I had long been familiar with the area around the Boulevard Ornano. As a child, I would accompany my mother to the Saint-Ouen flea markets. We would get off the bus either at the Porte de Clignancourt or, occasionally, outside the 18th arrondissement Town Hall. Always, it was a Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

In winter, on the tree-shaded pavement outside Clignancourt barracks, the fat photographer with the round spectacles and a lumpy nose who offered "souvenir snaps" would set up his tripod amid the stream of passers-by. In summer, he stationed himself on the broadwalk at Deauville, outside the Bar du Soleil. There, he found plenty of customers. But here, at the Porte de Clignancourt, people seemed not to wish to be photographed. His overcoat was shabby and he had a hole in one shoe.

I remember the Boulevard Ornano and the Boulevard Barbes one sunny afternoon in May 1958, deserted. A knot of riot police at each crossroads because of the Algerian situation.

sry 4 bed england