you see, I had found out that jeans have their origin in N\u00eemes, as it happens. \u2018Denim\u2019 means literally \u2018de N\u00eemes\u2019 (from N\u00eemes), and so quite suddenly I lost my aversion to the uniformity of bleu de travail. (The fashion designer in me had always been a slave to uniqueness\u2026)<br>Anyway, next to the imposing, moss-green steel entrance gates I eventually discovered a tiny bell. I pressed it: nothing happened. I pressed once more: yet again, no result. So I just walked round to the other gate that I\u2019d already noticed at the side of the complex. No bell there, but the gate stood wide open. A blue Volkswagen camper was parked almost hidden under a tangle of branches at the side of a gravel path, in a garden that closely resembled a jungle. Partly because of the twilight, indeed the garden seemed like a creepy forest, but bravely I decided to face the music, and\u2026 and the gravel crunched excruciatingly under my feet. I felt an intruder in this mysterious, gigantic botanical garden. Full of exotic shrubs it was, their wild twigs hanging pertly over pretty little paths, all towered over by majestic chestnuts, walnut trees and waving date palms. A veritable explosion of greenery!<br>The rather sinister-looking house was hermetically sealed, and all the grey blinds shuttered. Not a sign of life within. Then an owl squawked piercingly. Shivering, I scurried back to the gate and decided to pay a visit to the front again. While a tanker thundered past, full of divine red nectar from the Cave Co\u00f6perative, I pressed hesitantly on the small button \u2013 one more try. Still nothing happened. Another (desperate) attempt, this time more insistent. (Later, you were to tell me that I\u2019d been pressing the button for the outdoor light, which wasn\u2019t working.) Then I even rattled hard on the gate \u2013 this was pushy, by my standards. I did have an appointment\u2026 Why didn\u2019t this fellow open up? Just as I was wondering whether or not to simply go inside the gate and knock, one of the house\u2019s two heavy doors opened, and a short, stocky figure appeared on the steps. It was quite a way from where I was standing, and my view was obstructed by low-hanging branches, so I thought it was the writer\u2019s sick, shrunken and evidently quite aged housekeeper that I was looking at.<br>\u2018Who\u2019s there?\u2019<br>Zut! Was this the famous writer himself? Yes, it was definitely a male voice, and that voice spoke English! Golly\u2026 Much less impressive than I had pictured this man beforehand\u2026 The rumours and warnings I had heard concerning his cocksure behaviour with women had conjured up more of a Hercules in my imagination. Disconcerted, I cast around in my head for my best English, and called out that I had an appointment with Lawrence Durrell.<br>\u2018Please come in.\u2019<br>The gate opened with the most lugubrious creaking, but under my feet the gravel seemed to crunch less frighteningly than before. The cardboard death\u2019s heads on the steps, with their caption \u2018Maison Pi\u00e8gi\u00e9e\u2019 (House Booby-trapped), those I failed to notice at that moment, luckily, and with confidence I traipsed after the writer, who was dressed in baggy trousers and ditto shirt and wearing a small dark-blue woolly hat. He led me into the house\u2026\u2019<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">But now for that garden of yours, Larry, with its enormous variety of trees and plants. Once, sitting at your kitchen table, you confided that the rich former owner had imported trees and seeds from far and wide in an attempt to create an extravagant wood. And how well he had succeeded!<br>Ah, you knew how much I loved that garden \u2013 in which so often I wandered among the trees whose tops reached far into the heavens\u2026 in which I carefully peeled off the black, leather-like skin of a fruit that had fallen from a huge tree near the conservatory steps. To my amazement, it turned out to be a walnut. Like a small brain it looked, with its little leather flying helmet\u2026<br>Oh yes, how I loved that garden, in which from time to time I saw you in your swimming trunks, towel slung loosely over your shoulder, on your way to the well hidden swimming pool\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">But back to your garden: that garden of delights in which I went looking for you one day when there was an important telephone call, only to find you nude, half overshadowed by a luxuriance of summer leaves, your bare feet hidden in the periwinkles, reaching out towards a naked woman, daughter of a wealthy man whom I knew quite well. A good thing that the father didn\u2019t see what <em>I<\/em> saw at that moment\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That garden of costly chores too, because the branches of shrubs and trees overhung the walls of your complex, brushing pedestrians\u2019 hair as they passed by on the narrow pavement outside. Incessantly, the town council kept forcing you to trim these obstacles, and it cost you a tidy sum every time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That wild garden\u2026 even <em>that<\/em> couldn\u2019t obstruct the villains who once forced their way into your house. So worried you often were about possible intruders. Several times &nbsp;you\u2019d told me how you\u2019d been robbed one Christmas Eve. You\u2019d gone out, only for a relatively short time, to dine unsuspectingly in <em>L\u2019Auberge du Pont Romain<\/em>, which nestled in the curve of the quay in Sommi\u00e8res. When you came back, it turned out that half your house had been ransacked. The thieves had even plundered your <em>fridge!