Mon 15th September 2003
I’m up at 0730 and, after a light breakfast, I’m on the road for 0830, the other residents watch my departure.
I’m heading North East and the low sun makes riding very difficult. I’ve got to slow right down as I approach areas of shade, which worries me, with the habit of French drivers being to follow you very closely. No combination of sunglasses and dark visor help much, so I press on steadily and carefully. It’s a beautiful cool morning and I’m on another good road.
I fill up at Rochechquart, which boasts a spectacular Chateau overlooking the Western approach to the town. I arrive at Oradour at about 1000. After touring the visitor centre type entrance, which includes a detailed background history of the village and the war, I walk out into the village, which has been left very much as it was found on 11th July 1944.
On the 10th June 1944, the war visited Oradour –sur-Glane. 4 days after D-Day, the Waffen SS units in the area were instructed to sweep the Tulle-Limoges region and create a state of terror to counter the perceived rise in resistance fighting. They chose Oradour, an ordinary little town, as the focus of their campaign. They rounded up the men and shot them in a barn, then drove the women & children into the church, where they burned them alive.
In total, they killed over 600 civilians, including 139 children. The troops then looted the village and burned every building. I took some pictures, including one of probably the most redundant sign in the world – no-one talks here…..
You can probably find all the information you need on the outrage at Oradour on the internet. If you get the opportunity, I strongly advise you to go there. Not everything worth doing has to be entertaining or fun. If you are not profoundly moved by your visit, you probably cast no reflection in a mirror…….
Riding out of the new town (where did 3 hours go?), I’m in a melancholy and reflective frame of mind. At the edge of town, a young boy of about 5, playing in a garden on my right, mistakes my cleaning my mirror as my waving and waves back, with a huge gap-toothed grin. I wave back, my mood lifted.
Near Confolans, I stop and buy some food at a supermarket. Further along the road, I stop at a picnic area and enjoy the quiet. I‘m joined for lunch by a stray kitten.
He clearly survives (just) on scraps from picnickers. He’s lucky today, and seems to enjoy his smoked ham. After an hour, I set off again. I suddenly feel very tired and can’t concentrate enough to make any real progress. Eventually I give up and stop at a small hotel on the outskirts of Niort. It’s 1600 and I’ve a job keeping my eyes open. An early night beckons.
Where now? I’m due at Calais on Thursday at 1845 for a 1915 sailing. I plot an off-motorway route from here – it’s a total of about 12 hours riding, which I have 3 days to complete. The route I’ve chosen broadly follows the line of the coast, but 20-30km inland. I think I’ll just follow the route for a while and see how it goes, stopping when something looks interesting. Got a text message from Bilks – he’s on board his ferry heading for Poole & will be home by 0100 tomorrow morning. Still nothing from Mike & Caroline, so I’ll give up trying to contact them and meet them on the ferry.
(From my Gibralter Journal)
Mike
