The Old Farmhouse at 31 Les Combrands

La Ferme á Combrands.

We had ben invited by Lal and Andy to call in and stay for a few days if we were passing! What a lovely phrase, "If you are passing" here we are in a country four times the size of the UK and we found ourselves 'passing'. What the Stopportons won't do for a free meal!

This area is ideal if you like peace and solitude, canal path walks and cycle rides and the occasional 'punt'. There are very few restaurants and what there are you need to travel a bit to get to 'em. The beach is only about an hour away if that's your thing and Rochefort with all it's associate attractions about an hour as well.

We loved it here. Chilling. Walking out the rear blue gate, on Andy's to do list as it's pretty rotten and fallen off it's hinges, you are taken over a small canal and onto the dyke. Here you can walk or cycle in either direction. Either way will eventually take you to a large canal, river or water system. Here it is possible to hire electric motor boats, canoes or punts.

The house is believed to have been built some time in the late 1800's. During WW2 it has been said that it was quarters for two German officers. It has a large 'field' attached to the house and outbuildings. Many now in a state of disrepair. It needs someone with some DIY skills and some time on their hands to put a few things right!

It can be rented I believe if one was interested.

The roof to this attached barn has gone in two years.

Attached cowshed. Roof again gone, walls falling out.

.

Side entrance. Not used

The 'hangar' and Pascal's tractor.

From the blue gate looking forward into the field.

Looking back towards our blue gate from the canals.

Crossing our bridge over the first of the smaller canals.

Looking over the second small canal towards Pascal's veg plot.

The Dyke between the two small canals.

Lal, a domestic goddess hard at work in La Cuisine.

Lounge. Seldom used as you can imagine.

That's all folks. Time to move on.

Day 44 Wednesday 12^th July 2017

From: Les Combrands  To: Les Combrands

Mile: 16530   Daily:   0000        Meteo:    Overcast and fresh.

Today after a fairly relaxed stay around the farmhouse we took a drive into Coulon.               

Things in the village were pretty quiet. Andy took us to a ‘Brocante’ or antiques shop. Here he was in his element with all sorts of boxes and shelves to rummage through and numerous goodies for purchase. We others, promising to collect him later went across the road to the boulangerie and bought bread and cakes, into another shop to check out the local ‘Donkey Head’ wines and beers, into the dress shop next to that and then returning to the Brocante, Andy seemingly hadn’t moved. Lal deciding she needed to drag him out of the shop, disappeared inside also. Mike and Jackie walked to a nearby seat and sat. Eventually the Steers arrived. Andy had a large brown paper bag clutched tightly to his chest. Who remembers Spencer Tracey’s film about Rogers Rangers? Anyway, no amount of cajoling would entreat Andy to show and tell the contents of his bag.”Wait till we get home”, was all he would say.

If you look carefully at the painting below, this is Andy walking into the Brocante in 1925. Not twenty-five minutes past seven but the year. Compare this to the photo I took of the street today and Andy is just visible exiting the shop in 2017.

Tell me I'm not imagining that. Or did it just seem like we were waiting an eternity. 

As we stood to leave a couple of older guys approached and one started chatting away in French. Lal, in her best French, apologised and said we don’t speak French. Mike persisted and asked Monsieur to repeat but slowly. He was a character who spoke no English. His companion spoke some and would interpret when needed. We think he was slightly embarrassed when the subject of Macron and Trump was raised. At the mention of Macrons name the first old guy, who could speak no English, would squat and screw his face. We could only assume he did not vote for Macron. Mention Le Pen's name and you had a totally different reaction. Again, this would cause his companion to wince at the embarrassment of his gesticulations. I wouldn't have thought he could move his hips that fast or well! This brought howls of laughter from us less sophisticated Brits much to the old boys delight.

Back to the farm for some late lunch and a siesta. For some! Not Mike I hasten to add. This was merely shot for effect.

Bet you can't guess what's for dinner this evening

Have you guessed what it is yet?

Just 'kiding'

Day 43 Tuesday 11^th July 2017      From: Rochefort.  To: Les Combrands

Mile: 16482-16530       Daily: 48         Meteo: Hot and sunny.             

Today we are to visit with Lal and Andy at their converted French Ferme. This is in the Charente Maritime region and should only be about an hour’s drive away. We had to return the two security door tags to reception and Mike made a point of saying how much we had enjoyed our stay, also commenting on the good works they were doing in providing various eco solutions for us visitors. This surprisingly brought a smile to the three female staff members on duty. It might also have been my grasping for the correct words in French.

We were headed for the small hamlet of Les Combrands. This lies to the W of Niort. We would drive N to meet with the N11 just outside La Rochelle then swing E as far as Courcon then continue N to La Ronde then W to Taugon then to 31 Combrands. Lal and Andy had promised to tie various coloured balloons at the last couple of road junctions to guide us in. We were, after all, in bandit country. With Jackie navigating, it was no problem. The only issue was accessing their gate onto the property. There was a telephone cable dangling far too low to give me clearance and I would need a couple of shunts to get off the narrow farm road and into the field.

Andy and Lal appeared, they had been sunning themselves on their chairs relaxing. Andy had the low wire problem solved in a flash. Ball of string, small stone tied on the end, loop around the offended line and hoist it up out of the way and tie it off. Simples.

No sooner had we alighted than Lal had a gin and tonic for Jackie and a beer for me. We sat for a while and exchanged a few stories about recent adventures. Then Andy took me on a trip of the farm. The old farm building was owned by a friend in Plymouth and ‘The Steers’ had been coming here for the last six years. There were a few outbuildings, medium sized stone sheds in various states of repair, a cattle feeding shippon and another attached barn. Most of these were in an advanced state of deterioration.

This ‘marais land’ is basically reclaimed marsh. As such the ground gets wet in the winter months and dries out considerably in the summer. Some of the cracks and holes in the ‘field’ attached to the house you could lose a Land Rover and trailer in. If that was not bad enough there was ample evidence of ground and structural movement on the property. Andy had noted much deteriation in the last six years.

I had seen photos taken two years ago of Andy working on the roof of the attached barn. Now all that remained was a few wooden beams. Walls which he had rebuilt that same period or attempted to repair had since fallen over. Other walls were bowed out, their capping stones loose. Door frames no longer sat square and shutters could be seen hanging from rusted hinges.

The main house was in itself a fine structure. Plenty of space within the various rooms. The kitchen / dining room was huge. This would be where we would take meals if not outside and where Lal would entertain neighbours.

Evidence of Andy’s latest self-imposed works were obvious. He had been pruning with a chain saw the fifty meters or so row of trees that marked the drive down to the house. Many of these trees were ‘shaky plums’. That, to you townies is an edible plum tree, that when you gently shake a branch, the ripe plums fall. They were delicious. Not a sour plum anywhere. In addition, there were pear and quince trees all heavily laden with fruit. Surprisingly no apple trees.  Away in the far corner behind the house Andy had piled the old boughs and branches ready for a winter burn. It was as large as a sponsored bonfire for November the fifth. Quite who would carry out this task was uncertain. The owner who visited twice, maybe three times a year, was not that ‘handy’ and as many of the visiting friends and colleagues were here on holiday they adopted the line of thought that any ‘work’ around the house was someone else’s job.He had been pruning, with a chain saw

Bet you can't guess what's for lunch!

Soon we boys were called in from our architectural detective work as dinner was ready. Another feast following hard on the heels of a beautiful green salad lunch. After which we were taken through the rear blue gate, over ‘our’ small bridge over the tiny canal and onto the dyke. This dyke separated one small canal from the other. We walked for half a mile to what seemed at first glance a rather ramshackle dwelling. This building, it transpired was owned by Bernard.

Look closely, evidence of one of Andy's BBQ's.

An English speaking Frenchman Lal hoped we would meet later  in the week. It belonged to his father many years ago. Bernard now in retirement visits weekends and enjoys the peace and solitude it offers. He was gradually renovating the property. Perhaps a two up two down. There was no running water, no drains, no electricity and no sewer connection. Not even a fosse septique. Neither would there ever be. Lal had brought us here to see the catfish ‘Poisson chat’ which lived here in hundreds. They were a nuisance as they were predatory on all other fish in these tiny canals. Alas today none were evident. In part due to the corn having been cut in the field opposite and a layer of cereal dust lay thick over the water. That, and the green algae.

We returned to the farm house. Where we sat in the warmth of the last of the sun’s rays and had a quiet drink. It was then that Pascal arrived. He lives in a ‘cottage’ the next but one house up. Next door was virtually derelict as Madame had been taken into care and the son who usually called around to cut the grass and tend to the veg patch had himself died. Heart attack. In this climate mother nature soon re-establishes her dominance.

Strangely Pascal’s plot and rear garden was linked via a gate with Lal and Andy’s property beyond ‘the hanger’ on the farmhouse land, where Pascal kept his Massey Ferguson. It was a habit that he would call around most evenings for a chat. Now Pascal’s English was on a par with Andy’s French. Non-existent. Lal by her own admission was struggling with her French. However, as men, and indeed women do they managed to communicate. Especially when last year Pascal needed some muscle to rebuild his bridge over the second canal to cross to his veg plot. Whom did he call upon? Andy.

We were introduced as ‘amis’, Pascal was offered some rose and we sat for another hour chatting. How? Nobody knew but it was all very pleasant. Soon Pascal told us he must go as he had work in the morning and needed to be up at 0500hrs. We believe he assisted a local mason, did various odd jobs, including cutting the grass on ‘the field’ beside Lal’s house. He would also coppice trees on his land to the rear of his small holding which he would sell for fire wood. He promised to call again tomorrow evening after work.  It was soon bedtime.

Day 42 Monday 10^th July 2017      From: Rochefort.  To: Rochefort.

Mile: 16482       Daily: 000             Meteo: Hot and sunny. Then rain then sun.

After breakfast and a couple of long hot showers we are ready for the short walk again to L’Hermione. The lady at the ticket office has a badge which proudly proclaims she speaks English but it’s not sufficient to answer my questions about the various other museums we wish to visit today. We buy tickets into the display area and workshops for the ship as well as the naval museum housed at the head of the dock.

Jackie ringing Blighty before joining the crew.

Rochefort since earliest times has been associated with French Naval architecture. The dock into which L’Hermione now floats was the first stone dock of its kind in the world. Repairs before then were carried out on all ships by laying them on their side, working on the up side then flipping them when complete. Then came the digging of a large hole or grave to float the boat into, a dam was constructed behind it and the water pumped out. The French tried this method here on the Charente River but the banks were too soft and kept collapsing. French ingenuity decreed that they drive down to bedrock and install pilings and build stone walls up from there. Add a couple of gates at the end and you have the world’s first dry/wet dock. They even added a roof over everything so that work could continue in all weathers.

I thought it was us English. Wrong again.

The weather was very grey and overcast and we were due for some pretty heavy rain. After passing through the ticket office you entered an interpretation centre taking you through the conceptual idea and how the work was started and completed. It taking 12 years. It must be remembered that no plans existed for the Hermione and so much details were taken from models, still in existence and what information was available from historical records here and strangely in the USA. Ancient skills had to be relearnt, honed and applied. Craftsmen from all over would attend and work for weeks and months. This was all apply seen from the 'workshops' now on display as we passed down the covered walkways in a double linear approach to the ship itself.

Carpentry skills demonstration.

Carpentry, rope making, smithy, sail making, canons and various armaments displays were all represented. By the time we had wandered through the various informative TV monitors, display boards and video presentations the rain, which had been lashing down had now stopped. The sun was out. Just in time for Mike and Jackie to be piped aboard.

On the gang plank looking aft.

Upper deck. There was also a lower gun deck come living quarters.

Tarring of the standing rigging.

I am certain many of you have heard the expression 'Jack Tar'. This was a term used to describe men of the merchant and Royal Navy during the early days of the Empire. Remember that, when most of your school atlas was covered in red! I, although familiar with the term had never associated it with the 'tarring' of a ships ropes. OK give me a break! As soon as we stepped aboard L'Hermione it was apparent from the smell. Very distinctive, almost like creosote. Whilst studying the tarred rigging this was forcefully brought home by something hitting the top of my head. I thought, "That is unlucky, a seagull bombing me". If only. It was tar literally dripping off the overhead rigging. The crew must have recently tarred in this area above. As I looked at the red painted deck I could see numerous splodges were an overzealous matelot had applied the tar to the hemp ropes. With that another splodge hit the woman stood next to me right on her pristine white trousers. 'Oh dear' I thought and moved away. As much from any further droppings as from the rage she was venting and the scene she was causing.

Yes it is French warship, albeit a re-construction. Here I would not wish any of mon amis en France to think I'm being small minded but it lacked, to my mind any form of character. There was no tangible history or life in the ship. It is truly amazing what has been done using traditional methods as far as possible but...'it lacked soul brother Rabbit' (The Commitments)

There were of course now two engines cleverly hidden with side thrusters to facilitate docking. This was a very time consuming job in a sailing ship. There were ultra modern controls with nav systems, fire fighting installations throughout  a modern galley etc these were all well hidden and blending in with deck covers and hatches etc. It had not long returned from a trans Atlantic crossing were it had visited many ports on the Eastern seaboard of the US and was well received. Now back in the very dock from where the original was conceived and built it was resting until later this summer when it sails for a trip around the Med.

It is churlish of me to say but 'This ain't no HMS Victory'.

Might we, at this juncture offer up a few verses of  'Heart of Oak' the official march of her Britannic Majesties Royal Navy. For those 'landlubbers' in our midst might I remind you of the opening verses.

'Come cheer up my lads, tis to glory we steer,

To add something more to this wonderful year,

To honour we call you, as freemen not slaves,

For who are we so free as the sons of the waves?

Chorus:

Heart of Oak are our ships,

Jolly Tars are our men,

We always are ready: Steady, boys steady!

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

Composed by William Boyce words by David Garrick in 1870. In 1889 the Garrick Theatre London was named in his honour. A famous actor, play right and theatre manager.

 

Next we visited the French Naval Museum, again very informative. It was also housed in one of these magnificent dock buildings. This passed another couple of hours.

Jackie inspecting a stone model of Fort Boyard. Made famous by the 190's TV programme. Located not far away.

One of the model ships. Built to scale.

A re-construction of the raft of The Medusa. In 1816 this French frigate sailed from Rochefort for Senegal but ran aground near present day Mauritania. They were 60 miles from the African coast, lifeboats had already departed full but as was the case in those days many were still trapped aboard the ship. In desperation a raft was built and 160 souls set out. After 13 days adrift on 17 July 1816 it was rescued by a sister ship the Argus. Only 15 men survived. Mutiny, starvation, thirst and cannibalism had taken its toll. Today the original 23 foot by 16 foot canvas upon which this raft is based is on display in the Louvre.

All this reading about thirst and starvation made us think of lunch. We took ourselves off to La Place Colbert it was in fact the central square and here ate a rather splendid three course lunch. Not long after we wandered past the old church ofSt Louis and a few municipal gardens before heading home.

Le Chateau d'Olorone

Le Chateau d'Olorone

The island of Olorone sits on the Atlantic ocean and is joined to France by a bridge. Built in 1966 and at 2.8 K was at the time the longest bridge in France. It now lies in third position. St Nazaire's bridge holding pole position with the Isle de Ré the second. It has been toll free since 1991. It is, like the Isle dé Ré, one of the most popular places to visit. Why do not ask me but ask the hundreds of cars which pass over the bridge each day.

It seems to have had Roman connections here in the earliest of times.The marriage of Elenor of Aquitane to Henry Plantagenate in 1152 further improved trade links with England and throughout. The fortifications were further expanded in the 16th century.

Just prior to the start of WW2 the French army evacuated the fort and in June 1940 the Wehrmacht marched in. General HQ positioned within the citadel. On April 17/18 1945 the allies bombed the citadel and contemporary photos on display show what would appear to be fairly extensive damage. However little of the huge citadel was damage as would have been hoped. On the 30th April Le Chateau was liberated with the whole island liberated the following day.

The years after the war saw reconstruction of the towns and Le Citadel. It was becoming a fashionable place for vacations.

In  Sept 1972 it was struck by an earth tremor measuring 5.7 or your Richter scale. Not Sphincter! Although it might have I suppose.

La Ramparts are most interesting from a military design perspective. Similar to many of our Napolionic Forts here in the UK. Crownhill Fort Plymouth is today open to the public and at times has a 'living history' section with canon firing and re-enactors.

Why are so many re-enactors fat and overweight?

This is not the main entrance but a 'sally port'.

The arches supporting the road into the 'sally port'.

The 'sally port' road. Arches beneath from a different angle.

The Old Port entrance. Under the protective guns of Le Citadel.

 

Slim Jim. Is he breathing in or no?

This is art you philistines!

Get with the programme.

The 'main parade' Main entrance in rear.

'Warhorse'

Mike and a few Old Pals.