It is a sobering thought, but these trips in the 1950’s took place over half a century ago, which is a very long time.

I have racked my brain to pinpoint the exact year my trip took place, and it was either 1954 or 1955. I favour 1955, as I was 14 then, and I don’t think I was smoking on a regular basis before! The French trip (as we called it) certainly cultivated an early taste for Gauloise, no doubt because the aroma gave one a misplaced sense of worldliness and a perceived air of sophistication!

There was no precise theme for the trip, other than to have a holiday, and the object I’m quite sure was to get down to the South of France as soon as humanly possible, to reach the sunshine. I think the official message was that if one wished to get any more out of the trip, it was up to us to do the necessary preparation and fieldwork. I don’t think anyone did, and that is a shame in a way. It did at least give us the opportunity to make some practical use of our schoolboy French.

There were only the two teachers, Mr Fowler and Mr Bromily. Both worldly men who had seen service in WW2. The only other adult was the bus driver. Mr Bromily was the linguist, being a French teacher.

I have looked at the film of the 1952 trip several times, and alas, the only person I recognise, is Mr Bromily. He had a Gallic look about him, even down to the beret. They both had a very laid back and unstructured approach to things, which would certainly not be tolerated these days.

I hasten to add, these were tough, but very popular teachers. No one was tempted to step out of line, even though they let us have our heads.

The film opens with a view of the White Cliffs of Dover. I distinctly remember this, having never seen them before that time. For most of us, it was the first time we had travelled abroad.

The channel crossing was uneventful, although I had my first encounter with seasickness. This was due more to the smoky atmosphere in the bar, and an over consumption of various unhealthy refreshments.

Calais was just as it was in the film. Nothing to write home about.

I do remember my impressions of the first few miles on French soil.

We had been told that the French had a far less Victorian attitude to bodily functions than we were used to. The most common manifestation of this would be the custom of French men to relieve themselves at the side of the road. Should that occur, we were not to stare. What should we see after the first couple of miles but a Frenchman answering a call of nature, with his wife and children standing around, quite unconcerned.

The rush to the left hand side of the bus was almost enough to capsize us! So much for not staring!

The other distinct recollection I have is the proliferation of advertisements for Noilly Prat, a world famous Vermouth. The attraction for young lads had more to do with the deliberate mispronunciation. The juvenile mind is easily amused!

Our first stop was Paris. They didn’t have the traffic problems they have now. It was straight in; the Periferique didn’t even exist then.

We stayed at the Cité Universitaire as I recall, though the actual accommodation is a blank to me. I remember our introduction to petit déjeuner, which seemed a shock to the system. A croissant and a bowl of coffee didn’t seem much of a repast for a young lad.

My thoughts are that this initial acquaintance with Paris was brief, and that we had more of a look on the way home. My reason for thinking that, is that I remember being almost out of funds at that stage, and couldn’t afford to travel to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Something I didn’t put to rights until our last trip in 2002. ( It was truly worth the wait!)

The trek down south was accomplished with only one stopover, I’m pretty sure. This was at the Burgundy town of Chagny. We really saw nothing of the town, as we were pitching camp in the dark. The local mayor was on hand to welcome us. He had an attractive daughter, and I remember a chap called John Shepherd attempting to chat her up. The daughter disappeared very quickly, never to be seen again. Everyone blamed Shepherd for that!

This was our first sample of communal cooking à là Bromily and Fowler.

Not Cordon Bleu perhaps but none of it was wasted. We were all famished, and the culinary offering was a steaming hot ragoût, mopped up with heaps of bread . I remember it particularly because I had always hated onions, and copious quantities of Spanish onions went into the pot. So great was my hunger, I would have eaten anything, and did!

This is a picture of Chagny as it is today. Being on the Rhône, it is now a major tourist town, visited by the many people who travel the inland waterways.

We were off early the next morning for the last leg of the trip South.

Our route took us through Grenoble which I can picture to this day.

I think this drive over the Alps was meant to be a special treat, as indeed it was. The descent to the coast was breathtaking, and I can recall the impact the Mediterranean "blue" had on us. It was stunning, and unlike anything we had seen before.

The exact sequence of events after that escapes me, but I only recall camping at the one place, and this was on a vineyard outside Bandol.

I think this was our base, and we made our numerous excursions from there. The campsite on the film looked very much like it.

We went to Monte Carlo, Nice, Cannes, and probably the most exciting, San Tropez. Brigitte Bardot was a household name then, and known to frequent this quaint little town.

Needless to say, no one saw her, but not for want of trying!

The weather was perfect throughout the trip, which was why we were there!

We had a considerable amount of free time. We sunned ourselves, applying ample lashings of Ambre Solaire (definitely not the best for fair skins), and enjoyed the calm waters. There were frequent trips into Bandol, particularly in the evenings. There was no policing of bedtime.

Our walk into Bandol took us alongside the railway track. I mentioned once before an exciting encounter with an approaching train one night.

The track passed through a tunnel, and being young and stupid, some of us decided to take the chance of walking through the tunnel. Fortunately we managed to get through before a train approached. I remember the alcoves in the walls of the tunnel which one would have been able to shelter in, should the unthinkable have happened.

It was on these evening excursions that we introduced ourselves to vin ordinaire. We would have a glass of wine with a splash of Cassis, which was a very distinctive and popular cordial, and play football de table.

The only time I remember any need for a disciplinary warning from Messrs Fowler and Bromily, was to tell us that we were free to drink as we wished. However, any outward sign of excessive consumption would be frowned upon.

(This picture shows a narrow San Tropez street, which looked very much the same 50 years ago)

After a very enjoyable sojourn on the Riviera, our trip back took us through Avignon.

The famous bridge features in the film, as does what I assume is the Pope’s Palace.

I remember this clearly, and my abiding memory is that there were very few people around. I can remember having to find a gents, which turned out to be one of those ancient small circular affairs, which took no account of the tourist’s modesty!

The Pont St-Benézét was built in the 12^th Century, and demolished by flood around 1668. This I did not know at the time. The tourist brochure was yet to be invented!

One further little snippet. This is also close to the home of the famous Chateau Neuf du Pape wine.

My next memory is of being back in Paris, and standing at the base of the Eiffel Tower. There were several US military chaps loafing around in mufti, and I think we were impressed with their gaudy silk bomber jackets.

As I mentioned earlier, my funds were severely depleted, and along with several others, I climbed up to the première étage, but was unable to go further. A few less cigarettes and other unnecessary purchases earlier on would have made all the difference. A good lesson in practical economics!

I also remember the Seine, though I don’t think the Bateaux- Mouches were yet a feature of Paris tourist life.

That alas is almost the sum total of my memories of the trip. I do recall one sequel.

During the latter stages of the trip, I and another lad had a difference of opinion as to whether a window should be open or shut. I pulled and he pushed, or vice versa, and the inevitable happened, it cracked! I thought no more about it until my father was presented with a bill. I think it was meant to be a 50/50 split (no pun intended!) with the other lad’s father. There was no fuss, and it was never mentioned again!

Obviously this trip did mean a lot to me. Those teachers gave us something very special, for which I will be eternally grateful.

Just a couple of footnotes:

I gave up smoking at the great age of 27, and not a day passes when I don’t enjoy a couple of glasses of wine!

The only other chaps I can recall on this trip were Peter Thacker and John Shepherd, and possibly a John Alexander.

I’ll have more to relate about John Shepherd another time!

Mike Hogg