Well, I am already on page 115 of my guide book (though there are 300!).  I went through my usual morning routines – packing everything into respective waterproof bags, filling my water bottles, checking my boots and familiarising myself with the route. I felt utterly refreshed by Romain’s wonderful hospitality and as I ate the home made banana bread he had left for me, I had the feeling it was going to be a good day. Thankfully I had managed to dry out my boots overnight, but had spare dry socks at the top of my rucksack just in case.

Today’s route would be over some fields and along the canal to Tergnier – a railway town I had read could be likened to Swindon (I’m not sure if this was supposed to be flattering!) and then over the Somme river at La Fère and a little way beyond to an AirBnB at Charmes.

The day was bright and cold as I set off across the fields to Jussy. I arrived here at 9.50am and decided to wait in the square for the Mairie to open and to get my credential stamped. I had missed getting one in the church at Seraucourt-le-Grand and Romain did not have one either. I called in at the post office and got some stamps for postcards and discovered they their stamps simply said “La Poste” and the date – so not good for pilgrim purposes.

While waiting for the Mairie to open I noticed a strange memorial by the sports hall. It was a little lamp-post with what appeared to be a birds nest in it. On closer inspection, this proved to be the case, and the next was intentional. A sign, mounted on original barbed wire pickets, informed me that in the midst of the the war, with the town devastated , a sign of hope had been captured on camera in the form of a pair of sparrows making a nest in gas lamp. On the centenary of this picture being published, the memorial was erected commemorating the event. Of the myriad war memorials in this area, I found this memorial to new life and hope particularly moving.

At ten on the dot I presented my credential at the Mairie’s office and the charming woman on reception seemed very pleased to produce a custom-made Via Francigena “cachet.” I thanked her profusely and went on my way, hoping to pick up the canal as cut through the town.

My guide had, however, warned my that the towpath was not regularly maintained. This proved to be the case so I followed the bike option out of town, along quiet lanes listening to birdsong, including song thrushes in full voice and a cuckoo. The only hairy part of this section being the crossing of the busy D1, which took some care.

Passing through Mennessis, I encountered the first French dog at a gate who didn’t seem to want to maul me. A couple of days ago, Marcel and I had been talking about these dogs who are left to pad around their fenced lonely kingdoms all day while their owners are at work. It is clear that some have been driven half crazy; the snap and snarl often taking a loafing pilgrim completely by surprise. I live in fear that one day I’ll find a gate open and be chased down the street. However, today, in Mennessis, a most friendly canine visage greeted me and I was tempted to reward with a pat on the head, until I thought grimly, this could be the way he entraps and devours his prey!

And so more canal side walking. I think this is possibly some of my favourite type of peregrination. The tow path is flat, there is wildlife to watch on the water, their are bridges to shelter under if required and, in this case, a friendly conference of lock keepers to wave at and exchange broken pleasantries with. I paused at the next set of locks to check my feeet and be grateful for my lot in life. Ten minutes of sun and gentle breeze around my toes later, I glanced up to see dark storm clouds behind me. Quietly cursing, I realised I was in danger of being blasted by the elements again.

With renewed vigour, I walked on for Tergnier. Here I hoped to get some lunch and felt certain their would be a bus shelter, railway waiting room or even shop doorway that I could take shelter in.

The approach into Tergnier from the canal, perhaps does not paint the town in its best light. A little run-down, dominated by a large railway marshalling yard, the town seems a little forlorn. As a major transport hub, I read later that over 16,000 bombs were dropped on the town’s transport and industrial infrastructure during the Second World War.

A memorial beside the station, marks the spot where the German delegation alighted on a former section of platform on their way to agree the Armistice in November 1918. However, as it had no started to rain quite heavily, I was in no mood to linger. I found a boulangerie and bought a chess and ham baguettes and an apricot pastry for pudding (thinking about my five a day of course!). A man came in after me and recognised me as a pilgrim and we chatted about the route, and the walking trips he and his friends took throughout the year. He bid me “bon courage” and I found a covered alleyway through two houses to shelter in and eat my lunch. I think here they are called an “impasse” at home they would be an entry, or perhaps “oop north” a snicket.

Suitably refreshed, I eschewed the official route alon the canal and walked the main road which ran parallel a few blocks over. The sun was out for a moment and rainwater water evaporated from the dark tarmac.

On my way out of town, I came across the Museum of Resistance and Deportation. This place looked fascinating and, had it been open, I would have been very tempting to visit. It was housed in the “salle de fete” of what seemed to be a planned extension to the town, complete with Mairie, post and telegraph office, dispensary and a large school, all gathered around a semi-circular open space. I didn’t have time to linger, but the early Art Deco design and the ambition of the place was most appealing, even though it appears that the space is now under-used: perhaps the planned town did not grow in the way envisaged by the planners.

The clouds were again racing towards me, I spotted on the map that there was a supermarket about ten minutes away and thought this would be an opportunity to both buy dinner and also to avoid the inevitable downpour. Let’s just say I was 50% successful.

I did indeed manage to get inside moments before a violent hailstorm, but discovered I was in some sort of bargain warehouse where there was no fresh food, but plenty of cut price t-shirts and offers on energy drinks. Over the din of the hail on the metal sheet profile roof, I selected an odd assortment of a pot noodle, some fig rolls, some fake Jaffa cakes and a bottle of still lemonade. I hoped to find some real food elsewhere, but I have learned that some food in the bag is better than none!

I pressed on through La Fère, with its many bridges over rivulets of the river Somme.  The town is also home to two regiments of marine artillery – the Napoleonic looking barrack buildings being most impressive.

And finally to the small town of Charmes. Sadly the boulangerie had closed by the time I arrived, but I noted its location, along with a butchers for the morning. I was met by another Romain who let me into his house. He gave me lots of very detailed, very quick instructions, of which I understood little. However a useful function of the AirBnB app is that you can message your host and responses are auto-translated.

So I settled in. Opened my motley selection of food and felt somewhat deflated. Somewhat morosely I ate the whole packet of fake Jaffa cakes in one go. Powdery and strangely tasteless, this was not an unpleasant experience. However, I held out just a smidgen more hope for the pot noodle.

In the absence of a kettle, I boiled up some water in the pan and poured the water into the powder in the pot and left the four minutes “cooking” time. I pottered off to sort out my boots. I put on some music to try and lighten the mood, and then returned to the pot noodle. It’s spicy watery contents were not enticing, but knowing that I needed all the calories I could, I ate this and had some fig rolls for pudding.

I settled in to some blogging before having an early night – the next day’s walk to Laon was going to be a long one.

Now those of a sensitive disposition may just want to finish reading here. For what I had not appreciated was that the packet of fake Jaffa cakes I had consumed, were in fact a sugar free confection; they rely on an evil compound called maltose to make them seem sweet. Eaten in small amounts, maltose is quite harmless (or as harmless as any ultra processed ingredient ever can be). You are probably one step ahead of me here! Eaten to excess, maltose can have most unwanted consequences.

I shall not go into details of excessive maltose consumption upon the physiology of this most unfortunate clergyman. Let’s just say: it was swift and unexpected!

When I finally retired to bed I felt most gloomy for the following long day’s walk and reflected on what a difference 24 hours could make! However, I knew where I could buy proper food for the following day, and was thankful that I hadn’t picked up an actual illness… small mercies!