The one member of the Resistance still alive in the area was there, but left before Val Day could point him out to me. I didn't quite catch the details, but the Mayor, one of the people who gave a short speech, escaped the Germans during the war (probably in 1944 when it was so bad in the Dordogne) by crawling through the sewer tunnel with (I think) his father and his sister, and came out in the bassin (sort of like a rectangular lake, connected with the canal that is parallel to the river, which has rapids) in another part of town. His mother was too fat to get through the tunnel, and the Gestapo killed her. They were "drafting" every male, German, French or whatever, who was 14 or more, or maybe it was 12 near the end of the war.
After the ceremony, which I will try again to upload, Martin and I went back to the house, fixed lunch and a couple of other things--he had to have "escargots", e.g., snails in garlic butter, one more time while he was in France. Then we went to Bergerac to fly to Stansted. I won't elaborate, but as trips by air go, it was the usual ordeal, and they didn't have any of those big zillion page 3 miles to the inch book maps of Britain at the Stansted W.H. Smith; all they had were 1 foot or so to the inch maps of London (actually I didn't check out the scale). We own about 4 of those big book maps, but they are all in Kentucky.
I was trying to ask someone who looked like she worked there where the Europcar rental cars actually were, and I first asked in French, before I realized I was in England.
We arrived in Lincoln. Annoyances but no disasters. Martin is settled in (I think) a choir school boarding house. Directions from Kathleen were, shall we say, not entirely accurate, and we decided the place didn't exist, after I had driven down a curving lane with a stone wall on either side, and not actually wide enough to accommodate anything bigger than a horse. We were looking for #18 James Street. We found 12, 14 and 16, and there was no 18, and the description didn't exactly fit the area, shall we say. Fortunately #16 is occupied by a retired priest who came out and helped us out. I am sort of settled in the White Hart Hotel, a VERY old hotel at the gates of the cathedral precincts, AND with internet included in the room price, AND a car park with no extra charges, AND it seems the room will cost me 20 pounds/night less than they told me yesterday, which is good. They seem to have the heating on, at least it's far too warm in here. I did manage to open one of the three windows. And the door says that John Williams stayed here in 1621; I asked the desk clerk if he stayed in that actual room or if he just stayed in the hotel. He's not sure, and I suspect nobody has ever asked that before. Actually in truth I'm not sure who John Williams is. There was a John Williams who was a composer who died fairly recently, so I guess it's not him.
At any rate, I won't have to climb the hill to get to the cathedral. They serve breakfast (also included) until 11:00 so I may actually get some.
We have issues with adapters; we need them both for American and French plugs (my phone), and we have ONE. This is a problem. That may be my project tomorrow. That and my fly bites (yes, FLIES, NOT mosquitoes, FLIES) and associated blisters. The guy at the pharmacy in Lalinde told me to put hydrocortisone cream on them and take antihistamines. These are far beyond that level of treatment.
Enough already. I need to write about Biron and the night market yesterday (we finally made it to one), and some things like that.
Lillie
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