I woke up and prepared myself for the day and was down for breakfast (le petit dejunier) by 7. I didn’t find a petit dejunier on the table – it was a grande dejunier! Apart from a small jug of orange juice, three slices of ham, a croissant, four pieces of a baguette, three different types of cheese and three different home-made conserves (including rhubarb), three was the largest teacup I have seen. When I asked for milk with the tea, he heated it up in a jug – so the tea took a lot longer to drink. I certainly would recommend this place to anyone, but come prepared to spend longer at breakfast than you would normally at a restaurant for a four course meal!
Eventually I got as much as I could down, paid the bill, left a note in the visitor’s book, finished packing and left. I headed out along the coast, still by the D940.
As a note, the land yesterday in the north of the Somme was flat. The villages were easy to see, but because the land was so flat and featureless, I could understand that moving a signpost around would get everyone lost (before the days of SatNavs of course). Today the land turned back to undulating and the most remarkable feature to me is the lack of fencing (the land is cropped) and the use of the land to within less than a metre of the road.
The road varied between along the coast and inland, but although the sea (the English Channel or La Manche from this side) was visible, few parts of the coast were. One spot was just before Buologne, where I pulled up to take some photos. In Boulogne, I did a little more shopping, this time at an Aldi Supermarket (little different from those at home, except for the language). I can’t understand the total spoken to me, but of course I can see it on the register so can give pretty near exact money (yesterday’s supermarket was Lidl). In going through Boulogne, I saw a pretty purple house, so photographed it as I knew Fran would like to see it.
Between Boulogne and St-Valery-en-Caux, I saw a Renault dealership, so called in and now I can work the cruise control.
At St-Valery-en-Caux I stopped at the beach (La Plage) but found it was pebbly – there are photos of it. While on the hunt for a public convenience, I came across a Red Cross office. Red Cross in France do blood donations, so I might be able to arrange one while I am here. Then, later in my meanderings I found what I was looking for. The trick seems to be to find the public parking area, walk around it and you’ll see the signs for the toilets. After that I found a patisserie and bought a baguette, sat in the car and had a little (with my head out the door, to save crumbing the rest of the car), then drove off west.
The place I decided to visit the beach at was called Voucette, and I didn’t see it on any map – not surprising as there were only about ten houses in the village. The cliffs are chalky and prone to erosion, hence the signs. Again the beach was pebbly, so I don’t know whether I would really want to swim there.
I headed off to Caen to get information on B&Bs for the night. When I programmed the SatNav, it told me it would take over two hours to get there, despite the fact that I could see from the map it was only about sixty kilometres away. I just followed the signs and found out why the SatNav had directed me around – the direct road is a toll road, costing me €10 to drive halfway there (about thirty kilometres). We live and learn. At Caen, they didn’t stop charging – no free parking to visit the Tourist Bureau. I did get a list of B&Bs, but it only came with a map, no book so no actual addresses, just areas. I headed out towards Bayeux, home of the tapestry, to look for a place for the night. As I left the outskirts of Caen, I saw a Lions stand selling tulips to raise money for cancer, so I dropped in and got some. I showed my Lions hat to the seller, and when I said Australian, he immediately changed to English. While stopped, I picked out some likely places and headed towards them.
As they had no addresses, I couldn’t call in. So I rang – a difficult task when they don’t speak English and my French over the mobile is pretty hard for a native speaker to understand. The first two were full, but the third wasn’t – and it turned out to be only ten minutes away. I rang again from the village of Ryes and the wife came to meet and guide me in – and I had passed just a few metres away on my way in.
I looked at the room and decided to spend two nights, as that way I don’t have to spend any time tomorrow looking for somewhere to stay. I will see as much as I can during the day, then find a Macca’s for tea and send the last two days’ photos and blogs. I did look but there are no network in the village, so I can’t tag on someone else.
There is a small boy living here who showed me a small pigeon he had found (and was surprised when I was able to coo back). A car pulled up, so there must be at least one other couple staying here, but once out of the cities, English becomes rarer (although all the children learn it as a language, and have done for years). Still, I am managing, and that’s all I can expect. Spain, Italy, Austria, Germany, Holland, Sweden, Denmark and Belgium will prove more interesting I think.
At 9, it is still light outside, surprising considering it is early spring, and it is dawn before 7. As most breakfasts are at 8, that cuts into the day, but I cannot complain. It’s better than no breakfast.
And so, another day draws to a close (for me at least) and I will away to the arms of Morpheus.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
14 April
Today I rose earlier, was prepared for breakfast by 7 and was seated a moment after. Orange juice was out, then Christian came in a minute later with a pot of tea and the bread basket. I started on the toasted rolls with Vegemite, as they were white and the bread is invariably brown or wholemeal. A few minutes later the egg and bacon arrived, Christian gave me a souvenir (an ANZAC badge for this year) and I tucked in. He also asked for the keys to be put in the letterbox as he was off immediately. I finished breakfast, finished my preparations, packed, checked the room, double-checked the room and then I was off, about 7:45.
The weather was overcast, with occasional spits of rain. I decided I would go to Armenteires, as I had both heard so many songs and sung them myself. Then it would be Dunkirk, Calais and then as far as I got.
Off to Armenteires and I found a bustling city, with free parking right at its heart. I wish other cities could take note that France, with such a relatively small space and so many people (and cars, and visitors), can provide free parking in the centre of the city. Why can’t Australia? I had a look around and found building work going on, a monumental town hall, a monument to the wars and those who died in them, a large church (cordoned off my the works, so I don’t know how people got in) and a hole in the wall (so I got some money – I need to cash travellers’ cheques and I still don’t know where (but I’ve really only been in France two full working days). Then I moved onto Dunkirk. This is now a bustling city, so I parked (free again) and took a little walk around the docks area until I happened upon the Marine Museum. This had some floating exhibits outside (currently closed) and two displays inside. One was the growth of the port of Dunkirk (from ancient times, until today, with a hiatus because of wars) and the other was on the ships through the port (so today’s photos have a lot of model ships and other information on Dunkirk). I spent far longer than I expected there, especially given all the descriptions were in French (but I could work out what they meant), but is was just so interesting.
