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Perfume From Provence
Winifred Fortescue was an actress who rubbed shoulders with the likes of Jerome K. Jerome and George Bernard Shaw when she married Sir John Fortescue, the King’s librarian and archivist and famous historian of the British Army. Tempted by a better climate and the cheaper cost of living, they left England and found a stone house amid olive groves, high in the hills above Nice. Almost at once they were bewitched by the landscape and especially their garden—delightful terraces of vines, wild flowers, roses, and lavender—and by the charming, warm-hearted, and wily Provençals. Winifred’s witty account of life with stonemasons, craftsmen, and gardeners as they extend the house is an enchanting read.
250 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1935
16 people are currently reading
333 people want to read
About the author
Winifred Fortescue
15 books3 followersLady Winifred Fortescue was a writer and actress. She was also the wife of Sir John Fortescue, the Librarian and Archivist at Windsor Castle and British Army historian.
In the 1930s she and her husband moved to Provence, France beginning her book writing career with "Perfume from Provence". She wrote a number of other books whilst there. Her husband died within 2 years of them moving to France but she stayed on until forced to move out by the German invasion in World War II. She returned at the end of the war and died in Opio, Provence.
In the 1930s she and her husband moved to Provence, France beginning her book writing career with "Perfume from Provence". She wrote a number of other books whilst there. Her husband died within 2 years of them moving to France but she stayed on until forced to move out by the German invasion in World War II. She returned at the end of the war and died in Opio, Provence.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews
June 4, 2025
Delightful! There is really no order to the chapters except that the beginning chapters involve Winifred and her husband moving into their house in Provence and getting into various scrapes. After that, the chapters all have different themes, like gardening, harvest, marketing, the wedding, feast days, etc. and have so many funny stories and details about the Provençal way of life and its quirky, endearing, and sometimes maddening inhabitants and customs. Winifred seems to handle most things with aplomb so she makes a fun guide to the region. Her writing is so funny: a mix of Wodehouse, Beverley Nichols, and Bill Bryson. I laughed out loud many times. Thank you Melissa for the buddy read! I’m so glad I finally picked this up.
April 29, 2021
I have been lucky enough to spend a lot of time in France since I was a child, and have always been drawn to memoirs of those who have swapped their busy lives for a slower existence in the beautiful country. Lady Winifred Fortescue's Perfume from Provence had been high on my rather large memoirs list for quite some time, before I caved and ordered a secondhand copy; reading it on a warm afternoon was bliss when I was unable to travel myself.
In the early 1930s, alongside her husband Sir John Fortescue, Winifred left her home in Hertfordshire, England, and 'settled in Provence, in a small stone house amid olive groves'. Their new abode, named the Domaine, was very close to the world-famous perfume making town of Grasse. They made the large move partly for health reasons, but also because between the wars, France was a far more affordable country than England in which to live. As soon as the pair arrived, they were 'bewitched, by the scenery, by their garden - an incredible terraced landscape of vines, wild flowers, roses and lavender - and above all by the charming, infuriating, warm-hearted and wily Provençals.'
When it was first published in 1935, Perfume from Provence was a bestseller. It rose to the top of the lists again when it was reissued by Black Swan in 1992. It is not difficult to see why. Although the book seems to be relatively forgotten nowadays, it presents a wonderfully slow, amusing, and warm slice of life, which transported me entirely from the crazed modern world. Fortescue's prose is so vivid and sumptuous that I could almost feel the golden sun upon my skin, and hear the thousands of cicadas chirping in the fields. She writes: 'Here there is a lovely leisure in all our doings. The sun shines so gloriously, the sky is so incredibly blue, and the scent of flowers, warmed by the sunshine, so drowsy and intoxicating that there is every inducement to be lazy and leisurely.'
