Franleu

We’re near Le Touquet for a few days doing war sites where various kin had a horrible time. Today was a village called Franleu where my father was wounded and captured in June 1940. It’s a pretty little place as seemingly unpopulated as every village in France. His battalion was surrounded by the blitzkreiging Germans and besieged there for a day. The only apparent legacy lies in the churchyard that contains 27 war graves and those of four civilians who must have been caught in the crossfire. Only one is unidentified, a lance-corporal known unto God. My father was left behind when the battalion retreated and managed to escape and return to Scotland via Gibraltar by Jan 1941. As is so often the case, he never talked about it. Tomorrow will be Theipval and then home.

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