Then I headed off to Calais. This was just a port, very busy, so I went through and then found the coast road (D940). I called in at a small supermarket (there seem to be a few chains, but they are small – the larger ones are set in car parking areas which are not easy to get into when you are looking at the scenery) and stocked up on drink (one quarter the counter price), tissues (small box, so I won’t have to chuck away a large one when I leave Paris, but I seem to sneeze every time after eating, so I wonder if it is a food additive allergy or just change) and a roll for lunch. Memo to self: don’t buy bread from a supermarket in France – go to a patisserie! I will be following the D940 as long as it follows the coast, so progress will be slower and more demanding of concentration. As soon as I was out, I found myself looking at a veritable armada of shipping – ferries between France and England. I could also see the white cliffs of Dover. There was an excellent view from Cape Blanc Nez – but I couldn’t get there, and had to settle for a look from the small village near it (roadworks, presumably for the summer crowds). Then I went further along to the village of Escalles, where I found a Tourist Information Centre and called in, getting a brochure on local B&Bs. I had a quick walk around the town and down to the expansive beach (for some reason, I had never even considered that the northern coast of France would have beaches, but they are large and sandy – and now in retrospect, there have to be such beaches for the invasion landings of D-Day). I settled on a possible place (at €35 for the night) and drove up there. The SatNav does make that easy, so I arrived fairly soon after leaving Escalles. I knocked and eventually the door was answered by a bloke who made Pierce in “Zits” look positively bare. I had a look at the room (very neat, attic type, with full en suite), decided to take it and communicated that I would take it and be back later after sightseeing.
After missing out on Cape Blanc Nez, I tried to get to Cape Gris Nez but … roadworks again! I had to settle for parking near the beach, walking to the cliff top between the two points and seeing it from there. It was immediately obvious from the chalk cliffs why “white nose” was so named, and from the grey sedimentary rocks why “grey nose” was also. There were markers still in the water at the beach, so I presume (because it’s not one of my fields of interest) that the beach must have been one of the landing sites. There were also concrete blockhouses and other reminders still visible in the fields.
By this time the day was moving on and the fuel gauge was moving down. I still wanted other shopping, so I headed back to Calais (fifteen minutes). At a supermarket I got some fruit (must eat only one piece at each mealtime – too much sugar) and other nibblies (can’t tell relative prices until I see the exchange rate, so will do that when I log on either tomorrow or Wednesday evening (when I’m at a McDonald’s – less hassle, but less convenience). Then I filled up with diesel – a rough estimation is 19 kilometres per litre (5·25 litres per hundred kilometres, or for those who really know their cars, 53 miles per gallon), but I hope that will improve with running in and on a longer freeway run.
Then it was back to where I am staying tonight. The system here has each B&B having to post its tariff clearly in the window near the front door – no argument, no problem – very good to make sure owner and guest have no misunderstandings. Very different to the US where the posted tariff often bears little relation to the actual price paid. I carted things upstairs (narrow, wooden, noisy, but real), then started in this and then the photos from today.
All finished now, and with gentle rain on the roof I shall see if I can drop off early tonight to be ready for an early start tomorrow (how far along the coast can I go?).
The weather was overcast, with occasional spits of rain. I decided I would go to Armenteires, as I had both heard so many songs and sung them myself. Then it would be Dunkirk, Calais and then as far as I got.
Off to Armenteires and I found a bustling city, with free parking right at its heart. I wish other cities could take note that France, with such a relatively small space and so many people (and cars, and visitors), can provide free parking in the centre of the city. Why can’t Australia? I had a look around and found building work going on, a monumental town hall, a monument to the wars and those who died in them, a large church (cordoned off my the works, so I don’t know how people got in) and a hole in the wall (so I got some money – I need to cash travellers’ cheques and I still don’t know where (but I’ve really only been in France two full working days). Then I moved onto Dunkirk. This is now a bustling city, so I parked (free again) and took a little walk around the docks area until I happened upon the Marine Museum. This had some floating exhibits outside (currently closed) and two displays inside. One was the growth of the port of Dunkirk (from ancient times, until today, with a hiatus because of wars) and the other was on the ships through the port (so today’s photos have a lot of model ships and other information on Dunkirk). I spent far longer than I expected there, especially given all the descriptions were in French (but I could work out what they meant), but is was just so interesting.
Then I headed off to Calais. This was just a port, very busy, so I went through and then found the coast road (D940). I called in at a small supermarket (there seem to be a few chains, but they are small – the larger ones are set in car parking areas which are not easy to get into when you are looking at the scenery) and stocked up on drink (one quarter the counter price), tissues (small box, so I won’t have to chuck away a large one when I leave Paris, but I seem to sneeze every time after eating, so I wonder if it is a food additive allergy or just change) and a roll for lunch. Memo to self: don’t buy bread from a supermarket in France – go to a patisserie! I will be following the D940 as long as it follows the coast, so progress will be slower and more demanding of concentration. As soon as I was out, I found myself looking at a veritable armada of shipping – ferries between France and England. I could also see the white cliffs of Dover. There was an excellent view from Cape Blanc Nez – but I couldn’t get there, and had to settle for a look from the small village near it (roadworks, presumably for the summer crowds). Then I went further along to the village of Escalles, where I found a Tourist Information Centre and called in, getting a brochure on local B&Bs. I had a quick walk around the town and down to the expansive beach (for some reason, I had never even considered that the northern coast of France would have beaches, but they are large and sandy – and now in retrospect, there have to be such beaches for the invasion landings of D-Day). I settled on a possible place (at €35 for the night) and drove up there. The SatNav does make that easy, so I arrived fairly soon after leaving Escalles. I knocked and eventually the door was answered by a bloke who made Pierce in “Zits” look positively bare. I had a look at the room (very neat, attic type, with full en suite), decided to take it and communicated that I would take it and be back later after sightseeing.