From its very beginning, Fortescue writes with such ambiability, and a wonderful sense of humour. She tells us about the motley crew of workmen who are extending their small house: 'Hardly a day passed without a visit from one or other of them: the electrician with a finger cut by wire; a mason with a smashed thumb; various blessés with casualties greater or less, all howling for "Madame" and tincture of iodine.' The house also came with a rather beligerent gardener named Hilaire, who continuously ropes both Fortescues into helping him with garden tasks. To escape this, Sir John often feigns deafness. Many of the neighbours, too, shoehorn the Fortescues into assisting them - lending their car for a local wedding, or guilt-tripping them into buying up 'several hundreds of logs' in the heat of summer, as the seller insists that 'wood was very scarce, and customers who were late with their commands would not get served at all.'
Perfume from Provence has been split into sections, all of which deal with one aspect of life in Provence, and range from 'Building' and 'My Garden', to 'Marriage' and 'Housekeeping'. In each chapter, seemingly endless mishaps occur: a garden wall crumbling, and ruining a recently planted rose garden; a gentleman comically slipping on a banana skin on market day, and upending a 'heap of oranges, some of which scatter under the stalls and are swiftly prigged by alert urchins, while other marketeers roller-skate on the remainder'; and the 'gesticulating little creature' of the local barber dropping all of his tools over the market square, and making 'himself an amusing nuisance' in the aftermath. There is so much evocative detail here about customs unique to Provence, and the lively book is full to the brim with memorable characters and encounters.
There are some lovely moments here too, many of which come from their rural neighbours. One of these, Monsieur Pierre, reflectively tells Fortescue: 'He sweeps a brawny arm out towards the majesty of mountains rising above a sea of grey-green olive foliage, and asks me why people spend their lives striving to make money when Le Bon Dieu gives them all this beauty for nothing? Is not health, and the life of a peasant in the open air, better than riches and a dyspeptic stomach in a city? The world has grown too restless and discontented, and men have forgotten that peace and happiness can still be found in woods with birds and flowers and bees.' One night, Fortescue relays that when went to be early one night, '... I lay luxuriously staring out of my windows at a mass of mountains gradually fading away into opalescent dusk...'.
I am always delighted when I pick up books of this kind, and am thrilled that I have discovered a new author to enjoy in Lady Winifred Fortescue. Her account of life in France is delightful, as 'warm and witty' as the book's blurb promises. Fortescue lived in Provence until her death in 1951, and released more reflections of her beloved life there, which I am most looking forward to reading. Next for me will be Sunset House: More Perfume from Provence. There is so much to like in Perfume from Provence, and I have high hopes for the rest of Fortescue's oeuvre. Of course, this volume has made me want to book a very long holiday in France, but until I can get there again, I will read the rest of her books with joy.
In the early 1930s, alongside her husband Sir John Fortescue, Winifred left her home in Hertfordshire, England, and 'settled in Provence, in a small stone house amid olive groves'. Their new abode, named the Domaine, was very close to the world-famous perfume making town of Grasse. They made the large move partly for health reasons, but also because between the wars, France was a far more affordable country than England in which to live. As soon as the pair arrived, they were 'bewitched, by the scenery, by their garden - an incredible terraced landscape of vines, wild flowers, roses and lavender - and above all by the charming, infuriating, warm-hearted and wily Provençals.'
When it was first published in 1935, Perfume from Provence was a bestseller. It rose to the top of the lists again when it was reissued by Black Swan in 1992. It is not difficult to see why. Although the book seems to be relatively forgotten nowadays, it presents a wonderfully slow, amusing, and warm slice of life, which transported me entirely from the crazed modern world. Fortescue's prose is so vivid and sumptuous that I could almost feel the golden sun upon my skin, and hear the thousands of cicadas chirping in the fields. She writes: 'Here there is a lovely leisure in all our doings. The sun shines so gloriously, the sky is so incredibly blue, and the scent of flowers, warmed by the sunshine, so drowsy and intoxicating that there is every inducement to be lazy and leisurely.'
