The first overnight stop on the road south from Yorkshire, and the first time the camera came out of the van in earnest. Dunkirk in February is a port city pausing for breath: grey sky, grey sea, the beach empty except for the memorial panels that tell you what happened here in 1940.

We came through the tunnel from Folkestone and drove straight to the coast. I had chosen Dunkirk for the obvious reason, the evacuation, but what held the lens was the rebuilt town behind the dunes. Saint-Éloi, flattened twice in two wars and put back stone by stone. The belfry opposite, cut loose from its church in the seventeenth century, with Patrie, Justice and Liberté carved into its base. Louis XIV on horseback over the town hall door, still looking pleased with himself.

Off-season, the city wore its character openly, without the polish of peak summer.

Everything below was photographed in two days, mostly under drizzle. The off-season light is flat and kind to stone. If you go, go then.