After missing out on Cape Blanc Nez, I tried to get to Cape Gris Nez but … roadworks again! I had to settle for parking near the beach, walking to the cliff top between the two points and seeing it from there. It was immediately obvious from the chalk cliffs why “white nose” was so named, and from the grey sedimentary rocks why “grey nose” was also. There were markers still in the water at the beach, so I presume (because it’s not one of my fields of interest) that the beach must have been one of the landing sites. There were also concrete blockhouses and other reminders still visible in the fields.
By this time the day was moving on and the fuel gauge was moving down. I still wanted other shopping, so I headed back to Calais (fifteen minutes). At a supermarket I got some fruit (must eat only one piece at each mealtime – too much sugar) and other nibblies (can’t tell relative prices until I see the exchange rate, so will do that when I log on either tomorrow or Wednesday evening (when I’m at a McDonald’s – less hassle, but less convenience). Then I filled up with diesel – a rough estimation is 19 kilometres per litre (5·25 litres per hundred kilometres, or for those who really know their cars, 53 miles per gallon), but I hope that will improve with running in and on a longer freeway run.
Then it was back to where I am staying tonight. The system here has each B&B having to post its tariff clearly in the window near the front door – no argument, no problem – very good to make sure owner and guest have no misunderstandings. Very different to the US where the posted tariff often bears little relation to the actual price paid. I carted things upstairs (narrow, wooden, noisy, but real), then started in this and then the photos from today.
All finished now, and with gentle rain on the roof I shall see if I can drop off early tonight to be ready for an early start tomorrow (how far along the coast can I go?).
Sunday, April 13, 2008
13 April
After waking, then going back to sleep and finally getting up at 7:20, I was ready for breakfast at 8. Christian (mine host) had remembered and along came the egg and bacon WITHOUT pepper (but with a salt shaker).
He asked if an early breakfast would be okay tomorrow (suits me better), so tomorrow I will be having breakfast at 7, then off for an early start as I will be moving on, going to Calais and then working along and down the French coast, with excursions inland, until I hit Spain. He is doing a walk near Ypres.
After another must pleasant breakfast, I finished preparing for the day and then headed off to Peronne, to see the Historical. Rather than a straight museum, it presents materials and times from the periods before, during and after the war. I arrived in Peronne at 9:40, so had a little walk around before going to the museum (they open at 10). I noticed that yet again, the river had been barraged, and pools (or ponds) had been created from the trapped water. It makes very pleasant little open water areas for recreational use.
Once in the Historical I walked around, trying to glean a lot in a little time. I heard a familiar accent, (ex)teachers from Orange, NSW. They had to be at Calais at the end of the day, so were trying to pack more than I do into a day. The three main exhibition areas were well set out, with displays in “pits”, so they were easily visible to everyone.
After, I called into the bookshop, asking about maps for the actions of August 1918. The reply was n, but I skimmed through some books and found one, “Advance to Victory 1918 – Somme”, with an interesting Chapter Three. I quote from page 64,
“…Under the direction of two Australians who were already familiar with the approaches to Chipilly the 2/10 Londons then entered the village under the protection of a smokescreen fired by the artillery. These Australians then pushed around the south of the village, above the banks of the Somme, and then rushed the machine gun positions on the spur’s summit. This attack … allowing the soldiers of the 173 Brigade to complete the capture of their objective …”
This seems to tally fairly well with the account given in the citation:
“When the assaulting troops were nearing the RED line the advance looked like being seriously hampered by the fire from an enemy machine-gun nest which was on the ridge in front. Corporal Pound, regardless of personal risk, rushed his mortar forward and got it quickly into action, dislodging the enemy guns and crews. All this was done under the most severe fire from enemy machine guns. The advance was then able to proceed.”
Therefore I believe I have found the location of the action: it would be just south of the current War Cemetery in Chipilly, which is only a kilometre or so from the line between Morcourt and Mericourt-sur-Somme, and just north of the Somme.
Exhilarated by this, I headed north to catch up with Lawrence Brown at Thiepval and see if he accepted my belief. On the way I called in at a small Australian memorial at Mont St Quentin. I then stopped at a Souvenir (Remembrance) Chapel and found a small but moving museum and a cemetery with not only crosses, but markers for French of other religions. After that was a South African memorial at Longueval. Passing back through Pozieres, I found another Australian memorial (there is one at each end of the town). Just before getting to the Newfoundland memorial, which I wanted to get back to, I stopped at Mouquot Farm, which was christened “Moo Cow Farm” by the Australians.
At the Newfoundland memorial at Beaumont-Hamel, not only did I get to see the whole site properly, I also found Steven, a Canadian, who is checking to see if he can locate a large scale map of the area in question above, so I can be certain. He will get back to me.
Then it was into Thiepval, where Lawrence agreed that it most likely was the same action described in the book and in the citation. Now, far more certain in my belief, I headed back to scout the site better. As I had to pass through Albert on the way, I got a baguette for lunch (sounds better than saying I pigged out on a small breadstick) and photographed the town hall.
