Wednesday, November 11, 2020

Wednesday 11th November.


The day has dawned in that beautiful soft light from the sun, a warm glow as the wind rattles in from the West.  Outside the gates I notice that the road is reduced to single line and traffic lights at either end leaving me in the middle not knowing which colour they will show. Well I am used to lockdown!  It is that dratted stag pipe in front of the house which seems to give trouble and which I thought the water board had removed.  Nelson who used to fill his water cans there, no longer does, so he must use the pub's water facilities.

Large lorries occasionally sail slowly majestically past, the 30 mile speed limit respected for once.  Everyone in the village has nagged for years about speeding cars, yelling at people shaking their fists.  We even had a notice from the police a couple of weeks ago acknowledging we were a 30 mile limit  - well blow me we have known that for years, but when are they going to moderate it!

Today is the 11/11 of the month, and yesterday I read Hugh Dormer's diary on his mission to France.  It was lively, minutely dealing the events of the two secret missions undertaken.  I went with him as he crouched behind hedges or threw himself into ditches.  Chased by bloodhounds through the woods.  All the time I of course knew he would meet his death from driving a Sherman tank on his last journey to France in January 1944. The first mission did not materialise but they went back, all six of them on the second mission, tied their explosives to the retorts at the mine, warned the french workers, and then were successful.  But only two of the men lived to tell their tale, helped by French farmers and others, Dormer and his companion, the other four were taken by the Germans and executed.

It was such a minute by minute account, as he struggled over the mountains to Spain with six other fugitives, there must have been a very good network of French families who helped.  Guides all along the way.

Looking back today it all seemed so primitive but foolishly brave, his faith was in his God and when he was in England would often talk with Dom Julian Stonor, who seems to have resided at Downside Abbey in Somerset. 

Collected blogs on Rievaulx and Bylands Abbeys.

https://northstoke.blogspot.com/2015/09/outings-rievaulx-abbey.html

https://northstoke.blogspot.com/2017/05/byland-abbey.html

https://northstoke.blogspot.com/2019/03/monday-4th-march.html

https://northstoke.blogspot.com/2016/06/9th-june.html

4 comments:

  1. I love those big abbey ruins. Apparently Sherman tanks were death-traps.

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  2. The funny thing about these two abbeys, Byland and Rievaulx, Bylands had to move because the noise of their bell was irritating the monks at Rievaulx.

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  3. The ruins are beautiful. I cannot imagine living so near to something like this. I read a book about the escape route through the mountains to Spain, and the people who risked their lives to guide soldiers through the mountains. I will have to put your book on my list. Someday I will be able to read for pleasure again.

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  4. Moving to Yorkshire and you will find the great Cistercian monastic buildings buried in deep valleys, escaping to the 'desert' of wilderness the Cistercians aspired to. But somehow they managed to build beautiful self-sufficient places to live in.

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