Adrian Chiles’s article on the importance of the first drink struck a chord, and I remembered mine (Grandma had just died and I was far from home. Then I had a drink – and the pain vanished, 12 October). I too was on a school exchange, aged 14.
Bristol and Bordeaux had a long history around the wine trade and, in the late 1950s, what must have been one of the earliest and biggest school exchange systems. I had never been abroad before but, unlike Adrian, I had the good fortune to be paired up with Annie for a whole month, with whom I formed a lifelong friendship. Her father was a wine producer in Barsac and, almost as soon as I arrived, he wanted me to try his wonderful wines.
My first taste I have forgotten, but what I have not forgotten are our lunchtimes – not in a school canteen, but in a small restaurant nearby, up winding stairs, a carafe of red wine on each table. Or the family Sunday lunch in the garden, with different wines with each course.
Naive then, I had no idea why life felt so good or I was so wobbly afterwards. It is fair to say that I have always loved and appreciated (and for a while drunk too much) wine. And why did I go on to study French at university, marry a Frenchman (husband number three) or live in a lovely part of south-west France? I have no idea.
Susan Laborde
Burgaronne, France
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