… to come here and find the quietest room in the hotel, without a doubt. Although it took me ages to drop off to sleep (I remember seeing 01:00 come up on the clock) I was absolutely, completely and utterly stark out when the alarm went off at 07:45. I didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t even have to go for a stroll on the parapet either. It was the best night’s sleep that I have had for months and my only regret was that there wasn’t more of it because I could have slept for a week.
I’d been on my travels too – to the garage at British Salt (the right way round too this time, not a mirror-image like the last time that we visited it) at Middlewich where I was repairing, of all things, a huge pile of amplifiers, speakers and the like. I’d gone into work early when there was no-one about and because of there being no-one about, I cracked on and by the time everyone came in, I’d done most of the stuff. My father came in, saw the pile of work and started to say why each appliance was difficult to do, and how each problem was insurmountable, to which my reply at each instance was “it’s fixed already”. After all, anyone can do a much better job when there are no interruptions and no negative vibrations floating around the place, as we all know.
I had a couple of cups of coffee this morning at breakfast too – the first time that I’ve had coffee for well over a week. I’ve steered clear of it because of my … errr … upset stomach but that has settled down for the last few days and so I wanted to give it a try. I would have had mint tea but there was none of that available at breakfast, so coffee it was. And it wasn’t really a good idea because I’d tell you what happened except that you are probably eating right now.
After I’d spent some time doing some work, I packed up and left to continue on with my journey. Now that I’ve been reunited with my telephone I can show you where I stayed the night – and the night two weeks or so ago.
My room is the one that has the open door on the top right – right at the end of the corridor at the highest part of the building. As I said, it really was quiet in there and I’ll have that room again.
By setting the SatNav to “shortest route”, I went a very merry and mazy way through some beautiful by-roads where I was suddenly decanted into the town of Guise.
This is the entrance to the magnificent castle of Guise and those of you with long memories and have read reams and reams of this rubbish will know exactly why this is the only photo of the place that is appearing on these pages.
The answer is that, quite simply, as you might expect, I arrived bang on the stroke of midday, just as they were closing the place up for lunch. Everyone knows that the lunch break is sacred in France – so much so that when Marshall Petain (whose grave we visited on the Ile d’Yeu in 2013, you might remember) was appointed as Generalissimo of the Allied Armies in the middle of the desperate retreat of 1918, he is reputed to have asked for just two things to save the Allies from disaster – a free hand with the army and two hours off for lunch.
Many of you will have heard of Guise, of course. Mary of Guise was the wife of James V of Scotland and mother of Mary, Queen of Scots.
That wasn’t the only thing that was interesting about the town. On the by-pass on the edge of the town was this magnificent diesel locomotive – a shunter by the look of it, parked up on the site, one assumes, of a couple of demolished houses which have been fitted out to make a raiway setting.
I liked the artwork on the wall of the house in the background. It was superb.
I wish however that there had been a plaque to tell me what was the significance of the display. I hate being left in the dark.
Next stop, seeing as I’m in the vicinity, is the Commonwealth War Graves cemetery in Etreux. This is where scores of members of the Royal Munster Regiment are buried following a spirited rearguard action at the crossroads by a battalion of the regiment on 27th August 1914, to hold up the German advance while the main body of the British Army slipped away.
The claim to fame of the cemetery is that it is the burial place of Lieutenant CEV Awdry, said to be the half-brother of the Reverend W Awdry of “Thomas the Tank Engine” fame.
Leaving the Aisne behind us, we cross into the Nord and arrive at our destination, the town of Bavay, or, to be more precise, Bavay la Romaine.
And it deserves its name too because it was formerly the Gallo-Roman (you must never say “Roman” in France. The French do not accept that the Romans brought civilisation to the French, insisting that Gaul was already civilised long before the Romans arrived. It’s “Gallo-Roman” and I’ve seen some impressive uproar when people forget) city of Bagacum.
The city is situated at a major crossroads of routes in the northern part of the Roman road system and is home to some of the most impressive Roman … "Gallo-Roman" – ed … ruins in Gaul.
What we are looking at here is part of the Forum – the central market place of any Roman … "Gallo-Roman" – ed … city and impressive it certainly is. It’s always been known that there are Gallo-Roman remains here – stuff has been dug up for centuries – but someone digging in a cellar in the 18th Century found himself decanted into the subterranean crypt of the temple and this started everything off.
German shelling of the town in 1940 uncovered many more remains and once the war was over, excavations started in earnest.
Our cellar-digger painted a picture of what he saw and it shows a beautiful Gallo-Roman crepi with painted designs, but all of that has long-since been washed away over 250 years of exposure to the weather, which is a shame because it really did look quite magnificent.
I spent all afternoon here having a prowl around, totally immersed in everything that was going on all around. It really was €3:00 well-spent (yes, I’m not ashamed to claim the Senior Citizens’ discount now that I qualify for it).
No-one was more surprised than me to notice that the time had suddenly advanced to 16:30 in the blinking of an eyelid and I hadn’t even noticed. I shall have to get a wiggle on.
Back on the road, I didn’t travel very far before coming to another screeching halt. Despite all self-propelled road compactors (or rouleau compressor as they are called over here) being called “steam rollers” in the vernacular, this really IS a steam roller.
It’s an Alberet, works number 1012, from the factory in Rantigny in the Oise and I don’t think that I’ve ever encountered one of this make before. It’s here parked on the edge of a haulage yard by the side of the road, inviting a photo-opportunity.
It’s not really an old car but we’ll class it as that seeing as how we don’t have a more suitable category.
So now I’m holed up in another Premiere Classe in Feignies, just outside Maubeuge. No internet (thank heavens for the mobile phone) and disinterested staff, which is a shame.
But it’s much better than a standard “Premiere Classe” that’s for sure. it has all inside rooms rather than outside rooms for a start and they are 3 times bigger than standard.
I’m having my money’s worth here tonight.
