Happy bloody anniversary

Celebrating beheading with sexy firemen

Dear Friend,

I hope you’ve had a good few days.

Thank you very much if you wrote back to my last letter, ‘Refusal to comply’ about the police violence and subsequent unrest here.

Thank you also for your patience with the less-regular-than-usual cadence of my letters at the moment. My excuse is that we are in full vacances period here in France, and everything is a bit topsy-turvy in Paris at this time of year.

It’s really the sizzle-y epicentre of summer. The weather is alternating sunny and muggy, and being inside the house is consistently a bit uncomfortably hot. This is why many Parisians won’t be found in their houses this time of year; of course plenty of them leave on holiday, but those who are left head out to the parks, terraces and bars.

This week I went out with some great pals for my dear friend Lauren’s birthday or, as she calls it, ‘day of eternal youth and beauty’. We went to a hotel owned by French cinema chain mk2 (mk2 Hotel Paradiso by Nation Metro) where they have a special karaoke room with a big screen, two cordless mics and a minibar. We began the two-hour session with Kylie Minogue’s Padam, along the way we did some Cardi B, Fergie, Les Misérables and Lion King, and the night ended with Lauren and Kate duetting a stirring rendition of Sondheim’s Being Alive from the musical, Company. A great night, all in all.

For the way home, we ordered an Uber ‘van’ to accommodate the five of us. When it arrived, I had to do a double-take because it was none other than a LONDON BLACK CAB, a Hackney Carriage in the flesh. We learned from the driver that a fleet of black cabs have been brought over from the UK and re-fitted in the run-up to the Olympics next year. They have been chosen in particular for their accessibility credentials. It was a strange and joyous moment to ride home in this unexpected fragment of London.

Anyway, on the theme of summer in Paris, this weekend was the Fête Nationale or Bastille Day celebration. On the 14th July, French people celebrate the anniversary of the storming of a prison in central Paris by an angry crowd who freed the prisoners, dismantled the structure and beheaded the prison guards, holding their heads up on spikes like olives on gruesome oversized toothpicks.

Raoul Dufy inspired drawing by Hannah Meltzer

It is also and therefore the occasion of the Bal des Pompiers, or firemen’s ball, an event so silly and improbable, that a British friend of mine — on discovery of what it was — suggested I write about it. So here we go.

In most of the country, the sapeurs pompiers, or fire service, are employees of their local Department (each départment has. has a Service Departmentaux d'Incendie et de Secours). But in Paris and its close suburbs, the Paris Fire Brigade is in fact a military unit, part of the French Army; in Marseille, as I learned researching, the Marseille Naval Fire Battalion is part of the Navy.

Overwhelmingly Male, by Hannah Meltzer

Now, compared to the fire service in the UK, there are a few differences I have noticed with the Paris equivalent, both organisational and aesthetic, since I have moved here. Here are some:

• Pompiers can also be ambulances, sort of. If someone tells you to call the pompiers here, it doesn’t necessarily mean there is a fire.

• First of all, there are several different numbers for different emergency services. I am lucky enough (touch wood), that I have not had to call one yet, but until I did the research for the words I am now writing, I was never quite sure which is which. To be totally frank, I’m not quite sure I know even after the research.

• 18 calls the pompiers, or fire brigade. They are cross-trained in basic emergency care, but also work with people who I think we would call paramedics. This means often you would call the pompiers in the case of an accident. One time I was at a party at a bar in the east of Paris and a poor chap visiting from America passed out and split his head open on the hard tile floor. It was the pompiers who were called on that occasion (he was fine the next day, by the way!).

• Then there is a different number (17) for the police, and another (15) for the SAMU. The SAMU is for medical emergencies and their call centres are in hospitals. Their phone line is staffed by doctors and other medical professionals. They send out special SMUR (Service mobile d’urgence et réanimation) vehicles, which are ambulances, but the pompiers also have vehicles that in the UK we would probably describe as ambulances.

• In addition, there are also special services with their own number that you can call for different types of emergencies. For example, there is a special number you should call if you fear you have consumed poison.

• Back to the fire service. Women were only allowed to join the Paris Fire Brigade in 2002. It still remains overwhelmingly male though, sometimes literally. That is to say, that from what I have gathered, the Paris Fire Brigade have no issue showing off their peak physical fitness.

• Each arrondissement in Paris has a fire station (caserne), and in every one of these that I’ve seen, the gym is always located on the street side with either a transparent or semi-transparent window, meaning most of the time you can see the pompiers doing their gymming from the street.

• They go on runs in packs of 10 or so men, dressed in tight-fitting t-shirts and short red shorts. They often attract a lot of attention, and they do not seem to mind it.

• They also sell topless calendars.

Knowing what I know, then, about the Paris fire service, in particular with regard to aesthetics, I find the tradition of the Bal des Pompiers quite unsurprising. Every year on the 13th and 14th of July, the firefighters throw open the doors to the stations and host a disco.

Crowds queue around the block to get in (you can’t buy tickets in advance) and handsome young firemen in full military regalia collect the entrance fee. Once inside, more handsome young firemen staff the bars, which sell beers and copious bottles of champagne.

At the start of the evening, there is a family atmosphere and people often come with their children. As the night goes on, the DJs begin to spin more dance-y hits, the firemen mingle and dance with locals, and (so I am told), at some point, some of them get on stage and take their tops off.

My visiting friend said that if fire fighters in the UK did the same they would be accused by the press of abandoning their duties and publicly shamed. Now, I have been assured that a skeleton staff remains on duty on the night of the bals in case there are emergencies.

But do you agree with my friend? Do you find this tradition surprising? Is there a similar one where you come from? I really long to know. I have been in Paris too long and have become much too used to the short red shorts to be able to judge for myself.

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Thirty-second book club

Sometimes I wonder if I am a Victorian clerk trapped inside a millennial writer’s body. There are few types of novel I love better than the 19th-century English novel. I recently picked up a copy of that hot new hit: Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.

It’s one of those inexpensive classic editions with teeny print. It took me a few dozen pages to adjust to straining my eyes, as well as the writer’s occasional use of almost dizzyingly long sentences. But once I was in, I WAS IN! First of all, it is of course a page-turner by definition, as Dickens wrote his novels in instalments and liked to leave readers guessing — the Eastenders of the day, if you will. It is also just generally very much up my allée, the two cities in question being Paris and London and the event that sets the backdrop, the French Revolution, whose anniversary we celebrate today with sexy firefighters. It’s what Robespierre would have wanted.

I am almost finished (no spoilers!), and will likely write more next week with some choice favourite excerpts!

Broken kings, Hannah Meltzer

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Thank you for reading this letter about black cabs, short-shorts and Charles Dickens.

If you enjoyed it, why not share it? I’d love that! I also love it when you write back in the comments or email me your response, and it’s lovely to see other people writing to each other in the comments (I’m looking at you Karen from Scotland and JudgeRoyBean)!

For my kind new sponsors, your postcards are on their way.

I have also mentioned a guide to the French Riviera that I’ve written for Telegraph. It’s not out yet, but I will share it when it is!

Have a lovely week!

Yours,

Hannah