From its very beginning, Fortescue writes with such ambiability, and a wonderful sense of humour. She tells us about the motley crew of workmen who are extending their small house: 'Hardly a day passed without a visit from one or other of them: the electrician with a finger cut by wire; a mason with a smashed thumb; various blessés with casualties greater or less, all howling for "Madame" and tincture of iodine.' The house also came with a rather beligerent gardener named Hilaire, who continuously ropes both Fortescues into helping him with garden tasks. To escape this, Sir John often feigns deafness. Many of the neighbours, too, shoehorn the Fortescues into assisting them - lending their car for a local wedding, or guilt-tripping them into buying up 'several hundreds of logs' in the heat of summer, as the seller insists that 'wood was very scarce, and customers who were late with their commands would not get served at all.'
Perfume from Provence has been split into sections, all of which deal with one aspect of life in Provence, and range from 'Building' and 'My Garden', to 'Marriage' and 'Housekeeping'. In each chapter, seemingly endless mishaps occur: a garden wall crumbling, and ruining a recently planted rose garden; a gentleman comically slipping on a banana skin on market day, and upending a 'heap of oranges, some of which scatter under the stalls and are swiftly prigged by alert urchins, while other marketeers roller-skate on the remainder'; and the 'gesticulating little creature' of the local barber dropping all of his tools over the market square, and making 'himself an amusing nuisance' in the aftermath. There is so much evocative detail here about customs unique to Provence, and the lively book is full to the brim with memorable characters and encounters.
There are some lovely moments here too, many of which come from their rural neighbours. One of these, Monsieur Pierre, reflectively tells Fortescue: 'He sweeps a brawny arm out towards the majesty of mountains rising above a sea of grey-green olive foliage, and asks me why people spend their lives striving to make money when Le Bon Dieu gives them all this beauty for nothing? Is not health, and the life of a peasant in the open air, better than riches and a dyspeptic stomach in a city? The world has grown too restless and discontented, and men have forgotten that peace and happiness can still be found in woods with birds and flowers and bees.' One night, Fortescue relays that when went to be early one night, '... I lay luxuriously staring out of my windows at a mass of mountains gradually fading away into opalescent dusk...'.
I am always delighted when I pick up books of this kind, and am thrilled that I have discovered a new author to enjoy in Lady Winifred Fortescue. Her account of life in France is delightful, as 'warm and witty' as the book's blurb promises. Fortescue lived in Provence until her death in 1951, and released more reflections of her beloved life there, which I am most looking forward to reading. Next for me will be Sunset House: More Perfume from Provence. There is so much to like in Perfume from Provence, and I have high hopes for the rest of Fortescue's oeuvre. Of course, this volume has made me want to book a very long holiday in France, but until I can get there again, I will read the rest of her books with joy.
July 28, 2008
This is from 1931 - and it shows. I just couldn't get past the hopelessly condescending tone of the author. She is an English aristocrat who has moved to Provence following the crash of the pound. Practically every one of her sentences talks about what antics those cute little French peasants are getting up to now. Some descriptions and customs are interesting, but her attitude is hard to overcome.
July 22, 2023
Lady Winifred Fortescue 'Madame' and her husband, Sir John Fortescue 'Monsieur' moved to Provence in the 1930s where they set about enlarging a little golden house they bought before the £ collapsed. The first chapter is about the building works, followed by chapters on managing the garden, a chapter about a marriage in the village which they attend, housekeeping, feast days and the harvests. They employ an Italian girl, Emilia for cooking and cleaning and a temperamental gardener, Hilaire. They deal good naturedly with officials and neighbours and workmen, facing many obstacles and mishaps, but it is all very humorous and entertaining. Monsieur is largely elusive, being often ill and left to his own devices when well. Winifred cares for him a great deal and writes with fondness about him. By the end of the book we learn that he dies after only 2 years, their new life in Provence barely underway. A lot of what I read felt very familiar in lots ways because although this book was first, it is very similar to A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle which I have already read.
Winifred was born in Suffolk in 1888, the daughter of a rector. In 1914 she married John Fortescue, the King's Librarian and Archivist and famous historian of the British Army. There was a 28 year age gap between them.
