Page 35 - A Life - my Live - my path

The journey - coal miner’s community

stretching it with a rolling pin, cut it into the desired shapes
and prepare the sauce. At the age of 10, she had to climb onto
a small bench to stretch the dough, because she was too
small. At the end of the day, for the scheduled mealtime, the
water had to boil.
She hardly ever went out, except to go to the fountain or to
bring her brothers a snack in the early afternoon. She would
leave her house, walk around a block, down the 50 steps to
the square and take the path to join her brothers who were
working on their estate. This path also led to the fountain
and to our house, so my father and mother must have passed
each other as he walked towards the village square and my
mother came from there. In those days, everyone went about
their own business. You didn't strike up a conversation in

the middle of the street, especially between a girl and a boy
their age. The most they could do was exchange a brief
glance or sketch a smile.
My mother explained to me that one day when she was at
the fountain, my father passed by. When he walked away,
she thought: "It's a pity he lives outside the village, above the
fountain, otherwise he's not a bad-looking young man."

At that time, owning a house outside the village was
frowned upon, as it was often the poorest families who
had, as best they could, built their homes on the
foundations of old barns or other hovels. It was not
uncommon for people who lived in the village to build
barns, sheds or shacks in the countryside. As a result, those

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