12 April

After a very slow wakeup, I got up at 7:15 and prepared for breakfast, including cleaning my boots for the first time in too long. So with them and me clean, I went in for breakfast at 8. The table was already set, with orange juice out and bread in a basket. I had some with jam, when I was asked whether I wanted tea or coffee (thé please) and if bacon and egg would be okay. In a few minutes in came the tea (have to let it brew a little longer tomorrow) and out went the plate, to come back a further few minutes later with an egg and bacon, and slices of toast (for Vegemite). I relaxed over that, except I had forgotten to say anything and there was PEPPER on the egg and so I had my first (and last) egg with pepper. I survived (unless you never get to read this, in which case I didn’t) and then gathered my thoughts together for visits today.
I began by going to Amiens to the cathedral. It is described as being at least as large as two Paris Notre Dames, so I had high expectations. The SatNav took me straight into the car park for the cathedral and, after parking and being accosted by a female (I was going to write lady, but I will withdraw that) for money to eat. She waved a hand with a few coins in it at me and mimicked eating while saying, “Pour mangez”, that is she wanted money to eat. If I had had more time, I would have just found a place and asked her in and got something for her to eat, as unfortunately a lot of similar people fund good lifestyles by begging.
Having salved my soul for €0.50, I then looked at the cathedral. It didn’t seem too impressive, but there was building work going on next to it. Until I looked for an entrance, and then I found the building work was restoration work on the church. A few minutes later I found the entrance and went in.
If I thought Carlsbad Caverns was breathtaking as a cave, Amiens Cathedral as a church left me no breath to take. It is HUGE, and as such would be a massive undertaking to build now, but to be built so long ago, and in what would have been a relatively small city, certainly with no tall buildings, it must have created absolute awe for anyone seeing it. I found out later that like churches in England, it was a multipurpose building when first built, and colourful inside an out. These were used as village halls, for festivals, celebrations, any indoor gatherings (because for a lot of the year is was cold and snowing outside) and in some places for markets, including livestock.
Just to walk around in it was awe-inspiring. I took quite few photos, but like Bryce Canyon, I don’t believe the photos will really convey the size and majesty of it. I had allocated about half an hour, but ended up almost running out as my parking voucher expired.
I headed off to Albert (pronounced Al-bear) to look at the museum there. I had a bit of trouble finding parking (Saturday morning shoppers) but eventually found one up a side street. I didn’t take the SatNav out as it seems that small towns are better populated with honest people than the large cities. As I walked back, I finished off yesterday’s breadstick, still crusty and tasty. I finished it just as I got to the museum, about 11:25. I was reminded that it closed for lunch at noon, but I could use my ticket after lunch if I wanted. However, the flavour more than the detail was what I was after, and I was able to just do that in the time permitted. The exit is through a shop, so I asked there about detail of the lines in August 1918. The assistant (English, living and working in France) wasn’t able to help me but thought that a fellow at Thiepval would be able to help. As I left, I chatted with an Australian couple who had been trying to see as much as possible but had been let down by buses not running and poor connections. I told them about the car leasing, but it is too late now – it they return in the future, it’s a good option as the cost is between public transport (usually the cheapest) and a rental car (the dearest, unless you hire a taxi). The advantage is you can do what you want, when you want. As the car is new, you don’t inherit someone else’s problem. I left them and had to pass the church on my way, so took some photos. A trio were trying to take photos of each other, so I took a group for them, then found they were French but all spoke excellent English (one, an English teacher, had a slight Irish accent, so I could speculate where he practised). They asked me why I was there, and when I explained, they also recommended Thiepval as a good source (and assured me there would be English speakers there). Back to the car I went and off to Thiepval. All these places are only a short distance apart (in the Somme Valley) and so it was only a short drive. On the way again it felt like home as I saw a silage sausage in a field.
At Thiepval there is a large monument and cemetery, and a Visitors’ Centre. I was lucky enough to catch the person each had referred to (Lawrence Brown), who listened to my information, printed out some documents (from Australia, would you believe) and gave me some clues. As I was only five minutes from where I was staying, and Lawrence Brown was going off for lunch, I went back to pick up the laptop with George Pound’s citation on it and take some more photos.
I arrived back not too long before Lawrence Brown did, so I showed him the citation and it seems that there are two possibilities. One is that the action took place on the current roadway, about one kilometre from Morcourt and two from Mericourt-sur-Somme. I will have to do some further investigation at home, on the Internet, to check on that. The other possibility is that an action is mentioned in the War History where a German machine gun post at Chipilly is taken by Australian troops. That post overlooks the whole of that part of the valley and is only a kilometre or so from the other place, and is on the “Red Line” mentioned in the citation. I would like to believe the second, but will try to check one way or the other. Having got such good information, I pushed for more (McDonald’s has free Wi-Fi). Armed with this, feeling a bit peckish and already having the laptop with me (and quashing my moral principles about eating the Imperial American food in France), I went back to Albert and did two things – had a very late lunch (or early tea – there are always at least two sides to everything) and caught up with email, blogs and photos (someone is quick – before I left, a photo I had just put up became someone’s favourite). When I left, there was still daylight (still is at 8) and things were still open, so I went out to a Canadian site with trenches, to give me the flavour of where George had fought. It was close to closing, so I looked around briefly and will most likely return either tomorrow afternoon or Monday morning.
Then I went back to Pozieres. After parking the car and putting some things away, I walked down to get photos of the entrance to the town. As I did, Lawrence Brown from Thiepval went past and waved. A familiar face already! After, I returned to my B&B, wrote this up, worked on the photos and finally went to bed.