Once in Chipilly, at the cemetery I took photos encompassing the site of the action. The river is not easily visible, so I went down to Morcourt and found some lanes heading to the river, drove in (very carefully) with my narrow, low, front-wheel-drive and new Renault and then took some photos to show what the area is like. They are all labelled George Pound in the Flickr site, Europe Day 3 photos.
Feeling very satisfied, I headed back to Pozieres to note everything down, transfer the photos and perhaps hit the big M this evening and get everything on line. I decided that, as this “trench museum” was opposite, I should see it (and at €2, it wasn’t too much of a gamble). I parked and walked over, paid and went into the back yard. I didn’t get any further for the time being as a family from Paris, up here for the day (it’s only about an hour from the centre of Paris if you take the motorway) said Bonjour, I answered Bonjour, then added G’Day and said I was Australian and the next minute I was being asked everything and then took a photo of them and had mine taken with them. After half an hour they left to go home and I looked at the museum. It actually is his back yard, but very well done (as you can see). Before I was able to go, I chatted with three Englishmen over here for a few days, and that extended into another half hour once they realised I was Australian.
So I was able to retreat and do everything, and now at 6:40 I will head off to Macca’s at Albert and try to get everything posted for today.
He asked if an early breakfast would be okay tomorrow (suits me better), so tomorrow I will be having breakfast at 7, then off for an early start as I will be moving on, going to Calais and then working along and down the French coast, with excursions inland, until I hit Spain. He is doing a walk near Ypres.
After another must pleasant breakfast, I finished preparing for the day and then headed off to Peronne, to see the Historical. Rather than a straight museum, it presents materials and times from the periods before, during and after the war. I arrived in Peronne at 9:40, so had a little walk around before going to the museum (they open at 10). I noticed that yet again, the river had been barraged, and pools (or ponds) had been created from the trapped water. It makes very pleasant little open water areas for recreational use.
Once in the Historical I walked around, trying to glean a lot in a little time. I heard a familiar accent, (ex)teachers from Orange, NSW. They had to be at Calais at the end of the day, so were trying to pack more than I do into a day. The three main exhibition areas were well set out, with displays in “pits”, so they were easily visible to everyone.
After, I called into the bookshop, asking about maps for the actions of August 1918. The reply was n, but I skimmed through some books and found one, “Advance to Victory 1918 – Somme”, with an interesting Chapter Three. I quote from page 64,
“…Under the direction of two Australians who were already familiar with the approaches to Chipilly the 2/10 Londons then entered the village under the protection of a smokescreen fired by the artillery. These Australians then pushed around the south of the village, above the banks of the Somme, and then rushed the machine gun positions on the spur’s summit. This attack … allowing the soldiers of the 173 Brigade to complete the capture of their objective …”
This seems to tally fairly well with the account given in the citation:
“When the assaulting troops were nearing the RED line the advance looked like being seriously hampered by the fire from an enemy machine-gun nest which was on the ridge in front. Corporal Pound, regardless of personal risk, rushed his mortar forward and got it quickly into action, dislodging the enemy guns and crews. All this was done under the most severe fire from enemy machine guns. The advance was then able to proceed.”
Therefore I believe I have found the location of the action: it would be just south of the current War Cemetery in Chipilly, which is only a kilometre or so from the line between Morcourt and Mericourt-sur-Somme, and just north of the Somme.
Exhilarated by this, I headed north to catch up with Lawrence Brown at Thiepval and see if he accepted my belief. On the way I called in at a small Australian memorial at Mont St Quentin. I then stopped at a Souvenir (Remembrance) Chapel and found a small but moving museum and a cemetery with not only crosses, but markers for French of other religions. After that was a South African memorial at Longueval. Passing back through Pozieres, I found another Australian memorial (there is one at each end of the town). Just before getting to the Newfoundland memorial, which I wanted to get back to, I stopped at Mouquot Farm, which was christened “Moo Cow Farm” by the Australians.
At the Newfoundland memorial at Beaumont-Hamel, not only did I get to see the whole site properly, I also found Steven, a Canadian, who is checking to see if he can locate a large scale map of the area in question above, so I can be certain. He will get back to me.
Then it was into Thiepval, where Lawrence agreed that it most likely was the same action described in the book and in the citation. Now, far more certain in my belief, I headed back to scout the site better. As I had to pass through Albert on the way, I got a baguette for lunch (sounds better than saying I pigged out on a small breadstick) and photographed the town hall.
Once in Chipilly, at the cemetery I took photos encompassing the site of the action. The river is not easily visible, so I went down to Morcourt and found some lanes heading to the river, drove in (very carefully) with my narrow, low, front-wheel-drive and new Renault and then took some photos to show what the area is like. They are all labelled George Pound in the Flickr site, Europe Day 3 photos.
Feeling very satisfied, I headed back to Pozieres to note everything down, transfer the photos and perhaps hit the big M this evening and get everything on line. I decided that, as this “trench museum” was opposite, I should see it (and at €2, it wasn’t too much of a gamble). I parked and walked over, paid and went into the back yard. I didn’t get any further for the time being as a family from Paris, up here for the day (it’s only about an hour from the centre of Paris if you take the motorway) said Bonjour, I answered Bonjour, then added G’Day and said I was Australian and the next minute I was being asked everything and then took a photo of them and had mine taken with them. After half an hour they left to go home and I looked at the museum. It actually is his back yard, but very well done (as you can see). Before I was able to go, I chatted with three Englishmen over here for a few days, and that extended into another half hour once they realised I was Australian.
So I was able to retreat and do everything, and now at 6:40 I will head off to Macca’s at Albert and try to get everything posted for today.
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.
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.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
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?
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?
