My Vinyl LP Record Collection – a life through Music

Alt='My LP vinyl collection, Carole King, Jackson Browne. Neil Young' Joni Mitchell, Emmylou Harris, Paul Simon"

A life through Vinyl

Today, as I listen to the Bruce Springsteen ‘River’ album, I am wondering what it is that shapes our love of music and particularly a genre that we seem to stay with for life. To be fair I did come to Springsteen a little later in life although the seeds were already there for him to step into my collection. My reason for starting this journey through my past, to paraphrase Neil Young, was my father’s vinyl collection. My father died recently, and he left a vast collection of vinyl including 78’s which I suppose are technically shellac. His CD collection was even more extensive, but it was the vinyl that fascinated me.

As I looked through the records there was a familiarity about them. Growing up, I had of course heard nearly all this music many times. My father’s tastes did not greatly change from his first loves. These were mainly vocalists of the style of Sinatra, Billy Daniels, Al Martino, Nat King Cole, Frankie Laine, Alma Cogan, Kay Starr and many others of that 50’s and early 60’s generation. The CD collections showed little change in his tastes other than a large collection of Willie Nelson and a decent Classical music range.

These artists were special to my father. He saw the majority in concert, mainly in Manchester at the Palace Theatre or Blackpool in its heyday of attracting the big stars of the day. He loved to tell of seeing Sinatra in Manchester when the theatre was not even full. Yes, all special musical memories for my father.

I then realised that none of these great mid-20^th century artists, massive stars in their day and all familiar to me, had not touched my musical consciousness one iota. A great collection of vinyl was just memories to me but musically I had no desire to hear them again. Why? At the time I heard them I certainly was not also listening to or even aware of the artists I would form a love of – a lifelong love. So why did I not share my father’s love of his artists before other influences kicked in? For me I would say that music did not take priority at that time. Sport did, especially cricket. However, when I look back, I can see that the seeds had been planted in my musically education. It did not come from my father’s collection.

The album, or should I say 10” vinyl album, a quirk of the day, was in fact among the records I found in my father’s collection. It was a great, pleasant surprise to find it as I thought it was long lost. It was the very first selection of music that started to form my musical DNA. It did not belong to my father but was a treasured possession of my grandmother. I spent a lot of time with my father’s mother and although her record collection was tiny compared to what was in our home it was more interesting to this young child. My grandmother delighted in playing this small group of records over and over again.

‘Satisfaction’ by the Rolling Stones was one of them. I didn’t mind it and it was certainly for an eight-year-old a great departure from the music on the stereogram back home. The other favourite of hers was ‘Green Green Grass of Home’ by Tom Jones. She loved that but I never pursued a Tom Jones collection of my own. There was a rare recording of the Beatles at the Royal Command Performance but again the Beatles did not stir any musical feelings. Wish I still had that single though. Did it really exist? Perhaps just in my memory. Maybe I just watched it with her.

It was this visually interesting 10” vinyl LP she had that I kept going back to. The green cover of the artist in the studio was intriguing. The PYE label on the vinyl was fascinating, it was the same logo as my father’s stereogram. This was her pride and joy, one I had to listen to – ‘it were great’ she said in her Lancastrian tones. This was Lonnie Donegan, and the album was called Showcase. Released the year after I was born it was already well used by the time my grandma introduced me to it. I loved it and insisted on hearing every time I visited. Only now, looking back and studying this well-worn copy re-discovered in my father’s collection do I understand that it formed the basis of my love of music and a musical genre. Musically Donegan was interesting, fresh and different for the time. It was lively and somewhat loose in style, sort of folky jazz. It stirred my musically feelings. I am ashamed to say that I never bought any of his recordings and music went on the back burner for about 10 years. I had other things to do. Lonnie Donegan though had introduced me to what I really love about music. As I look at that album now, I can see its influence very clearly. It is words. Words set to music are my great love. I want to be moved, I want to be sad, I want to be uplifted, I want a story and preferably a sad one. That 10” vinyl had those things. As a seven-year-old he formed my future love of a style of music and performing.

That album was full of stories and not all with happy endings. ‘Wreck of the Old 97’, ‘Frankie and Johnny’, ‘Wabash Cannonball’ and others were all stories, music with words. That would always be my love. I love sad music. My daughter says, ‘the sadder the better’. Artists such as Sandy Denny and Richard Thompson would certainly fill that need later, amongst others. On that Lonnie Donegan album is a song ‘Nobody’s Child. I defy you to find a sadder one.

