Down to Folkestone
I had no tickets or insurance – what was that? and not much money – just loaded up my cycle saddle bag with every thing I thought I might need for a 14 day trip – clothes just had to keep being worn! I set off early in the morning and cycled down through Leicester and Northampton to London. Just outside the city I met another cyclist from that area who offered to show me the sights. He took round, on the bikes of course , to see the Festival of Britain site , the Dome of Discovery and Cleopatra’s Needle on the Embankment. The local rider then put me on the right road to Dartford where I stayed the night at the home of a friend of my mother, and was fed by her – and all for nothing! Even better I was invited to stay there on the way back. I had ridden just over 145 miles and had toured through London to get there!
The following day I was off at about 9-30am and soon hit the A2 and thought that the traffic was very heavy- nose to tail for miles- something I had not experienced before! I rolled on past Canterbury Cathedral, which I found to be very beautiful and eventually made Folkestone Docks where I bought a ticket for the next ferry. On the dockside I met up with six cyclists, four Irish lads and two girls from Lincolnshire. The lads were heading eventually for Rome and the girls were just doing a short round trip of north France for a week. It was the first time I’d been on a big boat and found the journey very smooth and fast, commenting in my diary that the ‘White Cliffs looked magnificent’. When we landed the group decided to stick together and watched in horror as we saw our precious bikes unloaded by a crane- in rope nets! Fortunately there was no real damage and we eventually cleared customs and left the harbour area. We hit some really large pave which shook us up badly and it was quite late when we found Calais Youth Hostel. It was full - but they offered us space in tents , sleeping on the floor on straw, but with a blanket! We had had no food so went out hunting and I found my French was the best of the bunch- We bought bread, cheese, tomatoes and bananas and a bottle of Vin Blanc . We had a feast fit for a king before collapsing into a deep sleep.
And so off into France and a chance encounter
It rained most of that night and the next morning we had a look round us in daylight. It was filthy . We found a nearby café and after while bought materials for a roadside breakfast. We finally left Calais at about 9-30 on Monday morning and headed for St Omer. We bought some chips here and then tried to get some traveller cheques changed – we did not know that banks closed on a Monday- and two hour later left, still with 2000 old franc between us. On reaching Hazelborough, in desperation we pounded on the door of a bank and they open the door. We explained our problem and some kind soul broke the rules and changed us some cheques. We bought food stuffs and soon after had another roadside meal. We headed toward Lille where we had been told there was a hostel. We did not get to the outskirts until about 10-00pm, all very tired and somewhat exhausted. No knowing where the hostel ws I stopped and asked a couple sitting outside a café. To our amazement they BOTH SPOKE GOOD ENGLISH! ‘Would you like a cup of tea’ has never before received such a prompt response. They took all of us to their nearby home, fetched out some close relations and fed us, wined us ,then found rather crowded beds for all of us – the girls moving to a neighbour’s house. We were shattered and all slept like logs.
The next morning it was a slow start, we were fed with lots of coffee and bread and everyone was so kind to us- it turned out that the couple we had first met had a daughter married to an Englishman and delighted to meet anyone from that country, Before we left we had a problem. Several of us carried small paraffin Primus stoves so we could make drinks etc. .We had only the fuel in the tanks and wanted to refill them but did not know the French for ‘Paraffin’. We gave them the stove and they smelt it ‘Ah petrole’ was the response from all of them. ‘Non- pas petrole’ was our repeated response. So they took us to a ‘Droguerie’ and on the pavement outside , with shop owner now in command , we went through the smelling routine again . Eventually we became convinced that they were right and the stoves were duly replenished with fuel. In due course, well after 12 o’clock, we parted from them, many kisses, some tears and lots of thank you!
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A few kilometres down the road it started raining so we took shelter, and ate in a really old fashioned boulongerie . The owner was really good to us and we chattered for about half an hour until the rain stopped and off we went. The weather changed completely and sunbathing was the next chore but by 4-30 we got on our way again and arrived at Douai. Here we found accommodation at a small place called the Hotel Terrace where to our surprise, some English was spoken.. We were allocated cabin like rooms, on either side of a central corridor and after an excellent meal retired to bed quite early.
