Norman Leer

Position: 49°55’40.7″N 1°04’57.8″E

“Before you get out of the slings, turn on your engine and make sure the propeller spins in the right direction,” our mechanic told us, “…it shouldn’t be a problem, but just in case.” Minutes later, Aleta splashed down and her new propeller spun forwards and backwards as the creator intended. Twenty-four hours later, we caught the tide and headed south.

Where did Napoleon keep his armies?

For the British it is the ‘English Channel’. For the French it is ‘La Manche’ (the sleeve). (You see, nations can live with two versions of the geographical truth. – ed.) Once out of the main shipping channels, the intrepid yachtsman only has to contend with raging currents and huge tides. Oh, and weather blasting directly out of the Atlantic and into the Pas-de-Calais (aka. the Straits of Dover) like a wind tunnel. Tidal streams make for an easy ride west or east for six hours out of twelve. If you’re heading west be prepared for headwinds directly on your bow, because that’s where the wind comes from at least 50% of the time. If you get really unlucky, the wind conjures up waves over your favouring current negating any of its benefits. When the weather stacks up against you, head into the nearest port, tie up and head to the pub for a week.

On the other hand, if you’re heading north or south across La Manche, things are a bit easier. Time it right and the winds will be on your beam and the currents will force you east and then west and you can land almost directly above or below your starting point. The Saxons and the Normans knew this over 1,000 years ago, and the Romans 1,000 years before that. It’s the kind of empirical knowledge that built empires and made invasions so much fun.

Safe Harbour

High chalk cliffs run almost the length of Normandy, along with strong tidal currents. Many natural harbours in the region dry out a low tide. That’s fine if you’re into careening and cleaning your vessel by hand. For the rest of us a deep enough mooring is preferable, while good old locks have been a solid solution for a few hundred years. With tides running up to eight metres (24’), lock gates can trap enough water in a harbour for most any sailboat with a two-metre draft. Early on, investing in locks was for the benefit of fishing and naval boats. These days, yachties and landlubbers can both take advantage of picturesque harbours surrounded by bars and restaurants.

The general layout is a polygon that contains boats. They sit in a deep well and rise and fall serenely with the tide. A street wide enough for two cars surrounds the harbour with four and five storey buildings a step back from that. Cast iron bollards and mooring rings set three metres apart remind you of the days when ferries came alongside and dropped passengers directly at their hotel’s doorstep. Restaurants have big red awnings that stretch out halfway into the street shading the tables from sun and rain. A mossy green patina clings to the awnings, a reminder of how wet it gets here in the off season. But if you live in the Pacific Northwest or Downeast in Maine, you already appreciate the joys of cold rain and dank mists in the darker days of winter. Such weather makes sunny days all the brighter.

Dieppe

Rather like America’s west coast, there aren’t many anchorages along France’s northern coast, so we opted for a couple of nights in Dieppe. The fishing ports of Dieppe and Honfleur fit the standard harbour mould neatly. Both draw in tourists and sailors. Dieppe is more French. More of a working harbour with a fleet of fishing boats and a big ferry which runs back and forth to the UK on a schedule. Harbour buildings are sandstone blocks with gambrel slate roofs. On Saturdays, the market comes to town and fills up every street in the city centre. From our quarterdeck, we sat within earshot of Thursday’s jazz band entertaining the crowds.

Dieppe has plenty of rambles along the cliffs in both directions. Head east up the hill and in short order you will arrive at the little church of Notre Dame de Bon Secours. The fisherman’s church overlooks La Manche and stands as a beacon of hope to all those seeking refuge. Inside, the walls are covered in memorials for those lost at sea. Along the walls stand models of ships and photographs, brightly lit through colourful stained glass. This is a community church and the memorials tell the stories of generations who lived there. Farther on are more beaches and even an encampment for Caesar’s army when the Romans occupied Gaul.

At low tide the beach goes out for miles and the bright sun warms the sand and water on its way back. Remnants of World War II are everywhere, from memorial plaques to a fallen German bunker on the beach. Canadian forces under the command of Louis Mountbatten participated in a disastrous raid on Dieppe in 1942. Their memorials are everywhere, and their sacrifices paved the way for D-Day two years later.

