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                                The very
                                first time I ever visited Blye,
                                it was by accident. I had taken
                                the wrong turning by the old
                                railway halt in Chatillon, and cycled up
                                along the top of the meadows and
                                through the forest, climbing
                                steadily in the heavy heat of
                                midday. I came out into a
                                landscape of rounded hills with
                                wooded crowns. It was a bit like
                                Derbyshire without the tourists -
                                but with sunshine. It was at this
                                point that I knew I had come the
                                wrong way, for I had imagined
                                myself heading for the valley
                                floor at Lac de Chalain. Instead,
                                I found myself in this remote,
                                entirely agricultural village. It
                                was a Sunday, and several
                                families were gathered for dinner
                                in the forecourt of one of the
                                farms. They waved as I cycled by. Continuing the
                                illusion of Derbyshire, the
                                stone-built church is set in a
                                sloping grassy graveyard
                                overlooking the valley. The tower
                                is imposing, but the church
                                beyond is small and aisleless,
                                and of great interest.
                                Unfortunately, as at Fontenu and Charcier, although the doors
                                are open and you can go inside,
                                the grill across the west end of
                                the nave is kept locked. Still,
                                you can see all there is to be
                                seen.  
                                The enthusiastic
                                reordering of the sanctuary that
                                you find so often in France has
                                been less complete here, and the
                                post-Vatican II wooden altar
                                appears temporary, and quite out
                                of place. Behind, the gilding and
                                colours that offset the statues
                                and reredos are as uncompromising
                                as ever. The wooden panelling
                                appears 18th century, but I
                                thought that the whole thing had
                                been restored quite recently.
                                Ornate side altars are crammed in
                                on both sides (there are no
                                transepts here) and the rood and
                                chandeliers complete the effect.
                                There is even a cathedral-style
                                pulpit looming over the modern
                                benches. 
                                What appears an 18th
                                century shell font at the west
                                end, like the one at Saffloz, is actually a holy
                                water stoup; as elsewhere in the
                                area, the font is set in the
                                north wall. But the most
                                interesting thing here has been
                                placed in a window embrasure on
                                the south side. 
                                It is a memorial
                                inscription of 1564 that recalls
                                the establishment of a chantry
                                here in 1400. At first, the dates
                                make it seem entirely alien to
                                English eyes, either side as they
                                are of the great Reformation
                                divide. It begins: Anno 1400
                                le 4 jour de mars noble s[ieur]
                                hu[m]bert nicolet et damoisele
                                p[er]renete de binanc sa fe[m]me
                                fondare[n]t en ceste egl[is]e une
                                messe de requiem
                                solemneleme[n]t... ('in the
                                year 1400 on the 4th day of March
                                the noble Lord Nicolet Humbert
                                and his wife Lady Perrin of
                                Binanc founded in this church a
                                solemn requiem Mass...') The
                                Humberts and the Perrins are
                                families you come across again
                                and again in this area - they
                                fill the graveyard at Fontenu. 
                                The inscription
                                continues by detailing the form
                                the requiem should take, when it
                                should be celebrated, and how it
                                will be paid for. At the bottom,
                                it is recorded that the priest
                                Anathoile Barbier a faict faire
                                le p[rese]nt tableau et pouser le
                                5 de Mars 1564. 
                                I have grown very
                                fond of this village, which bears
                                a great deal of exploring. One of
                                the roads is called Rue de la
                                Chapel, and it leads out of the
                                village on the way to Vevry. About a half a
                                mile along the lane is a flat
                                rectangle of ground on the edge
                                of a field, about 10m by 6m. A
                                19th century cross stands on it,
                                and the fields behind are called
                                dsvsvvsvvsv. Another curiosity is
                                a sign towards Pont de Poitte that reads 'centre
                                de bhouddisme'.  
                                I know my way around
                                now, but my first visit here had
                                come at the end of a 30 mile
                                climbing ride on what was, as I
                                say, a hot day. I looked for the
                                quickest way of getting back to
                                Marigny that I could find, and
                                was please to discover on the map
                                that there appeared to be a
                                bridge over the Ain river just
                                below the village. I hauled my
                                bike down a lane that became
                                increasingly rutted, and then
                                along the edge of a field for a
                                mile or two.  
                                I had not examined
                                the map in great detail, but was
                                surprised that the way was so
                                difficult to a bridge that
                                appeared so big. It was only when
                                I got there that I found it was
                                not a bridge at all, but a
                                hydro-electric dam with no
                                access. It was in a rather
                                dispirited mood that I pushed my
                                bike all the way up to the
                                village, and the long road back
                                to the valley. 
                                Notre Dame de
                                l'Assomption, Blye, is in the
                                middle of the village on the D151
                                about halfway between Chatillon
                                and Pont de Poitte. Be aware that
                                there is no crossing of the Ain
                                river here. The church is open,
                                but the grill into the nave is
                                locked. 
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