The second day of viewings turned out to be about children’s theatre – back on familiar territory again. The first was a beautifully constructed piece, in a junior school hall, in a Kiplingesque tale of a young elephant in search of something or other ( his trunk, I think, so maybe a coming of age metaphor); meeting other animals along the way, friendly and otherwise, and travelling through Africa. A two-hander for 6-7 year olds, done with shadow puppets and front projection on to a circular screen; lit mostly with ‘birdies’, and using them to create backgrounds by shining through various coloured bottles, and discarded materials: mesh net, hazard barrier, a bundle of plastic cordage.

The second show, Sous l’Arbre, was back at the Ma Bohème Arts Centre (named after a poem by local poet superstar Arthur Rimbaud – more anon). This was for pre-school children, and their parents and onlookers like me. In the round, and on the floor, was a fairly big tree, and a tufted greensward which concealed in little pockets, various animals and plants including Agoric mushrooms and similar frogs; two performers, again of the mime/Laban dance variety moved around the tree, at various times using hand puppets of bluebirds, red squirrels, and a beautiful roe deer stag. The crescendo was the flowering of a mass of plants, knotted woolen pompoms, which were thrown around the stage, to the great delight of the infants! They had already started to interact with the animal puppets; after the show they were encouraged to help gather the props into large bags; while performers brought out picture books for parents and kids to enjoy under the tree.

A little more about the School, and the Festival. It is explicit policy to introduce the youngest children to puppets, hence today’s offerings. As far as I could see, as an intercalary festival, the offerings have been from graduate companies from ESNAM (École Superior National de l’Art du Marionette). Every three years they take on 12-15 likely candidates, for an intense programme; who are superseded but the next bunch at the end of the timeframe. There is, I think, the expectation that they will form companies together.

In between shows, I popped into the Festival office to make enquiries about next year. Next door is the large parish church, where there was an exhibition of Ethiopian iconographic paintings. There is a link between Charleville and a town in Ethiopia, based on the activities of Rimbaud when he’d given up poetry, and became an international trader; in this case being the first to import Ethiopian coffee to Europe. He’s a bit of an interesting case, something of a rock star profile of the fin-de-siecle, in a tempestuous and violent relationship with fellow poet Paul Verlaine; then gave it all up to settle down, and become a trader and eventually a devout Catholic. And died young, from bone cancer.

Back on the campsite, meeting interesting people. The Travelling people I mentioned in an earlier post: some went away for a while, but have returned. Passing the time of day got me into conversation. They are permanently over here now, British Customs being as it is; now as Irish citizens. I said I’d been searching for Irish ancestors, and they said if I stayed long enough they’d find me some! I mentioned going into town of an evening; but they said they wouldn’t take the kids: too rough, too many ethnic minority characters wandering about.

There have been some great Dutch people here: Antony and Rita had the pitch opposite for a couple of days. He had an Austin Healey 3000 at home that was his pride and joy, and the two of them go touring with the top down! Yesterday I hooked up with Dirk and Simone, who were trying out the campervan life with a hired van; and were following the Maas/Meuse from Maastricht to its source on the plateau of Langres. We compared our conversions; they were suitably impressed by Willma, and asked a lot of questions about the practicalities of motor homing: sleeping arrangements, storage, engine power, all the usual stuff. By comparison, theirs was more Spartan; no lining, the window blinds were magnet operated; but the long wheelbase allowed for a rear kitchen, a deep fridge unit like in the California, and lots of strorage. They were sleeping in the ‘loft’ which I think was easier for Dirk. He’s also 185cm tall, so was very concerned by the length. Simone’s issue was the access. I forgot to mention ladders, but you can’t do everything. They also suggested some interesting campsites, which I’ve lodged for later.

I spent some time this morning planning my journey for next week; after looking at options, I’ve decided to take a shortish route to Cambrai, then onward for a one nighter nearer the coast, and my final destination.

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Rather than confuse the next post, I just need to add a comment on the final shows. Two of them were in the courtyard at the festival centre, both open access; Gilles Debenat was perhaps the most traditional puppeteer I’d seen, in “The Pocket Stories of M.Pepperscott” and “The Pocket Stories of Molly Biquette”. The first, an old man tells some unlikely tales, while in the second, an old nanny goat gets philosophic, and spins a yarn or three. It got me thinking about the elements of puppetry: the physicality and diction style of the puppeteer; their interaction with the puppet; and finally the puppet’s own character. I could add the scenography of the piece, but I tend to take that as read.

The final show was at the town’s library theatre, the third fine studio venue in the town I’d seen. Contradicting myself, Ne m’Attends pas explicitly included scenography and video projections into the storytelling, for children, of a rather trippy tale “ where houses have legs, wings, or sails, and can thus go on trips every night.” Hand puppets and projected cartoons work together in the narrative: one house gets lost. The lone performer made a point of verbally including the scenographer’s contribution in the applause, as he was operating from the rear of the venue.

All in all a fun experience; as with WOMAD I’m not young or fit enough to do it all. The French is mostly too fast, and tiring to interpret. Som of the children’s shows are more visual, making life easier. Next year? Maybe. It’s different, and not too far.