Winifred was born in Suffolk in 1888, the daughter of a rector. In 1914 she married John Fortescue, the King's Librarian and Archivist and famous historian of the British Army. There was a 28 year age gap between them.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 29, 2022
Quiet, lovely book about a family of two settling in Provence after leaving England in the early 1930s and their encounter with an array of quirky Provençals, charming, infuriating and warm hearted. I especially enjoyed the chapters about gardening, feast days and harvesting though it's lovely all through. Do grab a bunch of lavender flowers whilst reading this book, or read it in your garden, outside, enjoying sunshine or whilst eating good wholesome food. You will enjoy it all the more👒🌿
September 16, 2025
Relaxt boek! De vibe is b&b of ik vertrek in de jaren ‘30 in Frankrijk.
Een Engels stel verhuist naar de Provence en komt daar in aanraking met de lokale natuur en cultuur. Deze wordt heel warm en typerend beschreven door Lady Winifred’ De toon van ‘Madame’ in het beschrijven is een beetje oudbollig, maar dat geeft ook juist een inkijkje in de tijd.
Al met al leest het het ontspannen weg.
Een Engels stel verhuist naar de Provence en komt daar in aanraking met de lokale natuur en cultuur. Deze wordt heel warm en typerend beschreven door Lady Winifred’ De toon van ‘Madame’ in het beschrijven is een beetje oudbollig, maar dat geeft ook juist een inkijkje in de tijd.
Al met al leest het het ontspannen weg.
August 7, 2017
Charming memoir of an English woman transplanted to the South of France in the 1930's.
October 18, 2011
Lady Winifred writes about her experiences of moving to a tiny mountain village in Provence in the 1930's with her husband, referred to throughout as Monsieur, and the trials and tribulations of dealing with a new country. Not only does she come up against the barrier of language, both French and Italian, but also the completely different culture and way of life there. Her collection of amusing anecdotes about managing the builders, servants and gardeners, dealing with local officials, encountering the dubious honour of being invited to a wedding, and learning to drive on the treacherous mountain roads are all told with a smile, and ability to laugh at herself and a genuine love for the place that is utterly infectious. The illustrations by E. H. Shepherd which accompany the text throughout just make this book even more enjoyable to read. If I hadn’t wanted to visit Provence before, I certainly would after reading Perfume from Provence; as it is, I’m only more keen to go there someday.
The section on driving was particularly entertaining, not least because of the way in which Lady Winifred anthropomorphises her cars. There is the gallant English Sir William whom she has had to leave behind and her new little Fiat named Desiree because there is a long period of waiting for the car to arrive from the manufacturers during which she is ‘desiree mais pas trouve‘. But it is the section on driving lessons which is most endearing. My woes at the hands of the DVLA pale into comparison beside a friendly local teaching Winifred to brave the mountain roads by directing her up a precarious, winding track, completely unprotected from a long drop into the valley below on one side, which turns out to be a one way street running in the opposite direction to that in which she is driving. Of course, she only learns this on meeting a rather surprised car coming straight towards her. I also loved the account of how one of Winifred’s friends accidentally runs over her garden while Winifred is giving her a lesson and all the servants are enlisted to try to disguise the damage before the gardener notices, after which they gleefully conspire to deny all knowledge of noticing anything happening.
Perfume from Provence is such a happy book, full of laughter and fond nostalgia, and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this relaxing, amusing tale of French rural life as seen through the eyes of the bemused but affectionate English to anyone at all.
The section on driving was particularly entertaining, not least because of the way in which Lady Winifred anthropomorphises her cars. There is the gallant English Sir William whom she has had to leave behind and her new little Fiat named Desiree because there is a long period of waiting for the car to arrive from the manufacturers during which she is ‘desiree mais pas trouve‘. But it is the section on driving lessons which is most endearing. My woes at the hands of the DVLA pale into comparison beside a friendly local teaching Winifred to brave the mountain roads by directing her up a precarious, winding track, completely unprotected from a long drop into the valley below on one side, which turns out to be a one way street running in the opposite direction to that in which she is driving. Of course, she only learns this on meeting a rather surprised car coming straight towards her. I also loved the account of how one of Winifred’s friends accidentally runs over her garden while Winifred is giving her a lesson and all the servants are enlisted to try to disguise the damage before the gardener notices, after which they gleefully conspire to deny all knowledge of noticing anything happening.
