Years ago, when I was a child on holiday in France, we went horse-riding as a family. A plump relative wanted to know whether the beasts would be constrained to a trot, or would be allowed to gallop.
Bereft of the right French vocab – and about a decade too early for Google – she resorted to repeating the word ‘promenade’ very loudly, while miming the various speeds at which a horse can move. Yes. Miming.
Needless to say, the Frenchmen were baffled, and kept her under very close watch as she later sat primly upon a struggling pony.
This awful embarrassment will be familiar to many of my fellow Brits who emerged from the education system almost as ignorant of foreign languages as when they went in.
Children take part in one of the fun and informative French lessons at the Alpine French School
The premises of the Alpine French School where the adults were taught the language
Children at the Alpine French School try white water rafting in the afternoon after their lessons
One of the beautiful apartments offered by Elevation Alps for use in the summer by students
Let’s be clear. Britain’s brute monolingualism is a source of national humiliation. It’s the part of every European holiday that we all dread: svelte Continentals happily gabbling away in two, three or even four languages, while we stand around like toddlers at a Mensa convention.
With this in mind, my family and I packed our bags and checked in to a two-week summer crash course in French in Morzine, a small town in the Alps, close to the Swiss border.
In winter, the place is a top-notch ski resort. In summer, it transforms into a mountain bike Mecca, with young men clad in armour and helmets hurtling down the pistes on two wheels before being helicoptered to hospital.
And nestled in the thick of it all is a French school catering largely – and very compassionately – to Britons like us.
The place was as beautiful as you could imagine. Nestled in a verdant valley and ringed by distant mountains still topped with snow, it offered outdoor sports galore.
These we enjoyed, of course, especially the kids. But our main purpose was an indoor one. My wife, having attended a decent school, speaks excellent French, whereas my own skills are frankly sub-Baldrick.
My three children (an 11-year-old and twins aged nine), being educated by the State, have had limited exposure to French at school. To be precise, their only foreign language tuition is provided by Mrs Smith armed with Google Translate. Er, once a fortnight.
The setup was well-honed and perfect. The children were packed off into a minibus every morning with others from around the world, and taken by French staff to a school in the mountains for the day.
There they were taught French in the mornings in lively and fun classes, fed an authentic French lunch, and then taken on all sorts of adventure activities in the afternoons, ranging from white water rafting and swimming to – quelle surprise – mountain biking.
A gang of happy students wind down after brushing up on their French vocabulary
The Alpine French School in Morzine, buzzing with activity between lessons for all levels
One of the Alpine French School classes enjoying mountain biking after their French lessons
An airy and well-equipped classroom for adults at the Alpine French School
The bedroom at one of the Elevation Alps chalets used by skiiers in winter
The teachers were young, French and highly motivated. The lessons were fun and well-structured. After waving goodbye slightly apprehensively as they were whisked away in the school van that first morning, the kids bounced off cheerily – and returned with smiles on their faces and French at their fingertips.
The real test of the organisation came when the younger ones were put in a class that was too basic for them, the result of a miscommunication during the booking. I’m pleased to report that this was corrected promptly and with a minimum of fuss, putting our minds at rest that this was a place that puts people first.
Meanwhile, my wife and I had lessons in the morning (in separate classes) and the afternoon free to explore. We hiked, we ate fromage, we used the local pass system to visit the mountains in chairlifts for cheap. In the evening we collected the children and took them home for dinner.
It was a magical time, with the hot sunny afternoons alternating with mountain rainstorms that came in suddenly and with great, thunderous drama.
The only drawback, perhaps, was the expense of the place. Being in the heart of Tourist France, both restaurants and groceries felt extortionate. But perhaps this is also due to the fall in the value of the pound, something which we Brits will just have to suck up.
Alpine French School is run by an ex-pat, Helen Watts, and her operation is supported by a number of other small businesses also founded by Britons.
Foremost among these was Elevation, the self-catered apartment company of which we availed ourselves for the fortnight. The 21 chalets and apartments are used by snow-fiends in the winter, and offer comfortable, well-apportioned bedrooms and thoughtfully equipped kitchens.
The living space at the Elevation Alps chalet that families learning French use in the summer
The beautiful town of Morzine in the summer provides a wonderful backdrop for a holiday
Students at the Alpine French School enjoy some mountain biking after their lessons
Children practice their French conversation skills during an informal session at the School
Being constructed of wood, the one we used gave off the most delicious hardwood aroma that proved a lovely, subtle accompaniment to the beautiful views of the mountains that we enjoyed from the balcony while we ate.
Another company that formed part of the operation was Skiidy Gonzales, a ski transfer service that collects you from the airport in a comfy minivan and whisks you off into the mountains.
The drivers distinguish themselves by wearing brightly coloured sombreros at the airport, making them – in theory – easy to find. In practice, our driver was about four feet tall so even with her monstrous pink hat, we failed to spot her.
But it was edifying to see a community of bilingual British entrepreneurs doing their thing in France. Yes, there was hope for our country. Yes, there was hope.
The real question, of course, is whether the knowledge of French that the children accumulated is going to stick. The answer to this lies in the follow-up. On our return, my wife went bonkers and stuck French vocab on post-it notes all over the house.
I’m sceptical of this method myself. But we have enrolled the kids in a French Club at school, which we hope is building on the foundation established in Morzine.
We have yet to put it to the test. My hunch, however, is that in the long run our time in the Alps will prove very valuable. Having said that, between you and me, I’m secretly hoping that their knowledge of French will dissipate a bit. That will give us an excuse to go back.