248. The pup!

30th October. The bay of Saint-Jean-de-Luz has never looked as beautiful as it does in this short video. It's not hard to imagine why we still pinch ourselves each time we waddle from the car to the sea front and let our eyes rest on this ravishingly beautiful bay. After a seafoody lunch at our old favourite ("Chez Pantxua"), we often take a walk around the small harbour at Socoa and on out to the end of the protective sea wall that saves Saint-Jean-de-Luz from the worst poundings of winter storms. Hard to believe when looking at these tranquil views that they exist - but they do. (take a look here. To give an idea of scale, there's a standard sized doorway in the small building at the end of the sea wall .. it appears at 0:18)

25th October. Readers with long memories may recall that in the intervals that remain unused between dog walking, lawn mowing, vacuuming, etc etc (hope I'm not sounding hard done by!), that I'm trying to learn the 5 string banjo. This cartoon of Gary Larson caught my eye:

The choir I sing with is going to be kept busy during the winter months learning this sublime piece (Cantique de Jean Racine, Op 11) by Gabriel Fauré, written when he was just 19 years old. I think it approaches perfection and I'm looking forward to the next few months.
 

Is it me? Over the past year or so, I've noticed that a couple of words started to appear constantly in general written usage and now it's hardly possible to read a newspaper (such as "TimeOut") or an article on the internet without running into them - and I haven't a clue what they mean.  I refer of course to "meme" and "trope". Am I the only one who had to look up the meaning in the dictionary? I won't bore you with the details.

A few years ago, "avatar", "iconic" and "eponymous" were used to death. And then there's "narrative". When I was at school, a narrative was an account of something that had happened. It's now been adopted full-time by the BBC chatterati and, well, I'll leave it there.  

24th October. Here's a tale of real life in France for you. On Saturday evening about 7.45pm, Madame went into the kitchen to prepare dinner and turned on one of the gas rings on the hob. In doing so, the piezoelectric igniter stuck and kept firing about once every 2 seconds. I tried some 'percussion adjustment' to no avail so I thought I'd switch off all the electrics via the master on/off switch to see if that would reset the hob. When I tried to switch the master power switch back on, the big press button was stuck in the 'Off' position and wouldn't budge. After we'd lit half a dozen candles, Madame remembered that there's an emergency phone number printed on the EDF bill - and so she made the call. To my astonishment, she was told that an emergency electrician would be at our house within the hour. 

Fifteen minutes later (!), there was a knock at the front door. The EDF man came in, took one look at our switchboard, tried to turn the power back on - couldn't - so he fitted a new master on/off unit and 15 minutes later he was all done. He told us that the intermittent switch action blockage was a known fault with that particular model of switch unit. For a fast, efficient service I don't see how this could have been bettered, especially on a Saturday night. What's more, it was free.. No call out charge, no charge for a new box, nothing. As he was a nice friendly guy, and he'd done a good job, and it was a Saturday night, I gave him a bottle of wine to enjoy when he was off duty.  

23rd October. Over the mountains into Spain this afternoon for some shopping.. the hills were ablaze in their autumnal colours - the fern-covered slopes are now a burnt caramel, and due to the altitude, autumn is more advanced up in the hills than down here at sea level with tree foliage dazzling in coppery hues before the onset of winter. The sharply sloped hills looked spectacular this afternoon under a burning blue sky. I made a mental note to visit the valley of les Aldudes (below) in the very near future - with my camera!

21st October. "Young Frankenstein" (1974) was always a favourite Mel Brooks film of mine - lots of old jokes get dusted off in this great parody of Ye Olde Hollywoode Spinechillers - with an excellent cast: Gene Wilder, Peter Boyle, Marty Feldman & Madeline Kahn. Sadly, all four of them are no longer with us.

I had a pleasant surprise earlier when the post came - I received a welcome cheque from HM Revenue & Customs for several hundred of Her Majesty's Olde English pounds (and how often do you write that?!) To find out more, read this. To apply for this largesse, start here.

I've forgotten to mention a project that is affecting many of us in and around Bayonne - the start of the public works necessary to create the new Tram'bus service. This 130m euro project will connect Tarnos (north of the Adour) with Bayonne, Anglet and Biarritz. Tarnos is something of a dormitory town for many who work in Bayonne, Anglet or Biarritz. (Description of the routes here)

Those of us with long memories may remember the trolley buses of the 1950s - with their tangled networks of overhead wires. The vehicles of this Tram'bus service will be battery powered - with charging points at each end of the line - no overhead wires required - thus minimising the infrastructure requirement. 

