The morning dawns bright with a few sunny spells so we decide not to delay our visit to town. By 10:30 we are heading down steep paths which bring us to the beach.

There is a concrete promenade and wooden boardwalk alongside grey shingle and sand with views along the sheer chalky ciffs.

In the town centre houses are built from shiny flint blocks accented with brick or timber work. some are decorated with little enameled plaques with flowers or birds.

The 13th C church has had some recent external renovation. Inside it is beautifully ancient and simple. Narrow boxed in pews carry the patina of centuries of use. The windows are leaded lattices of lightly coloured glass diamonds and the walls have false niches painted on them. The columns are simple, but with scallop shells, flowers and thistles carved in relief and up above are three barrel vaulted ceilings clad in rough white timber. The altar is quite ornate and colourful with a faded fresco ceiling above.

Up a lane we find the Tisserands, or weavers, house where it is said that the steady climate and moist atmosphere helped produce a consistently high quality fabric. Nearby is an imposing timber and daub long house that looks as if it may have been a coaching inn. In the trees behind it we hear the rattle of a woodpecker at work.

Passing the walled remains of the pigeonierre, all that is left of the former chateau, we descend to the river, allegedly the shortest in France. Despite its size it packs in some beautiful sights.

A narrow lane between flint and timber cottages opens out over the Cressonnieres, a long reach of watercress beds with a mill and wooden water wheel. The riverbank is full of spring flowers.

Further down is l’abreuvoir, the watering place or ford. Once crossing the only road into Veules les Roses this is where animals would be brought to drink, clothes washed and water collected. Today its crystal clear water rolls past a timbered house with iris and rushes at its margins and long fronds of waterweed stretching in the current. Brown trout are clearly seen, apparently a sign of the water’s purity.

It is easy to imagine slipping back a couple of centuries and arriving to find these places instantly recognisable, which is why the town is often used for filming.

We find a little restaurant, the only one open today, and have lunch of chicken fricassee before making the long climb back to the campsite.

It starts raining just as we enter the gate. The campsite pickup truck is setting up the towrope to pull a Belgian van off its pitch and with all the rain over recent days and the softness of the grass we are expecting to need pulling off ourselves tomorrow.