How I Drank a Toast to Misfortune By Jack Riegen

I expect that in the course of your travels you have visited an English vineyard, and perhaps tasted its liquid assets. These enterprises are entirely a post-war development, because previously there were no grape varieties that would reliably ripen their fruit outdoors in the English climate. However, before the war there were breeders on the Continent who were developing “precocious” strains, that is: vines that would ripen their fruit more quickly and so could be grown further north. Immediately after the war one or two growers, notably Barrington Brock in Oxted in Surrey, brought some of these new varieties over to test them under English conditions. Edward Hymans, the author, also experimented, and he wrote a book about the results. This was just the time when I had moved to the Oxford area and found myself with a large garden. I had some spare space, Hyams’ book, and was intrigued by the idea of joining in the experiments. So it came about that in the spring of 1953 I had a small vineyard established, and thus I was among the first of those growing open-air grapes in this country. But, strange to tell, how it actually came about is a cycling story...

We must go back to 1948; I had settled back into civilian life, and felt I needed a holiday. I longed to get back to the continental riding that had been so rudely interrupted by the war. This time my wife would accompany me on our tandem, and my sister on her single. We would ride over the Col de Galibier and continue south to the Mediterranean. We took train-boat-train to Paris and rode (via the Champs Elysee!) to the Gare de Lyon. There we registered our cycles in the baggage office, and boarded the night train to St. Michel de Maurienne. We arrived early in the morning but to our dismay our cycles were not on the train. We were assured they would be on the following train so we waited for it: in fact we met all the trains that day, with the same result- no bikes! We had no alternative but to book into a small hotel. The patron was very concerned with our misfortune, and went to a lot of trouble phoning on our behalf to get the railway company searching,- but without result. So our holiday became an exploration of local mountain footpaths, with regular visits to the station. After three days there was still no news, so we deduced it was pointless to wait any longer, and we would continue by motor-coach. I gave instructions that if our machines were located they should be redirected to Nice. We took three days to get to Nice, and enjoyed the mountain scenery, but in a way very different to the one we had intended.

When we arrived in Nice we were relieved to find the cycles were there, but they were damaged! So I found the stationmaster and he agreed to pay the repair. He gave me a chit to take to a nearby repairer, and he soon had the cycles ready for the road. At last we were back to the real holiday, and we enjoyed our ride along the Riviera.

When we got home I wrote to the C.T.C., and they put in a claim for me on the French Railways. They responded with an offer of the equivalent of £5, but due to exchange regulations I would have to go and collect it. . . within five years! Well, then the first of the babies arrived, and I was too fully occupied with looking after job and family, house and garden, to have any prospect of getting back on the Continent.

However, in the summer of 1952 I had four good reasons for crossing the Channel: 1) to see The World Cycling Championships in Paris, 2) to get my compensation from the SNCF; 3) & 4) to renew wartime friendships in Belgium and Holland. So I cycled down to Newhaven, caught the night boat to Dieppe, stayed on board until breakfast, and then rode on to Paris. Next day I visited the Parques des Princes track and saw Reg Harris ride in the sprint. Next, to battle with the French Railways; no problem! I presented their 1948 letter, they looked up their files, passed me over to the cashier, and within five minutes I was outside with my money. As I had cycled to Paris I pondered what I would do with this compensation. It would have been easy to fritter it away on a few big meals, but I felt I wanted to spend it on something that would repay me for the spoilt holiday. I had an idea: I went into the office of Vilmorin-Andrieux, leading French nurserymen, and said, in effect, I have £5 to spend; can you supply me with vines that would ripen their fruit in the southern half of England. They said they could, and so I parted with my money as quickly as I had received it. Then, I rode north to Brussels and Tilburg.

The following winter a package arrived from France, and it contained eighty rooted vines, in three different varieties. Two of these were successful, and in the next 34 years my little vineyard produced good enough wine to soothe our feelings about the French railways, and to enable us to drink a health to all those cyclists who pedal the alpine passes.

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