<\/em> They\u2019d stolen several canvasses by painters of repute, but had shown no interest in <em>your<\/em> paintings. From that you concluded, frowning, that the intruders had been professionals, who even knew you would be absent. But wasn\u2019t it the case that when the police came, they sent their dog into the garden? And then, after a lot of sniffing about, what \u2018evidence\u2019 did he come back with, clenched in his jaws? An item of feminine lingerie! Well done, you clever doggy! Was that what really happened, Larry, or was it just wishful thinking? Well, maybe not. I myself once found a lonely off-white bra in the bushes around the pool. But that burglary in particular had given you such a scare that even if you were only away for a few days, you would urge me to stay in the house, with menagerie and all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That garden, too, in which the son of a French sanitary-ware king \u2013 who, according to you, wasn\u2019t quite all there and was in love with you \u2013 wandered around wildly from time to time. (Personally, I never saw him.) But several times, even if you and I were present, some urchins\u2019 heads suddenly appeared just above the thick garden wall. Sometimes the curious little punks were even sitting straddled on top of it, and more than once they prowled around the garden. <em>Then<\/em> you started breathing fire\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">Yes, that same garden in which one morning I discovered that the fairground showmen who had installed themselves and their caravans in the parking area next to the garden, had run the swimming-pool hosepipes over the wall to tap water without asking your permission, and had thus also been wandering in the garden, something that made you absolutely furious after the burglary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\"><em>And<\/em> that garden in which, several times, I\u2019d emptied the contents of my stomach among the bushes, because you\u2019d served me a much-too-strong English tea. (Just about black, it was\u2026)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That garden in which my bike stood waiting calmly for me, leaning against a tall date palm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">And <em>definitely<\/em> not to be forgotten\u2026 that garden in which you later parked your very small <em>\u2018Olivetti-blue\u2019<\/em> car, successor to the faithful old VW camper, the \u201c<em>Escargot\u201d<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">Yes, Larry, I still blush when I remember you asking \u2013 in a provocative tone and smiling a malicious little smile \u2013 whether I had the energy, and more importantly, beyond that, the desire, to wash your <em>\u201cClitoris\u201d<\/em>? You\u2019d recently seen fit thus to baptise that new Fiat Panda, on account of the easy penetrability of this \u2013 to use your own words \u2013 \u201ccardboard car\u201d. At the time I was too flabbergasted to react quickly to those provocative words, but these days, that\u2019s known as a sexist joke! Well, sexist or not, clearly thrilled with the effect it had on <em>me<\/em>, after that you even asked a car-mechanic to have a look at your \u201c<em>Clitoris<\/em>\u201d \u2026 Tsss\u2026 Dirty <em>Larry<\/em>! Indeed, \u2018a dirty mind is a joy for ever\u2019, eh? But in the course of time it became rather normal to refer to the car as such \u2013 even for me. And frankly I always had to laugh when you joked around like this: partly because of the way you used hands and feet \u2013 your whole body, in fact \u2013 to get the punch line across to your \u2018Dutch Priest\u2019, as you had baptised <em>me<\/em>. You were particularly prone to needling me with this name when I made efforts to restrain your enthusiasm for \u201cMother\u2019s Ruin\u201d, your own favoured red or white poison (<em>appellation <\/em>non<em>-control\u00e9e.