Land is being developed (code for houses being flattened) in many places on the Côte Basque to make way for multi-occupancy apartment blocks, thus increasing the traffic density. The idea behind this tram'bus initiative is that it should ease some of the congestion on the roads that we see at peak times. This project coincides with another work in progress - the renovation of the Pont Saint-Esprit that spans the Adour.  There is a similar tidal flow of traffic between the main coastal towns Biarritz, Anglet & Bayonne) and the inland villages. A tram'bus park and ride scheme would do much to ease the traffic congestion at peak hours.  

Fronton, Ascain

One of the aspects I enjoy very much about living in this region is the proximity of the hills. We don't have to drive very far before we find ourselves on single track roads that wind up and up into the high country that few tourists get to see. I once read that 95% of the tourists to the region don't venture more than 10km inland. We were no different when we first came down here in the early 90s. We were seduced by the charm of the white painted Basque villages, each set around its church and the fronton (right). It wasn't long though before we found ourselves exploring deeper into the surrounding hills and valleys - and it was here that we found the real Basque country - which is very different to the coastal strip with all its hustle and bustle. In attempting to discover the routes used by wartime evaders fleeing occupied France during WWII, I've become familiar with some of the terrain shown in this video.. and have the scars to prove it!

20th October. Well, I've gone and done it.! I've just launched into the French postal system another large wodge of documentation (proformas, original documents, sworn translations of documents and photographs) in further support of my request for French nationality. (I needed to add some documents to the previous collection I sent the authorities at the end of August) However, before you think that the old boy has lost the plot, I should say that I'm only doing it as a way of ensuring I can remain here in the event that the ongoing negotiations with the European Union turn pear-shaped - or more pear-shaped than they already are.

I use the word 'negotiations' but, in my view, an unsubstantiated demand for an unspecified number of billions (believed to be in the region of 60-100bn euros) just to enable the negotiations to proceed to the trade talks - with no guarantee of a successful outcome - appears to me to have originated in dreamland. Personally, I think the UK team should politely decline this generous offer and walk away from the table, spending the money instead on the infrastructure changes required for the UK to conduct global trade under WTO terms.

I voted Leave in the EU referendum (despite being in receipt of pensions paid in £ sterling and hence at the mercy of the exchange rate) out of my concern that the UK had allowed itself to become enmeshed in an undemocratic political construct that has, as its aim, 'ever-closer union'. This non-specific phrase means everything and nothing. It permits present and future EU politicians enormous freedom of action and if our EU membership continued, we would be committed to following their policies. I say 'following' because even though we are a permanent member of the UN Security Council, a nuclear power, a pillar of NATO, a member of the G7 (or is it the G8 now?) and one of the few net contributors to the EU budget, we have little (as in zero) influence on the direction that the EU is heading. It's a Franco-German stitch-up.

For example, one of the developments in Europe that greatly concerns me is that there is now a concerted effort to form a European Army. How could any self-respecting UK government allow its forces to be put in harm's way at the behest of unelected EU civilians? It's also clear that the long term aim of the EU nomenklatura is to turn the EU into the United States of Europe. This lofty ambition conveniently ignores the fact that the United States of America was, and still is, founded on democratic principles - and that the separation of powers is fundamental to the functioning of the Executive, the Legislature and the Judiciary. The EU is continuing down a path for which it has no mandate - which is unsurprising because legislation originates in the faceless unelected ranks of the EU Commission where the politically motivated few are changing our lives by stealth and by underhand means.     

Back to my application for French nationality - nowadays, the requirement for a language test has been waived for applicants of my advanced years (think the waiver kicks in at the age of 60) so that's one hurdle I don't need to cross. All I have to do now is to hurry up and wait.

I'll continue to hold UK nationality but if my request for French nationality is granted, I'll be able to vote here and it may serve to help me remain here in the aftermath of the Brexit negotiations. (maybe!)

