The romantic image of rural France is that it’s a haven of quiet peace and tranquility. For the most part it is, but it’s not a vacuum and of course it has its own characteristic sounds.

Bizarrely, some people – incomers, obviously – have felt moved to complain that it’s actually too noisy in the countryside. Rightly, such whingers are met with the derision they deserve. However, some mayors of rural communes have been moved to respond by pointing out that it’s only what you should expect, and have put up signs like this one.

Indeed, I’ve already written about the chasse and the sheep, but there are a few of the others that you’d hear only rarely, if at all, in urban environments.

‘Le chant du coq” – the crowing of the cock

Our neighbour keeps some chickens, including a rooster who certainly makes his presence felt in the way that roosters do. However, we can only hear him if we happen to be outdoors and we’re unlikely to be up and about at dawn (we are retired, after all). Anyway, if we did happen to be up and about at sunrise, then it’s obviously not going to wake us up is it?

Le meuglement des vaches – the mooing of cows

As it happens, there aren’t any cattle within earshot of Brokedown Palace – this is more sheep country – although if you were to go a quarter of a mile from Tranquility Base in either direction you’d certainly see some. They’d probably be the local Limousins, which are bred for meat rather than milk.

They’re a lovely colour – especially when the late afternoon sunlight is shining on them – but apparently they’re very aggressive (downright stroppy would be another way of putting it), which might explain why there’s not so many of them around.

One species that isn’t mentioned on the above list is horses, but horses – we gottem. In fact, they’re closer to us than anything else, as there’s a neighbour’s paddock about six feet from the side of our garage, from which it’s separated only by a wire fence and the ubiquitous brambles. Apart from the occasional whinny, they are loudly and unashamedly flatulent (the horses, not the brambles; I can’t speak for the neighbours), and they ain’t shy of doing their bit to increase the methane content of the atmosphere.

L’angélus de notre eglise – the bells of our church

Tranquility Base is not a big place. Officially, it’s what’s known as a lieu-dit: literally, ‘a place called…’. You could also describe it as a hamlet. It can’t be classed as a village because – well, because it doesn’t have a church – so the angélus is not a problem for us.

The nearest church is in Faire-Le-Dodo (87) itself, more than three miles distant, and it only has a striking clock, although there is a recording of a tolling bell which is played for funerals, no doubt to the eternal comfort of the deceased.

Le bruit de le tronçonneuse ou du tracteur (etc etc) – The noise of the chainsaw or the tractor

Well, this is where the countryside is caught bang to rights, but really, what do you expect? At least three of the other residents of Tranquility Base have ‘proper’, grown-up tractors that pootle up and down the chemin on a daily basis, and if you’re counting the baby one that we use for cutting the grass, then so do we.

What I do not possess, though, is a chainsaw, and I’m pretty sure that puts me in a minority. But those things are scary, especially if you haven’t been brought up with one, and I certainly wasn’t (I mean, parts of Birkenhead were a bit rough, but really….). By contrast, kids from farming families round here are driving tractors and wielding weapons straight out of slasher movies as soon as they reach their teens – or the pedals.

It’s important to remember that farming is a constant battle – you could call it the war on terroir – against the forces of nature, which are constantly trying to reclaim the land for themselves. In the case of our own land, beyond the wall at the back of the garden (loosely speaking), nature certainly has the upper hand: but then again, I don’t have a tronçonneuse…or the inclination.

Finally, in case you’re wondering about the meaning of those words at the bottom of the sign, let me translate: ‘If you like all this, you’ve come to the right place’.

And we rather think we have.