Maurice

I regularly wander through the different districts of Calais, listening to conversations at street corners. My curiosity is not malicious ; I am simply searching for subjects upon which I may write my chronicles. On this 26th of July 1912, I find myself at Fort Nieulay. I have spread my blanket just before the ditch at the foot of the stone wall. The vegetation shields me both from the sun and from the eyes of passers-by. A few minutes later, three boys settle themselves only a short distance away. The eldest must be about eighteen, the second around fourteen, and the youngest no more than six. I shall recount their conversation to you.

The youngest stands up, steps over his elder brother, and takes his face between his hands :

“Tell me, Edouard, I am six years old today. I am not a baby anymore ; I shall start school in September.”

“I know, Momo, though six years old is not very old either. What do you want?”

“I want to come with you on Sunday afternoons. Alone, Mother would never let me go out, but with my big brothers, she will agree.”

“No, you are too little,” replies the middle brother. “You cannot keep up with us. Your legs are still too short ; you would only slow us down.”

“Do not be so disagreeable, Charles. We can look after our little brother at least once or twice a month.”

“You heard that, Momo, two Sundays a month. And because it is your birthday, we shall take you to the beach.”

No sooner said than done, the three boys dash away. I remain a few minutes longer enjoying the fine weather ; my parasol protects my face from the sun. I listen to the wind caressing the tall grasses, slipping between the heavy gates of the fort, the song of the birds, and the sounds of the street only a few dozen metres away. The curses of a man suddenly make me sit upright ; fortunately, nothing serious has happened — the wheel of a cart has merely broken. The poor fellow had enough time to leap from his seat.

I think again about the boys’ conversation ; I shall follow them. Will they keep their promise? They must be children from the neighbourhood. I walk along Rue de Beaupré towards the town centre. At the doorway of her house, a woman calls out to her sons : “Edouard! Charles! Maurice!” I approach her and reassure her. I saw her three little rascals ; they were peacefully heading towards the beach.

“Come now, Mademoiselle, you must join me for a refreshment ; it is terribly hot today.”

“I do not wish to trouble you, my good lady!”

“No fuss now ; we shall sit in the courtyard in the shade.”

We cross a long corridor running through the house ; the door stands open, and a slight current of air refreshes the atmosphere. A courtyard of packed earth, a vegetable garden, and a shed at the far end of the property, like the majority of houses in Calais. She invites me to sit upon a bench along the wall. The tree from the neighbouring house shelters us with its shade. She enters the house and returns carrying a tray. She serves us large glasses of lemonade.

“You must be Mademoiselle Rose. I often hear people speaking of you at the market. They say you are a good person. Ah yes, I have not introduced myself : Victorine Courageux.”

Three young girls soon join us : Hélène, Berthe, and Julienne. Victorine introduces them to me and explains that her eldest daughter Jeanne has recently married.

“I had no idea I was so well known and appreciated. I do nothing particularly deserving of such praise. You embarrass me, Madame Courageux!”

“I merely repeat what I have heard. Remain exactly as you are ; that is all anyone asks of you.”

We spoke of everything and nothing at all. We smiled, laughed, and spent a wonderfully pleasant afternoon together.

Bursts of laughter made us all jump ; the boys had returned home. Victorine pretends to be angry :

“You should have warned me! Thankfully Mademoiselle Rose saw you and was able to reassure me! Edouard, Charles, it is very good of you to take care of your little brother, but you must tell me whenever you take him out!”

Six o’clock already ; I had not seen the time pass. I leave the little family together and catch the last omnibus back home.

On the 26th of January 1912, Edouard came to visit me. His little brother, their Momo, had followed them despite their refusal. He had fallen into the water-filled moat after the heavy rains of the previous days. Edouard had managed to pull him from the water, but the child had caught a severe chill, and the doctor no longer held any hope. He asked me to come and comfort his mother.

Maurice Courageux, born on the 26th of July 1905, passed away on the 28th of January 1912. Did he die from illness or from an accident? The death records make no mention of it. Edouard, born on the 11th of July 1895, died from his wounds on the 20th of July 1915. Charles, born on the 15th of December 1899, was Catherine’s grandfather. He died on the 25th of March 1957.