<\/em>)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That garden in which \u2013 for fear of me being bitten by a snake \u2013 you\u2019d had that very expensive natural flagstone path laid. (A bit over the top, in my humble opinion). And at your request, I planted garlic and onions which, according to you, must have come up on the other side of the world, since we never saw any more of them\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That garden in which, on a tall plinth in the bend of a little path and surrounded by wild shoots, there stood a bust of a young woman, a nymph in stone who became a \u2018friend\u2019 of mine\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That garden in which lizards, snakes, little hedgehogs, butterflies and birds found lodgings, and in which the nightingale, with total dedication, demonstrated its high-fidelity singing technique\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That scary <em>night-time<\/em> garden:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">in which the crunching gravel sounded so suspicously like strange footsteps,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">in which I mistook the dark swaying branches for threatening human forms,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">in which the owls hooted so mysteriously and the huge chestnuts falling on that same gravel scared me silly if I was alone in the dark in the enormous house\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">That garden in which, one glorious day, I first met your brother Gerry and his wife Lee during that small party to celebrate their wedding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">Your garden which I cherish as no other, Larry: you understand that I have to sing the praises of <em>that<\/em> garden!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">And&#8230; oh, nostalgia\u2026 During one of the times my parents stayed there, my father, who was already busy with that museum plan of yours, made a cassette recording of the beautiful voice of the nightingale coming from the back of your garden, on which you can hear him singing his nocturnal song while the <em>\u2018Tour de l\u2019horloge\u2019<\/em> in the distance sounded twelve night-time peals! Especially for you, this duet has been transferred to the CD as the intro to <em>Chanson Flamb\u00e9e<\/em>. As an \u2018outro\u2019, the shepherd of Fontan\u00e8s walks past, with his flock. If you brought me home in the \u201c<em>Escargot\u201d<\/em>, the sheep and goats, bleating and baa-ing in many different keys, sometimes walked all around the blue camper on the little lane \u2018<em>Chemin de la Clotte\u2019<\/em>, which <em>you<\/em>, of course, sometimes rendered as<em>\u2018Chemin de la <strong>Crotte<\/strong>\u2019, <\/em>(\u2018Droppings Way\u2019)<em>.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left\">Oh well, here come the lyrics, then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Chanson Flamb\u00e9e<\/strong>                                            Lyrics &amp; Music, Piano &amp; Voice : Eleni Sevin.     Buma\/Stemra no. 1020979<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>La pluie nordique, je l&#8217;avais \u00e9chang\u00e9e<br>Je pr\u00e9f\u00e9rais le soleil chaud de la M\u00e9diterran\u00e9e<br>Pays rustique et nostalgique, endroit unique, endroit magique<br>Et les jardins de mes amis, surtout le tien, mon cher Larry<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Notre Sommi\u00e8res je le traverse \u00e0 pied<br>Je passe par le Pont Romain bourr\u00e9 de monde, c&#8217;est l&#8217;\u00e9t\u00e9<br>Pour aller \u00e0 ta &#8216;Maison Tart\u00e8s&#8217;, si isol\u00e9e, presque sacr\u00e9e<br>Et puis voil\u00e0, je me trouve ici dans ton jardin du paradis<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>De toutes couleurs on voit des fleurs<br>Sauvagement elles embrassent une statuette qui se grise de leurs odeurs<br>Les arbres immenses, qui grimpent jusqu&#8217;au ciel<br>Que la nature est belle; tiens regarde:<br>Des papillons, des bourdons et des sau.. sau.. sauterelles<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Et ta piscine entour\u00e9e de plein de buissons<br>Le gazouilis des oiseaux dans le bosquet et sur le gazon<br>Je prends un bain dans le vieux bassin<br>Oh, que je suis bien dans ton merveilleux jardin\u2026 Oui, je suis bien\u2026<br>Je suis bien? Regarde: des cendres\u2026 la colline\u2026 partout des flammes\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Ah, mes jardins qu&#8217;est-ce qui arrive\u2026 Le ciel si bleu, maintenant si noir<br>Une fum\u00e9e dense nous enveloppe.<br>J&#8217;ai peur je me sens perdue dans cette histoire\u2026<br>Des cendres chaudes tombent par terre\u2026 On voit des flammes tout alentour<br>Et plus vite qu&#8217;on ne pouvait penser, le feu meurtrier suit son parcours\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Les Canadairs font va-et-vient. Sur la colline ils lancent l&#8217;eau<br>Mais \u00e7a a l&#8217;air de ne servir \u00e0 rien, l&#8217;atmosph\u00e8re devient plus chaude que chaude<br>Puis j&#8217;entends des pins craquer en deux, des si\u00e8cles entiers sacrifi\u00e9s au feu<br>Et toutes ces b\u00eates qui trouvent leur mort.<br>Mon Dieu, mon Dieu quel atroce d\u00e9cor\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Et on chuchote dans le Midi, que souvent on met le feu ici<br>Volontaire\u2026 Qui peut le croire<br>Car, quand la terre est d\u00e9truite, on peut tr\u00e8s bien s&#8217;enrichir<br>Existent-il donc de ces barbares?