The Dragon Lady

In the early visits to Brittany, after we had left customs at Roscoff we would be met by the legendary Juliette Silva, nicknamed by the children, ‘the dragon lady.’ Your first sight of her was of an old lady with white hair who spoke English but who was half or three quarters French. Each year she looked exactly the same. She would drive her small car to the ferry port to meet each group arriving, greet the group leader and then escort the coach to the château. On arrival she would stand at the top of the château steps and relate some rules.

“No running up the stairs. Be polite to the French staff. Be punctual. Beware of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

All this was said in a stern voice and a set face and not one child would have even thought of talking while she was.

In reality, of course, she was a pussy cat. She had worked for many years as a French adviser, visiting schools and working with teachers and pupils in both the primary and secondary sectors. In the summer months she became la Directeur at the château.

In the staff dining room she always occupied the same chair in the same place and handed out serviettes to each member of staff. You were supposed to recognise yours by the serviette ring.

Having been at the château with hundreds of British school children she had seen it all and was a formidable story teller. She had the most magnificent, exaggerated, gallic shrug. So, for example, if someone asked her where the best beach was – her response would be the slow, slow shrug complemented with the synchronicity of the open palms, outstretched fingers, pursed lips, a small exhalation of breath before exclaiming, “There are so many!”

If there was an emergency, day or night, she was there to get the doctor or take the child to either a small private clinic in Roscoff or the large hospital in Morlaix, twenty kilometres away.

Again, in the early days, she was the one who warned the children about the jewellery traders at the Tuesday market. “If you agree a price, that’s it, the deal is done. Don’t go back on the deal because they’ll run after you.”

Juliette didn’t interfere in the day to day activities that the school undertook but if you wanted any advice she gave it. If you asked for information she gave it – except for the best beaches of course.

She was well known in St Pol and quite often she would be complimented, or otherwise, on the English children who were “noticed” by the locals. She would relay all this information back to the delight or embarrassment of both teachers and children.

I got to know her really well over the years and Juliette told me a few stories about a headmistress called Marielle.

It was one night after supper in the staff dining room. Supper was finished but not all the dirty dishes had been cleared away. One window was open and all the teachers were talking at the long rectangular dining room table which could hold up to twenty adults. In through the open window flew a bat.

Now what might you do? Open all the windows, sit still and wait until the bat flew away. Not Marielle. She grabbed a fishing net in the corner of the room, returned to the table, stepped up onto a chair and then onto the table. She was wearing high heels - she always wore high heels no matter what the occasion. So picture the scene. Marielle walking along the dining room table full of dishes in high heels waving a fishing net around trying to catch a bat that has sonar capability. A ridiculous idea of course.

She caught the bat.

Juliette laughed a lot but she also had the ability to give the impression of being the “dragon lady.” Like any very good teacher she was a great actor. It was distressing to see her deteriorate in later years due to dementia. She died in her house in St. Pol and was buried in the local cemetery.