Sotteville sur Mer to Veulettes sur Mer – Another Great Walk

My beautiful missus of forty odd years (because I’m distinctly odd) slightly chided me for using bad language in this blog.

Dint say owt. No rude words from me. Cue angelic smile and fluttering of innocent eyelashes, betrayed by a felonious fart, caused by the nervousness of lying.

Another beautiful day, don’t let it slip away. Thanks Bono. Tent packed, on to the next village and a Sunday market.

I grabbed a huge chunk of pizza and a chocolate eclair for my breakfast and ate it on the church steps. Justified because Jesus got hungry too. When he wasn’t trying to escape from the scene of a car crash.

Walking down to the beach there were some great fresh fish stalls. Size of they spider crabs! And a peckin huge pile of oysters. Mein Gott.

See that bloke in the photo above? He’s stood like Dick Emery. Ooh you are awful! Wouldn’t get away with it now. Not in this blog either. Dated rubbish.

Well you typed it you antediluvian.

No I didn’t.

Cue angelic smile and fluttering of innocent eyelashes, betrayed by a felonious fart, caused by the nervousness of lying.

The tide was going out, hooray, meaning that I could walk along the shore again. There were signs saying that it was against the law to walk along the seafront, but that is Parisian and not Normandy law.

I was making good time, the front was so far great, firm sand. Loving the breeze, the sea, the cliffs and being alive! Get in!

There were a lot of freshwater springs in the sand, inevitable by-products of chalk cliffs leaking rain down to the water table.

Oooh, get him! Inevitable by-whatsit!

It’s one of those days. I’m Gemini and dual-personality so this kind of weird discussion does occur regularly in my head. I’m sorry it has, on this occasion, found its way on to the screen of this blog.

No I’m not. My precious.

The cliffs were magnificent and unyielding. No clear way up yet. But there are enough villages named “en Mer” to think that there will be an escape inland.

Round this corner I could see in the distance that there was a valley coming down to the sea with a village in it. Yey!

It led to the port of St Velery en Caux. This was mega. This is where, after Dunkirk had evacuated everybody else, the 51st Highland Division was surrounded by the Nazi forces. Short of ammunition, days without sleep and with little food, these amazing Scottish lads made their way down the shoreline which I had just walked along. Some were even rescued by little boats on this shore, before the inevitable and necessary surrender to the Nazis.

The14% of me that is Scottish has swelled in pride to 100% today.

The tides can occasionally flood the town. This area is cordoned off.

I wandered down to the harbour again and struck up to the west of the town. At the top was another war memorial. It subdued me for a while. These French lads were actually cavalry, on horseback in the Second World War.

Walking across country, looking back along the cliffs. A good morning’s work.

It was a fair road walk to Veulettes sur Mer, but I got my head down and cracked on. Dint take any photos, just walking. It doesn’t take long when you’re into it, particularly with walking poles.

Some American airmen came down here in a bomber on its way back from Germany. Just like on Kinder Scout in the UK. Poor little buggers. God bless.

I found the site, put my tent up and ate the scran that I had been carrying from St Velery. I bought it there in a supermarket on Sunday afternoon because this was my last option before Veulettes. I’m clever me!

Yeh right?

Night night.