Up at 8 for a glorious shower. The water in France is fantastic on my hair and skin – so soft. I’m having as many showers as possible before returning to the bath at Haslemere so that is a novelty in itself!
Breakfast at 9:30 was a nice simple affair of coffee/tea and various bready products with butter and jam. Just enough for our planned morning.
A stroll down to the TIC to book 2 places on tomorrows tour of The Normandy Beaches, then a stroll through the Wednesday markets lining the bridge. The streets of Bayeux are very narrow and largely pedestrianised – a wonderful idea for tourists which should be adopted everywhere.
Saturday market in Bayeux
Mirinda bought a new scarf and bag and we then set off for the Tapestry. Spying a group of school children preceding us, we decided to go for a coffee first, to give them a wider berth in which to squeeze, shriek and generally act like kids at an adult exhibit.
We ordered coffee at the astro-turfed coffee house with its designated area for ice cream consumption, from plastic cups and sat and strained it through our teeth. I didn’t mind the strength but Mirinda’s eyes started flashing like a 9 volt torch with too many 12 volt batteries.
Once fortified, we returned to the Centre Guillaume Le Conquerant just in time to see the school group line up and enter the building just ahead of us. Hey ho.
The centre has been the home of the Tapestry since 1983 and also houses the books of the municipal library. Prior to this the building was the great Seminary, the foundation stone of which was laid in 1693. It, in turn, was built on the site of the Priory of St John the Evangelist. The whole interior has been completely changed to accommodate the Tapestry and various displays.
The Rough Guide praises the entire Tapestry set up and I agree wholeheartedly. It is excellent. I think, of all the things I’ve seen, this is the most accessible and therefore most enjoyable. You start with a series of canvas sails, with back projected shadow images of Vikings arriving and plundering the Normandy shores. It’s a simple but effective prelude to the next section, long piece of canvas, twisting around columns, telling the story of William the Bastard (who later became the Conqueror) up until he took the English throne. Interspersed with this history (in English as well as French) are examples from the Tapestry, giving you a key to understanding it more readily in context.
After this very long history lesson (which was never boring) there is a 15 minute film (in a very comfortable theatre) narrated by Bishop Odo, William’s step-brother and King Harold’s wife just for a little English input! This, again, is excellent. It’s a vocal presentation of what we are about to see and gives it a more human touch. It also tries to explain how the Tapestry was made and by whom, though this is largely conjecture. Apparently Odo had the English embroider the work. The evidence for this is the style which is typical of the Anglo Saxon’s of the period.
But then, the great moment looms – The Tapestry itself! It is housed in a long u-shaped room – the Tapestry is 70m long and .5m wide. You are handed an audio guide and a man’s voice takes you through the embroidered figures. Alas, the voice does not explain the few naked figures in the border, something I will endeavour to get to the bottom of.
Although you only spend a relatively short time (20 min) with the Tapestry, the whole experience is incredibly rewarding to such an extent that you feel totally fulfilled.
A few facts:
- It took less than 11 years to embroider it from 1066 – 1077.
- It has survived 9 centuries of many ‘vicissitudes’.
- It is the most famous and important relic we have of western medieval times.
Simply fantastic.
While we were partaking of the Tapestry, it poured with rain but by the time we emerged, the sun was bright and the sky once more deep blue. We were in great need of lunch and popped into the conveniently placed Petit Bayeux Creperie/Pizzeria for a croque Mr and a hamburger. The staff were very friendly, which is ironic when you realise what happened.
We returned to our room (via a kitchen shop to buy a previously spotted blackboard for our dining room) saturated with history and ready for a snooze for Mirinda and a bit of heady journalising for me.
Three hours later and Mirinda wakes up in awful pain and agony. She at first thought the creamy nun had attacked her tummy and sent me off in search of a flannel for her heated brow. Obviously I headed straight for EuroDif, the famed department store and purveyor of all things flannel, one little square of which I purchased for the princely sum of 90c. It was a lovely fuchsia mitt thing but would work as fine as any normal flannel.
Alas, its curative powers were non-existent so I decided to go for a walk and let Mirinda groan to her tummy’s content.
I walked up to the Place Charles de Gaulle, which is quite close. This was originally the site of a castle lived in by Rollo, once Viking Chieftain and later 1st Duke of Normandy, and his lovely wife Popee. It was rebuilt in 960 by Richard I, 3rd Duke of Normandy. It happily remained standing until, for reasons known only to himself, King Louis XVI ordered that it be dismantled in 1788.
Believed to be Poppee, wife of Rollo the 1st Duke of Normandy
From here I walked towards the British War Cemetery. The council is busy rebuilding the road in front of it but you can squeeze between the breeze blocks and stand amid the white gravestones. It’s very sobering and starkly beautiful; row upon row of white memorials each with a name, some with only ‘A soldier who died’ inscribed. I sat awhile and listened to the wind as the sun crept away. It’s quite humbling sitting amid such a reminder, particularly when you realise some of them were 19, 20, 21 years old.
From the cemetery I went across the road to the Musee Memorial de la Bataille de Normandie and was dismayed at the tanks sitting proudly and defiantly as if saying there were not dead enough. Chilling.
I walked back to our room, stopping off at a chemist and, in my most appallingly funny French, asked a girl to recommend something for an upset tummy. After laughing herself silly, she handed me some big fizzy tablets. When I gave one to a very ill Mirinda she sipped it then said it made her feel worse. She’d had two violent bouts of vomiting and just wanted to lie and groan some more so, after she sang me a silly song, I went into the sitting room and wrote up my journal while she tried to sleep.
The night draws in and, in true 18th century style, there’s no TV…