Looking back, I find it fascinating that I could have had such a love of music formed so deeply at such a young age. So deeply that I never realised it until recently. Lyrically at the time they meant little, an eight-year-old could not relate to Frankie and Johnny that is for sure. But, they entered my make-up and the outcome would flourish later.

Lonnie Donegan was an extremely influential artist, and many artists of the calibre of Paul McCartney, Mark Knopfler and others testify to his influence on their music.

I can testify that he influenced my love of music and so having enjoyed looking at this old vinyl I will continue and explore my vinyl collection. I will try to express what these songs mean to me and add some context to the time and place they appeared to me. Maybe, that will resonate with you – I hope it will.

The reviews from 50 years or so on will be in no particular order, in fact I will probably just put my hand in there at times and see what comes out. I do have to begin somewhere so this choice selects itself as the beginning.

I will start with the first LP I ever bought – Carole King Tapestry.

Please Enjoy the Journey – My Vinyl Collection

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Carole King – Tapestry

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Carole King – Tapestry 1971

I was not one for spending money, of which I had little, on music. Music came in and out of my life, but sport was my main interest. I do recall though cycling around the whole town, visiting every newsagent, to try to buy a copy of a music magazine that was offering full lyrics of the latest hits. A girl I adored as a ten-year-old loved the Walker Brothers and I thought she would be truly impressed if I knew the lyrics. I failed to get a copy as all were sold out – so back to football instead.

An older brother of a friend had a singles collection. Mainly Beatles, Creedance Clearwater Revival and Diana Ross and various Motown singles. I quite liked the CCR but again the Beatles passed me by and Motown was really not for me.

My good friend Derek in the Fifth form played me Simon & Garfunkel’s Sounds of Silence LP. They would become my favourite artists, especially Paul Simon, in the next few years. He had an S & G poster on his wall which I found a bit strange. I liked the music but surely there are more important things in life. Others in the fifth form observed that the Bookends album was rubbish and the earlier Paul Simon Songbook proved he couldn’t sing. So, naïve chap that I was, who was I to argue with my contemporary social and music commentators. So back to cricket instead.

Next year in the sixth form I found that the curriculum demanded the drinking of much coffee and eating of biscuits. Actual lessons were few and far between. We had our own exclusive form room, a room into which one of the girls had installed a record player. I recall very little of what was played but it was the girl’s domain and their choices dominated. We boys were too tight with money to buy any music anyhow.

One day, that day, I experienced my musical awakening. It was the start of a lifetime love of music, and I am thankful for that day and this girl student of impeccable taste.

What was this?

I never knew you could be so moved by a piece of music. I was spellbound. This was Carole King – Tapestry. Newly released – it was like nothing I had ever heard before. These were the words I was looking for but what wonderful music accompanied the words. It set the pattern for everything that followed in my musical education.

Carole King was a hugely successful songwriter but had modest success in her own right as a performer. Many, many hits that are so familiar to us were written by her – but who knew? Now, she had brought all her talents together to produce this masterpiece, an album that fifty years on has never dated. One of her great earlier songs that was a hit for others, ‘Will you still Love me Tomorrow’ is on the album but otherwise it showcases where she has arrived at musically and as a performer.

Whether my head was turned by another new life changing interest, or it may have just been the fact that education seemed in short supply, I left school shortly afterwards. Rather, I along with several others were asked to leave. You see, we had all decided to apply for the same job and the headmaster was asked for references for us. He declined, but desired we remove ourselves from his sight. We didn’t get the job either.

I did not get a ‘job working construction’ but rather one comfortably sat a desk, pen in hand. Many years later after a short break away I retired from the same firm. It paid £9.50 a week rising after the first week to £10 as I had done so well! LPs were around £2.10 at the time. My first purchase with my pay packet was not a new cricket bat but Carole King’s Tapestry from Ames Record Store. I still have it and I still regularly play the album although streamed rather than through a needle.

So, what was it about this album that struck such a cord with an impressionable 16-year-old. Indeed, why does its appeal still endure.

I loved the words, the poetry of her writing. True, Carole King does not write with the same depth as a Jackson Browne, Leonard Cohen or Joni Mitchell. So, in some ways it should not make such an impact on me. But, to me these expressions of love, loss and relationships were a window into a new soon to come adult world. If this is what I had to face, then I needed to know. It held out the prospect of hard to make choices and disappointments along the way. However, it was all going to be OK, there would be that relationship that was worth the pain of getting there. Then when you feel it is getting too difficult you will always have a ‘Friend’. ‘You’ve got a Friend’ was perfect for a young boy having just gone through torturous exams and facing the choice of enduring an education that was just going nowhere – or heading into the unknown world. Yes, of course, look around and see your friends are there and a great life lies ahead with them. It is that balance she achieves of realism at our life but also that it can be better that shines through and makes this album such a joy.