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Finalement on a gagn\u00e9<br>Tous les jardins ils sont sauv\u00e9s gr\u00e2ce aux grands efforts des pompiers<br>Qu&#8217;on laisse la nature en paix\u2026 Qu&#8217;on puisse vivre sans regret<br>Dans les jardins du paradis et dans tout le beau pays<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Mais la pluie nordique, je l&#8217;ai retrouv\u00e9e<br>Avec remords, je vis avec des souvenirs qui me sont rest\u00e9s<br>Du pays rustique et nostalgique, endroit unique, endroit magique<br>Et les jardins de mes amis, surtout le tien, mon cher Larry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Chanson Flamb\u00e9e<\/strong> (translation by Bob Biddiscombe)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The rains of the North I had traded in,<br>Preferred the hot Mediterranean sun,<br>A rustic and nostalgic land, a place unique and magical,<br>And the gardens of my friends; but yours above all, my dear Larry\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Our Sommi\u00e8res I cross on foot,<br>I pass across the Roman bridge, so packed with people \u2013 summertime \u2013<br>On my way to your \u2018Maison Tart\u00e8s\u2019, so solitary, near-sacred,<br>And then, there I am, in your garden of paradise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Flowers there are in every shade and hue,<br>Run wild, they hug the statuette that drinks in their heady scents,<br>Enormous the trees, reaching heaven-high,<br>How lovely nature is. Just look:<br>Butterflies, bumblebees and grasshop\u2026 hop\u2026 hoppers\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And your swimming-pool, fringed around with every sort of shrub,<br>The twitter of birds in the thickets and on the lawn.<br>I plunge into that old pool. How splendid I feel in your fairy-tale garden\u2026<br>Yes, splendid I feel\u2026 Do I feel splendid? Well, look!<br>Specks of ash\u2026 the hillcrest\u2026 everywhere, flames\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Oh my gardens, what\u2019s happening here? The sky \u2013 so blue it was \u2013 now suddenly so black,<br>Thick clouds of smoke that hem us in,<br>I\u2019m frightened, feeling lost in this calamity,<br>Hot ashes falling to the ground. Everywhere, you see flames,<br>And quicker even than you can think, the murderous fire pursues its course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The Canadairs fly back and forth. On the hillcrest they let drop water by the ton,<br>To no avail, it seems. The very air becoming hotter than hot,<br>I hear the crack of pine-trees splitting. Centuries being sacrificed to fire,<br>And all these beasts who are meeting their deaths\u2026<br>My God, my God, what an awful scene\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And it\u2019s whispered in the Midi that fires are often lit<br>With mischief in mind\u2026 Who can believe it\u2026?<br>For once the land\u2019s laid waste, there\u2019s a pretty penny to be turned\u2026<br>Do such barbarians exist, then?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Finally: a victory won.<br>All gardens have been spared, unscathed,<br>Thanks to great endeavours of the fire-brigade.<br>Give nature leave to live in peace\u2026 So we can live without regret<br>In the paradisiac gardens, and in all the lovely land.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But the rains of the North, I have found them again.<br>Touched with remorse, I live on with the memories that with me remain:<br>Of the rustic and nostalgic land, that place unique and magical,<br>And the gardens of my friends; but yours above all, my dear Larry\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Amsterdam, 30 August 2017.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center\"><strong> ELENI ON TOUR WITH:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center\">&#8216;A LONELY TYPEWRITER HANGING ON THE WILLOWS!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>At the time it was Larry\u2019s great wish that after his departure I would arrange his house in Sommi\u00e8res in a Durrell museum, in which there would also be a place for his brother Gerald \u2013 and for myself to perform. Due to a very disagreeable intrusion that project did not go through and the house was sold soon after his passing away \u2013 totally against his wishes. I was untimately able to comply with his wish that I should write about him: \u2018A Bite of Ice-cream\u2019.&nbsp; But recently I became aware that I could do more to add to his \u2018immortality\u2019 as a writer &#8211; as he yestingly used to say to me. During his Centenary Conference in London in 2012 I was also able to show a large number of slides of his house and garden. Furthermore I possess unique photo\u2019s and other material concerning Larry. I have decided to turn <em>my<\/em> souvenirs into a kind of very small travelling museum on behalf of Larry. Besides a small exposition as well as the slide show I\u2019ll recount in the course of a fictional conversation with him anecdotes from our shared history. In addition I\u2019ll perform a number of my own songs, in which Larry figures as the central character. I hope that\u2019ll turn out to be a nice way to add &#8211; even if it&#8217;s in a modest way &#8211;&nbsp; to that \u2018immortality\u2019 he so wished for.