167. Indian summer in the Pays Basque

5th October 2011. Sorry for being a stranger lately but I've been busy with a large lump of work (technical aviation-related translation: Fr => Eng) that's come my way. I've been sat here polishing the seat of my pants for the last few weeks poring over a couple of large technical dictionaries.. but as we're in a natural break of a few days I thought I'd try and keep you up to date with all the news that's fit to print from the Pays Basque. 

First of all, how about a quick burst of Edith Piaf as she gets to grips with Milord.. a 1959 hit for her, with the distinctive sound of that jangly street piano:

 

And while we're at it, it's been a long time - too long - since I've featured this next one - which is top of my list of music videos - straight from the Django Reinhardt festival in New York City. With such a group of virtuoso performers it's difficult to single out one but, if you were to force me, I'd have to say the clarinettist is in a league of his own - those last few bars of his solo never fail to put a smile on my face. Hint: volume to max!

Boulevard Thiers

Bar Basque

6th October 2011. For the past few months I've been exchanging emails with Perry & Caroline, a friendly Anglo-Dutch couple who live just to the east of Tarbes. They were taking a short break in the Pays Basque - renting a gîte at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port - and they'd struck lucky with the Indian summer that's been upon us for the last couple of weeks. We'd arranged to meet at - where else! - the Bar Basque (above right) in the Boulevard Thiers (above left) at Saint-Jean-de-Luz. Despite not having met them face to face before - I'd only exchanged a few words over the phone with Perry - it soon felt as though our acquaintance stretched back much longer. A pity they live so far away. After our apéro, they were off to tackle a plateau de fruits de mer..  at Kaïku in what I call "Restaurant Strasse" - more usually known as Rue de la République (between the Place Louis XIV and the beach):

Now if you can all just take a step backwards while I deal with this, I'll be with you shortly..!

On the way home I noticed that the council has started the annual pruning of the platanes.. This always gives a stark look to the streets and is a reminder that the seasons are changing.

The Rugby World Cup.. ah yes.. My money's on Ireland. Sorry if anyone's offended!

8th October 2011. Up early this morning to watch the Wales-Ireland game.. one of the best games of this RWC in my humble opinion. Ireland weren't allowed by Wales to play their game and the result was a great win for Wales.. 22-10. They looked very impressive indeed.

A hour later it was England's turn. Hmmm. France won a competitive match 19-12 but I think they'll struggle against the in-form Welsh. I don't think England started with their best XV.. But, based on my previous predictions, I wouldn't get too upset about that if you're a Bleu supporter! 

9th October 2011. The Rugby World cup is coming to the boil now.. this morning Australia surprised me by taking the semi-final spot ahead of South Africa.. while New Zealand predictably dispatched the Pumas. So one half of the draw sees a mighty Australia-New Zealand battle while the other sees France taking on Wales. The problem for me is that if I'm watching a game I like to be able to root for one side against t' other. All Blacks vs Wallabies? I've never been a fan of All Black or Australian rugby - but the current Wallabies play with an invention and a freedom that's very watchable so I'll be packing down with them (inn my armchair) in any of the scrums. France vs Wales? That's more difficult as they're both the traditional enemy in rugby terms. I suppose I'd like to see France sent home early - with my money riding on the Welsh now to win the Webb-Ellis cup.. (if Ireland couldn't!) Bring the cup back to the UK - even if it would be to the Welsh part! I should add for any Welsh reading this that I'm 25% Welsh so be gentle with me!

10th October 2011. I was watching Télé Matin on France 2 this morning and one of the news items was that it would have been John Lennon's 71st birthday today. I must admit that the story of his astonishing rise (meteoric doesn't do it justice) from a less-than-promising start in an anonymous Liverpool suburb to unprecendented world-wide fame intrigues me still. It was just short of 50 years ago that he and his group exploded into global consciousness and the mention of his name on French TV this morning shows that his name still retains all the old power it had. For those of you who, like me, grew up in that era, several films have been made about his early years that explains much about his development into the person he became.. but the one to search out is Backbeat (1994). 