Musically it is near perfection. A collection of the finest musicians plays around the album in complete synch with the artist. King’s voice is powerful, yet fragile, poised on breaking with emotion. It finds its full expression with one of the great moments of recorded music. On ‘’Natural Woman’ she reaches the point where her emotions are stretched as she sings the phrase ‘Close to me’. Her voice trembles and breaks and the emotion conveyed is breath-taking. Surely a one take wonder, impossible to repeat. Pure magic.

Her piano playing is exclusively hers, loose though melodic at the same time, always with the tension that she is stretching for the right note. She always finds it. Overall, the musical mix and balance achieved by Lou Adler in producing make an album without one jarring note or over intrusion by any part of the band. There are some truly sublime, gorgeous melodies. The short (just over two minutes) ‘Home Again’ is beautiful and the words life affirming. The whole album is full of inspired melodies.

I suggest if by any chance you have not heard this album (is that possible?) then find a quiet place, headphones on, eyes closed and enjoy. Do not try to multitask, it deserves and must be listened to without distraction.

Sadly, Carole King I never saw in concert. She was one of the few artists I admire that escaped my ticket obtaining ability. I treasure though the BBC ‘In Concert’ performance from the time period, including the complimentary performance with her by James Taylor.

As I say this was my first purchase. My mother always was of the opinion that all modern artists were degenerate or worse. The Tapestry cover is simple, and the dominant feature really is Carole’s cat. Mother felt that implied sinister forces at work. But no Carole King was no witch but she certainly was inspired from somewhere. My first album but still hovering around my top three of all time.

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Hôtel Restaurant les Templiers and photography of Collioure France

Alt="On the small island in Collioure Harbour is Chapelle Saint Vincent"

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Hotel restaurant Les Templiers Collioure France – Interior view of the artwork.

There is of course in this gorgeous setting the natural moonlight sparkling on the sea and reflected on the brightly coloured fishing boats that are such a feature of the harbour at Collioure. These small boats have inspired so many artists over the years being painted and photographed so often that they are synonymous with this beautiful harbour. In the full light of day we will see them at their best later in the week. Artists and artisans such as Andre Derain, Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, Charles Rennie Mackintosh along with many others have been inspired by the light and views on offer here in Collioure. Inside the Restaurant/Bar Templiers which has a particularly attractive terrace on Avenue Camille Pelleton there are copies or art works adorning the walls by Picasso, Matisse, Dali and others. The restaurant had the originals left to them by these famous artists but some of these were stolen years ago so very understandably no originals are to be seen on display today.

Artists at work in the harbour at Collioure FRance

On the quayside leading down the Avenue there are many modern day artists painting the very same scenes, some to very good effect, others perhaps are a little dubiously talented. It all makes for a lovely peaceful and atmospheric scene though.

Alt="Picture of Collioure Harbour and church for French travel guide books" — The beautiful harbour looking across to the Church Collioure France

Along the front of the small half-moon shaped beach that has the church as its focal point there are many brightly lit cafés and most of these have a terrace spilling out right up to the beach, the clinking of glasses an ever present relaxing sound. The view from one of these tables is I feel as good as it gets and it is one that has to be savoured over a latte or a beer or a lovely chilled rosé wine.

Alt="A charming quiet backstreet in the fishing village of Collioure South of France" — Quiet back street in Collioure

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Lavender Fields at their best in a Provencal Summer

Lavender fields on the road out of Banon Provence France for French travel guide books for Kindle Unlimited

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Travellers have their own favourite areas of Provence where they appreciate the vast fields of lavender. For me the finest spot is close to Banon. In fact anywhere around that village whether you head towards Forqualquier, as in this shot, or north of the village back across towards the famous area around Sault, you will not be disappointed.

Alt="photo of Lavender fields Banon Provence France for French travel guide books for Kindle Unlimited" — Lavender Fields near Banon Provence France

Lavender fields in Provence from my French Travel Guide Books — Lavender fields near Banon Provence

Alt="Photo of Lavender field near Banon Provence France" — Lavender fields near Banon Provence

A NEW French Journey by Photography – Take a tour

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All the photography was taken by myself on our visits to Paris and the French regions. I hope you enjoy them and please look up my stories of our travels on Amazon.

My new book is a tour around France starting in Normandy. I hope you will come with me and be inspired to travel a similar path. I hope it will inspire you to travel to France or at least enjoy it in your imagination from home.