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>From the start of 2018 I\u2019ll be able to stage this performance and I\u2019ll keep you posted on this project via this website. And, of course, I can also perform abroad if I\u2019m invited to. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Now I can almost \u2018hear\u2019 Larry use some of his favourite expressions: \u2018Why not!\u2019, \u2018Wonderful news\u2019 and \u2018Marvellous!\u2019<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Greetings to you all,<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Eleni<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As several nice people asked me in their e-mails for more information about Larry, voil\u00e0: Some pictures of Sommi\u00e8res and Larry\u2019s house and garden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-Le-Glacier-.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"195\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-Le-Glacier--300x195.jpg\" alt=\"Foto Le Glacier\" class=\"wp-image-80\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-Le-Glacier--300x195.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-Le-Glacier--1024x664.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-Le-Glacier-.jpg 1765w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Accompanying this picture I took of Le Glacier on the quai of the \u2018Vidourle river\u2019, with the Roman bridge, the following: During my first visit to Larry, while sitting at his kitchen table, before a warming open fire redolent of thyme and pine trees, he immediately told me a lot about his own life. Quite surprising, and to tell the truth, never yet had I experienced a more fascinating introduction into somebody\u2019s life! For hours he entertained <em>me <\/em>and I could indeed never have guessed that a person like Larry, whose work was so appreciated world wide, would act in such a friendly, open, humorous and broad-minded way, even during our first meeting\u2026 And while at the start, it seemed that he was carrying the world on his shoulders, quickly he revealed himself to be a compelling story-teller, his blue eyes sparkling more and more as he got into his stride. From time to time his whole body rose up from his chair to give more power to his words, which were also emphasized with arm gestures; yes, his whole body was talking to me. \u2018A Bite of Ice-cream\u2019 contains a large section of anecdotes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Anyway, I took this picture of caf\u00e9 Le Glacier because Larry told me that the American author, Henry Miller \u2013 as is well-known, a very dear friend of his \u2013 came to visit Larry in Sommi\u00e8res too. That was long after the two of them met in Paris. But at the time Henry came to Sommi\u00e8res the whole town, and even more people, had been standing on the Roman bridge to welcome Miller. But they all had thought that it was the <em>other<\/em> famous Miller who was going to set foot in Sommi\u00e8res. They were more than eager to see <em>Arthur<\/em> Miller arriving and above all, of course, his legendary wife, Marilyn Monroe\u2026 Great was the deception when it was Henry who appeared on the scene. But not for long, because he proved himself to be a not to be neglected ping-pong player at Le Glacier! Yes: Where Paris had of course been a winner to Henry, and Larry and he frequented caf\u00e9\u2019s as Le Select, Le Dome, and \u2018The American bar\u2019 La Coupole \u2013 places which played a role in Henry\u2019s <em>Tropic of Cancer<\/em> \u2013 it was at Le Glacier in Sommi\u00e8res that Henry proved time and again to be a winner <em>himself<\/em> during games of table tennis. But in connection with that Parisian episode of the two of them, I had arranged a talk with the eldest \u2018<em>gar\u00e7on<\/em>\u2019 at La Coupole, years ago already, to try to get some information about Larry, Henry, Ana\u00efs Nin and Alfred Perl\u00e8s \u2013 who together enjoyed themselves beyond measure at the place. To obtain this information I\u2019d written a letter to the <em>\u2018\u00e9tablisement\u2019<\/em> and later it was on a drizzling Parisian afternoon that I sat together with my son sipping a very expensive glass of red wine in the <em>\u2018Limonade Bar\u2019<\/em> near the window of La Coupole. I showed this old <em>\u2018gar\u00e7on\u2019<\/em> some pictures of Larry, while I saw other \u2018<em>gar\u00e7ons\u2019<\/em> carrying huge <em>\u00e9tag\u00e8res<\/em> with oysters and lobsters on the spread fingers of one hand and with the other emptying almost at the same