After we left Grigy we drove back through Metz and west to the outskirts of the city to the beautiful little village of Ste Ruffine. This was the first place we lived in Europe in around 1957 or 1958 during our first tour of France. I remember Ste Ruffine for many reasons even though I was only 7 or 8 at the time: the apartment with the courtyard where our landlady Mme Perrin used to make candy in the same sink she washed her freshly slaughtered chickens (and we were forbidden to eat), her Citroen 2CV with the terrible smell nobody could identify, the German shepherd that bit me in the little finger of my right hand, trying to catch the small lizards sunning themselves on the stone walls, the old church at the end of the street, and getting slapped by an old lady for slamming close her shutters! And it was all there as if time had stood still when we drove through the same narrow street into the village.
 |
| In front of the church |
 |
| I used to play here |
 |
| No. 14 |
 |
| view from Ste. Ruffine |
I found the house we used to live in but the gate was locked. When I peered in the courtyard still looked the same, though without the chickens running wildly about and getting underfoot. Wisteria was growing everywhere in purple profusion and the sun had finally come out when we found a small grassy lane that led us through some woods and behind the village. We came across a tiny chapel from the 19th century built from stones from an earlier church where we rested a moment savouring the clean, perfumed air. There were wild flowers growing everywhere and birds singing in the trees above us. It was a very peaceful setting and I knew then why Mother used to talk fondly of her time here. But it was our last full day in Metz and we regrettably had to get back on the highway. We would miss our breakfast in the Bristol - all the French croissants, fruit, cereal, yogurt, juice and coffee you could eat - and our large room with a very welcoming bathtub but the month was flying by and we had to move on. We would next be heading for Belgium and Passchendaele to visit the site where my Grandfather, William Arman, fought in the Great War. gws
 |
| Enjoying last coffee before leaving |
 |
| Outside the Bristol Hotel, Metz, France |
