The road

Jean and Margo met on the road that runs east-west parallel to the North sea, crossing every town along the coast. A windy, rain-beaten road bordered by long canals used to transport coal from the mines in Douai,fifty miles south, to the Dunkirk harbor and to Belgium and the Netherlands.

They walked two miles to work, four times a day, to commute from their parents' houses in St. Pol sur mer to their jobs on either side of the Jean Bart Plazza in Dunkirk. She was a hatmaker. He was an apprentice accountant for the French Electricity Company. She'd completed fifth grade. Since he was the youngest of his family, with two older brothers supporting his mother, he'd been allowed to study through the eighth grade and learn a trade.

Neither of them was allowed to frequent the dance halls or the beach. The road was where they socialized with people their age, most of them school friends or friends of relatives.

They'd seen each other plenty of times before Jean got the nerves to approach her. They were eighteen and it was a long courtship. Her father was very strict; she'd half made her mind to forego marriage and become a nun. But Jean was patient and determined - two qualities that would sustain him throughout life - he was also bold.

Long after they'd started walking together and Margo was still refusing to hold his hand or come close, he invited her to spend a few moments in the downtown park after work. He'd borrowed a camera from a friend. Althoug she wouldn't have her picture taken with him, she agreed to snap pictures of each other standing under an elm.

A few days later, Jean spent an evening cutting out his portrait with his mother's sewing scissors. He carefully glued the cutout next to Margo's own portrait and the next time he met her on the road, offered the picture of the made-up couple.

The cutout portrait was a decisive moment in their relationship. She had needed help visualizing her future with this good looking man who rode a red bicyle and wore a leather coat. He'd made her laugh. She started to hold his hand discreetly and to engage in a long battle with her father to earn her right to her own life and happiness.

The cut-out picture of Jean and Margo holds no special place in the family album. To them, it was but a small incident in their lige together, far less important their actual wedding day six years later. In fact, you would have to know what to look for to notice my grandfather's handiwork.