I must have been 15 or 16 at the time, but I can still remember till today the feeling of the Velosolex starting to zigzag under me, and the realization that there was nothing I could do, and the inevitable crash and painful fall. I remember walking back home, with torn knees, elbows and clothes, and despite the pain, desperately trying to concoct in my head a story that would explain my state to my mother, without having to mention my riding a moped, which I was absolutely not allowed to do. Finally I remember my mother opening the door, with a look both of concern and anger on her face—a well intentioned acquaintance had already called with a vivid description of the accident. Memory plays strange tricks though, while fear, pain and anxiety remained vividly implanted in my mind, I could not remember what had happened to the girl who was riding behind me.
A few weeks ago I watched a program on TV5—the French TV channel; it described France being at the top in internet literacy for seniors, with special classes geared to that age group, and showed interviews of seniors in action. I decided to try and look up some long lost school friends and found “Les copains d’avant” (friends from before), a site dedicated to creating a network of students from French schools around the world, with age not being an issue. The oldest member I have found is 90 years old; she was a student in 1931, and she says: “Je suis encore jeune et vraiment belle” (I am still young and really beautiful.) There is an extensive list of schools to choose from, and I did find all the schools I had attended. Although I did not find any of my closest friends, I found photos of myself in my senior year, which was fun. A number of people contacted me, but many of them were mistaking me for the other Gilda Cohen, the daughter of Dr Cohen, the gynecologist who brought to the world the large majority of my friends in Casablanca. From time to time, he would succeed in convincing a new mother to give her newly born daughter the name he had chosen for his own—Gilda. My mother was one of them, and I ended up with exactly the same name as his daughter, which resulted in people mixing the two of us very frequently; incidentally we were never friends.
When a Jacqueline Gardey contacted me, the name did not seem familiar at all, and I automatically replied that she was probably mistaking me for the “other one”. “Not at all”, she replied and added, “Don’t you remember the “VeloSolex” crash?” And then, to my delight she added, “and I am sure I recognized you!” (Did she really?) Today I can finally associate a name to the faded scars on my knees, and probably very soon, Jacqueline will post a photo of herself which certainly will further trigger my memory.
I have, like many of us, lived in many different countries, and have at many times left behind a bit of me in each place that I thought was lost forever. I am now able to reconnect, if only virtually, some of the little bits together, and I enjoy finding some answers to the many questions from before.
Not all meetings happen in a virtual world; I know from the Copains d’avant Newsletter that some have been able to organize real class reunions, trips back to Casablanca, and much more, sounds like fun to me.
Are you a Francophone and interested? Here is the link:
Gilda Dadush