I live in southwest London, but decided that although it would be great to see the great event on English soil, Cornwall was not the best place to be and France was nearer. So I gave myself the choice of Dieppe, Noyon or Reims.

I took the Eurostar on the afternoon of the 10th and returned on the afternoon of the 11th and my choice of destination was the small historic town of Noyon, right on the centre line. What follows is my account of the experience, starting and finishing on the platform of Gare du Nord, Paris.

MY EXPERIENCE
Gare du Nord is probably not often as crowded at it was at 6:45am on the morning of Wednesday 11th August 1999. When I arrived, THE train was on the board, but no platform number had been allocated as yet. The indicator rustled as some departed trains were cleared from the board and OUR train moved up two lines. Then suddenly the magic "16" appeared in the platform column and the great sea of humanity began to move. As luck would have it, I was standing at the end of platform 17, so I was one of the first dozen or so to get onto the platform. I boarded about half way along into a largely empty carriage and so had plenty of space to put my bag on the rack and seat myself in an adjacent seat, next to a Frenchman. The time was about 6:50am.

By 6:55am it was standing room only and still they climbed aboard. Minutes later, a boy, probably aged about 8, squeezed in sit in between myself and the Frenchman, following the suggestion of his mother to reduce the crowding a little. The doors finally shut a little after 7:10, our scheduled departure time, but we did not move. 10 minutes passes and we still hadn't moved. By this time it was getting very hot and stuffy. Attempts were made to open the locked windows, but the only relief came from the gentle flow of the air conditioning outlets built into the windowsills.

There was a commotion behind me and it became evident that someone had collapsed with the heat. It became further evident that this was an American gentleman, based on the a stream of instructions being dictated in that irritating drawl that only some inhabitants of the State of New York can muster.

"Let him sit down. Give him some air. Poor water over his head. Where's his bag? Where's my bag? Was that my glasses case that I just dropped on the floor?"

As I was the nearest, it fell to me to extricate myself from my seat and swap places with him.

At around 7:35, we started to roll out of Gare du Nord, to a muted, but heart-felt cheer.

We drifted through the suburbs, gradually gaining speed. We stopped at a couple of small stations where a few people managed to squeeze on and off - clearly on their way to and from work.

Then a little girl, who had been made a bed in a luggage rack, wanted to have a pee. No problem, we were right by the toilets. But then it was found that the toilets were locked.

"The bathroom locked?! I'm going to write a letter!" came the now familiar drawl. But then Mrs N.Y. helpfully added - "Where's a plastic bag? She can use a plastic bag!" Remarkably, a bag was found, its contents relocated then used as potty. It was then discovered that the bag leaked!

Swiftly the bag was passed back and disposed of between the carriages, the only way to ejecting something from the sealed moving train.

Mrs N.Y. then moved up beside her husband and myself. Mr N.Y., who, I am glad to report, was feeling much better. We started a lengthy conversation about the eclipse. It turned out that they had witnessed one in the States earlier in the year and knew other people who were hoping to view this one from elsewhere in Europe, including Bucharest.

Eventually, Compiègne arrived and about a quarter of the train disembarked. The remainder of us continued for a further 10-15 minute journey until we arrived at our target, Noyon.

Almost the whole train got off and flooded the station, which fortunately had a lot of space to accommodate us all.

As Noyon was on the centre line, clearly almost anywhere, even on the station platform, would be a suitable viewing position. However, as it was only just past 9:00am and over three hours away from totality, we all wandered off around various parts of this small and ancient town.

I know next to nothing about Noyon, except that it is mediaeval or older and, I believe, used to have an association with the French monarchy. Today it has a few old-ish buildings, a fine abbey church, which had clearly been much larger many centuries ago, and an attractive, triangular town square.

I purchased a phone card and a few light provisions and decided to make camp in the oldest building I had seen. This was under the arcade of an early mediaeval range attached to the big church.

