11 April

After a surprisingly good night’s sleep considering a new country, new language and very unfamiliar surroundings, I woke at 6, forgot about getting up until 7 and then was ready to leave by 8. There was a different girl on the counter and I just left my key and departed. In the car I gave the town the once-over again and was well and truly seduced by the smell from the patisserie. Succumbing to temptation, I got a small breadstick (45 ¢) and was back into the car. Memo to self: NEVER buy and then eat crusty French loaf in car – crumbs everywhere.
Then it was off to Villers-Bretonneux (with a quick stop in a parking area to decrub – which worked for me but not for the car – and, after a cruise around, finding and parking in front of the Victorian School and the Museum. Here, being smart, I got out and then opened the passenger door to get the camera – memo to self: be careful of doors with square-cut and returned edges. After attempting to staunch the bleeding (unsuccessfully), I engaged in conversation with Pierre, a tour guide from Paris who was bringing a load of Australians for ANZAC day and had been out to Australia a number of times and knows it quite well. He gave me the times for the museum without having to walk up (10) and some more information about the town.
Having seen at least one child go in, I thought I would investigate the school. But … it is school holidays! Four children and their teacher were in, doing extra work. I had a quick talk with them (the teacher spoke excellent English, but the children were reluctant to use any English in front of me, other than my name and hello. I took some photographs of the school, then went back to thank them all and gave them koala and kangaroo pins (well, the kids were there in their own time and the teacher was too).
I then walked down the street, buying a coke and looking at the shops and parks. I cannot help to be amazed that despite tiny and ancient houses crammed together, each town has magnificent open spaces and manicured parks. Then I walked back to the museum and ran into a school group from St Paul’s Grammar, Penrith (NSW). I had a chat with a grandparent and teachers on the trip. They are away for over four weeks and went to England (London), are now doing the Somme, will see Paris, Greece, Turkey (Gallipoli) and Egypt before going home. It was an interesting reflection when I said how I wasn’t able to easily find an Internet connection to have one of the teachers say that compared to Australia (at least two computers in each home, all broadband), France was behind. On that basis, so are a lot of the schoolkids I know. Also, I realised why you DO NOT take parents on secondary school excursions – conflicts of ultimate authority arise. I also met Pierre again, and spoke to him before leaving.
After leaving, I drove around the town and went to the Australian Memorial, where I met the school group again. They had organised to see the Australian Ambassador there for a wreath-laying and memorial ceremony, so after I had been up the tower, I left.
I set off to Morcourt to see what it actually was, and what the surroundings were like. The first impression was of a very small town, and very quiet. I didn’t really see anyone there who I could talk to. So I set off to Mericourt-sur-Somme, which was two and a half kilometres away, and only took three minutes, even driving very slowly. Again the village was very small – no commercial buildings at all. Even the church was shut and had no way of finding out where the priest lived. I took some photos and headed back out, and stopped to take a photo leaving the town. While doing so I heard someone gardening and thought I may be able to get some background. Blow me down if I didn’t meet an Itallian who spoke no French or English! After a few minutes of trying (I wanted to know if there was a ridge visible from the town), I thanked him and left, none the wiser. Back at Morcourt, having stopped to take some photos along the road, it was quieter! No-one at all around. I thought then I should just investigate for myself, so drove to Chipily, all of two kilometres away. Here I crossed the Somme – and what a surprise. It was not a majestic river, more like a quiet stream. It had been dammed to provide pondage, and this provided pleasure boating and possibly swimming. As I left the town, I saw the graveyard had an overview of the whole area, so I photographed that, as ridges were visible on the south side of the Somme. I went back to Villers-Bretonneux to get some lunch, but forgot that shops close variously from noon until 3, so I was out of luck. I decided to head back to Doullens, because I had at least some knowledge of the area there and knew, if I had to, I could get accommodation at Le Bristol. On the way I sussed out a possible B&B, so called in there (in fact it was just two kilometres out of Doullens). No-one was home, so I went into Doullens and got another breadstick for lunch (there goes my figure!) and parked in the square. As I was told about the museum and the displays yesterday in the square, I walked around to that, eating part of the breadstick. I received “bon appetit” comments on the way, but finished it before arriving. The gardens are beautiful, but the fountain was out of action for some reason (the council worker was trying to work out why) I looked through the museum, originally funded by one benefactor and then reopened just last year. The girl on the desk noticed my interest and took me to the chapel next door where there was a mummy and other Egyptian artefacts on display. I was amazed that such a relatively small town should have all this, but I suppose the French interest in culture was evident here.
