Good moments

We are in France. Sunday lunch in one of our pleasant local restaurants.  Next to us a big table of English eating quietly, unobtrusively. Well behaved little girl. What a change from the too frequent rowdy, noisy groups..
A wonderful Kir aux peches is followed by delicious langoustines a la beurre d'orange and then suddenly, a white haired Frenchman, eating at the next table with wife and daughter, appears at our side, holding out a small black and white photo. Do we, by any chance speak French, he asks. Yes we do.
The photograph shows three Tommies in English army uniform, a couple of French civilians and a  little boy- our white haired diner.  The place, the mining town of Lens, the photographer our friend's father. The year 1940. The Fall of France. The English soldiers heading towards Dunkirk.

On the back of the photo, a name and an address in Yorkshire. Had they made it home? He had been trying to find out for years. Carrying the photo in his wallet. But for the English and the Allies, he said, we would not have been liberated. Great people, the English, he said.

And tomorrow is his eightieth birthday. We congratulated him, wished him well. Sorry that we knew nothing about his English Tommy. Said goodbye.

Then decided to have glasses of champagne brought to their table when they got to the dessert stage.
Ostensibly to wish him Happy Birthday. But really because we were so touched by his sentiments.They were thrilled. We were thrilled. Entente tres cordiale!