Dover and Calais

In Italy we are "diplomatic": we call the strait "stretto di DOVER" (so we make happy the britsh) but we call the channel ("LA MANICA", i.e. "the sleeve", that is like LA MANCHE for the french...).
Also the German are diplomatic: they call the Channel: "Ärmelkanal".
"Der Ärmel" means "the sleeve".
"Der Kanal" mean "the Channel".
As it were: "Sleeve-channel". FANTASTIC !

 

Hiya Sheal.

I can't say that I've noticed (in general terms) any of this toleration that you speak of. I like to think that I'm an 'average' guy, and have always found the French (that I've come into contact with) to be very friendly, indeed, a lot more friendly than some of 'our own'. I think a lot is made of old rivalries, and to some extent, it's all in good fun, but to say that we tolerate each other? Maybe I'm naive, but it seems to me that generally, we get along fine. Just my opinion...


Cheers...Freddy.

 

I agree, Freddy. We have a laugh at each other's expense from time to time, but generally I think the two nations get on fine. Many of us keep going to France for our holidays, don't we? So we must like it really. Doesn't stop us having a giggle, though:-

http://www.esnips.com/displayimage.php?pid=6245971

 

I'm usually among the first to poke fun at the french, but I must admit, my only experience of them is all good.

Apart from encounters in the mundane situations of work, or when passing through, where courtesy has always been shown, I have one experience that changed my life, and my opinion of our french counterparts, probably for ever.

When I was just a kid, I was travelling with my family and a coach load of other holiday makers through france, when our coach developed a fault and burst into flames. In the short time between my dad discretely informing the stewardess of the black smoke he could see through the window, and the the driver slamming the anchors and abandoning his coach and passengers as he ran like a girl, the fire was well and truly raging. By the time we were off the bus and assembled on the grass verge alongside a busy motorway, it seemed there was little hope for our bus or our luggage, or indeed our holiday.

My dad, having been a commercial driver and well versed in procedure, was the first to start to tackle the blaze. The actual crew had ran for their lives (for real). We were quickly joined by a french lorry driver who could easily have seen the GB sign on the number plate and drove on, but instead he knackered his scheduled by stopping to assist. His first action was to snap us out of our daze by shouting and gesturing something we couldn't understand in language, but was quite clear he wanted us to not stand right next to the blazing coach, given that the fire was in the vicinity of the fuel tank. He then returned to his lorry, where I think he used his radio to summon help, before returning to the scene with his own fire extinguisher to help me dad tackle the blaze.

We were soon joined by the local coppers, a fire engine, and one ambulance. The ambulance was quickly dismissed. It had been summoned just in case, but fortunately nobody needed it. Having quickly assessed the situation, the coppers arranged for one of their own buses (you know the kind, the ones that take coppers in force to riot scenes etc), and we were loaded onto it, in batches because we couldn't all fit in one go. We were all taken to a local cop shop. There wasn't enough room for us ordinarily, so they opened the cells up for us, and put tea and coffee and biscuits in there, leaving the steel doors wide open in a good hearted but ineffective attempt to make us feel at home as opposed to in jail. They even tried to find us some comfy seats to sit on instead of the bony benches the criminals have to sit on. The tea and coffee was awful, proper police station brew, but the sentiment was nice.

So, abandoned by our own countrymen (the crew of the coach), we were looked after very well indeed by a french lorry driver, and some french coppers. The coppers even put us up for the several hours it took for the coach company to get another coach to us for our onward journey.

There is a law in france that says you can't get done for helping someone, even if you accidentally make things worse, and indeed in france you are encouraged to help out if you can. Maybe that's why they did, but however you look at it, in helping us, the lorry driver and the coppers went far beyond the call of duty. They could have ferried us to the nearest motorway junction and told us to walk. The lorry driver could have stopped to see if anyone was hurt on on finding out that we were all ok, he could have got back in his wagon and drove on. So while I'm among the first to poke fun at the french out of tradition and duty as an Englishman, truth is, I think they're a cracking bunch of people really.