time bottles of sparkling champagne at the tables of the guests\u2026 The old man looked at me with a certain embarrassment and nodded his head. \u2018No, so sorry&#8230;\u2019 I could almost see him racking his brain and then, after a pause, he said: \u2018Eug\u00e8ne Ionesco\u2026 Yes\u2026 <em>he <\/em>came here quite often! I do remember <em>him very<\/em> well\u2026\u2019 And then he added something like: \u2018<em>Ah, ma ch\u00e8rie<\/em>\u2026 I\u2019m just a waiter, and to tell you the truth, we are not supposed to know too much about the cli\u00e8nt\u00e8le\u2026 You know, there are <em>very <\/em>rich people who come here, but also\u2026 <em>very <\/em>poor men and women and we are indeed absolutely not supposed to know anything about their private conditions of life\u2026\u2019 I nodded. Yes, of course I could understand that \u2013 even if I felt a little bit disappointed. After another moment of silence he quite lovingly looked at me again and said (while a huge frown had appeared between his eyebrows): \u2018But now that I\u2019m thinking about it a bit more\u2026 <em>There<\/em>\u2026 in the front row\u2026 <em>Oui, oui, oui<\/em>\u2026 there used to sit there a company of quite noisy people\u2026 Yes, definitely\u2026 Now that I look again at your pictures\u2026 Amongst them I\u2019m sure it was <em>him<\/em> (Larry)\u2026 Yes\u2026 and the whole company was drinking<em> bottles<\/em> of champagne here and enjoying themselves enormously\u2026 Yes!!!\u2019 And then, nodding in affirmation, he bowed and, softly smiling contentedly, the elderly man silently took his leave\u2026 Of course he must have been right! As Larry told me himself Henry, Ana\u00efs, Alfred and he were inseparable, and even played checkers at the place. And for Perl\u00e8s La Coupole was really of great importance. A well-known remark of Larry\u2019s about Ana\u00efs appeared to be something like: \u2018And Ana\u00efs? She sat at the bar, picking quarrels with her lovers and publishers. She adored men, but she had a penchant for men who wept and for psychiatrists, so ideally she fancied <em>weeping <\/em>psychiatrists\u2026\u2019 And how well I recognize Larry in those words! However from La Coupole, the champagne and the oysters in Paris, to Le Glacier with the \u2018vin de pays\u2019, pastis and ice-creams in Sommi\u00e8res, had been no problem at all. I didn\u2019t have the opportunity to meet Henry at the time I was at Larry\u2019s place, as Henry was already an invalid chained to his wheelchair, but they were still often in touch through letters and phone calls. And Larry was very, very sad the day he received the news about Henry\u2019s death in 1980. And in the buckets of mail Larry received almost dayly, he was often asked for information about Henry as well as Ana\u00efs. Anyway, through the years I quite often had to take Larry\u2019s suitcase from the cupboard in the bedroom and pack his good clothes in it \u2013 the ones he never wore in Sommi\u00e8res \u2013 because he was going for a few days to Paris and in particular also to La Coupole where he often was planning to talk (amongst other things) business too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Escargot-.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"243\" height=\"300\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Escargot--243x300.jpg\" alt=\"Escargot\" class=\"wp-image-89\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Escargot--243x300.jpg 243w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Escargot--829x1024.jpg 829w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Escargot-.jpg 1035w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 243px) 100vw, 243px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Parked in the garden, waiting patiently, the old bue VW camper, lovingly baptised by Larry as the <em>\u2018Escargot\u2019<\/em> who travelled at its slow speed enormous distances, sometimes with the grey rubber boat \u2018The Zodiac\u2019 on its roof\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Soomi\u00e8res.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"208\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Soomi\u00e8res-300x208.jpg\" alt=\"Soomi\u00e8res\" class=\"wp-image-97\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Soomi\u00e8res-300x208.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Soomi\u00e8res-1024x708.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Soomi\u00e8res.jpg 1505w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>View on Sommi\u00e8res.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-dadalpalm.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"202\" height=\"300\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-dadalpalm-202x300.jpg\" alt=\"Foto dadalpalm\" class=\"wp-image-84\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-dadalpalm-202x300.jpg 202w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-dadalpalm-689x1024.jpg 689w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Foto-dadalpalm.jpg 1177w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 202px) 100vw, 202px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Larry\u2019s garden in which my bike often stood waiting calmly for me, leaning against this tall date palm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuinhek.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"210\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuinhek-300x210.jpg\" alt=\"Tuinhek\" class=\"wp-image-100\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuinhek-300x210.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuinhek-1024x718.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuinhek.jpg 1669w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The entrance gate on which I had rattled so hard on my first vitit to Larry and to which journalists referred in their interviews, because its creaking deepened the mystery surrounding Larry\u2019s existence\u2026.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/foto-balkon-deur.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"204\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/foto-balkon-deur-300x204.jpg\" alt=\"foto balkon+deur\" class=\"wp-image-87\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/foto-balkon-deur-300x204.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/foto-balkon-deur-1024x696.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/foto-balkon-deur.jpg 1737w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A balcony left from the front door of Maison Tart\u00e8s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuin-met-zwembad.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"196\" height=\"300\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuin-met-zwembad-196x300.jpg\" alt=\"Tuin met zwembad\" class=\"wp-image-106\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuin-met-zwembad-196x300.jpg 196w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuin-met-zwembad-670x1024.jpg 670w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Tuin-met-zwembad.jpg 1165w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 196px) 100vw, 196px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That wild, jungle of a garden in which the old, almost decadent (and anyway <em>very<\/em> complicated to maintain) swimming-pool was well hidden amongst the trees and bushes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Brug-Sommi\u00e8res.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"296\" height=\"300\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Brug-Sommi\u00e8res-296x300.jpg\" alt=\"Brug Sommi\u00e8res\" class=\"wp-image-103\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Brug-Sommi\u00e8res-296x300.jpg 296w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Brug-Sommi\u00e8res-1009x1024.jpg 1009w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Brug-Sommi\u00e8res.jpg 1199w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 296px) 100vw, 296px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The Roman bridge and the <em>\u2018Tour de l\u2019horloge\u2019. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/stieren-in-Sommi\u00e8res1.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"300\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/stieren-in-Sommi\u00e8res1-300x300.jpg\" alt=\"stieren in Sommi\u00e8res\" class=\"wp-image-111\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/stieren-in-Sommi\u00e8res1-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/stieren-in-Sommi\u00e8res1-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/stieren-in-Sommi\u00e8res1-1020x1024.jpg 1020w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/stieren-in-Sommi\u00e8res1.jpg 1137w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>During<em> \u2018La f\u00eate votive\u2019 <\/em>bulls are running around in Sommi\u00e8res\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Durrell-5-b.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"200\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Durrell-5-b-300x200.jpg\" alt=\"Durrell 5 b\" class=\"wp-image-82\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Durrell-5-b-300x200.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Durrell-5-b-1024x683.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Durrell-5-b.jpg 1593w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gerald Durrell talking with my little son in \u2018Mas Michel\u2019 during one of the parties. During such a party the Swedish movie actress, Mai Zetterling \u2013 among other roles, she played Helga, the grandmother, in \u2018The Witches\u2019 (1990) directed by Nicolas Roeg \u2013 sauntered round among the olive trees, which were worthy of a Van Gogh, a glass of wine in one hand and a much younger lover in the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-7.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"204\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-7-300x204.jpeg\" alt=\"Scan 7\" class=\"wp-image-117\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-7-300x204.