Boulangerie in the Marais District of Paris

Alt="Photo of Burgundy village cycle for French travel guidebooks" — Boulangerie in the Marais District of Paris

Neal is an established and extensively published French Travel writer with an aim is to impart his passion for France to his readers. Neal has travelled extensively in France with his family and friends and acted as ‘tour’ guide to others over the years.
Neal lived and worked in Lancashire, England and found the joy of travel later in life after a conservative travel upbringing that stretched only as far as stopping the car falling into the sea at the English coastline.
He now lives in Somerset close to his granddaughter and family and on the wonderful South West coastline that we enjoy so much. Neal loves the English game of Cricket, which he plans to write about soon, golf, soccer and photography. He has a great love of History and that is reflected in his writing.

Hôtel Restaurant les Templiers Collioure France

Alt="photo of Collioure Harbour France for French travel guide books for Kindle Unlimited"

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On this mild clear evening the sun is going down, the scene is enlightened by the lights of the harbour front cafés and bars and the spot lights focused on Collioure’s church, Notre-Dame-des-Anges, a former converted lighthouse. There is of course in this gorgeous setting the natural moonlight sparkling on the sea and reflected on the brightly coloured fishing boats that are such a feature of the harbour at Collioure. These small boats have inspired so many artists over the years being painted and photographed so often that they are synonymous with this beautiful harbour. In the full light of day we will see them at their best later in the week. Artists and artisans such as Andre Derain, Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, Charles Rennie Mackintosh along with many others have been inspired by the light and views on offer here in Collioure. Inside the Restaurant/Bar Templiers which has a particularly attractive terrace on Avenue Camille Pelleton there are copies or art works adorning the walls by Picasso, Matisse, Dali and others. The restaurant had the originals left to them by these famous artists but some of these were stolen years ago so very understandably no originals are to be seen on display today.

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Chocolat filmed in the quietest film location village in Burgundy

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Taken from my NEW book released on July 7th

Chocolat

This destination is one of our favourites – Northern Burgundy. It is a much neglected part of France from a tourist standpoint. To the north is Champagne with its landscape of gently rolling vine covered hillsides. The towns of Champagne are steeped in wine making history and the money coming into the area keeps it looking expensively maintained. It is an area that will always delight but just to the south is a less travelled region that is more warts and all in its presentation. The towns are just that little more untouched and authentic, the countryside rural and pure, not quite manicured to within an inch of its life as in Champagne. It is a region that produces fine wine, wine that other than Chablis rarely reached the supermarkets of the UK. These wines are well worth finding when your car has an empty boot. They are astonishingly good value.

We are going to start this leg of our road trip in a small village in the French department of Côte-d’Or, in Bourgogne-Franche-Comté. When you are asked to name one or two films set in France then the usual suspects come to mind. ‘A Good Year’, ‘Midnight in Paris’, ‘Mr Bean’s Holiday’. If I ever asked the female friends of my wife then they always seemed to come up with ‘Chocolat’, the film based on the novel by English Author Joanne Harris. Starring Johnny Depp, Juliet Binoche and Judi Dench it was a popular addition to the genre. I have to say at the time of our travels I had never seen it of knew anything of the storyline. I certainly was not aware of the film location in France. Flavigny-sur-Ozerain is the setting for Chocolat and that is the village where our bed and breakfast accommodation is located. Somebody told me that film fact by the way, because you would not be aware of it when you are staying there. This rural village is just that and resolutely determined to stay one. There are no indications that it has a claim to fame, no signposts designating the places featured in the film. Certainly, there are no souvenir shops. I doubt you could even buy a bar of Chocolat. This would never be allowed to pass in England. If even an advert is filmed in the smallest of towns or villages in England they would certainly make sure you knew about it. You are absolutely not going to get the T-Shirt in Flavigny-sur-Ozerain.

I cannot say I am disappointed at that. I like my locations in France to stand on their own, keeping their individual charm. Flavigny does not disappoint on first view of the village from the Northern approach road. It looks the quintessential Plus Belle Village de France as you take it in from a distance. I pull the car over on the rise with the village beyond emerging out of the lush green countryside. The dominant feature as is the case in most French villages, however small, is the church spire. Abbaye Saint Joseph de Clairval is a particular stand out example and I should have realized, features in the film. It is a promising first impression.

