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Published: November 3rd 2014
It was a long drive from Central London to Champcey in France, 400 miles to be precise. After a short Eurotunnel ride across the British channel we were in Calais. From there the arduous journey really began, no sat nav, navigation the old fashioned way, with a map, on the wrong side of the road, in storm like rain.
When we first started driving through France we drove over a moderately big bridge, Nikki started to freak out a little as she has a fear of heights and doesn’t like driving at the best of times. I followed the route on the map and saw that the road went over water. I hoped it was a tunnel and not another bridge. As we got closer we went over a bridge, over water, that was smaller than the previous bridge over land. Nikki freaked out a little but not too bad.
“I was worried when I saw we had to cross water on the map but that bridge was nothing” I said.
I spoke too soon.
I peered into the distance and seconds after that sentence left my mouth I
saw a bridge that can only be compared to a roller coaster ride and guess what?
There were two of them!
Over 700 feet high and over 7000 feet long, it was the biggest cable bridge in the world when it was built in 1995, this was a monster of a bridge.
“OH MY GOD” Nikki said, as she began to cry and hyperventilate.
In a calm, soothing tone I began to reassure her everything would be ok and I would support her as she drove. Then she said
“I think I’m going to pass out”
My tone then changed considerably
“Do not pass out!” I said rather abruptly
I can’t remember the next words exchanged but after going over roller coaster number one we stopped for Nikki to have a ‘time out’ before she embarked on roller coaster number two.
Who’d have thought a road trip could be such an adrenaline rush.
After being eaten alive by mosquitos on our stop between bridges we went over bridge number two,
with me continually reassuring Nikki we were not going to die.
We drove for hours, getting closer to Champcey, running low on petrol and no signs for a long time to a service station. After a short lived fear of running out we found a petrol station and shortly after got to the hotel just after midnight.
Tomorrow was the day I’d find out if this house even existed.
(Read ‘The inheritance Part 1’ if you’re confused by me talking about a house)
Awoken by the brightest of sunrises ever and no blinds Nikki and I went for breakfast, what else but croissants in France. After breakfast, about 9am, we set out in search of ‘the house’. We had old pictures and a rough address as a guide. We went to the address, nope, not there. The people at that address directed us where they thought it was. Within minutes of driving down country lanes we were lost again. Nikki asked a man we saw if he knew where it was. He gave us directions but again we drove around looking for it, going back on ourselves time
and time again trying to find it. A little frustrated I told Nikki to pull over so I could look at the map again. As I looked I heard Nikki say “Babe……”
“Yes” I said
“That’s it” she said
I looked at the building we had coincidentally parked outside.
“No it’s n……”
Before I could finish saying it I realised it was the house.
It looked very different to the pictures.
Years of neglect had taken their toll.
The house was practically buried in weeds. There was no longer a drive way, instead an overgrown semi garden of weeds, some like small trees. On the mail box it read ‘Monsieur Nicholson’ my dad’s name. This was without a doubt the place.
As I stood in shock a car pulled up. It was an old neighbour of my dad’s. He was an English ex pat now living in Champcey. As we stood talking another neighbour came to see who the strangers were in his village. Then another neighbour emerged and another, until eventually the
whole village were there.
They told me how my dad’s house had been broken into last month hence the metal bars across the doors and boarded up windows. One of the neighbours gave me a screwdriver to take the metal bars off and I tried the keys I found to unlock the door.
They worked!
As the door opened a cloud of dust appeared, huge spiders began to scatter and the stench of rotting food from within hit me in the face.
When I first saw the old pics of the place I remember thinking about how run down it was.
Judging by what I had seen so far, I’d be happy if it was in the state I saw it in the pictures.
A dirty pot on the cooker with the remnants of the last meal he ate still inside.
An empty whiskey bottle on the dining table.
Weeds growing inside, through the windows.
Parts of the ceiling completely fallen through and now laying on the floor. When you look up, through
the hole in the ceiling, you can see the hole in the roof where the rain had been coming through for years.
As I explored deeper inside the house, seeing how he lived, hearing more people gathering outside, I was distracted by the buzzing sound of flies inside the house and the stench of what I’m assuming is rotting in food. Whenever I hear a fly buzzing now I think of that house and that smell.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone outside. To be honest I was a little overwhelmed at everything I was seeing.
I looked through paperwork to see what I could learn.
He wore a hearing aid. He was a chef. He had friends in France that had wrote him letters. In his bedroom he had pictures of my sister and her mother. The rest of the house was filled with tools and decorating/building material. He had good intentions but never got to do what he had planned. Apparently he got too sick due to alcoholism hence him moving back to the UK.
He could have had so much in
life. Three good children, a house in France, he was a talented chef, a man educate by life experiences, a man that tried to teach his kids useful life lessons, in the brief time he knew some of us anyway.
But alcohol and aggression took that all away from him.
His neighbour, the Ex pat, described him as a ‘character’ and a ‘loner’.
As I continued to look through paperwork I heard Nikki calling me.
“Babe can you come here” she said.
Reluctantly I went outside. The local mayor had been informed of my dad passing away and that I was in the village. He told Nikki and I what we had to do next with regards to the house. One neighbour was going to call the police as she didn’t see any resemblance between my dad and I.
I actually laughed when I heard that.
Within three hours we had gone through all of his worldly belongings and found pretty much nothing, we now knew the house existed and I had met the entire
village including the mayor and then…..that was it.
I found everything I needed to. The house is derelict and due to the poor housing market in the area the “estate” I had inherited was essentially a big patch of overgrown weeds and a lot of paperwork I needed in order to get through French red tape so my brother, sister and I could officially inherit said plot of weeds.
We left the house and went back to the hotel. I needed a shower to get the stench from the house off of me. After letting everything sink in Nikki and I went for lunch in Avranches, the closest big town to Champcey, where my dad would have bought his groceries.
Despite this being Normandy it didn’t have much to see or do here. The streets were full of gangs of kids driving mopeds, drunk, shouting and swearing. One shop owner came out and hit one of the kids. I don’t know why my dad chose this place but for whatever reason he did.
Personally I couldn’t wait to be out of here. This whole experience has been unusual
to say the least.
We had one huge drive home, in pouring rain and gale force winds, but I managed to find a route to avoid those huge bridges.
For the first time in my life I was happy to be home.
So, my inheritance, in terms of monetary value, practically nothing.
In terms of everything else.
I am now in contact with my sister and hope I will be for the rest of my life. I’ve met cousins I’d never even heard of. I found out about my dad’s side of the family and his upbringing. I went on a mini adventure to France in search of a house that I didn’t even know if it actually existed.
I feel richer in knowledge and now have an even more positive outlook on life.
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taracloud
Tara Cloud
Possibilities, possibilities!
I've been waiting with baited breath for this blog on your inheritance. Sorry Nicki had to hyperventilate over bridges that I would have loved, and over which you were a very considerate partner--sorry Nicki, good for you Chris! Well now, this bedroom doesn't really look sooo bad. And you're only one province over from the magical Mont St Michel, St Malo, sweet Dinan, and other places that many of us adore and crave. So, don't you know any unemployed handy people who might want to fix this up and then go in with you and your new Dad's family to have a French country home for holidays? I love when people renovate old properties. However, I also understand if this was too depressing and you want to let it go though I'm so glad you made the effort to find it. Best wishes on your next step.