Give us this day, our daily bread...

In France, where "bread is life", what happens when the bakery closes? Few countries keep such extensive data around bakeries as France does. According to a 2017 government report, 73% of the French population lived within half a mile of a Boulangerie. Of course, in a country where 8-out-of 10 people live in largely urban areas, it is plainly not a city-dwellers problem. It is in rural France where the loss of the village bakery strikes like a family bereavement. For the purpose of the boulanger is not solely to bake baguettes and high-pile trays of buttery croissants. Their shops are meeting points - hubs of contact and community - barometers of village vibrancy and the backbone of our daily "bonjour".

Boulangeries in France span entire lives. They roll up their sleeves for the wedding cakes, carefully sculpt a complexity of "Croquembouches" celebrating both baptisms and communions. The Patissier stacks the store with yuletide logs and builds us candy-rich birds nests - "Nids de Pâques" for Easter. When the baker packs up, the village becomes nothing more than a series of bedrooms with benefits.

France is the country where bread shortages sparked the 1789 Revolution, and even if the people did choose to heed Marie-Antoinette and just eat cake, they would still have to get it at the Boulangerie. In the rural South West of Platform 13, the disapperance of the bakery drives villagers to satellite supermarkets, the one-stop shops, which inevitably has a knock-on effect of hurting the butcher, the greengrocer and even the fabric of the centuries-old weekly markets.

In the village of Uzeste, population 480, between Bordeaux and Agen, local residents have joined together to bring back the bakery, which had closed due to a childless retirement. Their "Boulangerie Co-operative", is owned by 304 shareholders, all enthusiastic customers. They brought in a baker - two now actually - Marion Duquesne and former book seller Romain Baxerres, with locals taking turns on the till. The shop window is flower-filled and the stone walls are painted a challenging shade of raspeberry. But it works. Tables and chairs are approximately arranged outide, inviting people to linger longer. The bakery is back, but so also is it's meaning. It's raison d'être.

Vanessa and I stopped in Uzeste on our way home from a Bordeaux airport drop-off. We knew about the communal bakery there so we bought some bread and chocolate éclairs, stopping for a bit, to chat. On the terrace sat a colurful bunch of locals - a lawyer, two bricklayers, a watercolour artist and a lady who described her occupation only as "Grandmother". Everyone spoke fluent bread and butter, praising the organic, ancient cereal flours, the sourdough starters and the hired hands that provide bready sustenance. "For us, bread is the food of war" said the Grandma, alarmingly. The bakery then - the village arsenal - is exactly where it is kneeded.