Chasseradès in the age of the steam train
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Chasseradès in the age of the steam train |
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Here is a memory that awakens the sleeping echoes of our family's lovely summer months. In the shade of the tall fir trees, along the green meadows, or in the hollows of the streams that lazily wind through. To go to Chasseradès, I must warn you right away that it must be earned! First of all, you should know that at that time, the TPV (!) steam train reigns supreme. And it’s no exaggeration to say that the steam trains go at Very Low Speed! The Nîmes-Paris route, via the Central Massif, is no exception to the rule.
In its southern part, the line has served the towns of Alès and La Grand-Combe since 1841, to meet the growing needs of the coal mines. However, it would take a quarter of a century for this section to be connected to Clermont-Ferrand. It takes no less than two powerful locomotives, coupled together, to tackle the steepest inclines. So steep that the two locos will arrive exhausted, panting and laboring. You might regret having perhaps nicknamed them steel monsters.
At the departure station, the strong smell of the platforms blackened by smoke already sets the mood. Then, alongside the steam comes the smoke, and with the smoke, the soot from the coal. The coal that boils the water in the boiler, that turns the piston, and moves the machine... However, when we arrive at the terminus we will be as black as coal miners that their own mother wouldn’t recognize. You learn the whistle of the Station Master by heart, so many stations there are, and in each, a new Master. And we stop at all of them, even though sometimes, where we stop, there’s no village (sic). That says it all! No..., nothing..., nobody lives there..., but there is a station and a master, so we stop! And those impractical toilets, with their toilet bowl where you can see wooden sleepers and ballast whizzing past at full steam.
And I prefer not to mention the countless tunnels that allow you to pass under all the mountains! And there are so many mountains, and so many tunnels, that most of the time it is completely dark. In the meantime, you have to hurry to open the windows because the heat makes us suffocate! But beware if you haven’t closed the windows in time! Because the smoke, soot, and sparks then penetrate into the whole carriage. But it’s so hot that as soon as we come out of the tunnel, once it is daylight, everyone rushes to reopen them. Windows that protect us from the choking smoke and which, when opened, allow the air loaded with the stifling heat amplified by the sun’s rays on the bare roofs to circulate! It never stops, and it takes hours and hours before the voice of the Station Master sounds the saving announcement: — La Bastide! La Bastide-Puylaurent! Three minutes stop! Passengers heading to Mende remain on the same side of the track to catch their connection! It is the highest point of the line, 1025 meters in altitude, right next to the station. How beautiful the little red and yellow micheline is.
Initially, the wheels are equipped with special tires developed by the Michelin company, hence its name. It is so recognizable, with its horn and all the passengers gathered inside, in the absence of compartments! After the big locomotives we have just left, the bluish-gray plumes from its diesel engine are quite pleasing to us. Two or three more stops, and we can feel that the air is no longer the same. And then we arrive at our terminus. Stunned by noise and fatigue, thirsty and hungry, we get off, incredulous, astonished to finally have reached the Promised Land, our Nirvana: Chasseradès!
The farmer who rents the accommodations is there! He hasn’t wasted any time in replacing his lucrative black market from a war from which he will have taken nothing but profits. In the absence of maquis, he hasn’t even been contacted by the Resistance. A blessing, for the maquisards could have requisitioned his supplies! We are in 1948 and it is through the summer rental of two accommodations that he compensates for the loss of income from wartime. The dear, very dear man! He has reason to know how to count, other than just his own profits. For one day he will undoubtedly have to render many other accounts... Here on earth, or elsewhere! But now all that remains is to hoist the bags and trunks, the women and children. The owner of the place lets out an oath. Armed with a long stick, he pokes his cattle in the rear. Onward! My God, how relaxing it is to move... in an ox cart!
We rise from the station towards the village that we pass on the right. At its edge, the meadows thunder like a long dress adorned with thousands of multicolored flowers. We pass a few dry stone walls, without barbed wire along the meadows and enclosures. No visual and material interruption at this time when the meadows and woods are not fenced. What use would fences be, while the herds of cows are kept at little expense by young children.
The orphans, or the cataloged delinquents, are entrusted by the DASS, for a fee, always money (!), to gavots who sometimes use them shamelessly, as they have none themselves. Unless the herd can be watched over by an older family member. But then the kid may very well be employed in much harsher tasks. Upon arriving at the farm, we enter the large common room.
The shock! The freshness of the place, its darkness, and the strong smell of the stable seize the visitor. This is because next to the common room and the dirty room is the stable, separated by a bad wooden door. I am captivated by red and black ribbons hanging from the ceiling. What a surprise to discover that these ribbons are covered in red glue on which thousands of flies flock!
A huge wood stove ensures the cooking of food and heats three quarters of the year. The rusticity of the place is obvious. A massive and very long table, with wooden benches, a buffet, a trunk. And the monumental fireplace, with a stone bench for two people underneath its mantle, on the right side of the hearth. This reminds us of the harshness of winters. But the landlady chases away the poultry that is busy clearing the table of the crumbs from breakfast...
The hens protest with a vehemence that says a lot about the habits taken in this place. The dogs come sniffing at my legs and sticking to me, hoping for an improbable lunch? We sit down, just to gulp down the lukewarm lemonade that accompanies the meager biscuit, chosen from those that are not moldy...
One thing matters to us: to pay for the stay, take the keys, and settle in! During the summer, dad joins us to spend the two weeks of his annual leave there. These are stays in which he trades pastis and card games for trout fishing and barrels of red wine. A passion that he practices for hours. He also engages in climbing, long walks, and naps. These holidays are a true happiness for him... I know stories: A nîmoise childhood from 1946 to 1967 by Gilbert Michel. Published by Editions Edilivre.
Former holiday hotel with a garden along the Allier, L'Etoile Guest House is located in La Bastide-Puylaurent between Lozere, Ardeche, and the Cevennes in the mountains of Southern France. At the crossroads of GR®7, GR®70 Stevenson Path, GR®72, GR®700 Regordane Way, GR®470 Allier River springs and gorges, GRP® Cevenol, Ardechoise Mountains, Margeride. Numerous loop trails for hiking and one-day biking excursions. Ideal for a relaxing and hiking getaway.
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