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The landscape was flat and most of the roads were very straight, we saw few other cars. We passed through Arras, St. Quentin and Reims. We did not stop except for a few comfort breaks and ate on the fly, consuming cheese and tomato sandwiches, paste sandwiches and fruit that mother had brought from England. Dick, Barbara and I all hated paste. It was a kind of indefinite brown stuff with an unfathomable flavour that came in a jar. It wasn’t described as ‘sardine paste’ or ‘vegetable paste’ or ‘nut paste’, just plain old ‘paste’. Us not liking paste never deterred mother. She had the same approach when buying biscuits. For many children 'Rich Tea' biscuits are as interesting as an early bedtime. Mother ensured that the family biscuit tin was always well stocked with plenty of Rich Teas. ‘Mother you know we like chocolate digestives and custard creams’, we would complain. ‘If I buy biscuits you like, you will eat them, then I’ll have to buy more’ she would reply.
By late afternoon we approached Chalons and looked out for a campsite. In those days campsites were usually informal affairs, just a field, sometimes the better ones had a water tap. The one we selected, we chose because the field had a couple of other tents already pitched, so we assumed that camping there was OK. It also overlooked the river Marne. We assembled the tent while mother set about cooking sausages, mash and baked beans on the camping stove. The tent was new, but we had given it a trial set up on the lawn, at home a few days before our departure. So it went up without a hitch, no missing tent pegs or poles and no broken guy ropes. As light turned to dusk, thousands of tiny midges accumulated on the river bank and we all received some minor bites, while washing our plates, cutlery and pans in the river. These bites didn’t hurt, they just itched a little. page 17 Copyright Frasquenet.com |
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