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-7-1024x697.jpeg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But also Ugn\u0117 Karvelis, who worked at the time as an editor for the French publishing house \u2018Gallimard\u2019 and who had been formerly the second wife of Julio Cort\u00e1zar was &#8211; just like Mai &#8211; more than once one of the guests at the parties of Gerry and Lee. On this photo I\u2019d taken of Larry and her, Larry looked quite vulnerable; so much so that a shudder had passed through me when I took the print out of the folder in the photographic shop&#8230; A reason the more for me to try to cheer him up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-6.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"196\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-6-300x196.jpeg\" alt=\"Scan 6\" class=\"wp-image-118\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-6-300x196.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Scan-6-1024x670.jpeg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The castle ruin of Sommi\u00e8res. Larry used to say: \u2018We\u2019re all right here, because nothing <em>ever<\/em> happens in Sommi\u00e8res\u2026\u2019 but he surely forgot at such a moment the grazy so-called \u2019Vidourlades\u2019, when the wild, meandering Vidourle river flooded the whole town, the forest fires, and the actual murder that was committed near the castle ruin one evening in 1980, during a village party\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Pagnol.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"201\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Pagnol-300x201.jpg\" alt=\"Pagnol\" class=\"wp-image-92\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Pagnol-300x201.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Pagnol-1024x685.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Yves Mouret<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And of course, not to be forgotten that same Sommi\u00e8res was the scene of intense commotion again when it was decided to do some filming there for the remake of two famous films: \u2018Jean de Florette\u2019 and \u2018Manon des Sources\u2019, based on the books of Marcel Pagnol. This took place in 1985 under the direction of Claude Berri. The whole town was besides itself with excitement because such actors as Yves Montand, Daniel Auteuil, G\u00e9rard D\u00e9pardieu and Emmanuelle B\u00e9art were to be looked over and seen in action. My little son and me were asked as extras and during the sweltering <em>\u2018canicule\u2019<\/em> of those shooting days Daniel Auteuil time and again disappeared briefly and then returned with a soft drink or a piece of fruit for my child, who was by far the youngest on the set. Montand as \u2018Le Papet\u2019 was charming too, but it was Larry who afterwards served a very tasty, chilled white wine of a good year\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image\"><a href=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Ludo.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"300\" height=\"169\" src=\"http:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Ludo-300x169.jpg\" alt=\"Ludo\" class=\"wp-image-94\" srcset=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Ludo-300x169.jpg 300w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Ludo-1024x576.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/Ludo.jpg 1757w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p><em>Photo: Eleni Sevin<br><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Ludo Chardenon \u2013 \u2018The Plant Magic Man\u2019 as Larry called this dear friend of his, with his stall at the entrance gate of Sommi\u00e8res full of numbered sachets with many different mixtures of medicinal herbs, as well as <em>herbes<\/em> de provence for kitchen use \u2013 all picked in the region.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>New Information: Amsterdam, 26-04-2024 Dear reader, It took me quite some time to solve a piece of mystery that ran throughout &nbsp;A Bite of Ice-cream. Finally I\u2019ll soon be able to take the necessary steps for publication. On this website you now can read some fragments from chapter 5 of A Bite of Ice-cream, with &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/?page_id=143\" class=\"more-link\">Lees verder <span class=\"screen-reader-text\">Lawrence Durrell: More information<\/span> <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":3,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/143"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=143"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/143\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":191,"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/143\/revisions\/191"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/elenisevin.nl\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=143"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}