GEORGE POUND

For those of you reading this (I hope there are some), George Pound was my grandfather.
Until about twenty years ago, my mother believed that she had been adopted by an aunt. However, when I had to get a birth certificate for her, I found she had not been adopted. I finally located a certificate in New Zealand and found out that the person she believed was Uncle George was in fact her father.
The facts are that she was born to George and Lillian Pound, in Waihi New Zealand, in 1909. She was taken by Isabella Boyle (George’s sister) from there to Western Australia, where she lived with Annie and George Paton. They changed her name from Kathryn Mary Pound to Catherine Mary Paton-Pound. Mum married dad in 1946 and Fran and I came along not too much later.
Then I found George’s death certificate. Issue were listed as two girls, neither of whom was mum. The informant was Elizabeth (Bette) Boyle, Isabella’s maiden daughter. She had died a year or so before, so there was no way to follow that line.
After fruitless research for many years, I was in Canberra and found out that George had won the Military Medal in WW1. Once I had that, I found out that Lillian had been listed as his wife, and had an address (in 1915) for her, in Melbourne. That line petered out quickly.
After placing a notice in the Sunday Herald Sun “Help Wanted”, I got a few quick replies, one of which was through and well-researched. I then located Lillian’s grave and know that the two daughters died without issue (though one married, then separated without every formally divorcing, and was known, with her sister, as the “two maiden ladies” who ran a tea shoppe in Lorne, Victoria, after WW2.
It was now revealed that others knew parts of the story, but it seemed no-one knew the whole story. Suddenly here is a grandparent we knew nothing of, who had died after we were teenagers, and we had two aunts who had died relatively recently.
It seems that George was ostracised by the family because of deserting mum. His heroism in winning the medal allowed him partially to be in favour, so he bought the farm next to mum’s in Kulin (Western Australia). Although mum had Alzheimers before this was known, she was able to recall small acts of kindness from “Uncle George”, each given with a solemn vow that she was never to reveal that he was responsible.
The achievement of winning this medal seems to be a pivotal point in the story. It becomes important because of this. While in Europe, chasing up and visiting the site seemed to be very important for me.
If, as I would like to believe, George led a small group across a river and up a considerable hill, then knocked out German machine gun post with no casualties to his men, he can be seen as a hero who did something possibly because all he wanted (to be able to see mum grow up) something which was cut off from him. Winning this medal gave part of it back to him, so on balance the risk had been worth it. Perhaps his thinking was that if he lost, and died, he could be no worse off. All is speculation now, as no-one involved is still alive.
Clearing up any remaining details, or at least knowing where he won his medal, seemed very important to me and I believe I have now done that.