Françoise Hardy 1944-2024
In the early 1960s, even the coolest of the cool girls in British schools were in awe of Françoise Hardy. At first, her name was known to only a few, passed on by word of mouth by those who discovered her on French radio, a niche platform if ever there was one.
So across the airwaves from France came this melodic, romantic song, Tous Les Garçons et Filles. The song has a wistful feel, describing boys and girls strolling hand in hand, wrapped up in each other, enjoying being in love, while the singer is alone and lonely. There is no joy in her life; no one tells her they love her.
Chic beat
As if! Have you seen Françoise Hardy, we said. She was stunning, with her strong face and long, straight hair, totally rocking, before its time really, the casually chic beat look which for some of us replaced the more ‘done’ look of the early swinging years. There was still lots of backcombing and liberal application of hairspray. Even the newer styles such as bobs and geometric cuts, courtesy of Vidal Sassoon, et al, required regular, skilful, precision cutting. But Mlle Hardy’s hair was natural. effortless, absolutely fabulous.
But here’s the thing. She combined that freewheeling look (yes, Bob Dylan was a fan) with drop-dead-from-love romantic songs (those few we were familiar with, at any rate). This was a powerful combination. And on top of that, she was French. In our circles, most of our non-homegrown influences were American. Back then, we didn’t travel as we do now, and our neighbouring countries were less familiar. There were some au pair and pen pal exchanges, and as time went on, some good stories about hitchhiking in France, but many of us had sketchy knowledge of European cultures and ways of life.
Vulnerability
We were no strangers to cliches and stereotypes, particularly when it came to French girls. They were attractive even if they weren’t (we came across the phrase jolie-laide) and were effortlessly stylish. We cheerfully agreed to hate them. But how could you hate Françoise? She had the looks, she had the music, boys loved her, but in spite of that, she seemed bruised and vulnerable.
The other advantage that French girls had is that they could speak French. To be fair, some classmates were very good, but many of us exemplified the traditional and shameful lack of facility with other languages. We were on familiar terms with our French textbook, Whitmarsh I think, and perhaps could cope with verb endings and the like, but holding an actual conversation was something else. Even the textbook’s efforts to humanise the grammar didn’t always work. The family names sounded alien, as did the towns and villages they inhabited. When a trip to nearby Woking was as exotic as it came, Clermont Ferrand might as well have been Narnia.
Françoise Hardy had a fascinating life, in and beyond the world of music and entertainment. Reading her obituaries is a sobering experience. You hate to reduce this talented, complex, brave woman to a single image of a short-skirted, long-booted sexy French singer. But that’s the one which remains with many of us who admired her at a particular point in our young lives. Adieu, Françoise.