10 April
Today the routine varied. I was awake at 6, then up at 6:15 and showered and dressed, then started to pack everything away. The shirts just get laid on top of the other luggage, so they go last and come out first (they will go on the car coat hanger once I pick it up). Then it was down for a light breakfast and news of the night before – apparently one of the toilets had overflowed from the cistern and flooded the floor and then the dining room below. Most of the water had been mopped up and the carpets had been vacuumed, but they were unsure whether the light fittings had been affected. Fortunately they had not, so I was able to see my breakfast – just toast, tea and orange juice. After that, I finished preparing, packing and took my luggage down, finally packing the suitcase down there (English map, shirts and clean underwear). It took two trips as I had to ensure that the room was fully empty. I said my farewells (I would certainly stay there again, and if anyone else is down that way, it is Glenhill B&B, 21 Alexandra Road, Worthing).
I put the SatNav on and gradually made my way to Gatwick. Although the traffic was heavy at some points, it moved quickly. Roundabouts and traffic lights were the big hold-ups and I arrived at Gatwick at 8:15 and espied a petrol station to refuel. That was okay and then it was into Gatwick South Terminal Car Rental and finding a parking spot in there. Eventually I did, but then I had trouble getting out of the car (narrow spots, and it was only a Peugeot 207, not the widest of vehicles). An attendant rushed up, did the paperwork and after a minute or so (to print a receipt) I was on my way.
I got to the train terminal with adequate time, but then the ticket machine refused to accept my credit card. No matter which way I tried it, it wouldn’t say it was valid. After utter frustration, I had to go to the ticket lines and so missed the first train (8:38) I had expected to catch. Then, with other queries, the line was moving so slowly that I feared I would miss the next one. However I managed to catch the 8:52 with a minute to spare. I followed a man with his daughter pulling a huge pink suitcase which he was reluctant to pull along onto the train.
On the train I chatted with him; he was taking his younger daughter with him to EuroDisney while his older daughter was off to Brisbane with the mother. He had been to Australia before (relatives there) and had a good knowledge of it. Before too long we were at St Pancras in London and we all got off. They were going on the 11:08 train.
I looked for a letter receiver (no luck, so I’ll have to post the postcards back to England in a large envelope and get someone else to post them) and then went off to EuroStar departures. Security was not as tight as at other places, but because of the hurry I did not get the coins out of my pocket and so set the alarm off. A slow frisk and I was allowed to go on. By the time I gathered everything together, and went through passport control (only a formality because of the EU passport but I did take my cap off so I looked the same), the boarding call for the 10:38 (now the time of the train I was given. I still hadn’t been able to find a letter receiver (though I had been assured they were inside), so that is a task for over there.
I went through the queue to board (only two queues, security and to board, so it was nowhere near as bad as the US) and was quickly in coach 12, seat 21. There was enough room to stow all my gear and I photographed it, much to the amusement of the English couple opposite. Then the train was off. At 10:28. It began to glide out of the platform, moved slowly through the London area and then picked up time. We went through the Kent countryside, which I tried to photograph – but as the locomotives are electric, there were staunchions every few metres. We stopped at Ashdown International Station and then the meal was served. My first course was fruit (don’t any of these dieticians know that fruit elevates sugar levels, especially when doing nothing – and sitting in a train seat for nearly two hours is as close as you can get to doing nothing) and the second course was omelette, mushrooms and salmon. All I could do was eat the omelette and hope that no salmon had got onto it (I’ll know before the train gets into Gard de Nord if it had, because that’s how long it will take me to react – the place for special conditions on the ticket booking doesn’t have enough room for more than one special condition, so perhaps I’ll have to make seafood the highest). The train had been next to a motorway at one stage and we were leaving the cars well behind, so we must have been going very quickly. I had tried to get the speed with the SatNav, but treated windows in trains stop the satellite signals getting through.
By this stage we must have been in the chunnel, as the tunnel we were in seemed a lot longer than the others we had passed through. Otherwise, the ride was very smooth, certainly a lot better than any in North America and exceedingly better than any I have been on in Australia.
Most of the staff were French, but very polite and spoke in very good English.
Not long after 11:30 we arrived in France. The countryside didn’t look too different but the buildings did. Of course the traffic is on the other side, but that is now familiar from North America. The graffiti was, as in any country, an unwelcome blight on both the natural and built countryside. Certainly, from first impressions, things are neat and cared for. The villages, as in England, seem very compact and self-contained, with farming right up to the back yards of the houses. The ubiquitous mobile telephone towers are very visible, farm fences seem more permanent than in Australia and the trees are shorter and spindlier, as in most of North America and Britain. I can see why visitors to Australia marvel at the gumtrees. Internet addresses are also very evident, ending of course in fr. Some hills seem stark, but I do know that in some places in France they don’t use landfill for rubbish, they build hills and cover them with fill. A stark difference is that every bit of land is used – there are no areas visible which are just “left”, but given the length of land use and population, that is inevitable. The size of some farms is surprising, but I can’t tell whether they are farmed iin common or not. Wind farms were also visible from the train. Church steeples were a common sight, a few visible at one time. I’m looking at the roads, seeing whether there are spots to pull of at to take photos – but from a speeding train they are not visible.
One thing is the chains – I’ve seen a Midas Muffler place and a few chain hotels, and they seem out of place in this countryside, though I may be grateful later to see and recognise something familiar. Just saw a dairy herd and rectangular power transformers on poles.
A problem is that when we pass through villages, there are noise barriers up – the locals don’t get too affected by the noise of the trains (and there must be a lot each day), but as a tourist I cannot see anything. I think I will have a lot of photos of blurred trees and some form of barrier.
