Dear Armstrongs, A memorable Trip. By Joe Armstrong, Wintam village, in the Province of Antwerpen, Monday September 9, 2002. Willy Borms and his wife Christiane came and took Rita and I to St Niklaas and left us at a certain bus stop beside 4 other people who were going on the same tour as we were. That was Monday 9th of September. The coach arrived a bit late due to heavy traffic, then we set off and picked up more people at Lokeren and then Gent. It happened at Gent that a man and his mother sat opposite on our right Eddie and his mother Rose Marie are from Nieuwport on the coast of Belgium and we soon struck up acquaintance with them and spent most of our meals sitting with them.. We stopped for coffee along the way and onwards to Amiens. There we visited the cathedral. Separately, some of us realised we had better ones, I felt that my local i.e., Durham Cathedral could hold its own, as this is supposed to be one of the better ones in France. Still the carved ornate frontage was very good I have to say that. From there we went on to Rouen, and were getting off the bus after deciding I did not need an umbrella when a peal of thunder struck and we all got wet crossing the street! The whole group, 53 of us hustled along close to walls, it did not help, we all got soaked. Arrived at the Café Flunch, a fast food place in the Rue Des Carmes. What a sorry spectacle we looked. However, fast food or not, it was good quality. Oh those French! After that we walked, (thankfully in the sunshine) to the place where Joan of Arc was burned to death. A cross stands on the spot now. Looking around the square at the ancient houses I tried to imagine the awful scene, the mob, the vengeful churchmen who condemned her, the fearful English soldiers who were given the dirty work of burning her for a witch. Too much noise, too many people, too many smells from nearby restaurants all cashing in on the historic site gimmick prevented my mind from travelling back to the 15th century. But I have stood at the place. Next to the spot is a church, but of modern design, you know, roofs like wings etc. In the form od a ship. A bit of origami in metal and stone. Back along the narrow streets and through the ornate archway to the bridge where a plaque marks the spot where Joan's ashes were thrown in the Seine, (they say) but I fear the river's edge would be different then to the built up quayside banks of today. It was probably under the modern road! BTW. Over here they call her Jean D' Arc, pronounced like 'Shan Dark' To coach, another long walk, then on to Honfleur. It is a very picturesque town, also a very expensive one! Café prices were exorbitant. We walked (naturally) to the harbour and visited a lovely wooden church, really spectacular it is. The shape inside is of timber arches supported by lines of square wooden beams along the length of the nave. It has a feel not quite like any church I have been in. I sat there lost in thought, recalling other churches, in other places but this had a different feel to it, more homely somehow. We were quite taken by its wonder. Bought picture cards then back along to our coach and on to our destination at Caen and arrived at the Campanile motel there late. Had dinner after 9, but it was excellent. A bit of confusion re Rita's needs but René the guide helped out and sorted things. The three smokers who got on at Gent smoked in the dining room, the only ones to do so, naturally, they sat at the next table to us. The sign 'defense de fumer' means nothing to them. We had a good room, facilities were a bath cum shower, a good shower at that, washbasin, toilet, all necessary towels, shampoos/soaps each day./ also TV set with an alarm feature for early calls, a long table and tea making equipment. To bed, and slept like babes! Tues, Sep, 10. Up early, to breakfast with Rose Marie and Eddie. We four sat at another table. Still the smokers ended up on the next one to us. I think they must be aware that nobody is making overtures to them but all are being friendly with us, and especially Rose Marie and her son Eddie who is a pleasant chap. Off to Bayeux and to the museum to see the famous tapestry, again, a long walk! What a fabulous thing it was for me to creep alongside the real one behind its glass frontage, leaning on the handrails designed to keep folk off the glass. I scrutinised every picture as much as time permitted, but always the inexorable clock ticking away. My mind went back 60 years to when Mr. Bell our class teacher first told us of the tapestry, was it really that long ago? But here we were, standing before the reality of that thing nine and a half centuries old. The endless hours of hand-stitching that must have gone into the telling of the story of the Norman Invasion of England. It is 74 metres long! To my surprise I saw that the two figures generally held up to be Harold Godwinson can not be the same man. In the 'arrow-in-the-eye' shot he has green stockings, in the one where he falls backwards dropping his axe, he has stockings with alternate buff and green bands. I must go over my chain of photos that we bought to see what I can 'sus out'. I caught out the Timewatch TV programme twice, (Julius Caesar) and the (Conquistadors), can I do the same with such a famous thing? From that breath-taking venue we came back to normality and to the restaurant La Petit Normand for lunch, we had a starter of raw fish, ( well, smoked herring and raw salmon), a dinner of pork fillet with frites and vegetables and piquant sauce, also a flan caramel. Oh those French! On from Bayeux to a closer battle scene in time. To Point Du Hoc and visited the scene of devastation of the German bunkers by Royal Navy shelling on D-Day. It must have been hell at that moment, hardly a yard of ground is not disturbed and full of craters. They have been left to nature. We walked through one that did not have a path through it because it was too steep. We made it by use of my walking stick; I could get partly up, then reach it back for Rita to grab to pull herself up behind me. Of course the place was also a memorial to the many young Americans who assaulted those cliffs. From there to Arromanches where we visited the D-Day museum, saw 2 films and took photos of the remnants of Mulberry harbour lying in the now peaceful bay. Had a coffee along the street from a old French woman with a face like her (well) ahum.. Along past Omaha Beach to the American cemetery where 9,000 of them are buried. I stopped to read one that looked different, a star of David marked a Jewish American grave. Rita found an Armstrong there too. Donald B. Armstrong, Tech Sergeant, 524 Bomber Squadron. 397 Bomber Group (H). Ohio, September 3rd, 1943. That huge cemetery, only one of many, was a solemn reminder of the debt we owe. I am sure there will be many more in that vast array of white marble gravestones that shows the price of liberty. Continental Europeans are very conscious of it. Back to the bus and returned to Caen. Had dinner at 8. A little sooner than last night. Starter of fish terrine, Duck with garlic potatoes etc. and ice cream for dessert. Oh those French! Again to our room early and then to bed for an early start. Wed. Sep. 11. Up at 7, breakfast at 8, they are all self service, a goodly selection of fruits, cereals, orange drinks, coffee, cold meats and cheese with lovely crusty bread. Oh those French! Off to Mont San Michel, a good long run through nice scenery, very green and a rolling landscape. Normandy is a lovely Province. Passed the Bocage country where so many murderous fights took place in 1944. There the Allies had to fight for every yard of ground in those tree and brush squares designed to keep the wind at bay from the farmlands. We saw Saint Michel from a distance of some kilometres, it was far more spectacular than I had realised. I thought it was just another town, but it is a church cum fortress built out of an outstanding rock formation, similar to Holy Island castle in Northumberland but much larger. The walk for car visitors is too long, 2 kilometres, but we were dropped at the special point for buses. Had not enough time and it was red hot. We only had time to look at the shops, (this was the complaint of all the places we went to) and we had to turn back when we reached the monastery. Bought cards, took photos, Rita got some special famous biscuits for her grandchildren and back to the bus. To St Malo, a very strongly fortified walled town with a crowded harbour containing a forest of masts. Had lunch in the Café de l'Ouest. In the Place Chateaubriand. It was crowded and we had to sit just the two of us, but we had a good meal, a bacon and onion omelette with salad and pommes frites, and red wine. It had a donkey cart in metal on the canopy, containing a lady with a Spanish style fan and a gentleman handing a gift to her. Very chocolate box I thought. Coming out a dolt of a waiter stood to attention and shouted something to me about about "Mein Fuhrer" but then I've always said Frenchmen can't tell the difference between Brits and Germans. There we went into the cathedral of St Vincent and there I looked up and saw some strange by-plays of colour caused by sunlight through the stained glass windows, in themselves, too modern to be special, but the lights were magnetic. Because of that light we found the tomb of Jaques Cartier, who lived 1491 to 1557 the man who discovered Canada, and died there! His remains were brought back to France in 1949. Walked round shops (literally, it's a circular town 3 kms) and had coffee and a beer in the le Lion d' Or. It was expensive, coffee 3.50, Euros beer 3.50 Euros. Oh those French! (Euros are about the same value as U.S. dollars). We had all the time to do little at St Malo that we would have liked at other places. Back to the bus at 5. On the return journey we stopped for fuel, and they used the stop to give us all a drink of Pommeau or Calvados. It was a nice gesture, maybe calculated for tips but fine anyway. René the courier described how the five main drinks of Normandy were Pommeau, and Calvados (made from apples) Poiré, made from pears, Benedictine, a liquer made with herbs, and lastly Cidre, cider to you and me. Back at 7.45, dinner at 8.15. Crudittes with cream sauce, main course spaghetti in a yellow sauce and a cutlet of pork. Fruit for dessert. Again, Oh those French! We sat as usual with Rose Marie and Eddie and did much talking but we had to break it up for lack of time. Despite having weary, aching legs Rita had to pack everything for, guess what, yet another early call, in fact, the earliest one yet, 6 a.m. for breakfast at 7. Thurs, Sep. 12. Left 8.30. arrived later at Fécamp and to the Benedictine palace cum distillery. It is a splendid building, a riot of carving, plaster work, works of art in many forms. A classic example of the richness that religious zeal can produce. It is also a museum with many interesting old locks etc, works of the Flemish painters and all. We had our free drink in the visitors lounge and of course bought a bottle, in fact 2, one for Willy and Christiane as a small token of appreciation for all the favours they do us. Also bought cards. One man from the four that got on with us at St Niklaas told me a surprising thing, that English and French had 51 percent of the same words. I can believe it. But I'm sure they'd never understand the way we say them, <Grin> Both Rita and I were amazed at how much we can read in French, she can speak it better than me and revived words she thought she did not know. Leaving there at last we wended our way back to Etretat on the coast again, a very old village of half timbered houses, whole timbered in some cases. We had lunch upstairs in the Auberge Express in the Place Foch. I thought the two could not handle 54 diners but I was wrong. Having the orders made the day before the man and his wife served us all in double quick time. We had beer and mussels and fritten, French style, very tasty. Oh those French! Back to the bus and set off for home. It was a long run through gradually flattening landscapes, we stopped at one place for coffee and toilets, a hurry up joint, no milk for the coffee, no courtesy either, René says he will not use it again. Oh those French! From there over the frontier into Belgie as the board says, to Kortrijk where we dropped off the first people. Hit traffic jams a bit round there (they call them files pro feel-es), then on to Gent. There we said goodbye to all those getting off including Rose Marie and Eddie, we have their address to send photos and a CD of Highland bagpipe music. Hmm! What a trip, what a whole package of memories and exciting venues, wonderful French cuisine, and a mixture of people and cultures. At Le Mont Saint Michel we were in throngs speaking all languages imaginable. Saw one group of Americans taking a photograph of an 18 inch wide stone stairway between two houses. No doubt to show to the good folk back at Duluth, Minn. I thought of all my old Armstrong lurkers and partakers on the List while we were at these remarkable places and pondered what they would have thought of such things. It was, despite its short duration, more experiences than I can cram into a year normally. I even found myself looking closely at the D-day photographs to try to recognise my Uncle Jim, or Edward, or Geordie! All three brothers were in the Allied Invasion, the first two on the first day. Strangely, they all look the same, British, Canadian, American etc, only the type of clothes were different, they were all bright youth at its best, and many of them were to stay that way in memory, and to remain forever close to where they landed. We must go to Brittany and Normandy again. We decided that we must. Rita De Kock, Joe Armstrong.