Vimoutiers to Gace – Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall

Where have you been, my blue eyed son?

Well, I started rather late from the campsite. I had an iffy night’s sleep, but then things warmed up around 7am and I slept for another two hours. It rained early in the night but I pitched under trees and there was a breeze which dried everything off nicely.

I met a Welsh couple, in their late seventies I’d say, and talking to them the bloke had been a good footballer in his time. As a youngster he’d played with Gil Reece, the legendary Blades’ left winger. They were over here for the umpteenth time in their ageing campervan, visiting WW2 battlefields and memorials. Genuinely interested in that part of history in this region.

Walking in to Vimoutiers for breakfast I was reminded of it again. After the bombing of the town this enormous cooking pot, 123 litres capacity, was set up in the street and produced soup for four months, from anything folk could find. Guaranteeing families from miles around, who were homeless and foodless, at least one meal a day. A life saver!

This monument, next to it, was erected to remember the local people who had died in the First World War. In the Yankee bombing it was destroyed, and the cockerel statue on top was badly damaged. In 1955 it was re-erected with the ‘mutilated cockerel’ in it’s proper place, remembering those lost in both wars.

Down at the local bar I had bread and butter and coffee. What a great breakfast! When I set off it started raining. Not gentle raining, and I was on a main road.

You don’t always expect a German Tiger Tank at the side of the road. This was the greatest tank in the Second World War. It’s been restored and stands as a reminder of that horrific era. It makes me most sad to think of the families at that time, under four years of Nazi rule and then thrown into the turmoil of warfare. Poor buggers. People like Pierre and Therese who were kids.

After the tank the rain got worse and there were no trees at the side of the road, so I changed my plan. I found a road off to the left, past nice houses, that dropped down into a valley running up to Gace.

And where have you been, my darling young one?

Well, I went down a road leading to the valley and it suddenly petered out, like one of my short cuts usually does. But I pushed through lots of nettles and a path opened up. This is looking back at it.

It emerged in a tiny village.

Why do farmers store junk like that?

I reached the bottom road and found that I’d walked a kilometre longer and I was a kilometre further away from Gace. But the peace and quiet was worth it. And the blackberries were certainly worth it.

OK. That’s the last one with my tongue out. For a while!

A couple of miles down the road was a church with an enigmatic inscription.

As the maple leaf indicates, he was a Canadian lad who was involved in attacking German vehicles in the area. On a second run his plane was hit by artillery fire and he crashed in a field. He was buried locally but his body was later reburied in Bayeux War Cemetery. His father had lost a brother in WW1 and his two sons in WW2.

I walked around the cemetery attached to this church. It fascinated me. For a village of 6 houses this church attracted many outlying families. And their graves were incredibly ornate, with each stone inscription attached to the marble slab being given by a relative. And many graves were like this.

I wouldn’t post photos of peoples’ graves if I thought it might cause offence.

The rain continued but with some tree cover it was ok. However, for the first time I was beginning to feel a bit tired out. The words Old Bastard spring to mind. Well, Bastard anyway….ha,ha,ha! I’m so funny.

Talking about French idiosyncratic, self-summat. This contributed to the self-evident evidence. Evidently.

It was beginning to be a long drag now. My detour was resulting in a 14 mile day, and it felt it.

Then something lightened up my day. A recently occurred dip in a ditch. Can’t these chaps keep their cars on safe, dry land? Fortunately no-one had been injured. I asked and expressed relief.

The rain was potty, and then I got to Gace. A decent little town as it turns out.

If you want to dry out and buy the cheapest pint in town, in France, then go to the PMU. You can also have a bet on the horses and watch them win on a telly. What else would the only living boy in Gace need?

The rain continued to the extent that I wasn’t sure if I could get my tent up at the local municipal site. Then it quietened down for a while, and I legged it round there and put the tent up underneath a high hedge and some trees. A very quiet site, just me and two others. Nobody in reception but I’ll pay in the morning.

Thanks for taking the time to read this.

Night night.