One piece of news not passed on probably because everyone else knew it was that clocks go forward an hour in France compared to England. So at 12:45 I’m wondering which town we are in and we are just pulling into the Gard du Nord, North Station, the end of my journey. I had noticed the increase in graffiti, some gypsy encampments and a few other giveaways of a large city, but in seeing everything was new, so were they.
After gathering my luggage together and getting off, I eventually found the place to get a ticket to Charles de Gaulle Airport. The self-serve machine was too self-serving and would not recognise my card for some reason. I had to go to the counter to get the ticket – perhaps just as well, because the zone system was not clear on the machine. The next trick was to find the platform – and after a few false starts I found the right spot. I passed on the train just about to leave, as it was crowded, and caught the next, which was an express. The train does not go to Terminal 3, where I had to pick the car up, just Terminals 1 and 2. I was supposed to catch the shuttle bus, but it only took five minutes to walk, even going slowly with all my luggage (I think before I eave for Japan, I will post as much as I can home from France, even if it is clothing, to minimise my carrying weight). Then I was orienting the map in the car pickup guide to find the Renault offices – and in common with a lot so far in Europe, everyone was in and was the same office. The procedure went through quickly with me trying to speak consistently in French and having difficulty with the speed of speech of the staff – and very soon I was loading the luggage into a little black four-door Renault Clio. The deliverer took the time to explain most of the functions of the car so I at least knew how to switch things on and off. I also got a handbook, but I’m going to wait until I am in the same place for a few days before reading it.
Now I had to fill the car fairly quickly – the tank has only a few litres in it. The servo at the airport was very busy, probably from rentals as well as others like me. I managed to find the diesel pump and fill the car (and start a log) and the transaction went through with the credit card with no problems. Then I was out and on my way to Amiens (well, I wanted to head in that direction). So the SatNav was told what I wanted and gave me the directions in English but the road signs on the display came up in French (good!). I got to Amiens okay, considering the car was manual, new and left-hand drive. I have to make sure I keep a finger on the indicator switch – that way I can’t accidentally try to change gear in the door pocket.
I wen through Amiens because I was a little earlier than I thought, and I also had in my mind that if worse came to worse, on my first night I could splurge while finding my way. I then set out for Morcourt, which is one of the places near where my grandfather won his medal. Along the way I found one place which had a few accommodation options in the SatNav – and after trying the first one (booked out), I found the next one (which I was also directed to) had rooms, at €39, which were en suite. Mind you, they had been converted and would not pass a safety audit in Australia, but they were clean, comfortable and had a TV. No Internet, but that may be here, I just didn’t investigate. Once having paid, I moved the car a little closer, then went for a walk with my camera.
I took some photos, then ended up in conversation with a lady and gent (though she did all the talking) who couldn’t speak any English who told me about the sights around the town. Also, there is a special display in the Museum. After thanking her, I got petit frittes for tea (after my poor accent, the seller said, “chips”) and walked around a little more. At this point, I saw the village “lads” roaring around the square outside the church on a small motorbike (taking turns). Before I got back to the hotel they were out the front of the Town Hall (a foolish move, I thought, as the police station was beside the hall. I was just about to get my stuff from the car and take it to the room when a lady walking a dog said hello and then told me about the river, just down the street. Again, she didn’t speak English, but I got the meaning and walked down there – and the view was very nice, although the young couple eating and … by the bank were surprised to see anyone else there. I walked around and back, passing behind an obvious school. This time I did get my stuff, went to my room and set up the charger for batteries and the computer (220 V, round pins) and then did this blog, looked for an Internet connection (everyone had password-protected their networks – blast!) and then tried to settle for a sleep in a new country, with a new language and a new car.
I put the SatNav on and gradually made my way to Gatwick. Although the traffic was heavy at some points, it moved quickly. Roundabouts and traffic lights were the big hold-ups and I arrived at Gatwick at 8:15 and espied a petrol station to refuel. That was okay and then it was into Gatwick South Terminal Car Rental and finding a parking spot in there. Eventually I did, but then I had trouble getting out of the car (narrow spots, and it was only a Peugeot 207, not the widest of vehicles). An attendant rushed up, did the paperwork and after a minute or so (to print a receipt) I was on my way.
I got to the train terminal with adequate time, but then the ticket machine refused to accept my credit card. No matter which way I tried it, it wouldn’t say it was valid. After utter frustration, I had to go to the ticket lines and so missed the first train (8:38) I had expected to catch. Then, with other queries, the line was moving so slowly that I feared I would miss the next one. However I managed to catch the 8:52 with a minute to spare. I followed a man with his daughter pulling a huge pink suitcase which he was reluctant to pull along onto the train.
On the train I chatted with him; he was taking his younger daughter with him to EuroDisney while his older daughter was off to Brisbane with the mother. He had been to Australia before (relatives there) and had a good knowledge of it. Before too long we were at St Pancras in London and we all got off. They were going on the 11:08 train.
I looked for a letter receiver (no luck, so I’ll have to post the postcards back to England in a large envelope and get someone else to post them) and then went off to EuroStar departures. Security was not as tight as at other places, but because of the hurry I did not get the coins out of my pocket and so set the alarm off. A slow frisk and I was allowed to go on. By the time I gathered everything together, and went through passport control (only a formality because of the EU passport but I did take my cap off so I looked the same), the boarding call for the 10:38 (now the time of the train I was given. I still hadn’t been able to find a letter receiver (though I had been assured they were inside), so that is a task for over there.