After that delightful viewing, I walked to the Visitor Centre, got some more information and was reminded about the importance of the town hall, so I then walked around there. I should add, for those of you who think I was getting tremendous exercise, that the whole distance I had walked in Doullens was fast approaching two hundred metres! When I arrived at the Hotel de Ville (Town Hall) the weather was threatening, so I took the lift up and saw this historic One Unique Commander Room – just open! No-one there, no security, just walk in and look around and take photos. I left to find a strange phenomenon – rain! The physics of falling rain is such that no matter what speed and angle you walk at, you will get wet – and I did. Back in the car I went out to see if there was anyone home at the B&B, but only the dog was. I looked around further and found a B&B at Poziere which listed Internet access. I have come to assume that means wireless or perhaps an Ethernet cable, so stay tuned.
I drove to Poziere, only twenty-five minutes, only to find no-one home. I decided to ring this time, as they listed that English was spoken. I got an answer and, yes, they had room, and yes, Internet. He would be home by 6 (it was 5:30), so I got a drink of coke at Tommy’s Bar (across the street) and then put the car into the drive and read up on the manual for the car. I found out how to wash the windows, but not what two controls on the steering column are for. At this stage I should say it looks like I may get about 1200 kilometres out of the 55 litre tank. At more than 370 km, I have used less than a quarter of a tank and the on-board computer estimates my range at nearly 1300 kilometres. Time will tell, and so will running in.
The landlord, Christian, arrived not long after 6 and we settled that I will stay three days. That will give me time to see around the Somme and to get my bearings for travelling along the French coast and then down to Spain. However, Internet I found out, was on mine host’s computer – and with a French keyboard, I couldn’t get the passwords correct and I can’t remember them quickly enough for the connection. I will have to try later or look for a wireless café.
I quickly settled in and then went over to Tommy’s place for another drink (didn’t want to get dehydrated, though it was a little late for that – I’ll have to see where to get cheap drinks by the case, as I will be in the car for another month and a half. While there, I looked around (there is a museum out the back) and saw many photos. One name, Boys, uncommon but belonged to a student, so I will have to see if he was any relation. I also saw information on a soldier from York, where mum’s family had a hotel about that time.
After that, it was back to my lonely writer’s room with en suite (no garret, as I am on the ground floor) to do this and my photos for the day.
Perhaps now is a time for reflection.
I didn’t know how I would feel, but I do now. In the museum, I was moved by the simple yet dramatic array of memorabilia which made everything real. Driving around the villages, I wondered how so many could die within so small a space, in an area which is now so peaceful and tranquil. I also wondered why so many from other places came to these otherwise unremarkable hamlets – until at the top of the Australian Memorial at Villers-Bretonneux the distances to London – 166 miles – and Berlin – 515 miles – were set out (by the way, it is only 10 400 miles to Canberra from there).
Driving around Morcourt and Mericourt-sur-Somme made me wonder why my grandfather, a boundary rider and then a miner, who deserted his youngest child (mum) came to fight on these rolling slopes and then distinguished himself by taking temporary command of a mortar platoon and storming two German machine-gun posts without injuries, could do all that and then live next to his deserted daughter for nearly thirty years without saying who he was, while his wife and two other daughters lived their separate lives in Victoria.
I can only suppose that if you want something badly enough and there is no other option, then your life doesn’t seem too important unless you can achieve that goal, even if it is in a way that on-one else can understand. I wish I had been able to meet him (he died when I was fourteen), but even if I had, at that age I probably would not have understood. I doubt I could understand now, but who of us really understands another?