Leeds, Sheffield, Bradford and Wakefield could soon join Doncaster
and have an elected mayor. In France a Yorkshireman has done the job for
17 years.
John Woodcock meets Ken Tatham.
It’s hardly in the league of
Agincourt or the Battle of Waterloo, but in a sublime corner of Normandy
Ken Tatham is completing a unique contribution to Anglo-French history.
If
the village of Saint Céneri-le-Gérei was sceptical about English rule
after its sufferings during the Hundred Years War, the Yorkshireman has
done much to change perceptions over nearly two decades.
The first
British mayor in France can point to tangible municipal improvements
since being voted into power after his French wife, Christiane, wearied
over his carping at how things were done in his adopted home.
“If
you can do better…” was her challenge, and by common consent he has.
He’s twice been re-elected, suggesting that improved street lighting,
sewers and car parking are preferable legacies of conquest to when the
village’s castle was besieged for months and then demolished by 15,000
English invaders in 1434.
Tatham
has opted for peaceful revolution in bringing about change, and is no
radical from the Ken Livingstone mould. “Forget Red Ken,” he says.
“People here call me French Ken. In my role I’m apolitical. My personal
views used to be somewhat Thatcherite but now I’m probably more LibDem.”
His
reputation is such that the Normandy Tourism Board included him on a
promotional tour of Britons who are making a difference in the region –
from those who provide accommodation in historic chateaux, to guides, an
author, and a chap who’s established an eco-friendly golf course.
There
are more than 22,500 full and part-time British residents in Lower
Normandy alone according to one of their number, Alison Weatherhead, who
works for the tourist board and is based in Evreux. She also has
strong links with Yorkshire – her parents were born in Keighley and an
uncle worked on the
Yorkshire Post.
Tatham has lived in
Saint Céneri-le-Gérei for 45 years and plans to retire in 2014 when
he’ll be 68. It coincides with France’s decision to scrap some of its
36,782 elected mayors (a report concluded that the country was
over-administered) just when England is encouraging them. In a
referendum on May 3, voters in 10 English cities will decide if they
should adopt the system, and a yes vote will mean mayoral elections in
November.
Can the right elected individual can make a significant
difference in challenging times? Here beside the river Sarthe, in the
village named after a seventh-century Italian saint and officially
listed as one of the most beautiful in France, the evidence is yes.
The
warm stonework of Saint Céneri-le-Gérei could transfer easily to the
dales of Yorkshire and the exent to which it is having to adapt to
upheavals in rural life in the department of Orne strikes a familiar
chord.
It once had 15 farms and now has three and its not agriculture which now drives the local economy but tourism.
Since
the village shop closed the nearest source for bread, groceries and
postal services is four kilometres away. There are grumbles among locals
about rising prices. Several residents among the population of 140
commute to Paris and spend only weekends in the village, joined by
thousands of visitors in summer.
Monsieur le Maire has plenty to
keep him occupied. His legal powers are significant. He’s responsible
for registering births, deaths and marriages. When the gendarmes are on
his patch, technically he’s in charge of them. He’s also a social worker
and sometimes chief mourner.
Mayors in France, he explained,
provide a personal contact point for their citizens, especially now that
many villages are losing their priests, schoolteachers and shopkeepers.
Ken
Tatham handles planning matters and administers an annual budget of
€100,000, provided jointly by the state and from local taxes. It pays
for a village gardener and the mayor’s part-time secretary and also
contributed to the cost of unsightly electricity and phone lines being
laid underground.
Ken has used non-Gallic charm to persuade
higher authorities to finance the village’s restored ancient church.
He’s responsible for the upkeep of 12 kms of minor roads. Electors have
called him for advice about all manner of personal problems – a lost
dog, a sick wife. He resolved the delicate case of a family burial
involving a brother and sister who hadn’t spoken for 65 years after a
quarrel.
For doing all this Ken receives no salary, but does get
expenses of around €500 a month. He’s also earned a Marianne d’Or,
described as a kind of French municipal Oscar. He would like to have
done more and four years ventured into bigger-league politics. But he
only captured 20 per cent of the vote when he stood for a centre-right
grouping in regional elections.
Over a lunch of Norman
specialities including andouille (tripe sausage), cider and Calvados in
L’Auberge des Peintres, his perfect French suggested a man far removed
from his roots in Leeds.
In the aftermath of the Second World War
Ken’s father was killed when his Wellington bomber crashed during a
training flight shortly before his son was born in Roundhay. He grew up
in Whitkirk and saw John Charles playing for Leeds United, the team he
still supports. Ken’s grandfather was Leeds City Treasurer and his
grandmother worked for the Coal Board.
Despite retaining his
British citzenship he says he couldn’t go back. “Too many cars and
traffic jams. Britain’s a small, overcrowded country and some of the
changes there shock me. I’m told that fish and chip shops and pubs are
fast disappearing. And your property prices…
“Things are changing
here too, especially in the countryside, but one of the great things
about France is its size and the sense of space. Having a bit of land
with your home is not the luxury it is in England.
“As for
politics, I think the principle of elected mayors is a good one. There’s
greater de-centralisation here, and I’m all for encouraging that.
Communities like ours have a lot more power than, say, a parish council
in Yorkshire. We really can look after things locally.
“In
addition a mayor has more status in France. Everyone knows you, and
being the first Briton to do the job has given me a wider profile. It’s
been useful in obtaining grants and assistance for local initiatives.”
Ken
has also been a restaurateur, worked in the fashion business, and has a
company called Take French Leave which advises those thinking of
relocating to France.
It’s worked out perfectly in Saint
Céneri-le-Gérei for Cephas Howard and his wife Jennifer. In the 1960s
Cephas played the trumpet and euphonium in the quirky ensemble The
Temperance Seven – “three Royal Variety Performances” he reminds you,
“and we were knocked off the top of the hit parade by The Beatles.”
Now he paints in a studio on the village’s main street and Jennifer
sells antiques next door.
But not everyone has taken to the
village’s charms. Some Brits returned home disillusioned. “They
idealised rural France and tended not to take reality into account,”
said the mayor.
“There are plenty of advantages. You can live
here with less money than you’d need in England for the equivalent
setting, but my advice to anyone thinking of moving would be, don’t burn
your boats. Think hard. There’s more to it than having plenty of space,
wonderful scenery and great food and drink, what we call
forces vives – living forces, real life.
“There
are practical issues like obtaining a national health card, which isn’t
easy, and watching the exchange rate. Work is not easy to find these
days and if you don’t speak the language you risk living in a kind of
ghetto. Then there’s the problem of red tape – it’s everywhere in
France. And you have to get to know the French.
“Politics are a
national sport for them and even at a modest level can be horrible. In
my time I’ve been threatened by certain people in Paris. I’m thinking of
writing a book about it all. For all the down sides, and jokes about
another English invader, they’ve got used to me.
“Frankly, we’re all damned lucky to live here.”
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