A NATION EN VALANCES
Douglas Johnson explains why the French are so serious about their holidays
Pettus-Guirec, Cotes-du-Nord THE elections were boring. The election of a Socialist prime minister, the disap- pearance of M. Juppe and the discomfi- ture of M. Chirac all aroused a certain interest. But soon the new Prime Minister was talking about the financial conditions laid down by the Maastricht treaty. Jospin was just like Juppe, and the French were bored again.
But now the French are alert, serious and dedicated. They are on holiday. In France holidays are a serious business. As all readers of English newspapers know, on the first weekend in August there were nine million people travelling by road and there were 700 kilometres of traffic jams. The Friday had been classified as 'red' by the authorities, meaning that there would be very heavy traffic that day, and the Sat- urday had been classified as 'black', mean- ing that travelling would be as bad as it possibly could be. This gave the television and radio commentators the opportunity of bringing a little culture into proceedings by making jokes about Stendhal and his Le Rouge et le Noir. Their programmes were filled with sad stories about people who took ten hours to drive to their holiday home, when the journey normally took them only six, dramatic accounts of acci- dents and breakdowns, and informative analyses of statistics comparing the traffic jams of 1997 with those of 1996.
The weekend at the beginning of August was exceptional because it involved the coming together on the roads (and the airports and railway stations) of those who had taken July for their holi- days and were returning home, and those who were taking their holidays in August and were setting out. This represents an extension of the holiday season which used to begin on 14 July, the national day of the Republic, and conclude on 15 August, the Virgin Mary's feast-day. This illustrated France's dual nature, celebrating both a political event and a religious anniversary. This in itself makes the French holiday- conscious, since the combination of politi- cal, historical and religious anniversaries gives France more public holidays than most other European countries. For exam- ple, amongst the many reasons for adversely criticising the President's deci- sion to hold elections during the month of May was the celebration of three national holidays during that month: 1 May was the Fate du Travail (or Labour Day), 8 May was La Victoire and 19 May was l'Ascen- sion (not to mention Joan of Arc's Day and Mothers' Day). When one of these national holidays falls on a Thursday, then many people will take the Friday off, and a national holiday on a Tuesday will mean that Monday too is a holiday. In this way the cult of holidays spreads itself.
The holiday season has been extended to include the whole of July and August because the number of people taking holi- days has increased. In 1962 there were nearly 18 million. By 1982 there were over 30 million, and today we must be talking about some 36 million. Obviously, one has to explain this determination to go on holi- day which makes Paris and certain other cities appear to be plague spots from which the population has fled.
It must be said that the French regard holidays as part of the Rights of Man. It was in 1936 that the Popular Front govern- ment created the right for employees to have holidays with pay (`ies congas payes'). It is for this reason that the Popular Front is remembered. It was dramatic. There were those who saw the sea for the first time. There were children who at last met their grandparents. Men whose families had come to Paris to find work visited the countryside their forefathers had cultivat- ed. And there are other memories. Bour- geois families who had enjoyed the privilege of using certain beaches found that crowded trains were spilling vast quan- tities of adults and children on to those beaches. Family photographs had shown them sitting primly in small groups in the apparent vastness of Trouville sands. Now they were invaded by 'louts wearing caps' and their followers. Social distinctions fol- lowed. Deauville was not to be confused with Trouville; the beach of the Bas Sablons at Saint-Servan-sur-Mer was con- sidered to be for the `conges payes', unlike the nearby beaches at Dinard and Saint Mato. Many other examples can be given, but this does not affect the belief that holi- days with pay are an inalienable right. Other governments have increased their length, Mitterrand in 1981 making it a period of five weeks. Leon Blum is remem- bered as the author of this reform. When he was released from prison at the Libera- tion in 1944, he took a suit to be cleaned. When he collected it he found an anony- mous message in one of the pockets: `Merci pour les conges payes.'
The desire for more leisure time and freedom, whilst receiving one's pension, is now expressed in the movement for retire- ment at the age of 55. This was the achievement of the lorry-drivers' strike in 1996. On 29 November, after 12 days when their strike had created chaos throughout France, they received (under certain con- ditions) their `conge' at the age of 55. In January 1997 all the leading unions organ- ised a 24-hour transport strike outside Paris in order to institute retirement at the age of 55 (the workers on the Paris Metro and bus services already have this right), and an opinion poll suggests that more than 60 per cent of the population believes in early retirement for everyone. Obviously at the moment such feeling is influenced by the calculation that early retirement will mean a fall in unemployment, but essen- tially this is a further demand for the right to increased leisure for all.
But what are people to do in their holi- days and with their leisure? Those who photographed the masses getting off the trains at Trouville in the summer of 1936 were struck by the vacancy of the faces that stared at them. For the first time, they had nothing to do. And so, as France goes on holiday, there is a part of France which organises them. Commercial organisations and state and municipal authorities join together in advertising and promoting a feast of culture.
Most important of all is to encourage people to become aware of national his- tory, 'la France profonde'. Last year peo- ple went to Brittany rather than to the south, so that they attended traditional Breton festivities (the greatest of these is the Celtic festival at Lorient), where the word 'folklore' has been abolished because it has come to be associated with quaintness. A growing cult is that of ram- bling, and new guide-books take enthusi- asts on walks which invariably end in old churches and manor houses. The most casual visitor learns history: the foun- tains in the Cours Mirabeau in Aix are unusually low because they were used by cattle as they regularly moved to and from the hills; the resort of Megeve came into existence because Mimi de Roth- schild was so disgusted at seeing Ger- mans at Saint Moritz in 1919 that she moved chalets; at Saint Brieuc one learns that priests were executed because they refused to say, Wive la Republique!' dur- ing the Revolution, while a few hundred yards away priests were killed because they had sworn fidelity to the revolution- ary government.
But for others it is not the festivals which count. It is the Tour de France, the athlet- ics in Athens, the beginning of the football season in August. One should read or hear how sport is reported. Cedric Vasseur, the leading Frenchman in the Tour de France, goes to his home in French Flanders: 'He knows that when he is here he no longer belongs to himself, but to us.' Stephane Diagana has had a difficult life, tut he has overcome the obstacles as he has jumped over the hurdles and become the gold medallist'. One doesn't talk about the fit- ness of the team, one talks of its morale. A player's country speaks to him more strongly than his limbs.
And if you just want to do nothing? Then 20 million copies of sentimental novels are sold in France every year, `les romans a l'eau de rose'. The films of Rohmer will teach you how to find romance in your hol- iday by the seaside. All the newspapers will tell you that more than 60 million foreign tourists come to France every year, and although this year the same newspapers will tell you that these foreigners don't like the French very much, they keep on com- ing. And why? Because France is a magnif- icent country.
France is not a nanny state. In its way, it's a school-marm state. And very nice too.
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