Entering the village, we make our way slowly along the main street and cannot miss our clearly signed accommodation – L’Ange Souriant on Rue Voltaire. I am writing this in Covid lockdown times and of course most things are closed anyway but I suspect that this establishment is no longer trading which is a shame. It would be one of the most enjoyable places we stayed at in France, despite its modest pretentions. As I have mentioned this an extremely famous village, Hollywood superstar famous. Strangely no one seems to have told it. From entering the village, we have not encountered a soul. The first person we see is our host and then again that is not straight away by any means. She is not around when we arrive, so we have to wait, explore a few side streets winding around the property. Disturbing the slumbers of a couple of cats is the best we can achieve in bonding with the locals. Finally, the lady we are waiting for comes around the corner with her three young children. The school run accomplished she warmly greets us and apologises for not being here for our arrival. She sets the tone for our visit, and we are immediately part of the family.

Her home follows the usual style of furnishing in rural France. In our bedroom large solid chunky furniture dominates our space. Throughout Burgundy and other parts of France it seems that furniture is handed down from generation to generation. Dark wood fixtures may be well out of fashion in England but not here in France and it is always oversized. It is an extremely clean and well cared for space though and the overall atmosphere is homely and generous. Having unpacked we are welcomed into the family space, the owners three children doing their homework. As always in France little excuse is needed to offer a guest a glass of wine and our delightful host continues that tradition with a lovely light Burgundy.

Soon it is time to go in search of food, a typical Burgundy auberge perhaps in another picture-perfect village. We head out through the village gates and into the expanse of countryside beyond. The light is already gently fading with the sun just obscured by the cloud on the horizon. It is a gorgeous view and completely tranquil. As we drive down the narrow lanes and pass-through various villages it becomes readily apparent just how tranquil it actually is. Apart from the odd cat and assorted cattle in a field there is no other sign of life. Despite it being dusk very few lights are flickering in the villages and although there may be an auberge sign or two gently swaying in the breeze the attached restaurants are resolutely closed. So too are any village shops. Except one that we eventually stumble upon after driving around for around an hour. Our French evening meal feast is a couple of slightly past their best chocolate croissants and a bar of chocolate all washed down with a cheeky little half bottle of sauvignon blanc of dubious parentage. Still, being able to gorge on this feast back at the village sat by the church in the deserted town square, peace all around, it is not a bad end to the day.

Flavigny-sur-Ozerain – A quiet corner of Northern Burgundy

We explore a little more on the following morning, but Flavigny is just a pleasant, quiet Burgundian village. There is no ‘Chocolat’ tourist trail, no souvenir shops where you can buy your ‘Chocolat’ Chocolate. It is a village were the local life goes on at its slow unconcerned pace. We saw a man tinkering with a car down a side street at what I presume passes as the local garage. An old lady wanders across the church square to talk to a neighbour. That is about it really. The French do not really do celebrity transformations of their villages and that is the same story throughout Burgundy and much of France. As you tour the Burgundian countryside you pass through so many lovely villages, many are incredibly famous throughout the world. The wine villages around Beaune such as Pommard, Aloxe-Corton, Gevry Chambertain, Vosne-Romanie and so on are names to conjure with. However, when you arrive at these villages there will be just a simple village sign as there is on entering any village in France. These villages have remained small and undeveloped and if you are expecting any sort of fanfare announcing their important status then you will be disappointed. In fact if anything they discourage any additional attention. I for one am happy with that and the countryside of Burgundy remains very unspoilt and is much as it has always been. The only drawback is that because they do not overly put themselves out for the hungry tourist you can find even in summer if a restaurant only opens Wednesday to Sunday, lunch only, then those are the hours and even if there are coachloads of ready customers those hours will not change. Bring a sandwich!

Flavigny does have its charm even if you are a disappointed ‘Chocolat’ tourist, which I am not. The old walls and gateways to the village are well worth seeking out as is the area around the church. Its charm as a filming location is obvious and although a stroll around the village will be uneventful you will encounter one or two villagers and the welcome is friendly. At the entrance to the village is the one claim to fame that the villagers will acknowledge with genuine pride – the Anise of Flavigny shop and manufacturers. It is in the Benedictine Abbey in Flavigny that this tasty little treat has been made since 1591. Always produced according to the same ancient recipe, each individual aniseed is still patiently coated in thin layers of a secret delicately flavoured syrup. To the villagers sharing a sweet with a hidden aniseed at its heart is symbolic of love itself. Having a pedigree going back through more than four centuries of history, this is one of the oldest brands in France. They do last a long time so a couple of their attractive tins for the winter are a welcome addition to any store cupboard or the car glove box. One thing however, even in this shop, you are not going to find and that is a bar of Chocolat Chocolate or a Aniseed Chocolat here in Flavigny. There are no souvenirs to be had of the film location. All the better for it really, we enjoyed the quiet and to wander round the village with my camera was a photographer’s dream – no cars, no people.

