The road just turns around and goes back. No bridge spans the river up there - you're just about as lost as you could be.
My mum's house is 7 k from the bastide of Domme whilst technically being within the commune. It's the last house on the left in the hamlet of Turnac, a bunch of seven houses, a tiny chapel and graveyard (hey, Dad!).
The river Dordogne does a crazy loop around it, with the fabulous Montfort castle (named after its one-time destroyer) at its northern tip. The road just turns around and goes back. No bridge spans the river up there - you're just about as lost as you could be.
The river Dordogne does a crazy loop around it, with the fabulous Montfort castle (named after its one-time destroyer) at its northern tip. The road just turns around and goes back. No bridge spans the river up there - you're just about as lost as you could be.
For this reason, Spanish and Portuguese anti-fascist fighters made it their base during the nazi occupation of WWII; the gestapo in Sarlat probably didn't know the place existed at first. Machine gun parts were found in exchange for tobacco, and the first meeting was organised between the FTP-MOI (Francs-tireurs et Partisans and Main d'Oeuvre Immigrée - suck on that, Marine Le Pen) and local people who wanted to get organised.
Unfortunately, someone (Moïse Véril told me that it was a guy from St Martial and he should have known because he was there) denounced them and the gestapo turned up. Some of them fled through the sweet corn, Moïse got deported.
I live at the top right-hand corner of the Bastide by the graveyard. Turn left and you're at the hospital. On the wall by the kitchen is a plaque which reads; Ici le 27 juin 1944 le résistant espagnol F.T.P.-M.O.I. José Duerto Mendoza dit EL-MANO blessé au combat fut arraché à son lit d'hôpital et fusillé par les nazis. Here José Duerto Mendoza, known as El Mano, wounded in combat, was ripped from his hospital bed and shot by the nazis
Unfortunately, someone (Moïse Véril told me that it was a guy from St Martial and he should have known because he was there) denounced them and the gestapo turned up. Some of them fled through the sweet corn, Moïse got deported.
I live at the top right-hand corner of the Bastide by the graveyard. Turn left and you're at the hospital. On the wall by the kitchen is a plaque which reads; Ici le 27 juin 1944 le résistant espagnol F.T.P.-M.O.I. José Duerto Mendoza dit EL-MANO blessé au combat fut arraché à son lit d'hôpital et fusillé par les nazis. Here José Duerto Mendoza, known as El Mano, wounded in combat, was ripped from his hospital bed and shot by the nazis
They speak as they see with these plaques.
Every year, on the day, in the afternoon, there is a ceremony to commemorate his death, flag bearers, flowers etc. But this year, it will be special.
Last summer, some Spanish holidaymakers were in Domme and saw the plaque. It turns out that they KNOW HIS SISTER, 93 years old who had never known (ogod ogod, hairs up on back of neck, tears pricking) exactly how her brother had died. I can't think of how she felt when she found out that he has been honoured annually here. Happy, I think. It's been 69 years that she's been in the dark. Anyway, the thing is that the family are coming to the ceremony today from Barcelona. It's in an hour's time and I just know that it won't be like my last blog where no one turned up except me. I'll be back in a bit, then, to tell you what happened.
What Happened
Marianne arrived and so we went, hand in hand, up the road. A goodly bunch was gathered, flags, mayor and El Mano's sister and niece and other members of the family from America. His sister was so beautifully turned out and much overwhelmed, appreciating a few homely 'how are you' sort of thing words of Spanish from Marianne. Geoff and Mags came also.
Last summer, some Spanish holidaymakers were in Domme and saw the plaque. It turns out that they KNOW HIS SISTER, 93 years old who had never known (ogod ogod, hairs up on back of neck, tears pricking) exactly how her brother had died. I can't think of how she felt when she found out that he has been honoured annually here. Happy, I think. It's been 69 years that she's been in the dark. Anyway, the thing is that the family are coming to the ceremony today from Barcelona. It's in an hour's time and I just know that it won't be like my last blog where no one turned up except me. I'll be back in a bit, then, to tell you what happened.
What Happened
Marianne arrived and so we went, hand in hand, up the road. A goodly bunch was gathered, flags, mayor and El Mano's sister and niece and other members of the family from America. His sister was so beautifully turned out and much overwhelmed, appreciating a few homely 'how are you' sort of thing words of Spanish from Marianne. Geoff and Mags came also.
The whole story of El Mano was read out. The hospital at that time was run by nuns. When the nazis dragged (I'm crying) El Mano against the wall, Mother Marguerite ran out and begged them to shoot her instead. Later that day, two more Spanish resistants were shot on Cénac bridge and thrown into the river.
The music was marvellous; le Chant des Partisants, La Marseillaise and the Spanish national anthem (Suck on that, Marine Le Pen); Here are the words of the French national anthem which is very rarely sung, mostly heard.
Being British, I can't know what it was like under the occupation, but I can share in these moments and I will until I die. I owe it to Turnac and to Moïse.
The music was marvellous; le Chant des Partisants, La Marseillaise and the Spanish national anthem (Suck on that, Marine Le Pen); Here are the words of the French national anthem which is very rarely sung, mostly heard.
Being British, I can't know what it was like under the occupation, but I can share in these moments and I will until I die. I owe it to Turnac and to Moïse.
Allons enfants de la Patrie
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'étendard sanglant est levé
Entendez-vous dans nos campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras.
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes!
Aux armes citoyens
Formez vos bataillons
Marchons, marchons
Qu'un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons