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.

Day 41 Sunday 9^th July 2017      From:  Isle de Olorone.  To: Rochefort.

Mile:16455- 16482  Daily:  27      Meteo: Hot and sunny.

             The church bells woke us this morning. They sounded lovely peeling away. The day shone bright. Whilst Mike laid the table and set up the chairs outside Jackie was busy in the galley cooking, bacon, eggs, fried onions, mushrooms, beans, and black pudding. Then Mike woke up when Jackie passed out his bowl of porridge. Being a Sunday we have a special treat. A small squirt of honey and its made half and half, ie milk and water. I prefer mine made with water and a wee dram as our friends North o’ the border do! Well that’s the way Mel Gibson had his in ‘Braveheart’.

Mary doll, ya dinna pu ma salt in ma porridge.

           Despite the size of this campsite at L’Ramparts, it is surprisingly quiet. We can hear a few children playing on the swings in the play area but fortunately the two camper vans from Espania, or at least the incumbents of which, are still fast asleep. They must be, otherwise they would be gabbling on. Jackie tells me they were chittering on most of the night. “Where they?” I thought that was the correct reply but it seems not. “You were snoring as soon as your head hit the pillow”. I said nothing. This tree covered park was an oasis of calm, peace and tranquillity. We had to vacate the site by 1400hrs so decided on a walk into the citadel. The walled city, port and fort that was ‘through the hedge’.

          We stepped through the gate and it was like stepping out of the Tardis into another world. It was heaving. People on the sidewalks moving to and fro in both directions. Cyclists and cars. It was a short walk through the citadel gates, no longer there but bear with me on this one and into a Sunday marche that would easily have swallowed Petticoat Lane. You could barely move.  It was quite spectacular in that respect.

1.  We had come from quiet isolation into a world of bawling children being dragged through throngs of adults by adults looking at stalls selling in my    opinion mainly tat. The only stalls worthy of contemplation I always think are the stalls selling ‘Crab Nems’. Haven’t seen any since we’ve been in France Tim!

         

     

           We always look at the stalls with local produce from the farms and vineyards. I had to be quite firm with Jackie this morning when she stopped at her fifth cognac stall pretending she was interested in purchasing. At every cognac stall we stopped, Jackie would feign interest. The stall owner thinking he had a customer would proffer a shot glass into which he would pour some of the amber nectar. Jackie would mummer a demure “Merci” then, she would first gently swirl the glass, hold it to the light, sniff it, then, totally spoiling the illusion, neck it. She would count a pause of, tup three, say “Non” and move on. What a performance and she doesn’t even drink Cognac. I was so embarrassed.

         

On the ramparts looking over the 'protected' harbour.

            We walked down to the port and the old Napoleonic Fort. There are numerous forts on both sides of the Gironde here as well as six or more on various islands. I bet the French builders loved us ‘Rost Beef’ raiding this coast. Job creation. Louis XIV commissioned ‘em. Of course, these ancient buildings were occupied by the Germans in WW2 and there were numerous aerial photos on display of British bombers reducing it to rubble. Fortunately, Bomber Command didn’t do half as much damage as the photos would suggest.

            These old Napoleonic fortifications seem to follow the same or very similar patterns whether they be English to stop the French or French to stop the English. At Crownhill fort in Plymouth you can visit one such Napoleonic fort that was in use from pretty much it’s completion till the 1980’s just after the Falklands War when it was used as a mobilization centre. Indeed, I can remember when the army was in residence and the moat was used as an assault course.

Inside the Fort with the main entrance in the background.

A  Damsel in distress in the foreground?

           It was pretty hot now and time for a beer. We selected a café on the cross paths and sat down in the cool breeze that was now blowing and ordered a Monaco and panache. That’s right Panache for me, I’m driving later, early this afternoon. Being lunch time the crowds had thinned as they had undoubtedly made their way back to whence they had come for lunch. Although the place seemed to be doing a roaring trade. Finishing our drinks we popped into a butchers. Very clean, ultra-modern décor and a wide range of meats, pies, savoury tarts and a small but exclusive selection of pastries. I chose the goats cheese with courgettes, eggs and herbs. Now you guys know I hate goats cheese but this was irresistible. Well it looked great. It tasted even better with fortunately only the merest hint of goat! Jackie chose the tuna tart and for dessert we opted to share a flan. Nobody but nobody makes custard flan like the French patisseries. It stands erect when lifted like a paid porn star. In other words you can lift it up and the whole lot doesn’t collapse in a heap like the anaemic excuse for a custard tart ‘á  Angleterre’. Alas pleasant as this was we needed to hit the road. Our next stop Rochefort and the ancient naval dockyards.

     We arrive at a municipal camp site in Rochefort about 1415 hrs. For once it is easily found. It is E18 a night, we have booked for two. Everything is included. Electricity, hot showers, a laundry and dryers for another E2, shaded area under tees, our own potable water tap and even a piped TV socket. We have seen no TV in six weeks and are not missing it.

Municipal Campsite at Rochefort near the river and Hermione.

          

At last the canopy is rolled out. Jackie's happy now.

                Jackie was determined to roll out the canopy. Believe it or not we had not once so far this trip had it extended. Either because some of the aires we stayed on forbade it or because it was simply not needed due to the shade of trees etc or the suns position at the latter part of the day.

"I'm happy now  the canopy's out".

Quiche, flan and panache. That's living!

           We ate some of the flan we bought this am for lunch, saved some for later to have with a salad for dinner. Resting through the heat of the afternoon we walked out of camp about 1715hrs to the local dockyard and L’Hermione. This is a reconstruction of the French warship that took General Layfayette to aid those damn American revolutionaries in 1870 overthrow the rightful rule of law as prescribed by good King George. We sat for some time and watched, mainly youngsters climb the wire climbing course organized among the three masts representing a warship of the line. Mike was keen to have a go but wondered if he would bottle it that high up. There were wee fellas and girls some seemed as young as six or seven up in the rigging literally running around.

       There were one or two Dad’s even a mum, who was fairly racing along the wires, showing their offspring what to do. One of the dad’s you could tell was not really enjoying it. Because we all hate to think we cannot do now what we did in our twenties I convinced myself that it would be foolish to climb rigging and swing along zip wires ending in a sixty-foot free fall abseil. Cluck, cluck, cluck.  

           It was now 1900hrs and L’Hermione was closing. We wandered through a maze in the botanical gardens, got lost and had to ask a seven year old to guide us to the exit. How embarrassing! Our return route home was via the sentier de Charente. This followed the path downstream by the Charente. A lovely evening. Fortunately, the tide was in. That helps a great deal around here!

           One of the precautions I had taken when provisioning the Ice Cream lorry at the start of this journey was of bringing with me 6 cans of Thatcher’s Gold. Purely for medicinal purposes you understand. This evening I opened the last can. That’s one can a week for six weeks. We have another week at least in country. No Thatchers. I might have to come home early.

           P.S.  A ginglee van has just driven onto site and passed by us. You should have seen Jackie’s face when I told her we were not buying ice creams at 2115hrs. Instead I went inside and made a nice cup of tea. You don’t think I’m spoiling her do you?

Day 40 St George d Dideonne   To:  Isle de Olorone                                            Open:16389  Close: 16455

                            
Date:  Saturday 8th July 2017  Weather: Grey rain in am. Sunny pm.   Mile: 66


Early start as both the Isle de Olorone and the Isle de Rae are very popular destinations and very busy at weekends. It has been suggested that we get over the bridge before 1000hrs as any later might result in tail backs and queues.

The latter early hours of this morning saw a thunder and lightning storm, the like of which I have not experienced in many a long year. The thunderclaps literally shook the van. The rain was torrential. Our destination today was Isle de Oleron, various spellings it seems. Jackie had plotted the route last night. We decided to go with our French neighbour’s suggestion of Huttes on the NW tip of the island of Oleron. Angie had suggested somewhere near the lighthouse at Chassiron, on the most Northerly point. Things started to go slightly adrift with the seafront route we had decided upon was flooded to a depth of 33cm. As we arrived the old bill was just setting up road blocks and the pompieres had arrived with hoses etc. A quick detour, suggested by my trusty navigator and we were soon back on course.

It was a Saturday, it was still raining and the skies were threatening still with ever darker grey clouds. To top it all we were now at the causeway bridge onto the island and traffic was slowing.

Fort Louvois in the Gironde. 17 Century.

Don’t panic Mr Mainwaring, it was caused by damn tourists slowing to snap photos of the wide expanse of water over which we were passing. The queues would come later! The fuel was down to quarter tank and I thought it best refuel fairly soon. Goodness knows what this island has in store! With that a LeClerck fuel station was spotted. E1-12 a litre for gasoile. We filled her up with E70. It had now stopped raining and the sun was out. Starting to warm things up. There is only one main road, the D734. That is after you leave the D26. In the five weeks we have currently been in France we have never seen so much traffic it was pouring off the island. Well at least it was headed South, down this, the only road. It ran for miles. Mike was starting to get a little concerned. We had not signed up for crowds!

The sign for Les Huttes came up, we turned and started looking for the campsite. Nothing. We found the one advertised in our www.CamperContact.com site. Boasting 120 emplacements. It looked like a gypsie encampment. We both said we would not park there. We were nowhere near a beach or seemingly much else of interest. We drove up and down through two or three little hamlets, passing the plod in his Gendarmerie car on each of three occasions. He’s bound to pull us in a mo I thought.

We pulled into one camp site alongside the dunes, it didn’t look to tidy and she wanted E29 per night for us. We reversed out pretty quick. The next camp site looked even worse. The main sign stated camping cars but there was nothing mentioned on the tariff board. It too looked seedy. We reversed out of that one as well. We decided to kick this North part of the island into touch and headed for Le Chateau. On the SE side. This was a second choice of our neighbour’s.

Passing a LeClerk superstore we pulled in. We needed salad, milk, panache and gin. The place was heaving and I mean rammed. Barely any spaces in the huge carpark. Against my better judgement we collected a trolley and joined the ‘shepple’.

Twice I suggested to Jackie we abandon the trolley and walk out but this was ignored. We, she, Jackie, was desperate for Gin. They had Tanqueray Export for E16-32 (£11) At least we will be able to taste the gin tonight. We had, in desperation, bought some Super U gin but you needed to put so much into a glass to taste it. Why bother buying ‘cheap’?

If one is drinking gin it must be a quality product, with ice and a slice. Either lemon, lime or the newest way to drink it is with cucumber, especially the more artisan gins. Oh, and a good quality tonic. Fevertree Mediterranean flavour for preference by the Stopportons or good old-fashioned Schweppes. Full fat!

With hardly anything in the world’s largest shopping trolley we headed for the checkouts. I noticed whilst waiting, why do I always pick the shortest queue but with the most problems requiring a supervisor to intervene? I notice that virtually all the staff on the tills are young early, late teens and female. Most of them pretty as well. Not an old growler to be seen or an old fart, retired and back on the payroll looking for beer money with a permanent scowl and zero interest in my jokes. All these seemed to be smiling as well. Of course, it might just have been me they were smiling at I suppose!

Glamping is available at Le Chateau aire and campsite.

The Ice Cream Lorry parked under the trees.

Next stop Le Chateau Municipal camp site. We arrived at 1300hrs. It was closed for lunch. Sacre bleu. It reopens at 1400hrs. We recce the camp pick out a few spots and walk down to the beach. Beach? That’s a joke. Here as on this coast it’s very tidal. The water ‘drains’ back a long long way. There was a long 6 metre wide strip of golden sand then it went straight down into the mud. Found everywhere in and around the Gironde. Great area for growing Oysters mussels etc but not too good for paddling your toes. Immediately behind the beach the local council had dug an artificial lake with a ‘sandy beach’, picnic tables etc which was watched over by two lifeguards. They were facing inland! Seems crazy.

Returning to the car park outside the reception barrier, there were now ten or more campers waiting to pay and enter. We joined the queue. Every person that booked in was given a map of the site then Le Guardien would explain where the WCs, showers, pedestrian gates, play area, beach etc etc was on the map. It was taking ages. Gradually I drew closer to the desk. The guy in front of me paid and moved off. It was my turn. I launched into my spiel for booking in and requirements. He produced ‘la carte’ and started to explain…. I placed my hand on his arm and said “Monsieur, Je ecouter votre dit au prealable avec monsieur”. His face lit up in a huge smile followed by “Merci beaucoup, monsieur”. I think he was as relieved not to have to repeat himself yet again as I was to not here it.

As we finished setting up another English registered wagon parked opposite. We gave them some time to settle in and went over for a chat. They also had a dog in tow. She was keen to natter on but he was very quiet and withdrawn.

The rest of the day we spent lazing under the shade of the tree. What had been very cold and stormy to start with was now a gorgeous afternoon and evening.

Day 39 St George d Dideonne   To:  St George d Dideonne                               Open:16389  Close:  16389

                            
Date:  Friday 7th July 2017  Weather:  Sunny and Damn hot.   Mile: 000

We had a lazy start to the morning due to the heat. We took breakfast under the trees at the rear of the van. A little after 1100 hrs we loaded our swimmies into our bergans and made our way to the beach. We decided against our local beach as there was considerably more to hold our attention at the main ‘plage’ at St George should our interest in our books wane.

Jackie is currently in the South Atlantic with Shackleton and his crew and after every few pages looks up to say “You can’t believe what’s happening now!” In desperation, I reply “I can because I’ve read the book numerous times”. It is hot on the beach, it is wide with a considerable tabb down to the water’s edge when the tide is out. It also stretches away into the distance. We find a spot. Why, even on a deserted beach, does one wander about kicking the sand saying “Waddya think?” One bit of beach is much the same as the next surely? Having decided, ‘This is the place’ out comes the beach rug, beach towels, drinks, sun cream, books etc. I settle down to check out who else is on the beach. At this time of day, believe it or not it is still pretty empty. Well given the size of the beach anyway.

The guys selling rentals on the jet skis are doing good business and I am tempted to have a go but the noise they create I think is so anti-social. Perhaps another day. I am conscious there might be much buffeting! The Water powered boots on the modified jet ski seems popular with the young studs. Whilst Jackie swims I paddle around. There is some taunting but I resist the urge to dive in. It’s very warm in the water but I do not yet feel like swimming.

We walk off the beach to a fast food counter in search of some sarnies. That would be the slightly healthier option but Mike spots a Crocque Monsieur and settles on that. Of all the other fresh sandwiches on display and available Jackie also plumps for the same but with a can of Gini. Lemonade. Returning to the beach we set about lunch. It was disappointing. Mainly because of the white bread we suspect. Still it filled a gap.

The afternoon wore on and the place started to fill. Far too many of the ladies’ present, young and older seemed to have forgotten to pack their bikini tops. Thank goodness for mirror fronted sun glasses.

1745 hrs and we needed a beer. It was a short walk off the beach to the ‘place’ here we stopped at the first bar we came to. As usual the waiter was immediately upon us. We ordered un pression and un Monaco.

There was a pleasant breeze blowing through the square. The cold drinks slipped down a treat. We ordered ‘encore’. It was then we notice a ‘young lady’ sat in the corner. Jackie had her doubts. Me? I thought it was merely a woman with a rather severely styled haircut. The most curious factor was the three miniature dogs ‘she’ had with her. Two in some sort of handbag and one on the seat beside her. These guys would yap away at any other dog that passed. Regardless of size. This was then her cue to pick each one up in turn, kiss it and make some sort of cooing noise.

Every time I turned around to clock ‘her’ she seemed to be staring at me. I was intrigued. I said to Jackie I would go over, have a chat and see ‘what was what’. You can’t even order a pizza without getting yourself into trouble. What happens if ‘she’ is a tranny. “Well,” said I “If ‘she’s’ stood at the mirror in the morning having a shave before me that’ll confirm it”. With that Jackie grabbed me by the ear and we made our way back to the van.

Sundowners was a gin and tonic followed by salad for dinner tonight. Our next-door neighbour called over for a chat. He to practice his English, me my French. It always amazes me how much communication can be exchanged with a willingness to try. How much of it is, as we think it to be of course is open to much interpretation!

Day 38 Meschers   To:  St George d Didionne Open:16381  Close:  16389

                            
Date:  Thursday 6th July 2017  Weather: Overcast am. Sunny pm.   Mile: 8

We had decided last night on an early departure this am. We had made a point of telling our Dutch neighbours we were off in the morning, they too were leaving but at 1000hrs. Mike had thought he had paid for last night after having the previous evening free due to the bank card/ cash mc being OOO. What I didn’t realise was that I should pay at the Port office and in my defence, there was no notice telling one to pay at the office. It wasn’t until I saw a man with a clipboard, always a sign of authority, assumed or otherwise, approaching, that I followed him and paid E10. As stated, I thought for last night. I was wrong and so I thought if the bird had flown the coup before he did his rounds, I might be E10 up on the deal. The Stopporton’s were up and ready, a quick brew, reel in the electricity cable, fire up and away. Departed Meschers at 0715hrs.

Do not laugh but thirty minutes later we arrived at our next stop. Eight miles down the road at St Georges de Didonne. This was another area suggested by Tom and Angie. The aire was very near the old port and looked back across the bay towards ‘town’.

We had been spoilt by our last two nights camping spot. This was a gravel car park surrounded by trees with a path down onto the port. It had the advantage of being close to the memorial for Operation Frankton. God Bless The Royal Marines.

It was still somewhat overcast and so we took ourselves off in the direction of where we knew the lighthouse to be. Here Mike decided to set the camera up and switch on Jackie's mobil phone and it's app to control it. This took considerably longer than we had anticipated, we were in no rush but it was a learning curve. With your phone discretely hidden you can control the on/off function of the camera and take photos. This camera will also link to WiFi and send the photo you have just taken via your phones e mail system to an e address.

Clever stuff these Panasonic cameras.

The camera was balanced somewhat precariously on the harbour wall. Mike squinting through the sun to see the screen on the phone, my sunglasses are that good I cant see a pc/camera screen with them on, takes the shot but on looking up to his horror cannot see the camera on the wall. "Where is it?" he asks in desperation. "Oh, it fell off the wall when you remotely switched it on and the lens extended". Jackie replied deadpan. Of course she was joking. The glare had prevented me from seeing it.

We walked up a few steps to the lighthouse. A sign proclaimed that we could, for the sum of E1 climb the narrow and step steps to the top for the view. Fortunately we could not find the 'guardian' and so had to pass. Mike was relieved! The memorial to Operation Frankton was another few hundred metres along the coast path. High above the sea. We were now at the mouth of the Gironde and opposite we could just about make out the lighthouse at Le Pointe de Grave.

Operation Frankton was a commando raid on shipping in the German occupied French port of Bordeaux in southwest France during the Second World War on 7-12 December 1942. The raid was carried out by a small unit of Royal Marines known as the Royal Marines Boom Patrol Detachment (RMBPD), part of Combined Operations.

The plan was for six canoes to be taken to the area of the Gironde estuary by submarine. They would then paddle by night to Bordeaux. On arrival they would attack the docked cargo ships with limpet mines and then escape overland to Spain. Twelve men from no.1 section were selected for the raid; including the commanding officer, Herbert 'Blondie' Hasler, and with the reserve Marine Colley the total of the team numbered thirteen. One canoe was damaged while being deployed from the submarine and it and its crew therefore could not take part in the mission. Only two of the 10 men who launched from the submarine survived the raid: Hasler, and his no.2 in the canoe, Bill Sparks. Of the other eight, six were executed by the Germans while two died from hypothermia.

The British Prime Minister Winston Churchill believed the mission shortened the war by six months.The words of Lord Mountbatten, the commander of Combined Operations, are carved into a Purbeck stone at Royal Marines Poole (current headquarters of the SBS): "Of the many brave and dashing raids carried out by the men of Combined Operations Command none was more courageous or imaginative than Operation Frankton".

Paddy Ashdown, himself a Royal Marines Captain with the SBS, now retired, wrote a vey well researched and balanced book dealing with all aspects of this raid including the cock ups. Check out Amazon. Or ask if you can borrow my copy.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Brilliant-Little-Operation-Cockleshell-Courageous/dp/1781311250 

 

From the memorial which had quite a few visitors we walked along the promenade past the lighthouse and old fishing port onto the main esplanade of the town. This again is wide, cycle routes for bikes and pedestrians. Plenty of modern sculptured seats, flower beds and total cleanliness made for a pleasant walk.

We were now a tadge peckish. We walked off the esplanade and into the high street not far away. Here one could see the villages/town's origin. Small narrow streets old fishing cottages etc.  We entered a small boulangerie. On sale were some mini pizzas and Mike had spotted some flan. That'll do. I ordered. All was going well until Mamselle asked me something. Obviously to do with the various types of pizza. Not understanding I grinned, pointed and said "Deux" This target indication was insufficient for Mamselle who then asks me in English,  "Do you speak English?" I replied in English, "Yes do you speak French?" To which she replied "Bien sur". "Bon". said I then continued in my pantomime French to narrow down the choices of the six available flavours of pizza.

We returned to the esplanade and ate our scran sat on the seat overlooking the huge expanse of beach. This is a very large bay. After 'lunch' we walked along the seashore paddling our feet then spread the towels and chilled for the rest of the afternoon.

"Like a young Brigit Bardot"

Everyone takes 'Selfies' these days.