Here, I concluded, it would be a little darker and I would be sheltered from any rain. As the eclipse was due to occur a little after midday, I surmised that the aspect of sky I needed would be in a southerly direct and my trusty compass confirmed that my location was suitable. As the sun's angle would be about 52° , I would need to set my tripod and 400mm lens a bit lower than I would otherwise wish, in order to be see out from under the arcade. By about 10am, I was all set.

My set-up attracted quite a few interested comments. It was a shame I could not translate most of them! Based on a 400mm Panagor lens, mounted on a tripod, I had made an add-on black cardboard mask and mount for a tracing paper focus screen. The idea, which worked perfectly, allowed the sun's image to be projected onto the tracing paper screen for safe viewing. From time-to-time, with everything locked-off, I could fold back the screen and mount my 35mm Minolta SLR in place to record the image on film for prosperity.

Now I have not mentioned one very crucial factor - the weather. Tiny patches of blue sky were spotted from the train about half way along our 80-mile journey. But here in Noyon, we were faced with lead grey skies. The prospects did not look encouraging...

Over the next hour, more people gathered. Some brought deck chairs, others telescopes, and a few, like me, with long photographic lenses. Most simply had their eclipse glasses.

Every now and again, a watery sun's disk made an appearance in small gaps in the clouds, clearly and safely visible by the naked eye.

At 11:00am I listened to the BBC Radio 4 news on 198Khz. They were just reporting first contact fleetingly visible through the cloudy skies of Cornwall. Minutes later, the sun reappeared from our vantage point and I could confirm that a tiny nick was missing from the sun's disc.

Frustratingly, my bladder felt as though it was about to burst, so I abandoned all and slopped off round the back of the cathedral and found a spot that was only slightly less public than standing in the square to relieve my self. From the smell, it was clear that I was not the first!

Back on station, the sun rapidly formed into a crescent with each fleeing glimpse through the clouds. Would it clear? Would we see anything of totality?

At mid-day, twenty minutes away from Noyon totality, I tuned into the BBC World Service. I was able to hear a moving live report during their bulletin at 11:11 of the sky going dark and the huge cheers coming from the crowds in Falmouth, even though their view was completely obscured.

In Noyon, it steadily got darker and darker. By 12:20 it was every gloomy. Some minutes before, flocks of pigeons had flown past.

Suddenly at 12:22, it was like a theatrical event as if a celestial lighting operator, after gradually dimming the lights for a dramatic scene, suddenly pulled then down to black. Up went a great cheer from the crowd as this eerie yellow gloom enveloped us. It was not pitch black, but it was too dark to read by. I started a conversation with a British couple as we remarked on the experience. Some 2 mins and 15 seconds later, the heavenly lighting faders were suddenly pushed up a couple of notches and light returned. Up went another cheer followed by great applause. It was a surreal experience, enhanced by the heavy cloud, to have the whole overhead sky to go dark, then light so quickly. It seemed so unlike nature.

Minutes afterwards, the sun broke through, brighter than ever before as the sky began to clear. Within half an hour, there were quite long periods of strong sunshine. Bummer!

Although there was another hour of the eclipse to go as the moon slowly left the sun, almost all of us packed up and headed back to the station. Remarkably, we all managed to get aboard, the first train back to Paris. It was here that the advantage of Noyon played its hand. For although I had not got a seat this time, we had all managed to get on and fill the train. At Compiègne, a couple of stops down the line, the platform was lined nearly 10 deep, and here I was to witness some very unpleasant examples of train rage (or maybe eclipse range?) as people fought to get on board. People got hurt, they got separated from their bags. Carrier bags were ripped open and their contents lost under a sea of feet. The remainder of the journey back to Paris was not pleasant, being jammed almost solid in such a confined space at the end of the carriage. Fortunately, we ran non-stop for the next hour back to Paris and it was with great relief that I got off.

Conclusion
I did not get to see what I went to see, but I did have the experience, and I am very please that I made the effort. I also got to meet some interesting people on my journey, and to share in one of nature's greatest phenomena. I think I could become a regular eclipse watcher...

And previously in 1984...

My previous eclipse experience was in the spring of 1984, when a partial eclipse was visible in London. The photo was taken in Green Park, London.