Some Party
Then all hell let loose in the bar below us. Shouting, singing , banging – you name it – it happened. After a while a man came down the central corridor and banged on our doors and shouted, in French, ‘Englishmen, Englishmen get up and join our party – you will not sleep for hours!’. We had little choice so we got dressed staggered down to find the bar full, mainly of ,men shouting and talking to each other but there were a few ladies present . Wine /champagne and other drinks I did not recognise, were pushed into out hands and we – who did not drink much at that time – drank a lot! Eventually we learnt that the hotel had been the centre for a Resistance cell during the war and an Englishman ,who had been the leader, had returned for the first time since the war. The call had gone out and all the local supporters had come back to welcome him – and we were included because we were ‘English’ – the Irish obviously were no different!
Despite the amount I drank I clearly still recall that when Leam, one the Irish lad said ‘I’m off to bed’,and he staggered over to an alcove with two doors leading off. Above one of the doors it said ‘Chambres ‘ and above the other, yes you’ve guessed it ‘Cave’! I watched him open the door marked Cave and pitched forward. I ‘rushed’ over only to meet him coming up the stairs, uninjured and uttering something to the effect ‘They have strange stairs in this hotel!’.
The rest of us got to bed eventually and nobody moved very quickly the following morning. We paid our bills and it was then it was time for my ways and that the Irish gang to part. ( I had learnt earlier that they were heading for Rome as a pilgrimage – some pilgrims!). I headed off to Cambrai, and found some of what I had been expecting in large amounts – pave- the cobbled roads which shake a bike to pieces. With something of a hangover I had never before experienced I went into a bank to change two, two pound traveller cheques. It seemed as though the bankers had never seen a T/C before because there were phone calls all over the place and the counter seemed to move all over the place. Eventually many forms were completed signed and compared with my passport before I left with precious Old French Francs!
I headed loosely towards Paris and soon meet another pair of English cyclists, this time a brother and sister and we rode together through wooded and rolling countryside, mostly in warm sunshine. There were not a lot of cars on the road ,but those that were seemed to have their horns permanently blaring out! We found a small hotel in La Capecle, had a good meal and collapsed into bed, after riding about another 60 miles.
I slept for over 9 hours, the longest since my arrival in France! The hotel bill for room dinner bed and breakfast we thought to be expensive at 666 FF (old of course)
so we bought more food for roadside consumption during the day. At Herson our paths separated and, after that it rained incessantly. I road on over rolling countryside into Reims, where I found and ‘Auberge des Jeunesse’ . There were no cooking facilities but I scraped up a meal and then met the crowd of nationalities in the hostel. We talked ,mostly in basic French as that seemed to be the most understood language, and as youth does , put the world to rights. The hostel cost 120FF and was adequate enough.
I woke early the next day. Again it was dull and rain threatened, Will I make Paris today I wondered? In the event it turned into a super day and I rode for miles without a shirt – something a ‘real’ cyclist rarely did! I found I was in an area called the ‘Champagne Country’ – shows how little I knew of France at that time. I ate by the roadside, as had by now become the norm and then met two Dutch cyclists. My requirements for accommodation were not high but the hostel at Meaux was awful so I found a nearby by hotel which seemed expensive for what I got but I slept well again , after riding another 70 miles of journey.
Paris for the first time!
The next day dawned fine, breakfast was by the road side and I headed towards Paris, some 28 miles away. My first recorded impression was ‘Its Marvellous, wide streets and with trees on both side of the road’. I stayed in a Hotel my friend in England had recommended called the Cimerosa and left mike bike there, walking miles until I ended up at the Arc de Triomphe. This was something I had only seen in photographs, when parades had marched past and it seemed fantastic just to be there. Standing there I met up with an English couple, had a drink together and then went to their hotel where we ate food we had bought, in the bedroom. I made a big effort and for the first time boarded the Metro and found how important it was to know which direction you wanted to be going – I’d never even been on the underground in London previously!
By now I had been in France for just a week and was getting to feel a little more comfortable with the language. I had a continental breakfast for the first time and noted ‘ there was not enough to feed a mouse!’. I wandered round, looking mainly for cycle shops which I knew were in the area, admiring cycle equipment such as we could not envisage in England, despite the war having been over for such a short time. Back to the Arc and then on to the Effiel Tower- where I realised just how many people from England were in France – hitching lifts- the essential way to travel for many at that time.