 

That's a lovely story, Clueless. Whenever I cross the Channel (which is quite often), on the whole I'm struck by how polite most French people are compared with Brits. Last time we were in Boulogne, we visited the town's lovely museum. It was full of French families with young children. In England, this would probably have sent us running in the opposite direction. However, the kids were all beautifully behaved and studiously filling in a quiz on the exhibits. How on earth do French parents get their children to do this sort of thing? I never managed it with mine.

Part of our problem, I feel, is that so few of us bother to learn the language properly. I have schoolgirl French but it's really not much good. My dad was an excellent linguist who loved France and the French, and so my childhood memories of holidays in France are wonderful; he would always end up deep in conversation with the locals wherever we went. Unfortunately I don't seem to have inherited his talent for languages!

 

That is a great story Dave

I think I upset a French Schoolboy in Brighton the other week, he stopped to ask me where a shop was, trying to pronounce the letters the best he could. When I said in french that I didn't know as I lived in the West Country, he looked well upset

 

I think both towns are full of foreigners, difference is in Dover they have "arrived", Calais they are looking for ways to "arrive".

 

That sounds excellent. I did once had a good try at mastering Spanish and had ambitions to be able to just strike up normal conversations with locals, like you say your dad could. Unfortunately, I think like you, maybe I don't have that natural talent

Once in Sheffield I was asked by some Spanish girls for directions to 'hackobs'. I guessed they were Spanish because I'd seen them earlier that day on the bus, and recognised some of their language as the chatted. There was nowhere that I'm aware of called 'hackobs', so I had to get my brain into gear. While the cogs were turning, one girl showed me her camera and repeated 'hackobs?'. Ok, so I'd learned the Spanish phonetic pronunciation of the letters of the alphabet. J can be like our Y or our H, vowels are usually but not always pronounced in the lower case version, so that means 'hackobs' could be 'Jacobs', which is a local shop specialising in cameras and all things photography related. I did say 'ah, you mean Jacobs' but the girls looked very confused, so I had to give them directions to 'hackobs' just to keep them happy.

 

A Peruvian friend once tried to teach me the basics of Spanish. We didn't get very far, but she did warn me that, as an English person, I might have difficulty with the vowels. Or, as she put it, 'you may have trouble with your bowels'.

 

Must be all that Latin food...

 

Sometimes Ziggy, just Sometimes, you can be a right Barsteward :-)

Jack McH

 

Looks like I'm out voted on this one. My own experience of the French has not been good. But, I still believe there will be ongoing political tension between our countries.

 

You are right Jack, i've been feeling bad ever since. Wish I had stopped & helped the lad with his alphabet as its just as hard for me trying to pronounce the letters in french, double vey ca and all that. Its just that he caught me trying to roll a tree while the girls were shopping.

 

I must confirm: french people ("ZE FRENCH", in their typical english pronounce ) are pretty polite a people. At least, they are so in informal situations.
We italians share something with the british: the french are our "neighboor" too.
When I happen to cross the border to drive to "cote d'azur" (Nice, Cannes, etc.), I notice the polite way the person at the motorway counter address to me: "Bonjour !", "Mercy Messieur !".
The only time they are not so polite it's when it's comes to talk about football.
There is a traditions of finals between Italy and French national teams.
In 2000 French won against Italy and gained the European Cup.
But in 2006 We won against France and we got the World Cup !
I remember at the time that we italians must to hyde ourselves in Cannes, Nice, etc...
They call us with a bit of haste: "Les Italiennes"

 

There will always be political tension, because the two nations are politically chalk and cheese. It is understandable that there will be some anglo-french resentment from time to time, but when it comes down to the ordinary folk, they are just like us except for talking funny and eating smelly things. Some french folks will be horrible people, some will be lovely, some will be some bland and nondescript you don't even notice them. Just like everyone else really, no matter where they happen to call home