18th October. I've been listening to this Basque choir - and there's something in the distinctive timbre of their voices that puts me in mind of a Welsh male voice choir:

Years ago, I discovered the books of Garrison Keillor, an American author and humourist, who grew up in Minnesota. He had a regular slot on American national public radio for many years where he read the "News from Lake Wobegon" - a fictional lakeside community in rural Minnesota peopled with characters that quickly established themselves.. His gentle humour is very listenable to - and as each of his characters and locations take shape in your imagination, it becomes harder and harder to believe that they're all fictional. Take a load off, sit back and enjoy Lake Wobegon - this one's one of my favourites:

  

In doing a small DIY job yesterday, I was reminded forcibly of the immutable Laws of Home DIY. I thought I'd update the list and bring them all together:

1. There’s no such thing as a simple job.

2. If it isn’t broken, fix it until it is.

3. If the screw isn’t going in, use a bigger hammer.

4. The drill bit you want is the one that’s missing from the box.

5. Never be tempted to change the drill bit in your electric drill with the power on. (I'll tell you the story one day!)

6. Measure twice. Cut once. (This rule can be applied to many areas in Life)

7. The best tool is a mug of coffee. Look at the job often - thinking time is never wasted.

Three from Lesley:
8. Anything thrown away will be required within the week. (So true!)

9. If you drop an Allen key, nut, bolt or screw it will always end up in the most inaccessible place.

10. As soon as you get your hands greasy you will need to scratch your nose or use the lavatory.

11. If you are in desperate need of one item to finish a job, the shops will be closed.

12. When the shop is finally open, the one item you want comes in a pack of six.

13. If it's your lucky day, and the shop sells the item you need in a single pack, they will have it in two sizes: too large and too small.

14. You've been saving something for 20 years knowing that one day you'll need it. When that day finally arrives, you can't remember where you left it. (happened to me yesterday!)

15. Never start a job on a Sunday afternoon.

16. You'll never find the thing you need until the day you don't need it.

17. Someone will have used the last bandage/band aid the day before you do involuntary finger surgery.

18. The only known supplier of the part you need closed down last weekend.

19. The most useless tool in your tool box is the wrong size Allen Key!

20. Superglue is a must for many DIY tasks - it is guaranteed to rapidly and permanently stick objects to things other than that intended.

21. Despite tidying up after a job and putting everything back in place on the right hook, in the right box, on the right shelf - things disappear.

22. If you have to remove twelve rusty nuts/screws/nails that have been untouched since the Spanish Civil War, eleven of them will unscrew/come out easily.

23. You have a couple of partitioned boxes neatly filled with every type and size of nail, screw and bolt known to mankind - except for the one you want.

24. You discover that the new lamp that you bought just before closing time on Saturday afternoon doesn't come with a light bulb (and this fact isn't mentioned on the box it came in). You then discover that it will only accept a new type of bulb - and none of your spares will fit.
25. Screwing up today's "small job" turns it into tomorrow's "big job". (Hands up all those who haven't done that!)

We have a table on the terrace that stays outside all the year around. In winter, it's covered up to keep the rains off it. The top is made up of countless small tiles, all held in place by exterior grade mortar (right word?). We noticed that in one area the mortar had disappeared and a few tiles were loose. I used a powerful adhesive to glue the loose tiles back in place and then I set off to the big DIY shop a few minutes away to find a small pack of exterior grade grouting/mortar (you can hear what's coming can't you!). Imagine my surprise when after staring desperately at the shelves full of products that solved problems similar to, but not quite the same as, mine - the only one in stock that ticked all the boxes was of course big enough to grout half of Trafalgar Square! There was nothing for it but to buy the thing..

It was a spin-off of Portland cement and it absorbed a surprisingly large quantity of water in a container before it achieved the right consistency. I then spread it over the problem tiles, smoothed it into place with one of Madame's rubber kitchen spatulas (she was out - shhh!). I washed it thoroughly afterwards and somehow forgot to mention it to her when she came home.. One of my better DIY jobs. 

15th October. Down to the green behind the beach (Plage des Cavaliers, Anglet) this morning with the pup - and as there were no other dogs in sight, I decided the time was ripe to unclip him from his lead for the first time. Always a nerve-racking moment but I needn't have worried - he'd wander off a little to investigate a rogue leaf or similar before racing back to me. There was the continuous roar of a big sea running so we walked up to the coastal path to take a look. 

It all appeared to be moving in slow motion - blue rollers would rise up and up and just as they broke, the strong southerly wind would tear the crests off them which spun away in a dazzle of silver'd spray. It was what used to be known as a Kodak moment! Forecast is for 29° today so we're meeting a friend for lunch out at Arcangues.   

Here's an interesting video that shows our part of the world as it used to be:

NB. The rowing club shows up at 1:35. The former indoor market appears at 7:54. This was an outstanding example of the 'brutalist' school (I made that name up) of French architecture. They seem incapable of occupying the middle ground in the way that British architects (or perhaps their patrons) are prone to do. The Sainsbury Wing (right) of the National Gallery, London is a bland pastiche of classical styles (beloved of Prince Charles!) designed to blend in.. anonymously. 

Here, in France, patrons seem willing to take risks with new buildings.. and the results can shock. The former indoor market at Bayonne fell into that category in my uneducated view. Equally however, they are capable of rising to the challenge and producing something sublime - such as the Louvre Pyramid (above).   

La Concha, San Sebastian

13th October. Madame had some positive health news this morning - so to give her a welcome change of scenery we decided to go to San Sebastian.. It was a balmy 28° and it seemed like all of Spain was out there, taking the air. Afterwards, I just had to google this to find out what was going on - and yes, yesterday - 12th October - was Spain's national holiday - Hispanic Day. It seems that many people had taken today off as well as the town's pavements (sidewalks) were thronged with people. I lost count of how many times passers-by stopped us to look at the pup - he really had the ladies of San Sebastian going! The beach was getting crowded too with sun worshippers while flotillas of stand-up paddlers were wobbling gingerly across the bay.

We talked ourselves into having a light lunch at Kata4 - a stylish oyster bar/restaurant around the corner from the Hotel Maria Cristina and ideally situated for people watching. We'd been here before and liked it very much. Our friendly multilingual waitress spoke Spanish, French and English.. and I suspect she had a few more up her sleeve. The menu changes often - have a look at the photos. I also put a couple of pins on the map in the left hand column for Kata4 and another favourite - a cider house/restaurant outside town called Petritegi (left).

12th October. I was out with the pup earlier and I took him to his usual watering hole - a tree-lined park just a few minutes away. Today, it was clear that Autumn was coming - the trees were showing a spread of colours centred around russet and, to punctuate the message, there was the occasional sound of acorns hitting the ground as they fell down from on high. I've set the kindling in our wood-burner in advance so that it's ready for that first evening when a fire is called for. We had a few trees taken down in the garden a couple of years ago and the logs have been stacked at the side of the house ever since to thoroughly dry them out before they get burnt. I think we're all set!

Yesterday saw us hit one of those once-in-a-lifetime anniversaries - it was 50 years ago to the day when I met my inamorata. Fifty years..? How could that be possible - but yet, it's true. For this date, we'd always talked about a trip to Paris and dinner at the legendary Tour d'Argent. This wonderfully situated restaurant has been on our 'to do' list for as long as I can remember - but the arrival of Nutty has meant that that particular ambition has had to be put on hold.

La Plancha

So, time for Plan B.. We decided to have lunch at the relaxed, unpretentious and friendly La Plancha, a seafood restaurant at Bidart. (to orientate yourself, look here) There's a terrace overlooking the beach and the sea and, for those cooler days, there are tables inside as well. If this restaurant was any nearer the sea, you'd have wet feet! After all the recent unsettled weather we enjoyed a perfect sunny cloudless day (with temps up in the mid twenties) sitting out on their terrace overlooking the almost deserted beach, although it did start to fill up later on. We started off with an Assiette Hispanique - which was a generous serving of thinly sliced jambon de Bayonne, chorizo, lomo and saucisson accompanied by some green chillies. This was followed by a rich, garlicky Zarzuela (a Catalan interpretation of Marseille's bouillabaisse that looked something like this). Suffice to say, it was just what we needed to celebrate the day. Here (below) is my photo from yesterday - apologies for the tilt! I can't find a menu online so step through these photos to get an idea of what else is on offer. 

View from 'La Plancha'

6th October. Nutty, our new cocker spaniel pup, is growing while-U-watch! Here he is in the garden earlier this afternoon pondering the meaning of life (or maybe not), and taking a well-earned break from something or other - excavating for Britain, eating shrubs, racing around like a mad thing, jumping down the steps three at a time.. He now weighs in at a tad under 10kgs.. (he was 6.2 when we got him) 

1st October. A couple of days ago, I took Madame to look at electric bikes and she took a couple out for a spin. Just as I was a few months ago, she was delighted with the experience - she particularly liked the Kalkhoff Voyager Mover B8 (a name that trips off the tongue!) for its sit-up-and-beg riding position. Once the dust has settled, we might well go for one of these.

This morning I took GodzillaPup™ down to the beach for a leg stretch - the weather was dismal - constant drizzle under low stratus that was almost down to the deck. Looking at the sea, it was still very busy with breakers of around 3m or so - but the whole scene looked like 50 Shades of Grey.. with just a hint of pale green in the waves as they broke. It wasn't a morning for walking and the pup was glad (as was I) when we turned around and headed back to the car.

We (I) came home to rabbit with prunes in a red wine sauce.. with a potato and celeriac mash. To help this go south, we opened a bottle of Saint-Pourçain red* (now stocked at our local Carrefour). I was riding very low in the water after this - but then Madame brought out some pears that had been braised in red wine. The challenge for me now is to stay awake for the rest of the afternoon!

*This is well worth searching out.   

86. A Walk in the Park*

14th September 2010. I'm back home after a truly amazing weekend spent in the company of some of the most inspirational people I've ever met. A short recap follows in case you missed my earlier posts on the subject of the Comet Line.                          (* = tongue in cheek!)            

"Dédée"

In the wake of the German blitzkreig that smashed through the defences of Holland, Belgium, France in May-June 1940 and forced the evacuation from Dunkirk of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), Andrée De Jongh, a young Belgian nurse, decided that she had to do something to help the Allied cause. As she herself put it in typically uncompromising fashion:

"When war was declared I knew what needed to be done. There was no hesitation. We could not stop what we had to do although we knew the cost. Even if it was at the expense of our lives, we had to fight until the last breath."

Inspired to action by the deeds of Edith Cavell, "Dédée", as Andrée was better known, created the Comet Line, the purpose of which was to guide shot-down Allied airmen back to the UK to continue fight the war. Its motto was "Pugna Quin Percutias" ("Fight without killing"). The Comet Line comprised some 2,000 dedicated volunteer helpers and a chain of safe houses that stretched from Brussels to Paris and on down through occupied France to Bayonne in the Basque country. Unlike the aircrew who were protected by the provisions of the Geneva Convention, the volunteer helpers enjoyed no such protection and, if/when caught, they and their families fell into the medieval clutches of the Gestapo - followed by the concentration camps under Hitler's infamous Nacht und Nebel directive.

Florentino

Having escorted her small groups of evaders on the express train from Paris to Bayonne, she would join up with the legendary Basque guide Florentino Goikoetxea and together they would lead the airmen over the Pyrenees and into the hands of British diplomatic staff based in 'neutral' Spain. Hundreds of Allied airmen and others were helped by the Comet Line network to escape a bleak future confined in POW camps in the Third Reich.

Florentino was a smuggler by trade and after the war he was invited to Buckingham Palace to receive the King's Medal. While Florentino was waiting to go in to the room where the King was making the presentations, a courtier asked him what his profession was and Florentino replied without a pause, "Import - Export". A man of immense strength, he was not averse to pulling a knife on escapers to 'encourage' them if they said they couldn't take another step forward. Bob Frost (below) recalled how he fell into a hole at night during his escape and Florentino just reached down and pulled him out with one hand.

After a betrayal in January 1943, "Dédée" was arrested, interrogated, tortured and then sent to Germany where she spent 2 years in Ravensbruck and then Mauthausen. She survived the war and spent some 28 years working in leper hospitals in pre-independence Belgian Congo, Cameroon, Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, and finally Senegal. In failing health, she eventually retired to Brussels where she died in 2007 aged 90.

I ask for your understanding for this necessarily abbreviated version of historical events and if I've omitted to mention someone - as I surely must have - I apologise.

The Comet Line is commemorated in many ways - one of which is an annual 'walk' over the exact same route out of France, over the mountains and into Spain and eventual freedom taken by the Comet guides and the evaders. It's organised locally by Jean Dassié.

Prior to the weekend, I'd contacted John Clinch, whose excellent website contains a whole slew of information about the Comet Line and the resistance in Belgium (highly recommended) and we'd arranged to meet at a café in the centre of Saint Jean de Luz on Friday in good time before the first meeting. This was to be a wreath laying at the War Memorial in St Jean de Luz followed by a vin d'honneur at the Town Hall just nearby. We were fortunate to be joined by a wartime Comet helper and three aircrew veterans who'd come down the Line and made it back to the UK.

The veterans

"Nadine"

Here we are at the War Memorial with 3 RAF evaders - from left to right: Bob Frost (Wellington tail gunner) shot down on his 28th mission; George Duffee (Halifax pilot) shot down on his first trip as 2nd Dickey; Andrée Dumont (English translation here) - known by her wartime codename "Nadine" - she courier'd the aircrew from Brussels to Paris. Captured & tortured, sent first to Ravensbruck then to the infamous Mauthausen. Received the OBE in 1946. A real heroine! Gordon Mellor (Halifax navigator) - shot down on his 17th trip. Next is a deputy mayor from St Jean de Luz. Raymond from Rheims (on the extreme right) was in the Resistance and was deported and jailed. He spent a few years in a cell with a couple of RAF aircrew - where he learnt his English.. I felt honoured and privileged to meet all of these Comet helpers and WWII aircrew over the course of the weekend.

Ramiro Arrue painting in the town hall
at St Jean de Luz 

Mr Jean Dassié †

Lucienne Dassié †

(devenue 

Mme André Saboulard) 

After a friendly welcome at the Town Hall where, incidentally, one of our hosts was kind enough to show Nadine and I three magnificent works (one of which above) by the noted Basque artist Ramiro Arrue - we all separated for lunch before travelling up to Bayonne for another wreath-laying ceremony at the grave of the Dassié family. Both Mr and Madame Dassié actively supported the Comet Line along with their daughter Lucienne (aka "Lulu"). However, all three were betrayed and they were arrested by the Gestapo and spent two years in Buchenwald and Ravensbruck respectively. The Germans left young Jean, aged 7, at home on his own.. After the father was released in 1945 he was repatriated to Paris but he died in hospital on the day that he arrived from the ill-treatment he had received in the camps. Madame Dassié died in 1948 due to ill-health resulting from her experiences in the camps. Both "Lulu" and Jean were present for this commemorative weekend.

As it is today*

Then we continued on to nearby Anglet to visit the unassuming Villa Voisin - the safe house where many of the escaping airmen stayed (5 mins from where I write) and where the southern end of the network was controlled by Elvire de Greef (aka "Tante Go"). It doesn't appear to have changed too much - if at all. We then made our way to the War Memorial in Anglet for a further wreath laying there followed by a vin d'honneur in the Town Hall.. Then we all sped off to a local restaurant for the evening. There must have been between 50-60 of us altogether.

* Edited to add: Sadly, the Villa Voisin was demolished in 2016.  

Kattalin Aguirre

At Florentino's grave

The next morning saw the start of the hard work. I arrived early at St Jean de Luz (in the hope of finding a parking space) and walked around the beautiful bay to the cemetery at Ciboure where there was another wreath laying ceremony at the graves of two of Comète's most celebrated members - Kattalin Aguirre and Florentino  Goikoetxea, the Basque man of the mountains.  

On the Saturday, the group split into two - the walkers and those who would travel between RVs by bus.. After breakfast at a beachside cafe nearby, the walkers set off for Urrugne which is where we were going to have lunch.. (provided by the commune) For us, we were glad to be finally moving and it only took us an hour or so to reach Urrugne, a small village en route to the mountains. After a short ceremony by the War Memorial, we walked the short distance down to a local school where a copious lunch of ham, cheese, fruit, bread, cider and wine had been set up in the sunshine. I broke the habit of a lifetime for once and ate sparingly and kept to water. 

 

Bidegain Berri

Then we set off for the mountains.. although there was one final final stop at "Bidegain Berri", the farm in the foothills that was used by the escapers as the jumping-off point and where Dédée was arrested in January '43. This was the farmhouse belonging to brave Frantxia Usandizaga, who sheltered the airmen in the last safe house in France as they waited for nightfall before attempting to cross the mountains. She was betrayed, along with Dédée De Jongh, but unlike her, she didn't return and sadly she died in Ravensbruck a month before the camp was liberated. The house itself had been modernised and appeared anonymous, bearing no witness to the dramatic events that had taken place there so many years before. Yet again we heard speeches extolling the bravery of those who had given their lives in the cause of freedom.

This was the start of the walk proper, and it was time for anyone who could not complete it to get on the coach, as there would be no way back. This is where the pain started.. We set off briskly and gradually the road turned into gravel and grass, then we turned up a steep track that was loosely surfaced and then we were on the mountain. It was difficult to set a rhythm when part of a long snake of other climbers stopping and starting on a crumbly, sometimes muddy, slippy underfoot, uneven, steep rocky surface. It was hot too - according to a fellow walker with a multi-function watch it was 35°C (95°F). And it was humid.. All attempts at conversation ceased now as we tried individually to find our own pace. Each time I reached what I thought was a summit, the mountain opened up to reveal another even steeper climb before me.

My legs became heavier and heavier, I was stumbling, sweat was pouring off me and I could feel my climbing ability reducing with every step. I stopped now and again to ease the burning in my legs but there was no respite from the sun which beat down on us. I did start to think the unthinkable (i.e. going back..). I thought my rowing training would have stood me in good stead but the magnitude of the effort required for this took me by surprise. I thought it would be hard but I just couldn't see myself being able to finish this. I decided not to look ahead and to take it one step at a time. Even then I had to stop every few yards. Luckily some kind soul (I never did catch his name*) stopped with me each time and after a few seconds rest, encouraged me to my feet with an "Allez allez!" (I found him at the finish and thanked him)

* Edited to add it was Brice Esquerre..

I kept telling myself that the airmen who tackled the climb during the war did so in the dark, wearing espadrilles, perhaps weak from enforced inactivity and injury, plus they would have the ever-present fear of capture, which could have meant imprisonment, torture and execution. That they found it a gruelling climb is no surprise - that they were able to complete the walk is a tribute to them and perhaps also to the encouragement offered by Florentino and Dédée. By all accounts, many were tempted to give up. 

Suddenly we were at the summit and a magnificent panorama stretched out before us with the outline of Fuenterrabia in Spain clearly visible below.. I lay as if pole-axed for a few minutes before getting to my feet again for the descent which was not as easy as it appeared on the slippery rocks and loose surface.. My water bottle was now all but empty and I was unable to swallow an energy bar. The morale in our small group rose sharply when we came across a trickling spring of cold water. A lifesaver..!

The sound of the Bidassoa river was now clearly audible below and our pace quickened as we scrambled down the final hurdle of a steep descent of a slippery rock face. We emerged from the woodland and there before us lay the Bidassoa. What a relief to step into its cool fast flowing waters! Cheered across by the veterans and others, we made it across the slippery river bed and up the other side to be met with cold rough cider and grilled sardines prepared for us by our Spanish Basque helpers..

I was too tired to even eat a sardine which must be some sort of a record for me! The coach taking us back to our hotels that night was very quiet, as we were all too exhausted to speak. We were told the next day would be equally as arduous, but as we would be starting early we would feel stronger. That was it for me.. This was the hardest physical challenge I've ever done and I was really at the end of my tether - rubber legs, the ground moving, pounding in my ears et al. Madame reminded me when I returned home that my doc had told me no climbing with my creaky knees! So, as I'd just paid my rowing subscription for the year, we decided that discretion would be the better part of valour etc so the following day saw me on the bus.

I've 'lifted' this description (from John Clinch's site) of the second day from Anna Moreland who completed it in 2004:

Next morning saw us up before dawn without even time for breakfast and marching off to join the coach which would relay us to the point where we had finished the night before. The giddying ascent started immediately and our calf muscles aching from the day before were soon searing with pain. Again we climbed and climbed in single file, with some paths so steep that we were looking for any handhold just to stop sliding down. Just when it seemed that we were at the very end of endurance we stopped on a grassy knoll. Looking about us in every direction we could see nothing but other mountain peaks, equally majestic, encircled with swirling mists. Their sides were lush and verdant, buzzards soared, the air smelt of spruce, wild mint and mountain thyme, and the view was giddying with no sign of humanity. It felt as if earth had touched the heavens in that one magical spot. I'm sure those like myself who had never done any real climbing must have felt all the effort worthwhile just for those few moments.

We were offered a packet of biscuits by a couple who spoke only Euskera, the language of the Basques, and we ate them gratefully, sharing those magical moments in a companionable silence. We could have stayed there for ages, drinking in the view, but Roger soon had us moving on again as we had deadlines to meet.

Sarobe Farm

The next few hours passed in more painful ascents, crossing a busy road that of course had not been there originally, and then, at last, a gradual descent through the woods towards Sarobe farm. We arrived at about midday to find a farmhouse untouched by the years. It was not hard to imagine the relief the aircrew must have felt as they staggered through the door into the warmth and shelter of a large kitchen where a table would have been laid with food and warm drinks for them, and bowls of salt water would be provided to soak their bleeding and blistered feet. Then they would be shown to a hay loft where they were given blankets and allowed finally to sleep. The farm is still owned by the same family, and their welcome was sincere and touching. Refreshments of their own home made cider and bread and nuts were provided on a long trestle table outside, as we wearily awaited the coach with the veterans, who had been delayed.

Having arrived here by a small bus, I rejoined the walkers at this point.

15,000 litre cider barrels
(3300 gallons)

We set off on the last stage of the freedom trail down a tarmac road under the heat of the midday sun. This was just a hard slog to the finish. Pressing on, we encouraged each other to keep going and eventually we found our buses.. which took us to our cidrerie - which was full of Spanish Basques all talking 20 to the dozen.. We sat at long tables and some very welcome rough cider appeared followed by some powerful local Rioja.. These cidreries (ours was #5 on this list) are popular in the Spanish Basque country.

Food arrived unbidden.. served on one large communal plate between every 2 or 4 people.. an omelette with cod, followed by cod with green peppers and then a cote de boeuf between two. This had been shown a grill - briefly - and, as my father (a graduate of the Blowlamp School of Cooking!) would have said, a good vet could have had it back on its feet in 5 minutes..!

From l to r: Cod omelette, cod & peppers, cote de boeuf, cheese with quince & honey

They race 13 man boats known as traînières in the Spanish Basque country - I've rowed with them a few times at San Sebastian out on the long rolling Atlantic swells (right) and difficult it is too - and it just so happened that the local club to our cidrerie had won the final of "Le Drapeau de la Concha" and they were celebrating in the adjacent dining room. When they heard that our three veterans were in the next dining room, they all poured in. They love singing and an accordion appeared and they started (below) with a song of farewell (one that they used to sing as the fishing boats left) which was for the Veterans - and there wasn't a dry eye in the house.. or a lump-free throat. It was incredibly moving.. and I'd have thought it almost impossible to capture the atmosphere with a camera.. but John Clinch managed it brilliantly with his short video:

They then sang Hegoak, a Basque song (roughly equivalent to Flower of Scotland) that's sung across the Basque country on both sides of the border. Here's a short clip of trainieres at San Sebastian rowing out at speed into the Atlantic and also some youngsters at Saint-Jean-de-Luz:

Our final stop of the day was at Florentino's birthplace in Hernani, a small Spanish Basque village. There, a small memorial to their greatest son had been set up at the roadside and it was here that we assembled - together with Florentino's brother Antonio (an astonishingly sprightly 93!) and his family. After some heartfelt thanks from the 'vets' - which, incidentally, were translated into Basque by Joe, an Irishman living in San Sebastian - about 10 ladies gave an extremely moving rendition of Hegoak.

Everyone there at the Comet weekend had a story to tell. One woman had come all the way from Australia to re-trace her Dad's footsteps. Another daughter came from California. The story of the Comet Line is a very human story and it showed humanity at its best - and at its worst.

Almost finished - as I write, Suzanne Dando, a former British Olympic athlete, is participating in a similar event further east - le Chemin de la Liberté. this involves a 4 day crossing of the Pyrenees at altitudes of up to 8,000ft. I wish her and her team of women every encouragement. Well done ladies!  

15th September 2010. Finally, I went rowing yesterday evening - had an excellent solid outing in an VIII on a beautiful evening. 12km. (running total 165km)



23rd September 2010. Rowing tonight - good sortie in a IV - 13km. (running total 178km)