Perfume from Provence is such a happy book, full of laughter and fond nostalgia, and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this relaxing, amusing tale of French rural life as seen through the eyes of the bemused but affectionate English to anyone at all.
February 9, 2013
I picked this book up and another by the same author at a second-hand book stall at the recommendation of one of my high school teachers so I didn't really know what to expect when I started this one.
To me, it honestly just felt like a rich woman writing home to her English friends about the silly little French people she was encountering. It was quite genuine, though, so maybe that's not exactly the right description but all in all I found the lack of plot quite boring and only on few occasions did I see the book as worth reading.
I'm a little disappointed but at least I cleared some shelf space in my room.
To me, it honestly just felt like a rich woman writing home to her English friends about the silly little French people she was encountering. It was quite genuine, though, so maybe that's not exactly the right description but all in all I found the lack of plot quite boring and only on few occasions did I see the book as worth reading.
I'm a little disappointed but at least I cleared some shelf space in my room.
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September 30, 2012Once you get over the slightly patronising tone - some of it owing to Lady Fortescue's social position and some of it a reflection of the era in which she was writing - this book is a fascinating glimpse of life in Provence before the Second World War. Yes, the author's situation is a privileged one, and the picture she paints reflects that, but it is valid nevertheless. Having lived in France, I was especially amused to see that taxes created problems even back in the 1930s and the chapter on driving was brilliant. Will definitely be seeking out the rest of the series.
July 20, 2012
Loved it - read the whole series!
July 8, 2014
dated story, but that's the reason why it's interesting and nice to read.
December 7, 2020
A perfect book to end 2020 and the year of Covid.
“He sweeps a brawny arm out towards the majesty of mountains rising above a sea of grey-green olive foliage, and asks me why people spend their lives striving to make money when le bon Dieu gives them all this beauty for nothing? Is not health, and the life of a peasant in the open air, better than riches and a dyspeptic stomach in a city? The world has grown too restless and discontented, and men have forgotten that peace and happiness can still be found in woods with birds and flowers and bees.”
A book after my own heart.
Lady Fortescue and her husband left their native England to live in Provence. This book is a series of essays on life in Provence. The people, the food, the customs, etc. She is very good at giving us vivid thumbnail word sketches of the people she’s come to love despite a culture shock. But she doesn’t seem to mind at all and often realizes living life according to the Provençal clock was exactly where she was meant to be.
She’s set the mark for humor and patience showing us all an easier way to live with our fellowman.
An excellent read if you are a bit weary.
“He sweeps a brawny arm out towards the majesty of mountains rising above a sea of grey-green olive foliage, and asks me why people spend their lives striving to make money when le bon Dieu gives them all this beauty for nothing? Is not health, and the life of a peasant in the open air, better than riches and a dyspeptic stomach in a city? The world has grown too restless and discontented, and men have forgotten that peace and happiness can still be found in woods with birds and flowers and bees.”
A book after my own heart.
Lady Fortescue and her husband left their native England to live in Provence. This book is a series of essays on life in Provence. The people, the food, the customs, etc. She is very good at giving us vivid thumbnail word sketches of the people she’s come to love despite a culture shock. But she doesn’t seem to mind at all and often realizes living life according to the Provençal clock was exactly where she was meant to be.
She’s set the mark for humor and patience showing us all an easier way to live with our fellowman.
An excellent read if you are a bit weary.
March 18, 2022
I am 100% the audience for this one. I really really liked it, but did not love it. Written in the late 1930s and it definitely shows it’s age. It was fascinating to get a peek at Provence in this era. Unfortunately Lady Fortescue spends a lot, too much, time describing every person she comes across and less time describing Provence itself. I was shocked how little has changed, well, it really. Lol. The charm of Provence is how it seems set in its ways and unchanged from ages ago. A lot of reviews here don’t give enough credit to Lady Fortescue, she was beloved by her village and loved them dearly as well. She returned after WWII and opened her home to injured soldiers and set up a much needed supply line to keep the village going. She was so loved the villagers called here Mama Noel (essentially Santa Claus to us, but a woman).