Our stay at our chambres d’hôtes here in Flavigny was extremely pleasant and we bid adieu to our host and her charming children following another copious breakfast. At least this was a regular source of food for at least one of our daily meals here in rural Northern Burgundy. Flavigny is a charming village but please bring a packed lunch if you are not coming in July or August.

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NEW FRENCH TRAVEL BOOK OUT NOW – D-Day and the American Cemetery near Omaha Beach

Please enjoy this excerpt from my New Book – these are my thoughts from a poignant visit to the American Cemetery overlooking Omaha Beach.

It is poignant especially because of being situated where these young men fell.

I hope you enjoy this recollection but sadly we still today are filling places like this as young lives are destroyed in Europe.

We look forward to the end of war and a peaceful world.

Rows of crosses give a moving and stark reminder of the events of D-Day at the American Cemetery Omaha Beach

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Despite my love of history and the interest I have in the time period in France that covers the occupation and the D-Day landings it is not my intention to go over all the story. That has been well told many times by far better historians and relatively recently with the fascination with the 75^th anniversary of the landings. All my writings are done with a desire to inspire you to visit the places we have loved over the years. What I hope to achieve is give you a sense of the atmosphere and the way these sites have an impact on us as visitors. With the war sites in Normandy the feeling that these are places we have loved is perhaps not the correct expression. You can love Provence. You can love Paris. You cannot love a cemetery at a place where so many lost their lives. You can however be moved.

The Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial in France, Cemetiere Americain, is located in Colleville-sur-Mer, on the site of the temporary American Saint Laurent Cemetery. This was established by the U.S. First Army just three days after D-Day on the 8^th of June, 1944. By definition of its location it was the first American cemetery on European soil laid out in World War II.

The approach to the cemetery and memorial is quite unusual and unexpected. As you get close to Colleville-sur-mer on the D514 you come upon a roundabout that is well tended and rather than being on a well-used coastal road you feel in another place altogether. You could be at the approach to a upmarket Golf and Country Club, reminiscent of where the Masters is played in Atlanta, USA. What this sudden change in the landscape impels you to do is to turn left and not to carry on. You cannot just drive past this place, a site that is the most visited memorial site for Americans in the world. Turn left you must do through the wooded area where you can park your car and take what is one of the most extraordinary walks you will ever make.

There is a new visitor centre here now, opened in 2007, but that was some three years after our visit. The new centre tells the story of D-Day and Omaha Beach and gives the visitor a place to reflect and hear the recollections of many participants bringing those dreadful days to life once again. On our visit we just had the cemetery and memorial to contemplate but be assured that was more than sufficient to bring those days back into vivid perspective.

As you walk across into the cemetery you are confronted by row upon row of stark, brilliant white crosses. Every one perfectly laid out in unison so that whichever way you look down the rows they are in line, stood to attention. Initially this is just too much to take in and you sort of want to turn away and try not to look. We found ourselves drawn over to the memorial at the head of the cemetery and facing down a long straight manicured lawn that leads the eye between the two sides of the grave site. In front of the memorial is a reflective pool. There is not a sound, even the birds seem to have caught the mood and are silent.

The memorial is made up of a semi-circular colonnade that has a large inscription running around the upper curved part. Attached at either side of the memorial there is a loggia, and these contain large maps and narratives of the D-Day military operations and the subsequent breakout into the Normandy countryside. At the centre of the semi-circular structure is a bronze statue, “Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Waves.” You cannot help but reflect that sadly the place is dedicated to and contains the generation of American youth whose rise ended so abruptly and tragically just yards from this statue.

On the Walls of the Missing, constructed in a semi-circular garden to the east side of this memorial you will find inscribed 1,557 names of those who never had a last resting place. Some have been found and identified in the years following the construction of this memorial and those are marked by a Rosette against their names.

The cemetery site in front of you covers over 170 acres and contains the graves of 9,385 of American military dead, most of whom lost their lives in the D-Day landings and the operations that followed as the Allies broke out from the beachhead. The whole cemetery spread out before you is so impeccably laid out that it is somewhat dreamlike. Can this be real? In many ways it should not work as a memorial, it is too pristine and so far from the bloody horrors of those landings. Yet, it is that starkness, that total contrast with the events themselves that cause you to be so moved by the experience. It stuns you into silence. I have never been a place with so many other people and not been aware of any sound. No one speaks; they just silently walk through the paths, occasionally looking at the graves but not too often.

