I was out walking with my daughter the other day and we were laughing about some of the very special characters we have in our village. And then I realised that while I often write about the Crumbly Cottage (Mk 1) and show photos of the gorgeous view that prompted me to buy it in the first place, I rarely say much about the village where we live. So, since the weather's kept me housebound for much of this week, I thought I'd tell you something about it.
As far as small communities go, the village, which for now I'll call Valdorp*, is not so remarkable at first sight. Much of the older centre, including its 19th century church, was destroyed early in WWII due to its position on the border with Belgium. However, what is worth mentioning is that the current settlement dates back to the 17th century, was built along a dyke built for the purpose, and has the renown of being the second longest village in the country. Earlier versions date back to the 14th century but were swept away in floods prior to the land being drained and the dykes constructed. Valdorp used to have a tramline running from one end of its nearly five-kilometre length to the other and it also had, I believe, four breweries. What happened to three of them, I don't know but there are none left now. The fourth, last and best known closed in the 1960s.
The houses along the dyke are mostly a mix of charming cottages, stately gentlemen's residences, traditional 1920s Dutch homes and a number of more modern structures, probably replacements for those destroyed in 1940. It’s a shame because these recent additions are out of keeping with the old-fashioned style of the rest of them, but they certainly add to the variety. Some homes are immaculate, others are a tad scruffy and yet others are works-in-progress, giving a real lived-in feel to our environs.
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| Charming cottage |
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| A more stately residence |
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| A house on the dyke with no front garden |
The greatest appeal of the old village, though, is in the arrangement of the houses: Some, like ours, sit on the dyke; others sit below it. Some have gorgeous front gardens with flowering shrubs and mature trees; others have their facades right on the street. And then at intervals, there are offshoot lanes that dive down below the dyke and reappear a few hundred metres further on. These give access to other properties, such as farms and the larger, more substantial houses set back from the main through-road. This split-level development gives a quirky character to our village, which isn't drop-dead gorgeous in the way many English and French villages are, but it is very attractive. The more you look, the more you see. In fact, Valdorp can be quite lovely in the sunshine with the magnificent trees, flowering shrubs, and lush, colourful borders adorning the dyke.
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| Flowering shrubs, trees and variety in Valdorp |
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| An offshoot road below the dyke giving access to a farm |
But what makes our village really special is the people. They are different in such a wonderful way, so let me tell you about a few of them.
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| A more modern home |
Firstly, we have the couple who take their pigs for daily walks in the nature reserve just along from the Crumbly Cottage. They've had their pair of pot-bellied porkers since they were tiny and from the start, they've walked them in the woods. We often see them when we're out with Zoe and Lucy and it entertains me that while we have to keep our pooches under control, there's no such by-law for having your pigs on the lead. Not that these two are likely to upset any of the wildlife; they're not exactly fast movers. They waddle along, snuffling in the leaves and undergrowth and clearly enjoy a rootling good trundle. What amuses me more is that the couple who walk them look about as ordinarily suburban as you could find, but they definitely live a life less ordinary with their piggie pals.
Then, we have the lovely Uncle Ron who is undoubtedly the local dog whisperer. Ron is a local with a capital L. His Zeeuws accent is so strong that only other born and bred locals can understand him, but we've developed a communication system to cope. Firstly, Zoe and Lucy do all the important work. They adore Ron and if he's sitting on his outside wall, which he often is when my daughter and I set off on our walk, the dogs' instant response is to virtually dislocate our shoulders in their efforts to reach him. The competition for his attention is huge and a day is not complete with a snuggle with Uncle Ron, who coos and fusses fondly over them. When they've finished, all we have to do is make appropriate remarks about the weather forecast and haul our love-smitten pooches away. Luckily, the dogs are 'it' and we just happen to be accompanying them. Of course, the chances are he'll still be there on his wall on our return, so the smooching fest has to be repeated. Is it the same for the other village dogs? Yes, of course. Uncle Ron is much beloved by every canine on the dyke.
And if that's not enough, Ron has a brother, Uncle Billy, who lives in his own cottage a few hundred metres along the dyke in the other direction. When I first started spending time in the village, both Ron and Billy had their own dogs, but that was seventeen years ago, and the dogs inevitably passed on. I suppose since both men are quite senior, they have opted to remain dogless.
However, Billy, whose magnificent girth belies an apparent strength and fitness I would certainly like to boast, cycles everywhere with a saddle bag full of dog biscuits. Every time we see him pedalling towards us when we're out walking, Zoe and Lucy become nigh-on hysterical to greet him. Of course, it's the biccies that clinch it, but they adore him too. He never fails to stop, heave himself off his bike and, like Aladdin and his lamp, produce those magic cookie treasures from his tiny saddle bag. Billy is a tad easier to understand than his brother, but both are endlessly cheerful and such good souls. No wonder the dogs love them.
In fact, talking of the two brothers, this village is a collection of families, much like our village in France. The farmer over the way has a married son with his own family, a cousin and, I think, a brother living here. Then, there's a couple up the road who have two sons and a daughter all living in houses along the dyke. I'm sure there are other complete families here too, but that's the way it is in these rural areas, which is lovely. It gives an even greater sense of community to our dorp**.
But lastly, I have to mention our village horsey ladies. Set behind and below the houses on the dyke, the farmyards are large, so they provide plenty of space for stables. Indeed, a couple of them seem to focus on equestrian activities these days, rather than farming. One farm, though, seems to have a stable yard that is rented to individual owners. It reminds me a little of the Larkins’ yard in The darling Buds of May***; in other words, visibly chaotic. The shed and courtyard where the horses are kept are decidedly ramshackle, but the animals are clearly much loved and pampered. What entertains me most are the two plump ladies who exercise their two plump ponies every day along the dyke. Seen from behind, they offer a wonderful image of swaying spheres, increasing in size from the ladies’ riding hats down to the ponies’ posteriors.
Added to this, there is the woman who walks her Shetland pony twice a day, leading it as if it was a dog. Another takes her horse around the nature reserve to let it graze, probably because she doesn’t have a paddock of her own, and yet another goes for long walks with a beautiful, tall, languid thoroughbred. This woman amuses us by carrying a bundle of hay under her arm and alternating between whispering sweet nothings into the lovely creature’s ears and scolding it for snacking from the goodies on the verges. We assume the hay is intended to be adequate as treats, but the horse has other ideas and is totally unmoved by the scolding.
There are other characters too: Henk, for whom every day in the village is like a glorious holiday, which he tells us nearly every time he sees us (he's lived here for twenty years, is lovely and the most positive person I've ever met!). There's farmer Lars, whose accent is also incomprehensible to me, but who waves and calls out every time we see him, which is several times a day in, or on, a different vehicle: his bike, his pick-up truck, or his tractor. But then I realise my daughter and I are objects of entertainment as well, since we are known as the two dames (women) who walk their dogs far and wide. It’s quite nice to feel we’ve also become part of the local colour. So before I ramble on any further, I’ll finish by wishing you all a great week allemaal. I hope you’ve enjoyed this village tale and I’ll catch up with all the current affairs next time.
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| Another cute cottage below the dyke to finish with |
* I deliberately haven't used its proper name to protect the privacy of our neighbours. I've also changed people's names to be sure.
** dorp means village in Dutch and has the same root as the suffix ‘thorpe’ we see added to English place names, especially in counties like Lincolnshire, e.g. Scunthorpe.
*** The Darling Buds of May was a novella by HE Bates that was made into a popular TV series. The family in the book were famous for being unorthodox and chaotic.