Honfleur

Honfleur retired from industry a century ago and today serves the needs of its holiday-making visitors and itinerant artists following in the footsteps of the Impressionists. Timber-framed buildings with steeply pitched roofs line the centre and reminded me of Troyes. L’eglise Sainte Catherine’s in the centre of town is a wooden 15^th century church hewn by shipwrights. Examine the ceiling and you can see a keel running lengthwise above your head and supporting ribs curving downwards. The nave is flanked by cloisters on both sides, making it look a bit like a market hall. I thought it a splendid thing.

Wrack and Rouen

There is no ‘perfect storm’^[1]. Storms are messy and unpredictable. Storms start in Cape Verde and follow the Atlantic currents and the Gulf Stream until they bump into France and Ireland. From there they often head towards Scotland and out to the North Sea. Sometimes they split at the coast of Brittany. Part heads up La Manche, part heads south into the Bay of Biscay. Turmoil like this keeps the weather forecasters busy and their supercomputers humming. For us it meant we could reliably trust the forecast for only about 12 hours.

Given the meteorological iffy-ness and the amount of seaweed floating into the harbour, we opted instead to hire a car and explore Normandy. Rouen’s big cathedral and connections with Joan of Arc (she was burned at the stake there) pulls in droves of tourists. They line the streets licking ice cream cones that melt in the heat and leave drops of milky and sticky sugar on the cobblestones. Perhaps after our excursions in the Marne we’d become a little blasé, but after four hours of sightseeing and purchasing a few hundred grammes of au lait cru cheese that was enough Rouen for us.

Omaha Beach

A little farther west, a couple of invasions, one from the 11^th century and one from the 20^th sit side by side. Omaha Beach is a long, low stretch of sand at a dip in the chalk cliffs. Eighty-one years ago, the Allies landed here on D-Day. From the air, heading inland looks accessible enough. From the beach, it was a brutal 150’ climb up a heavily defended escarpment before you can head inland. Today, the American cemetery sits just back from the beach at the top of the escarpment. Operated by America’s Battle Monuments Commission; it has a fine museum that tells you all the facts you need to know about the landings. Walking among the ordered rows of white crosses, almost every one is engraved with a name, rank, battalion, and home town. They tell you everything you need to know emotionally.

1066 and All That

Down the road, the Bayeux tapestry chronicles the story of the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. Having suggested to Carol she should see both Omaha Beach and the tapestry if she wanted to understand Normandy’s history better, she at first conflated the two and wondered what all the fuss was about an 80-year-old piece of needlework. She was in for a pleasant surprise.

The tale of how Harold lost England to William the Conqueror is a rattling good yarn. Treachery, deception, forced oaths of fealty, double crosses and lots of sailboats. Who could ask for more from a history book?

Seventy metres long and stitched entirely by hand, the tapestry reads like a thrilling bande dessinée (comic strip). At least the way the audio guide tells it. The museum looks a little threadbare these days and is due to close in September for two years of refurbishing. Emanuel Macron generously offered to loan the tapestry to the British. They accepted and next year you can see it in the British Museum in London. As collateral the French will receive Britain’s treasures of Sutton Hoo and the Isle of Lewis chessmen that they will exhibit in Rouen and Caen in Normandy. The negotiations, Macron quipped, took longer than Brexit to settle.

Les Bon Temps Roulez

The good times roll in Normandy, and we only scratched the surface. If you like history, or oysters, or cider, or calvados, you will love Normandy. The region is quiet in a bucolic way, and easily accessible. Get off the beaten track a bit and you’ll find all kinds of things to make you smile at reasonable prices in the height of summer.

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^[1] Sebastian Junger has a great deal to answer for. For it was he who coined the expression, “a perfect storm”. An expression now so clichéd and hackneyed even the most naive of Large Language Model generators won’t use it. It is used only by illiberal politicians and yellow dog journalists. In other words, pundits without imagination casting about for a phrase that may make them sound romantic.

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