Within our first six months at Riverside Vineyard in London, there was a group of people who felt called to go to France for a few days and pray at strategic places that played a part during the Second World War. We decided to join them, knowing that as South Africans, we had links to the French Huguenots. A small group of us took off on a minibus and went via a ferry to Lisieux in France. I remember having a strange sensation, the moment we drove off the ferry onto French soil but didn’t think much further about it.

 

We stayed in a Christian B&B. The first morning after breakfast, I took a walk outside as we arrived quite late the previous night. There were no other houses on site, and I wandered out to an area where the cows were grazing. It was a misty morning, and I came to a stop overlooking a hill behind the house. For a moment everything became still in me. Still around me, still in my mind and still in my body. Then I had this tremendous sensation that my feet were part of the ground underneath me, as if I grew like a tree out of the ground. It is hard to explain, but all I got from that, was that this is the land where my roots are.

 

I don’t want South Africans to think I reject the country of my birth. South Africa, like many other countries, opened its doors to so many French Huguenots who fled for their lives. South Africa is a beautiful country, and I love my family and friends, but it was only after this visit to France that I realised that South Africa was never my home. This foreign land called France, with some stubborn, arrogant people who believe speaking English is a necessity, but speaking French is a privilege. This is my true place of origin.

 

We joined the couple with the B&B in a mini conference-type gathering among local Christians. It was quite sad to find the police there jotting down car registrations. They do not welcome anything other than Roman Catholic Christian gatherings. The organiser knew the local town mayor, so nobody got into trouble with the police.

We visited the Sword and Juno beaches where the Normandy landings took place during the Second World War. We prayed there, then drove out to a higher place where we overlooked the beaches. We took communion there and then poured the wine out over the earth. Let the life and death of Jesus revive this nation

All in all, it was a memorable time. We had an Indonesian lady on holiday in the UK with us in France who never ceased to amuse us. To this day whenever we see black sheep, we cannot stop ourselves from pointing to it and saying, “Oh, look! Black sheeps.” as she would say. It was the moment we decided to stop correcting her grammar and enjoy her company. She was so lovely.

 

In 2002 when we lived in Twickenham, my brother Theo and his wife Zurika, came to visit us for two weeks. I begged him to come and visit us because I knew he would love it. And so, it was. It was Zurika’s 60th birthday and it was a special time. They had been in Christian ministry for many years. I have never seen anyone so blessed with a wonderful holiday. The four of us packed our luggage in that little red Yaris and we took them to France for a weekend. We visited the city of Chartres where our Pienaar (Pinard) ancestors originated from.

 

From the weather to every place they visited, every event was almost staged just for them. For instance, visiting Salisbury Cathedral where a special service took place and watching the choir performing. Theo loved that. All the beautiful art galleries in Paris and London. We were at Windsor Castle when the Queen Mother passed away, and the road was blocked to let the changing of the guards through, right in front of us.

 

Two years later in 2004, Theo left to be with the Lord. I miss him so much.