June 15, 2018
“Is not health, and the life of a peasant in the open air, better than riches and a dyspeptic stomach in a city? The world has grown too restless and discontented, and men have forgotten that peace and happiness can still be found in woods with birds and flowers and bees.”
Such a charming and beautiful book about quaint life in a provincial town.
My favorite chapter was the last one that really talked about her garden and all of the different plants, fruits and vegetables that she grew and described all the fun they had harvesting olives and grapes.
Makes me want to get on a plane to have my own provincial adventure!
Such a charming and beautiful book about quaint life in a provincial town.
My favorite chapter was the last one that really talked about her garden and all of the different plants, fruits and vegetables that she grew and described all the fun they had harvesting olives and grapes.
Makes me want to get on a plane to have my own provincial adventure!
March 19, 2022
I found this book in the Little Library on our fence. It is a reissue of a 1935 memoir. Lady Winnifred Fortescue and her husband buy a rundown house in the hills above Nice and move there in 1931, in the depths of the Depression, to get away from the grim conditions in England. Lady Fortescue writes about their adventures into the culture of Provence, her neighbors, her gardener and the local workforce. The Fortescues remodsl the old farmhouse and add a new wing and then settle down to life in the sunshine. Winnifred's sense of humor, her eye for detail and her ability to laugh at herself add to the pleasure of this tale.
June 30, 2024
Proceed with caution… Fortescue was writing this for a specific, like-minded audience at home in the UK, and her elitism and condescension toward her new neighbors, servants, and other Provençals underpins most of her anecdotes. Her fatphobia is staggering.
That said, I think Fortescue also provides a glimpse of life in 1930s Provence that may be quite valued by local historians.
I’m reading online that the town nearest her house was Grasse, home to a famous perfume factory. Now I get the title of the book!
That said, I think Fortescue also provides a glimpse of life in 1930s Provence that may be quite valued by local historians.
I’m reading online that the town nearest her house was Grasse, home to a famous perfume factory. Now I get the title of the book!
April 19, 2023
I read this in the spring sunshine, which added a layer of delight to this already witty, charming story. Intelligently told, unlike others in this genre.
Ps. I could not find any references to her hating fat people, as one reviewer commented, but perhaps it escaped me. ??
Ps. I could not find any references to her hating fat people, as one reviewer commented, but perhaps it escaped me. ??
May 5, 2024
A truly delightful little memoir, set in the 1930s, which conjures up the sights, sounds and scents of Provence and its people perfectly. I love the old-fashioned language and old-fashioned values. A lovely read.
May 26, 2017
Interesting book, well written but a little dated. Not sure what I really thought about this book. The author was writing as she lived it, pre-World War II. It was just a little too much.
May 29, 2017
One of the originals, that started the spate of "I bought a place in France/Spain/Italy" books by UK authors.
It's charming, old-fashioned, and very readable.
It's charming, old-fashioned, and very readable.
September 14, 2017
As much as I adore France, I figured I would love this. I did not. I found it dull.
October 13, 2017
Written decades ago and in that style, but a gentle, humourous story of life in Provence in that era. Very enjoyable book.
May 15, 2019
Enjoyed reading this book about Grasse and life in France in the 20’s and 30’s.
January 1, 2020
Perfume from Provence
1913...in France .a delightfull no nonsense but interesting read . Going for the sequel now .thank you!anf then looking for more
1913...in France .a delightfull no nonsense but interesting read . Going for the sequel now .thank you!anf then looking for more
February 9, 2020
Lady Fortescue writes about her life in France detailing customs and the fruits of soil and sun, the challenges of workers and the roads.
July 16, 2021
Lovely book, quaint and eloquent writing style compared to modern books of this genre. I may read the sequel.
January 7, 2022
Charming, humorous, and lighthearted.
July 17, 2022
An engaging evocation of an expats life in 1930s Provence
April 21, 2024
Very much of it’s time in outlook. Easy to see the condescension and classism. But if I reread P Mayer’s “A Year in Provence,” would I find the same?
A slice of history from one perspective.
A slice of history from one perspective.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews