WWII to I

Well this was gonna be a long drive – motorway run to get to the beaches as soon as I could then the coast roads and time to look around… and I am soooo glad I took this detour!

In all honesty the scale of what went on here is absolutely overwhelming.

The above is not one of my own creation but I like it – sounds a little bit Dick Emery. I wasn’t really sure what to expect but the whole coastline is fascinating and filled with incredible stuff:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

That pill box was a piece of work and whilst I was nosing around some yanks came through with a guide: this place is massive for the yanks and to be fair, they did come over and win the war for us.

The guide was explaining how a shell from a boat about a 1,000 feet out came in straight through the front slit – you can see where it clipped to top edge. It ripped though the gun surround (you can see the hole from the inside pic), it ricocheted  of the inside wall and blasted out the back door tearing a great lump out of the back as it did so (you can see that too!). Until that point it was being attacked by the boys on the beach and it’s riddled with bullet holes.

These pics are all from Omaha Beach, I’m hungry and I want to do a wee blog from this place so L’Omaha diner with it’s Moules Moulinaire on the specials board and free WIFI yells at me. I double check the WIFI availability with the waitress and sit down reassured that I’m gonna have one of my favourite dishes and get on line.

Cheating bastards – I hope the WIFI was better quality when our fine boys landed here and fought up the beach or they’d be really pissed off. The signal was weaker than a milky cup of tea down the bowls club. And the mussels were distinctly sub-standard.

My only consolation was sitting on the next table to a yank couple who were visibly terrified at being in a country that didn’t speak American.

Off up the road and I’m confronted by the Overlord Museum. I didn’t even know it was here and as I got up to it I could see the car park was almost empty – I had to go in, to hell with the time.

For the first time ever I was excited when I got the gift shop at the end! Overlord Museum carrier bag bulging – I stuff it in my rucksack and I check the time. OMG I have got bloody miles to go! Inspired I set off in a liberating mood.

It’s a right long slog but two highlights being the bridge over the Seine (these French seem to have got pretty good at bridges) at Le Havre and – now you have to pay attention to this – the flash of a French speed camera a few miles from my B&B in the middle of the Somme Battlefield.

One significant advantage of riding a motorcycle is that if you’re heading towards the speed camera when it flashes at you then you can just think to yourself “Fuck you, my number plates on the back!” and “So long sucker!”.

My final station stop turns out to be more homely than any of the other stops: my new hosts are really welcoming and it really was like being invited into their own home. It was their own home – it did cross my mind that they were swingers. They could be.

David was delighted I was riding a Kawasaki and not a BMW GS Mobility Scooter like every other British touring biker and his wife Julie cooked up a four course dinner that was absolutely delicious and they joined me and the other guests – a couple Trevor and his wife (who was not well) and Marcel form the Netherlands (who turned out to be a hero) – at the dinner table and poured copious and delicious wines whilst we all debated Brexit; the engineering, infrastructure and skills decline of Britannia; crazy rules of the road in France and the rip off that is the two breathalyser sticks we all buy to go there (but don’t bloody need); Trump; trumping; Airfix models; magic mushrooms (courtesy of Marcel from the Netherlands) and eating the cheese course before the sweet.

Everyone present, except me as it turns out, is an expert on the Battle of the Somme and that’s why thy’re all here. We couldn’t be closer to the heart of what went on: the German font line trench ran through the garden. One place I was aware of was literally around the corner – the Lachnagar Crater.

As a set up for my next blog and my last day in France, Marcel offers to show me around and find a place to go “field walking” – no not a mushroom hunt. That night I reschedule my Chunnel crossing to 14:30 to give me time to find out from Marcel what it’s all about.