There is one more place that you have to visit and to do so you have to leave the flawless cemetery behind you and step through to an observation point overlooking Omaha beach. At its centre there is an orientation table that gives a battle view on a map of the scene as it was on the 6^th of June 1944. The cemetery was very affecting, but it is here overlooking the beach that you feel the emotion of this poignant site. As you look out down to the beach over the grassy knolls you get a sense of the actually deadly dangers those young men faced. The beach is not wide but it is wide enough to know that it would seem a very long way to a soldier running towards a machine gun at the site of this observation point. It is then that it finally hits you that the men in those graves behind you are buried within yards of where they fell. This is as far as they got. It is that realisation which moves you to tears.

alt="Photo of American Landing zone at Omaha Beach Normandy" — The American landing zone on Omaha Beach Normandy

This American Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer, is a place that I would say affected me almost as much as anywhere else I have visited. The only other memorial site that I find more intensely moving is The Mémorial des Martyrs de la Déportation at the eastern tip of the Île de la Cité in Paris behind Notre Dame. That one in Paris has a personal resonance for me so it should and does have a deep effect on me whenever I visit Paris. Unlike Paris the Normandy Cemetery does not have a personal connection to me but it is a place that stirs the emotions, and I will never forget it.

This chapter is taken from my new book – OFF THE AUTOROUTE – OUT NOW

Tommy Simpson and our Ascent of Mont Ventoux

Alt="Photo of ascent of Mont Ventoux Provence France"

Alt="Photo of Mont Ventoux Provence France for French Travel Guide Books" — Mont Ventoux from outside of the village of Bonnieux Provence France

From early on in my life I have always had a fascination about the career and a sadness about the death of the British cyclist Tommy Simpson. In my youth I was a keen cyclist, but I never cycled competitively. I had one of those ‘Can you remember where you were when JFK was shot?’ moments in 1967 when Simpson died that July day during the Tour de France on his ascent of Mt Ventoux. I do remember exactly where I was when Kennedy died. I was in a fish and chip shop in Darwen, Lancashire – my hometown. I clearly remember my parents and everyone around being very shocked.

I vividly recall when Simpson passed away. I was in Blackpool, Lancashire on one of our ubiquitous summer holidays. I was listening in my earpiece to a cricket commentary on my transistor radio when a newsflash interrupted this very English scene flowing around in my head. I think importantly for me though it was the death of Tommy Simpson that was the first one in my life to really registered on my consciousness – how could such an athlete just die?

Simpson, the accounts of the time say may have contributed to his demise due to his response to the extreme pressure to succeed that surrounds the Tour de France, this pressure of course continues to this day. Sadly, it was ever thus that ways were being found to enhance a rider’s performance in the Tour. It was concluded that he also had done so, and this had made him unknowingly go beyond the limits of endurance, a point of no return. Due to having been quite debilitating ill in the previous days of the Tour a tragedy was the inevitable consequence. Whatever the truth of his possible stimulant use I feel it should not overshadow his achievements. His death should not be used as just an example of what was wrong with the ‘Tour’, a name used to fight the ongoing battle cycling has faced for so long. Rather it should be a time to give credit to him for the heroic efforts he made to establish himself as a major figure from an unfashionable background – surely the success in recent years means British cycling owes a debt to him for inspiring the generations following him.

He was an immensely popular figure. In England he was revered as an athlete which was unusual for the somewhat minority spectator sport of cycling. What I am saying really is that he was not a soccer playing superstar but through strength of character and that determination to win he had broken through the barrier into much wider popularity. He certainly had with me. I had followed his career avidly and for that reason his death was a massive event in my life. The modern comparison for my son would be the death of Ayrton Senna.

When travelling in Provence I had always looked up at Mt Ventoux, you must do as you cannot miss it, always thinking that I must go up there and pay my respects. Simpson’s memorial is constructed where he fell, just one kilometre from the summit on the route going up from the village of Bèdoin. I decided it was high time that I made the pilgrimage and so we set out first of all for Malaucène.

Malaucène market Provence France – a village at the base of Mont Ventoux, a start of the climb on the Tour de France

We did not go up Ventoux straightaway as there was a morning market in the town and we spent an hour or so browsing around. As usual we were unable to resist the temptation to buy. After a coffee in the market square, we finally set off to start to make our way up Ventoux via the route D974. The road is quite steep even in the initial stages leading from Malaucène, a summit route also used on the Tour. We reached a service station appearing like an Alps chalet, but we passed it by and pressed on towards the summit and our goal for the day. Even early on in our climb up the mountain by car it is clear that to do this on a racing cycle must require a certain quantity of superhuman strength – and a touch of madness. Without condoning it you can see that many would resort to assistance from whatever source available to try to deal with this immense pressure placed on them by the Tour de France. I cannot comprehend how anyone can attempt this at all but on this day there are a few amateur cyclists, some equipped with oxygen, attempting to emulate their heroes from the Tour. I am not sure how sensible it is to try – but try they must.

