Another ‘gassing’’ In France

Don’t think me or the wife would wake up but no the dog would wake us and everyone nearby best alarm for any caravan or motor home

.. but that could make your holiday a misery. There is a certain trust amongst campers and wherever you are, in the UK or Europe, you will find that nearly everybody leaves doors unlocked and possessions scattered around. That’s part of the fun and laid-back attitude. I agree that you should keep passports, credit cards and money safe but everything else you should just chance it. Caravans and motorhomes are so easy to break into and any alarm will only kick in with a time delay which is perfectly long enough for a competent thief to ransack your possessions. I speak from experience.

We went shopping this morning and did not realise that i had left my tablet and phone on the table under the canopy, until we returned about 90mins later,

But surely, if you are 'hors de combat' due to the knock out effects of the gas, then whether or not the alarm goes off is neither here nor there?

Thieves as such would only strike on isolated vehicles with no neighbours to be alerted by the noise?

Gassing – the Ultimate Confession …....

I wrote this a few years ago after visiting René and hearing his tear jerking account after he heard of gas attacks on British Motorhomes – apparently only the British are the targets.

" 'Allo, it is I, René Francois Artois,

This is my confession about the spate of Gassing incidents reported in Newspapers and on the Internet.

It was I who has been responsible for the Gassing of those visitors to our shores in Motorhomes, we in France call them Camping Cars, and I would like to make a full confession of the incident involving the latest family.

If I may I will relate the story.

After the War I moved from my Café in the little village of Nouvion in Northern France to Antran where I opened a new Café at a Motorway Service Station

My lovely wife Edith, Yvette and Mimi came with me to help and I was lucky to also have Lieutenant Gruber who cooks in the kitchen and goes to the Cash and Carry in his little tank.

The incident happened when a family stopped at my little café and parked their Camping Car in the nearby Service Station car park.

They were oblivious to how hurtful it is to a renowned Proprietor such as I when they brought their own food with them into the Café and irritated me by not buying any of dear Guber's delightfully cooked produce.

They asked for my finest Red wine, I wasn't going to waste any of that on the tight fisted group, and they were given a few bottles of the worst vintage I could muster.

During their long drinking session one of the members of the Resistance, Michelle, heard something that they had mentioned and she told me, only once, the words 'Madonna' and 'big boobs'.

This of course brought back memories of the picture of 'The Fallen Madonna and the Big Boobies' by Van Klomp and its whereabouts because it hasn't been seen in decades and must now be worth a fortune.

Apparently they had a suitcase in the Camping Car with the possibility that the long lost painting was inside the case.

They left my little Café in an alcohol induced state after drinking the rough, but expensively priced, wine I had so generously served and we formed a plan to steal the suitcase and relieve them of the picture of the 'Madonna and the Big Boobies'.

When everyone inside the vehicle, suffering from the after effects of my 'finest' wine, finally succumbed to sleep Gruber parked his ageing exhaust emitting smoky little tank next to the Camping Car.
He climbed on top of his little tank and lowered a hook on a rope through the open sky light of the Camping Car and, bless him, lifted the suitcase out without disturbing the slumbering occupants.

We hurried back to the Café and eagerly opened the case.

To our bitter disappointment the suitcase only contained a couple of Madonna CDs, some sweaty shirts and a couple of bras that would have fitted Mama Cass - and not the picture we so dearly craved.

When the family came back to my café the next morning complaining about bad headaches and a stolen suitcase I immediately referred them to Officer Crabtree.

His grasp of French and English completely bemused them, their own Midlands accent nullifying Crabtree's attempt at sorting out the English version of the problem, and he directed them to our local Hospital for some headache relieving tablets.

Yvette and Mimi's daughters work as Nurses at the Hospital, and with my guidance and advice, both girls intimated that it was obviously Carbon Monoxide poisoning that had effected the six English and not the worst tasting and smelling wine that anyone could possibly consume and get away without severe repercussions.

To my horror, and my horror has often been tested, the family claimed around 1,500 of your English pounds for replacing the contents of the stolen suitcase.

I, Edith, and the two English airmen, who still haven't gone home despite frequent efforts to get rid of them, have trawled the Internet to find the real value of the contents and I'm afraid the optimistic estimate to be round €40 as most the items we saw were either possibly pirated versions of the delightful Madonna's DVDs or poor quality shirts and bras bought from a market.

I admit my involvement in the crime that your Newspapers reported in chilling detail but feel I have truthfully put my side of the story and insist that normally we would only serve such appalling wine to those who are naïve, stupid or downright thick – and that can't be you, can it?

If anyone knows whether they get away with their alleged ̶s̶c̶a̶m̶ claim, or if they were refused compensation, please let me know and I will send Michelle and her Resistance colleagues round to their houses and sort them out.

Thank you for taking the time to read my confession,

René."