Peregrinations

Peace reigns in France despite ‘war’ talk

Anthony Peregrine

There were reports of armed soldiers patrolling the beach at the seaside resort of Le Grau-du-Roi, so I went for a look. Le Grau is on the Languedoc coast, near Nîmes. You must cross the fringes of the Camargue to get there. Black bulls, white horses and, in the lagoons, pink flamingos were all present and correct, as usual.

I drove into the little town alongside the canal, parked and walked to the beach. Le Grau is a fishing village retailored in the Sixties for popular holidays. It lacks quaintness, compensating with the energetic sloth that characterises Mediterranean leisure spots. From the beach came the thump of drum and bass, courtesy of rock’n’rap radio station NRJ, whose summer seaside tour was right there.

Around 500 bronzed youths bobbed before the stage, arms in the air, singing along. I sang along myself, having picked up the lyrics quite quickly. They went: “Hey, hey, hey, hey/Hey, hey, hey!”

Beyond, the crammed sands bore a collection of parasols which looked, from slightly above, like the tastiest buffet platter. There were dinghies and lilos, frankly incompetent bouts of bat and ball, and the laughter of children borne on the breeze. Slightly inland, by the canals that bring in the fishing boats, bars smiled with multigenerational family groups eating ice creams together. You should have seen the granddads beam. (Though they were maybe puzzled by blue, Smurf-flavoured cornets. I was, and not in a good way.)

I saw no soldiers, though there were two municipal policemen near the NRJ stage. In place of the much-advertised tension was happiness per square metre quite off the scale.

It had been similar a couple of days earlier at the Vins-des-Cévennes wine fair in Anduze. Cévenol producers – wine, but also food – were out in force. You could taste and talk, loiter and lunch in the sunlit park with what you’d bought, family and friends. Calm reigned, pleasure abounded.

In short, neither Anduze nor Le Grau were war zones. Despite claims, France is not at war. I’m not underestimating recent atrocities. My own, Nice-based daughter’s family decided not to attend the July 14 fireworks just 20 minutes before they started. (The kids were already too tired.) But real wars involve cannons, bombs and cities destroyed.

Suggesting that France is at “war” to anyone who lived through the ’39-’45 conflict, or who has just arrived from Syria, devalues their experience, while way overvaluing the status of a handful of inadequates. (You really want your holiday plans decided by them?)

Consider this: over the past, particularly terrorridden 12 months, you were 28 times more likely to die following an accident in your UK home as by Islamist outrage in France. The message seems clear.