A search for a new hearthstone led us to a village just over the border into Indre. St Plantaire is a pretty, well maintained village near the Lac de Chambon. Just behind the cemetery, appropriately placed near his traditional customer base, lies the stonemason’s yard of Michel Fouget. It consists of a flat, bare square of ground with a large metal hangar in the centre surrounded by the detritus of the stonemason’s trade; piles of stone and fragments of architectural carvings, reminiscent of Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’.


As we walked tentatively into the hangar we first saw Michel working on a surround for an inserre; carving a deep relief leaf pattern across the top. Each careful tap of the mallet chipped another fragment of sandstone away from the delicate ivy leaves. What I had taken from a distance to be a middle-aged man with grey hair turned out on closer inspection to be a strong man in his forties covered in stone dust, He handed me his business card; ‘Un des Meilleurs Ouvriers de France’, ‘One of the best craftsman in France, I read and, in my ignorance, I smiled to myself at this bold piece of self promotion. But is in fact a gold standard of quality.


According to Wikipedia; ‘Every three years, craftsmen across France have the opportunity to compete for the highly coveted “Un des Meilleurs Ouvriers de France” award. This award was created in 1924 and is given to the best craftsmen competing in each field, covering everything from chocolate making to specific building trades. Each competitor enters a masterpiece which demonstrates his craft, which is then evaluated against extremely stringent standards. Within each category anyone making the standard receives the award, so in any given year, there may be several people receiving the award for a given category or there may be none.

Merely to enter the competition requires significant commitment from the craftsman; the master piece being submitted will certainly require weeks and very likely months of work to create a show piece that demonstrates technical excellence combined with artistic flair. However, the award carries such prestige that it is worth almost any effort. The winner will then proudly carry the title 'Un des Meilleurs Ouvriers de France' (literally translated 'Best Worker of France', but a more meaningful translation would be 'Best Craftsman of France') for the rest of his or her life.’

The whole of St Plantaire is a showcase for Michel’s talent; from the stone pilgrims by the church fashioned into seats to a totem pole in the car park topped by a fine pair of buffalo horns. A local nature walk has also been embellished by his sculptures. However, his reputation isn’t limited to the local area but is known countrywide.

We had come for a simple slab in local Creusois granite but Michel had recently taken delivery of four well wrapped figures each over two metres in height and everyone was busy unwrapping them. Four stylised angels from Metz cathedral had travelled half way across France to this yard for his expert attention. The years and the weather had taken their toll and the delicate features of the angels faces had distorted as the soft yellow stone they were carved from had been eaten away.


A new wooden workshop was being built in one corner of the yard to house these special visitors during their stay. Large windows would allow maximum light in and the cover allow work to progress through the winter in relative comfort.

In another corner of the yard a huge St Peter was emerging from a large block of brilliant white limestone. He was recognisable by his bible in one hand and the keys to the church he founded in the other. In French he is Saint Pierre – literally the foundation stone of the Christian church. He was blurred and unfocussed as yet and there was much to do before he would be ready to take his rightful place in a cathedral near Paris.

We were not the only ones keenly observing all the activity in the yard; an enormous chestnut Breton colt was straining his head over the rear fence, eager to see what all the fuss was about.

“That’s Igor.” Michel told me and I laughed at the aptness of the name for such a monstrous beast.

“I bought him when he was a baby from the knacker’s for the price of his meat – most males end up there – there’s no market for them.” Michel explained further.

Igor looked well pleased with the way things had turned out and, as if to prove the point, suddenly wheeled away from the fence and set off across the field at a full gallop. His giant hooves thundered across the grass, tail held high and mane flowing, he knew he was onto a good thing!