12th October 2011. Yesterday we had a few hours in San Sebastian. Each time we go there I'm reminded just what a civilised town it is. It grows on me with each visit. There are squares with fountains, pedestrianised areas, wide pavements, elegant brown stone apartment buildings, some fascinating shops (what am I saying?!), friendly people and not forgetting La Concha.. the definitive bay with its great crescent-shaped expanse of yellow (nearly said golden!) sand. To my mind San Sebastian is as good as it gets. The bonus for us is that it's only a short 45 minute drive away - and parking isn't a problem.

15th October 2011. We headed off across the border into Spain yesterday for some essential shopping at Dancharia - so after picking up Madame in town where she'd been, I decided to take the old route that we used to take when we were in the gîte. It was a morning under a cloudless sky, the country roads were deserted and again I realised as we passed by our old gîte that 4 years had somehow passed by. The pale outline of La Rhune lay to the south rising above the silvery early morning haze with the endless jagged hills and mountains of the Pyrenees extending away to the south east. After Ustaritz, we headed for Cambo before taking the turn off for Larressore (where traditional Makhilas are still being made out of Medlar wood as they always have been). It was through Larressore that the Comet Line established a new route for the escaping Allied airmen in WWII after it became too dangerous to use the Saint-Jean-de-Luz/Ciboure/Urrugne route. Many escaping aircrew owe their freedom to the bravery shown by the people of Sutar (partic. the Auberge Larre), Larressore, Espelette, Souraïde and Dancharia. I think it's fair to say that this development of the Comet Line escape route into Spain is not as well known as the original route. 

As we emerged onto the road for Espelette the broad expanse of the Pyrenees lay before us. The fields and trees glistened as the low bright sun picked up the early morning dew. A few blue grey clouds clung to the sides of the higher mountains. We were reminded again just what a stunning corner of France this is. Once through the picture postcard village of Espelette, we took a winding side road that took us up into the hills to Ainhoa (one of France's most beautiful villages) and then a short run down to the unmanned border and Dancharia. We had the roads to ourselves and the country was looking at its best with the trees just starting to turn russet greeny/brown - I should have had the camera with us.

On the return we stopped off at Espelette at Antton - the chocolatier.. (available online..) They make their own chocolate on the premises and the rich smell of chocolate is all-pervading. As we walked in, we were greeted by the two ladies who offered us some chocolate to taste. Good start! You have as much chance of leaving empty handed here as you do when viewing puppies! All I can say is the chocolate doesn't disappoint.. far from it. I could taste its lingering richness all the way home. Worth remembering this address with Christmas in mind. We bought a bag of "La Ganache au Piment d'Espelette". This is dark chocolate with an inspired pinch of piment.. It's right up there with the best chocolate we've tasted. Madame's eyes glazed over when she tried some last night.. Eek!

16th October 2011. What can I say about Wales.. A moment of madness allied with an arguably harsh refereeing decision saw Wales reduced to 14 men 20 minutes into the match with France after a fine attacking start. However, once they'd got used to the idea that 14 Welshmen would be more than enough to see off a lack-lustre French side they simply carried on where they'd left off. They took the game to France in fine style while the French XV seemed bereft of any coherent attacking ideas of their own. Wales scored the only try of the match with a fine effort by Mike Phillips - who'll be playing for Bayonne this next season.

The only French player to emerge with any credit was the truly classy Maxime Médard. If only the Welsh kicking game had been slightly more accurate they'd be in the final. They scored the only try of the game and I don't think France could have scored even if Wales had left the field. Final score 9-8 to France.

Still, you have to hand it to Les Bleus.. They've played poorly throughout this tournament (beating an even poorer England side by only a converted try) and yet here they are in the final - having lost already to the All Blacks and Tonga.. I fully expect that either the All Blacks or the Aussies will administer a mighty stuffing to them next weekend. I wouldn't like to see a team that has played such undistinguished rugby walk away with the World Cup.

