‘We’re done for.’ These are the words that echoed from my father’s lips as the clutch imploded on the 1967 Commer camper van that had, up until then, transported us from the safety of Hertfordshire, across the channel on a Sealink ferry, down through the cultish beauty of northern France and to the Atlantic ocean town of St Jean-de-Monts. We had left St Jean-de-Monts to make our way home. Time was of the essence since my father was due back at work on the Monday. It was a Wednesday and we had to catch the ferry from Calais to Dover…