Our car is new, a Skoda Octavia top of the range diesel model with the larger engine and has never missed a beat in all the time I have owned it as a company car. It has taken us the nearly one thousand miles from the North of England with ease and for the last week we have toured around the area without it offering complaint. The car is in the peak of condition. We round some zig zag bends and bizarrely at a couple of points I have the sensation of going downhill. I have had this feeling occur also in the English Lakes at higher altitude when your car seems to be almost cruising uphill with minimum power being applied. I am sure there must be a scientific explanation of this phenomenon. We carry on climbing quite slowly as I need to concentrate as we hesitantly reach somewhere around 4500 feet in altitude.

It is around this point on the climb, near the summit and then close to our objective of Tommy Simpson’s memorial that something very strange starts to happen with our vehicle. The car becomes very unresponsive and does not gain any further height with ease, becoming extremely sluggish. You sense that the engine has the signs of overheating and I half expect to see some smoke coming from under the bonnet. This is a quite disconcerting sensation, but worse follows in that it now appears to be that most of the mechanics of the car are starting to shut down and not responding to my control. This was quite scary as we were at a high altitude with serious drops going down from the side of the road. I did not feel I was in control of the vehicle even though I was only progressing the car at an exceptionally low speed. I decided to ease the car over to the mountain face side of the road and it did so very reluctantly. I must admit I was shaking and extremely stressed by this, as was Niamh.

There was no possibility of me trying to continue up the mountain road as my nerves were completely shot. It was essential in view of what was going on with the mechanics of the car that we try to get back down the mountain safely. Sadly, I would be thwarted in getting up to Simpson’s memorial, but discretion is as they say the better part of valour. I tell Niamh to get out of the car while I try to attempt to turn the vehicle around to head back down the mountain road. I have visually checked the engine etc. and nothing seems on face value to be mechanically amiss with the vehicle. The car really does not want to move but eventually I do manage after about a twenty-point turn to safely get it pointing in the opposite direction and Niamh reluctantly gets back in.

We start to retrace our steps down Ventoux and come immediately to a sharp turn. I brake and there is absolutely no response from the pedals. Fortunately, at this gentler part of the decent we are not going too fast and I negotiate the bend which then straightens out to a long steeper descent. Again, I try the brakes and – nothing! I manically pull on the hand brake and point the car to the mountainside and eventually bring it to a stop in a small ditch by the side of the road. Our nerves have been through the wringer and back again. At this point we both get out and now see our car as a demented enemy, no longer the faithful friend that has served us so well thus far. The only plan I can think of is that we bide our time and let the car completely cool down and then hesitantly and conservatively try again. This is what we do and when I am happy that we have left it long enough we get back inside.

Heading cautiously down the long descent the brakes are not perfect by any means, but they seem as if they will get us back to Malaucène if I take considerable care. We slowly but surely do this, and it was an incredible relief to get back down and park in the commune, get out and have a double expresso and mop each other’s brow. I had been thwarted in my plan for the day but worst of all we had got ourselves into a profoundly serious position on that climb. We felt that it could easily, so easily have ended with a far worse result. I have no explanation as to what occurred with the car on that mountain road. The altitude inducing a reaction in the car to that height was the only thing that I could put it down to.

What made it completely bizarre was that when we got back in the car and travelled all the way back to Mazan where we were staying, the vehicle drove and responded perfectly as it always had done previously. I could not take it to a garage as there was nothing to look at – it was fine. It drove perfectly for the rest of the week and on the long journey back to England. It was indeed time for a bottle of wine or two. I never got to Tommy Simpson’s memorial and reaching it is still on my ‘to do list.’ I will get there, probably without Niamh. I will pay my respects to my childhood cycling hero, but I will do it with profound respect for this dangerous mountain and I will do it with care and talk kindly to my car on the way up.

A Tempting Paris lunch spot St Andre Bistro restaurant

Alt=Photo of Paris bistro restaurant St Andre"

Bistro St Andre on the left bank in Paris, France. The stroll from St Michel across towards St Germain takes you down Rue St Andre and it is a very interesting quarter of Paris. Enjoy some narrow side streets and covered arcades. For architecture lovers there is plenty of interest and don’t forget to look up. Of course you will never go hungry here.

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Carole King – Tapestry 1971

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Chocolat

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