Yesterday evening I finished the latest instalment of work on my PC at ~6pm and I made a couple of drinks for Madame and her ever-so-'umble servant.. We sat on the terrace on a warm, still evening watching the light fade with a sangria and a wee whisky.. Ah, that felt good! So good in fact, we had another!

Pain aux raisins

There was an early burst of activity at Pipérade Towers this morning as I tried to squeeze in a few jobs before the All Blacks-Wallabies match (kick off at 10am). After a trip to the well-run council décheterie on the banks of the Adour to dump some garden rubbish, I continued along the river bank for another km as far as the roundabout (above left) with the France-Asia supermarket. Just across the roundabout is a baker - and it's here that, in my opinion, they make the best baguettes in Bayonne (Edited in 2023 to add: ownership since changed..). They make all their own bread and cakes on the premises and their baguette tradition is always a pleasure to eat - a crispy crust and a good length. The real star of the show though is their pain aux raisins.. In addition to a baguette tradition, I bought a pain aux raisins this morning. I've eaten pain aux raisins the length and breadth of France and this was the best I've ever had.. Moist, light, buttery yellow, generously filled with raisins - exactly as they should be and at 0.93€ they're far cheaper than the bakers in the centre of Bayonne (1.25€!). Another 5 star recommendation. Driving back home along the river, the sun made an appearance and gilded the surface of the water. It would have made a good photo if I'd had my camera with me.. (Think there's a message here!)

I saw the first 50 minutes or so of the NZ - Australia match until it struck me that it was really unwatchable - all crash, bang, wallop - and I wasn't enjoying watching it so I switched off. It all reminded me of rugby league in the sixties - two lines of players facing each other and the interminable pick and go's, grinding out another yard of territory. Is it me? - but exactly what is it about the All Blacks and their boss-eyed supporters that makes them so peculiarly and so deeply unlovable? First, there's the increasingly bizarre 'Haka' which, frankly, I couldn't give a toss about even if it is supposedly representative of some ancient South Pacific cultural heritage but each year it evolves and gets choreographed to become (yawn..) 'more frightening'.

Here's the original Hand Jive with Johnny "Mr Lip Sync" Otis - with three ladies who could teach the All Blacks the right way to do the 'Haka'! (plus - there's the makings of a good front row there!)

And here's the 1973 version - where the ABs look like a bunch of embarrassed blokes demonstrating the Macarena (having done the 5 minute course on the radio!). Notice that in those days that the 'Haka' was performed for the crowd..
And this is what it's become.. how can anyone take this seriously..?

I think their opponents should just leave the ABs to their willy-waving shtick and go for a stroll around the stadium, or have one last chat to their loved ones at home, eat an ice cream or read the paper.. The notion that the opponents should respect the 'Haka' is laughable! I've never understood why the IRB have, over the years, allowed them to perpetuate this tired old bit of hokum.. which sends the message that the following 80 minutes aren't going to be so much as a sporting contest as open warfare. As far as I'm concerned, the ABs have always played a uniquely brutal brand of ultra-physical rugby - enlivened only by the home crowd giving vent to some imaginative singing: “All Blacks….. All Blacks….. All Blacks….. All Blacks….. All Blacks…" ad infinitum. I’d like to have seen an Australian win.. (and it's not often you'll hear me say that!)

As for next Sunday's final, to be honest I don’t care who wins - France don't deserve it the way they've played so far - but then I don’t want the All Blacks to win either.. The classic case of two bald men fighting over a comb. Let's hope that France can raise their game, play some memorable rugby and then, who knows, anything might happen. Think I’ll be tidying my sock drawer and hoping for a northern hemisphere win..

Now - lean back, forget all about rugby, click on 'play' below, close your eyes and enjoy Chet Baker's version of 'Autumn leaves'..

before finishing up with this - from 'Chet Baker in Tokyo' - Almost Blue:

166. Cue "Season of mists etc.." but not just yet.

18th September 2011. Down to the river yesterday for the first outing in 2 weeks.. Went out in a double sculler and did 14km on a very humid and heavy morning.. (Running total: 971km)

19th September 2011. For some time I've been meaning to film Chibby, our golden English cocker spaniel, while he goes through his daily post-dog food work-out in the garden. Taking the weight off your feet has a whole new meaning for a dog! 

21st September 2011. Pleasant row yesterday evening on the river. Despite the imperceptible approach of autumn, the sun is noticeably lower in the sky. This isn't normally a problem but last night we were out in a coxless IV which meant that the person responsible for steering had to squint over their shoulders into the dazzling sun. It was still a warm evening out on the water and it usually stays so well into October.

We spotted a healthy-looking water vole at the water's edge.. looking to be the size of a domestic rabbit. Did 12km (Running total 983km).

Believe it or not, but I'm trying generate support for a Christmas dinner for us rowers - which is something I didn't expect to have to do. It seems that there's no tradition at the club for this but speaking to a few people yesterday they are definitely receptive to the idea but as usual it needs someone to do the organising. I know just the person.. We're extremely fortunate to have the Brasserie directly over the club.. so choosing a venue will not be a problem.

Christmas here is less hyped than in the UK - it's more of a family celebration - so the traditions of having the office/work/club Christmas party/lunch/dinner/whatever that are a feature of life across the Channel don't seem to exist in France - or at least in this particular part of it.

24th September 2011. 15km this morning in an VIII with a club crew that worked well together (Running total: 998km). Back to the clubhouse in time to see the closing minutes of the long awaited NZ All Blacks vs France game. Ouch!

27th September 2011. I've been doing some editing work for the last few weeks. Yesterday I completed the first large lump of work on this job and I put it all on a CD ROM. After posting it yesterday to my customer, I walked back home in the late afternoon heat (it was 28 yesterday) feeling quite carefree & pleased with myself. It's been a long month of sitting here in front of the screen with a stack of specialist dictionaries. It's an interesting subject though and I've learnt much about it. Before I get too carried away though, I've another 7,000 slides to laboriously wade through. The seats of my trousers are getting a good shine! Now back to work!

28th September 2011. Down to the river last night for a later than usual sortie in a coxless IV sculler. The river was as high as I've ever seen it and it was one of the very few occasions when the bridge that normally slopes down to the floating pontoon was level. Within minutes of setting off, I was dripping - it was exceptionally humid. This is one of the penalties of sculling as opposed to rowing - you don't have a hand free to swipe off the odd drop of perspiration that is driving you crazy! What a beautiful evening - it had been around 31 all afternoon and the river was looking its best under the slanting Kodachrome evening light. The water was static as the tide turned and it was another of those times when a camera would have been invaluable. At the turn round point the evening was closing in fast and the temperature dropped a few notches under the clear skies. We headed back to the clubhouse in the gathering dusk with the slightest of cool breezes on our backs. It was one of those evenings when you didn't want to stop. We were the last boat out on the water and by the time we approached the pontoon again, the river was running fast. Heaving the boat out of the water, washing it down and putting it away only took a few minutes but in that time darkness fell and I had to ride my bike home on the pavements - no lights! We did 14 of the most enjoyable km for a long time (Running total : 1012km).

The après-shower pastis tasted very good!

Here's something that I've been meaning to take a photo of for a long time - but  somehow I've never got around to doing so. My eye is always drawn to these platanes with their distinctive mottled bark and the strange rippled surface - it's almost as if the trunk had solidified from a plastic (in the sense it was once fluid) material. Every village square seems to be lined with them and no self-respecting café can call itself complete unless it has at least a couple outside. Generations of Frenchmen and -women have sat underneath them - and smoked, drank coffee, argued, kissed, flirted, read the morning paper and had one (or two) for the road. France would not be France if there were no platanes. They are truly an instantly recognisable visual symbol of France.  This is one that John Clinch (part of the Comète Line group) took in Saint-Jean-de-Luz by the look of it.

These trees are everywhere in France. They are pruned back very hard in autumn, and in the spring and summer they are quick to grow back a leafy green canopy that offers a welcome shade during the long hot days of summer. The supporting branches are pruned to such that they develop at right angles to the trunk and sometimes the branches even fuse together with those of a neighbouring tree.

29th September 2011. There was a nondescript thorny old tree in the garden that had been allowed to grow wild and unchecked by the previous owner and finally I got around to tackling it today. Its gnarled and twisted branches were hanging over into our neighbour's and I started by pruning these. Not a very pleasant job but it had to be done. The more I pruned, the more I thought it would be a good idea if I took it down altogether.. (there's no-one more dangerous than your correspondent when he's armed with a pair of secateurs and a bow saw in his hand!) It wasn't long before the entire tree was lying on the green bit (aka the lawn) in large lumps.. A frenzied morning's work saw it all reduced to short lengths and I carted it all off down to the déchetterie (tip) which fortunately is only 5 minutes away. Phew..! 

Given the Indian Summer we all seem to be enjoying, no apologies for repeating this atmospheric song by the late Joe Dassin..

PS. Hi to GFH who's just joined that hardiest of groups - aka the Followers.. (They must know something I don't!) Welcome aboard..  

165. 70th anniversary of the Comet Line in the Pays Basque

13th September 2011. This last weekend has flown by - it was the 70th Anniversary of the Comet Line - the noted WWII escape network founded not long after Dunkirk by Andrée De Jongh, a 24 year old Belgian girl. There are many links in the left hand column on this blog to Andrée De Jongh, the Comet Line, Florentino Goicoechea and the Villa Voisin if you'd like to know more about this most noble and inspirational of stories. This map shows the Comet's main operating locations in the Pays Basque.

This year saw the 70th anniversary of the first British escaper to make it safely through and back to the UK. The weekend started off with the laying of a wreath at the War Memorial at St Jean de Luz (left) by Andrée Dumont OBE, aka "Nadine" - a brave and charismatic wartime helper whose sprightly appearance belies her years, ably assisted here by Roger Stanton of ELMS.

Even though she'd spent 2 long years in prisons and concentration camps (including the infamous Mauthausen) when asked if she'd do it again, she replied firmly and without hesitation - yes. I introduced her to the three serving RAF officers present and she held her thumb and index finger out about an inch apart and said, "Comet.." She then extended her arm high above her head and said, "The RAF.." Unfailingly modest and humble to a fault, I have the utmost admiration for her and others like her who were prepared to give their all in that dark chapter of European history. Comet is the story of the best and the worst of humanity.

Allan Cowan 

We then adjourned to the nearby Town Hall of Saint-Jean-de-Luz (right) where we were warmly received by the deputy mayor. He welcomed us to the Pays Basque and Saint-Jean-de-Luz in a short speech before inviting us to share some cold rosé with him. As this was only my second "Comet" weekend, I took the opportunity to listen to as many people as I could. There were as many different stories in the room as there were those attending. For example, Allan Cowan (above left),  who crossed the mountains in the second group in October '41, was represented, as last year, by his charming daughter Marie while the Greaves family - a brother and 2 sisters - had travelled over from New York the day before. Their father had been arrested at Bidegain Berri farm with Dédée in January 1943.  Another was a reader* of this blog whose father had managed successfully to return to the UK. So many stories.
(* N - I have some photos for you - let me know your email address via the comments section - I won't publish it)

After the vin d'honneur we were free for lunch so I drove the three RAF participants out to Ascain, the best of all Basque villages in my opinion. Following a very pleasant relaxed lunch we then drove north to Bayonne to the cemetery where we met up with everyone else again at the Dassié family grave (left). In a short but moving ceremony we honoured the memory of his parents. Jean Dassié was just 7 years old when both his parents and 'Lulu', his elder sister, were taken away. He never saw his father again. His mother survived the end of the war by only 2 years as a result of the treatment she'd received at Ravensbruck. Thankfully, 'Lulu' survived and was present during the weekend. 

Villa Voisin, Anglet

From the cemetery it was but a short journey to the Villa Voisin, the legendary nerve centre of the Comet Line in the Pays Basque. The house had been occupied by the De Greef family - Belgian refugees from the German invasion - and they were to make an immense contribution to Comet activities in the south west. An untrained civilian, Elvire De Greef managed to outwit the professionals of the German RSHA (including the Sicherheitsdienst (SD) and the infamous Gestapo) throughout the war. Amazingly, they were never able to catch her. Today, the Villa Voisin is an anonymous grey house that offers up no clue as to the dangerous nature of its activities all those years ago. We stood outside this unlived-in house with its closed shutters and wondered at the daring and courage of those who had lived here during that dark period of European history.  

From the Villa Voisin, it was another short journey to the War Memorial at Anglet where more wreaths would be laid. This was in the full heat of the afternoon and the old soldiers were standing in the dappled shade of the platanes with their proud bleu-blanc-rouge standards leaning against the trunks. There were a few jutting-jawed ex-paras scattered among them - instantly recognisable, as paras are the world over. The scene brought to mind a painting by Monet.

The mayor of Anglet arrived to do the honours and soon the air was filled with those distinctive sounds of the French military - provided by a couple of rattling drums and a single trumpet. One by one, the civic dignitaries and those of Comète stepped up to leave their floral tributes.

A local Basque choir then sang the "Song of the Partisans" - a song, written in wartime, with a hard unequivocal message - one that leaves no doubt whatsoever as to the feelings of those who wrote it. No Vera Lynn warbling "White Cliffs of Dover" here - the "Song of the Partisans" remains a brutal and unequivocal reminder of the harsh realities of the Occupation. Here's President Sarkozy on the day of his inauguration paying homage to the Résistants - notably Guy Moquet (his letter here) - who fought and died for France, listening to a choir singing "The Song of the Partisans" and looking visibly moved. The English lyrics are underneath.

My friend, do you hear the dark flight of the crows over our plains?

My friend, do you hear the dulled cries of our countries in chains?

Oh, friends, do you hear, workers, farmers, in your ears alarm bells ringing?

Tonight all our tears will be turned to tongues of flame in our blood singing!

Climb up from the mine, out from hiding in the pines, all you comrades,

Take out from the hay all your guns, your munitions and your grenades;

Hey you, assassins, with your bullets and your knives, kill tonight!

Hey you, saboteurs, be careful with your burden, dynamite!

We are the ones who break the jail bars in two for our brothers,

hunger drives, hate pursues, misery binds us to one another.

There are countries where people sleep without a care and lie dreaming.

But here, do you see, we march on, we kill on, we die screaming.

But here, each one knows what he wants, what he does with his choice;

My friend, if you fall, from the shadows on the wall, another steps into your place.

Tomorrow, black blood shall dry out in the sunlight on the streets.

But sing, companions, freedom hears us in the night still so sweet.

My friend, do you hear the dark flight of the crows over our plains?

My friend, do you hear the dulled cries of our countries in chains?

After the "Marseillaise", we walked over to the nearby Anglet Town Hall where speeches from the Mayor and Jean Dassié were followed by another Vin d'Honneur after which we set off in a straggling convoy for the restaurant where we were to have dinner.

Saturday morning saw us meeting up at the cemetery at Ciboure where wreaths were laid at the graves of the great Basque guide Florentino Goicoechea and his friend, the widow Kattalin Aguirre, who housed so many evaders. Set into the hillside, the cemetery is in an idyllic setting overlooking the peaceful bay of Saint-Jean-de-Luz. While I had decided not to attempt the whole two day march this year as my knees are decidedly creaky, I thought I could manage the leg from Ciboure to Urrugne. So it was, after a breakfast in a beach café at Socoa, we all set off for Urrugne, our numbers swelled by several Basque walkers from Spain. We were also joined by 70 young officer cadets from the Royal Military Academy, Belgium and they soon raced off into the distance. They'd selected the inspirational Andrée De Jongh as their 'godmother' for their year. Those who weren't walking were provided with a coach to take them to the next rendezvous at Urrugne.

The route took us through a housing estate before launching off into a narrow track. It was soon clear to me that any thoughts I might have entertained that my knees would allow me to complete the entire 2 day walk were hopelessly wide of the mark. It was with some relief that we entered Urrugne - with the encouragement of the waiting 'Nadine' - and my decision had been made for me.

Ceremony at Urrugne

The Greaves family from New York are pictured (left) honouring the memorial in Urrugne to Frantxia Usandizaga and Juan Manuel Larburu. It was at Frantxia's farmhouse - named 'Bidegain Berri' - where their father was captured along with Dédée. Frantxia and Juan were never to return. The walkers continued on after the ceremony while I stayed behind feeling unhappy with this turn of events, ie, that I was unable to walk even to 'Bidegain Berri'. However, things brightened up considerably when we were invited into a room at the rear of the Tourist Office to find a long table laden with charcuterie, cheese, fruit and wine. Ah, decisions, decisions..!

Meanwhile the walkers were heading for the last stop before the mountains and that was the farm at 'Bidegain Berri'.. Here are the Greaves family again outside the farm where their father had been arrested in January 1943 - a real pilgrimage for them. The beauty of this weekend is that enables descendants of Comet evaders to walk in their fathers' footsteps and experience at first hand what they had gone through - albeit in a world at peace.  

 

'Bidegain Berri'

Now it was a case of bringing on the pain. The temperature was in the low 30s with nil wind and afterwards all the walkers mentioned the relentless heat on the mountain. It all sounded very similar to last year.

Les Trois Couronnes

Meanwhile, after an excellent lunch in good company, us non-walkers made our way by coach around to the disused station of San Miguel on the banks of the Bidassoa river that marks the frontier between France and Spain and waited for the first of the walkers to emerge from the trees on the opposite bank. Here's the indefatigable 'Nadine' (right) welcoming the walkers across the river with a large Belgian flag. The river was quite low and seemingly benign. However, in wartime, it would have been an entirely different proposition wading across this river at night, in its icy waters in winter with Franco-ist guards patrolling ready to open fire. There were no friendly Spanish Basques waiting with cold cider and grilled sardines as today - back then, it was a case of scrambling up the river bank and somehow plodding on to Sarobe farm another 4-5 hours distant.

The young Belgian Army contingent soon had their pup tents set up as they were staying the night in place while we returned to Saint-Jean-de-Luz on Saturday evening. 

Sunday morning at 7.30am (!) saw the walkers deposited back at the same place at San Miguel ready to resume the walk which started with a steady climb straight up.. We - the coach party - left a little later and caught up with the walkers at around 11am when they made a short refuelling stop for some drinks and oranges. Here are the walkers setting off afterwards on the last leg to Sarobe farm. 

Jean Dassié and 'Lulu'

Paco and 'Nadine'

And so, finally, to Sarobe farm. The exhausted and footsore wartime evaders must have been glad to arrive here after their long overnight march from the farm at Urrugne to Sarobe farm in Spain. Today? We received the same warm welcome from Paco and his extended family - and the same nourishing soup, delicious tortilla and robust Rioja red wine that the escapers would have been offered. Paco had been a youngster of 8-9 years old at the time of these great events. The Belgian contingent presented a small plaque which was unveiled by 'Nadine' to commemorate the 70th anniversary.

After Sarobe farm, we travelled to the Petritegi Cidrerie at Astigarraga (highly recommended!). I took the Greaves family into the cider warehouse where they tried filling their glasses from a jet of cider from one of these massive barrels that each contained 15,000 litres. We then sat at long heavy wooden tables and a tsunami of food soon followed - a spicy chorizo sausage, a cod omelette (delicious!), then more cod and then a côte de boeuf between two.. Bottles of Rioja appeared (and disappeared!) as if by magic.  

Towards the end of the meal, over the hubbub of conversation, I heard the odd few lines of song from somewhere and then suddenly a Basque choir launched into glorious song:

They captured the hearts of all with their songs, sung with an obvious passion and enjoyment. All too soon it was time to go and it was over for another year.

What is Andrée De Jongh's legacy to us? Surely, it can only be that her timeless values of leadership by example, courage and self-sacrifice can inspire people of different nationalities to transcend their differences and to unite in common cause. RIP Dédée.