I went through the queue to board (only two queues, security and to board, so it was nowhere near as bad as the US) and was quickly in coach 12, seat 21. There was enough room to stow all my gear and I photographed it, much to the amusement of the English couple opposite. Then the train was off. At 10:28. It began to glide out of the platform, moved slowly through the London area and then picked up time. We went through the Kent countryside, which I tried to photograph – but as the locomotives are electric, there were staunchions every few metres. We stopped at Ashdown International Station and then the meal was served. My first course was fruit (don’t any of these dieticians know that fruit elevates sugar levels, especially when doing nothing – and sitting in a train seat for nearly two hours is as close as you can get to doing nothing) and the second course was omelette, mushrooms and salmon. All I could do was eat the omelette and hope that no salmon had got onto it (I’ll know before the train gets into Gard de Nord if it had, because that’s how long it will take me to react – the place for special conditions on the ticket booking doesn’t have enough room for more than one special condition, so perhaps I’ll have to make seafood the highest). The train had been next to a motorway at one stage and we were leaving the cars well behind, so we must have been going very quickly. I had tried to get the speed with the SatNav, but treated windows in trains stop the satellite signals getting through.
By this stage we must have been in the chunnel, as the tunnel we were in seemed a lot longer than the others we had passed through. Otherwise, the ride was very smooth, certainly a lot better than any in North America and exceedingly better than any I have been on in Australia.
Most of the staff were French, but very polite and spoke in very good English.
Not long after 11:30 we arrived in France. The countryside didn’t look too different but the buildings did. Of course the traffic is on the other side, but that is now familiar from North America. The graffiti was, as in any country, an unwelcome blight on both the natural and built countryside. Certainly, from first impressions, things are neat and cared for. The villages, as in England, seem very compact and self-contained, with farming right up to the back yards of the houses. The ubiquitous mobile telephone towers are very visible, farm fences seem more permanent than in Australia and the trees are shorter and spindlier, as in most of North America and Britain. I can see why visitors to Australia marvel at the gumtrees. Internet addresses are also very evident, ending of course in fr. Some hills seem stark, but I do know that in some places in France they don’t use landfill for rubbish, they build hills and cover them with fill. A stark difference is that every bit of land is used – there are no areas visible which are just “left”, but given the length of land use and population, that is inevitable. The size of some farms is surprising, but I can’t tell whether they are farmed iin common or not. Wind farms were also visible from the train. Church steeples were a common sight, a few visible at one time. I’m looking at the roads, seeing whether there are spots to pull of at to take photos – but from a speeding train they are not visible.
One thing is the chains – I’ve seen a Midas Muffler place and a few chain hotels, and they seem out of place in this countryside, though I may be grateful later to see and recognise something familiar. Just saw a dairy herd and rectangular power transformers on poles.
A problem is that when we pass through villages, there are noise barriers up – the locals don’t get too affected by the noise of the trains (and there must be a lot each day), but as a tourist I cannot see anything. I think I will have a lot of photos of blurred trees and some form of barrier.
One piece of news not passed on probably because everyone else knew it was that clocks go forward an hour in France compared to England. So at 12:45 I’m wondering which town we are in and we are just pulling into the Gard du Nord, North Station, the end of my journey. I had noticed the increase in graffiti, some gypsy encampments and a few other giveaways of a large city, but in seeing everything was new, so were they.
After gathering my luggage together and getting off, I eventually found the place to get a ticket to Charles de Gaulle Airport. The self-serve machine was too self-serving and would not recognise my card for some reason. I had to go to the counter to get the ticket – perhaps just as well, because the zone system was not clear on the machine. The next trick was to find the platform – and after a few false starts I found the right spot. I passed on the train just about to leave, as it was crowded, and caught the next, which was an express. The train does not go to Terminal 3, where I had to pick the car up, just Terminals 1 and 2. I was supposed to catch the shuttle bus, but it only took five minutes to walk, even going slowly with all my luggage (I think before I eave for Japan, I will post as much as I can home from France, even if it is clothing, to minimise my carrying weight). Then I was orienting the map in the car pickup guide to find the Renault offices – and in common with a lot so far in Europe, everyone was in and was the same office. The procedure went through quickly with me trying to speak consistently in French and having difficulty with the speed of speech of the staff – and very soon I was loading the luggage into a little black four-door Renault Clio. The deliverer took the time to explain most of the functions of the car so I at least knew how to switch things on and off. I also got a handbook, but I’m going to wait until I am in the same place for a few days before reading it.
Now I had to fill the car fairly quickly – the tank has only a few litres in it. The servo at the airport was very busy, probably from rentals as well as others like me. I managed to find the diesel pump and fill the car (and start a log) and the transaction went through with the credit card with no problems. Then I was out and on my way to Amiens (well, I wanted to head in that direction). So the SatNav was told what I wanted and gave me the directions in English but the road signs on the display came up in French (good!). I got to Amiens okay, considering the car was manual, new and left-hand drive. I have to make sure I keep a finger on the indicator switch – that way I can’t accidentally try to change gear in the door pocket.
I wen through Amiens because I was a little earlier than I thought, and I also had in my mind that if worse came to worse, on my first night I could splurge while finding my way. I then set out for Morcourt, which is one of the places near where my grandfather won his medal. Along the way I found one place which had a few accommodation options in the SatNav – and after trying the first one (booked out), I found the next one (which I was also directed to) had rooms, at €39, which were en suite. Mind you, they had been converted and would not pass a safety audit in Australia, but they were clean, comfortable and had a TV. No Internet, but that may be here, I just didn’t investigate. Once having paid, I moved the car a little closer, then went for a walk with my camera.