I returned to my hotel, collected my bike and went to try and find where Maguay lived, in a district called Bois Colombes. I rode all over the area and was on the point of giving up when I spotted the street name. Maguay, and her close friend Maurice, (who she later married) were sitting in a small garden and their faces were full of amazement, then joy , when they recognised me from the photos we had exchanged. They had been waiting for me since Friday and had virtually given me up – of course phones were unheard of except for the very few at that time! Maguay had long hair , was quite bronzed and was about 30 I guessed.
Maurice, who was a similar age, was also a club cyclist and it was agreed we went out for a ride whilst Maguay prepared a meal. For the first time I was riding without a heavy saddle bag containing all my pocessions and the freedom of a light bike was once again regained! We covered about 25 to 30 miles and it seemed at though he picked a route full of hills and it became England v France. He was surprised at the fact I climbed in much higher gears than he did 49 x17 against his 47x19 – shades of Lance Armstrong! Between climbs we talked continually and he said they were surprised to find I was able to talk without the use of ‘le petit livre’ was he called the dictionary! A key talking point I remember was on the withdrawal of the entire Italian team from the Tour, following the a stage win by Gino Bartali and despite the fact that Fiorenzo Magni held the yellow jersey- it just seemed impossible to have happened ! We got back and after a quick wash we saw down to a huge meal – the best since I arrived in the country. We talked away and then decided I should leave my bike there and they took me back to my hotel on the Metro.
And my first Tour de France
My diary records ‘THE TOUR FINISHES TODAY!’ I caught the Metro back to Maguay’s and we walked through the Market at Bois Colombes to where Maurice lived. After a quick meal we caught a bus back and collected the three bikes and made our way , through the Bois de Boulogne onto on one the approach roads to the Parc des Princes, where the Tour would end. The crowds, with a couple of hours to go ,seemed to me to be huge, but we somehow got a prime position on the front row,. I was so exited because I had never even seen a continental cycle race, let alone the Tour! Unlike today there was no parade around the Champs Elyse– the race was coming from Dijon ,over 300 kilometres away, to finish in the Parc. About an hour before the riders were due the publicity ‘caravan’ started to pass through. I’d never seen anything like it because at that time stage races were virtually unknown in England. There seemed to be hundreds of brightly coloured vans , all blaring out music or gabbling away in rapid French I could not understand. Then it all went quiet!
The road was completely deserted until a couple of motor bikes came through, followed a minute or so later by the brightly coloured peloton. But oh dear- the peloton passed so quickly and I just managed to recognise Lauride, Bobet, Gemanini and of course, Ferdi Kubler, carrying the yellow jersey proudly on his back as the race leader and winner to be! They were followed by a pack of motor bikes, jeeps with bikes mounted on them and a pack of cars. Finally came a van with a large sweeping brush displayed- Maurice explained this meant that last rider had passed us by! It all happened so very quickly yet I can still clearly recall the occasion – I’d seen the TOUR for the first time, on Monday August 7th 1950! Kubler , from Switzerland won the Tour that year by 9 minutes from Stan Ockers of Belgium and with Frenchman ,Louison Bobet, a further 13 minutes behind. Another Frenchman named Baffert, won the stage into Paris- but I saw nothing of that.
The rest of day was a complete anticlimax- we ate somewhere, and I went back to my hotel very late.
Shopping in Paris
I woke quite early and had some breakfast and shortly afterwards Maguay arrived to take me to visit some famous cycle shops which at that time were still located in Paris. We seemed to walk miles, visited GNC where I bought a racing vest then on to ‘Au Grand Aire Sports where I acquired two pairs of racing shorts, a pair of track gloves , a water bottle and a racing cap – all for the princely sum of just £6-00. We then went on to Archambaud’s shop but he was out at it was arranged we went back the following day. We then visited some of the large department stores where it seemed like Aladdin’s cave compared to frugal Britain. I note ‘you could get anything from a tent to a bikini’ and that my mother and Aunts would have loved them!