"All I remember is Father saying is, "Oh come on, a little watered wine won't hurt them!"

Bleedin'heck, that looks like the expression on the faces of my minions after a day out here in La Douce France... How about a trip to the German cemetary to cheer them up? Or go adventure climbing with them, mine won't stop whining to go back there... Oh well, that's for the women.. Dad and Bud are of to the golfcourse today, as long as the weater holds out. Yesterday a blistering 30C/85C, today... what? Pouring rain? Enjoy Normandy, FM...

Might I suggest calvados?

That was us. After being taken every weekend to a different stately home or castle or other historic site in the UK every weekend our parents dragged us around much of Normandy and assorted castles and battlegrounds in France, Spain, Belgium, etc. In France their preferred tactic was to go themselves to the nicest cafe in town and give us kids about 10 francs and tell us to forage. We would go and bargain in Limey accented Frog from shopkeepers who would usually take pity on us (I would gesture to Mon Pere et maman la! with crocodile tears to extract a nicer bit of cheese with our bread and cider from even the stingiest).

Whenever we returned home to London, people seemed warm and friendly beyond belief after the French (I have some French ancestry, so I can say it). But the food was better in France than in the Scottish highlands and islands where we spent grim summers camping in a canvas Army surplus tent while visiting more historic ruins.