I took some photos, then ended up in conversation with a lady and gent (though she did all the talking) who couldn’t speak any English who told me about the sights around the town. Also, there is a special display in the Museum. After thanking her, I got petit frittes for tea (after my poor accent, the seller said, “chips”) and walked around a little more. At this point, I saw the village “lads” roaring around the square outside the church on a small motorbike (taking turns). Before I got back to the hotel they were out the front of the Town Hall (a foolish move, I thought, as the police station was beside the hall. I was just about to get my stuff from the car and take it to the room when a lady walking a dog said hello and then told me about the river, just down the street. Again, she didn’t speak English, but I got the meaning and walked down there – and the view was very nice, although the young couple eating and … by the bank were surprised to see anyone else there. I walked around and back, passing behind an obvious school. This time I did get my stuff, went to my room and set up the charger for batteries and the computer (220 V, round pins) and then did this blog, looked for an Internet connection (everyone had password-protected their networks – blast!) and then tried to settle for a sleep in a new country, with a new language and a new car.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
9 April
I very reluctantly got up, with too little sleep but too much to do, so I was down by 7:30 for breakfast and then checked my email, etc. afterwards. Then after finishing everything else, I was off down to Lancing by 8:30. I put the car into the garage (when you see the picture, you will understand there wasn’t much room each side (and the mirrors didn’t fold back)) and then popped in to see Peggy.
After a chat and a cup of tea (the postcard I sent from Vancouver before I left on the train finally reached Peggy today in the mail), I headed off to the railway station in Lancing (on foot) and purchased a ticket which would get me to London and back and also around on the Underground (and the buses), so I could move around as I liked. At 10:10 I was off.
After a pleasant train trip through the English countryside (and between the towns and cities it is countryside, with rolling fields, animals and agricultural industry in full swing) I got off at Gatwick. After a quick look, I found that there was a direct train from Gatwick to St Pancras, slower than the Gatwick Express to Victoria, but requiring no changes (and therefore no hassle with luggage). I boarded the next one of those and an hour later was in St Pancras. It’s an impressive station, and leaves what has been done to Spencer Street in Melbourne as an entry in the “also-ran” stakes. After a quick exploratory look around, I went to the EuroStar ticket area and got my ticket for tomorrow from the self-serve machines (it identifies the user from the credit card used to buy the ticket originally), then checked about luggage, etc. After that I went for a little walk around London and had a look at Piccadilly Circus and the areas around there. I saw some quirky” sights, which I photographed, and then went down to Southwark, where dad was born. I walked up Blackfriars, along the Thames, over the river on the Millennium Bridge, saw St Paul’s Cathedral and then went along to the Tower of London (but only to look as I walked past, as I was there with mum and dad twenty-eight years ago, and in its time-scale, that is nothing). While looking at Tower Bridge, I took a photograph for a couple and found out the man had been a student at Wycheproof when I had been teaching there – what a coincidence! After that I caught the train back to Victoria and then, after a short time, caught the train back to Lancing (it was a twelve car train, but we had to be in the last four cars as they were the only ones which went to Lancing – the others split off before there). After a brisk walk (although walking was paling after doing so much in London) I was back at Peggy’s and ready for a debrief and another cup of tea.
I finally said my goodbyes, collected the car and returned the garage key, then drove back to Worthing. I was able to get a parking spot not too far from my B&B, so I parked, went up and did all my computer work, then tried to get an early night so I would catch up from last night and be refreshed enough to enjoy the train trip tomorrow (and be bright enough to be able to ask about my ticket from Gard de Nord to Aeroport Roissy in French after).
And so I disappeared into the depths of sleep (well, that was the plan when I wrote this – reality has a nasty way of being different).
After a chat and a cup of tea (the postcard I sent from Vancouver before I left on the train finally reached Peggy today in the mail), I headed off to the railway station in Lancing (on foot) and purchased a ticket which would get me to London and back and also around on the Underground (and the buses), so I could move around as I liked. At 10:10 I was off.
After a pleasant train trip through the English countryside (and between the towns and cities it is countryside, with rolling fields, animals and agricultural industry in full swing) I got off at Gatwick. After a quick look, I found that there was a direct train from Gatwick to St Pancras, slower than the Gatwick Express to Victoria, but requiring no changes (and therefore no hassle with luggage). I boarded the next one of those and an hour later was in St Pancras. It’s an impressive station, and leaves what has been done to Spencer Street in Melbourne as an entry in the “also-ran” stakes. After a quick exploratory look around, I went to the EuroStar ticket area and got my ticket for tomorrow from the self-serve machines (it identifies the user from the credit card used to buy the ticket originally), then checked about luggage, etc. After that I went for a little walk around London and had a look at Piccadilly Circus and the areas around there. I saw some quirky” sights, which I photographed, and then went down to Southwark, where dad was born. I walked up Blackfriars, along the Thames, over the river on the Millennium Bridge, saw St Paul’s Cathedral and then went along to the Tower of London (but only to look as I walked past, as I was there with mum and dad twenty-eight years ago, and in its time-scale, that is nothing). While looking at Tower Bridge, I took a photograph for a couple and found out the man had been a student at Wycheproof when I had been teaching there – what a coincidence! After that I caught the train back to Victoria and then, after a short time, caught the train back to Lancing (it was a twelve car train, but we had to be in the last four cars as they were the only ones which went to Lancing – the others split off before there). After a brisk walk (although walking was paling after doing so much in London) I was back at Peggy’s and ready for a debrief and another cup of tea.
I finally said my goodbyes, collected the car and returned the garage key, then drove back to Worthing. I was able to get a parking spot not too far from my B&B, so I parked, went up and did all my computer work, then tried to get an early night so I would catch up from last night and be refreshed enough to enjoy the train trip tomorrow (and be bright enough to be able to ask about my ticket from Gard de Nord to Aeroport Roissy in French after).
And so I disappeared into the depths of sleep (well, that was the plan when I wrote this – reality has a nasty way of being different).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
