The Long, Long Trail

Up early, running around as excited as a boy of six on Christmas morning. Took the precaution of packing the night before, all bar the kitchen sink as some will find later, so with time on my hands sit down to surf the Great War forum!

Find that Robbie is also on line and during a correspondence with her my mobile goes. Chris, informs me he is ahead of schedule and will be at Watford gap services in a few minutes! A quick message on the forum and a mild panic precedes a hasty run ,in the car, to the back entrance of the service station and a walk down the road to see the white mini bus debussing the occupants to stretch their legs.

A slightly nervous introduction to Derek, Roy, Chris, Brain, Paul W and Terry Reeves, then off we head down the motorway to that land of concrete known as Milton Keynes, or more accurately Bletchley (as if it makes any difference!) to pick up Will, John W and Linda. We encounter a slight problem as we find our path blocked by bollards and seemingly no way through. Chris decides to go on foot and finally we see him leading back a small party of bag touting trekkers.

Once again a few new introductions and some old acquaintances are followed by Brian leading us out of the environs of MK, with Will giving us a tour description as we go, (Please!)

Next stop is a tad further, it is the M20 and collection of Jon Saunders and Terry Denham from a service station. I have met both of these before at the Pals visit to the IWM and know what to expect from these two. Terry the personification of good conduct and intelligent, knowledgeable conversation and then you’ve got Jon!

Terry sits next to me and Jon pops in the front of the mini bus with Brian one side of him (driver) and Chris the other. Possibly to keep him in check. Soon Jon becomes the bus nodding dog, bobbing around in the front, parrying jibes from the passengers in the back, a trait to follow over the next few days.

Last stop is to pick up Tybers and Robbie. Although having not met it transpires that as they were waiting outside the train station for us to arrive, they had guessed who each others was with Robbie having fell for the old ‘get out your salient guide ploy‘ that Tybers used with practiced ease. I think Tybers was glad to be picked up by the bus so someone else could get the tongue bashing from Robbie, who talks like she writes on forum, fast and profusely.

So now we are all together, in are small white tin can that will be our mobile transport, she will serve us well. Next stop is the channel tunnel, another new adventure for me, as you may be guessing I don’t get out a lot!

Prior to getting on the under water express we stop for refreshments and Will shows his Mk tough side in a minor altercation with a sales lady trying to sell credit cards, as Will walks off he misses the rather cheekily sent two fingers that waves him goodbye. Water of a ducks back to these tough nuts from Mk.

The short and rather unsensational journey under water is passed by reliving Robbie of some Bassett’s liquorice allsorts. Then its France and that strange sensation of driving on the wrong side of the road. Almost instantly I am struck by the lack of traffic.

As we make our way into Belgium I am beginning to be struck by the amount of military graveyards, just dotted around the countryside and the flatness of the ground and I wonder, if this is typical, how in hell did any troops even leave the trenches let along get to an objective.

Soon we pull over and it is my first visit to a military Great War cemetery at Brandhoek and what a first, the double VC stone of Noel Chavasse. The stone is apparently unique in that you will never see another for WW1 nor very probably ever, as the only other two double VC winners either survived their awards or have no known grave and thus they do not have a CWGC headstone. (the two are Martin-Leake who one his first in the Boer War and the other winner Upham was a double WW2 winner)

I find over the days that a lot of these VC stones are ‘made’ a lot of and I cant help thinking that this is perhaps a little demeaning to the ‘ordinary’ chap who did his bit. As a consequence it is the normal Gravestones that call to me over the days, or the ones that have a story. That is not to take anything away from the act of bravery that the VC winners showed.

I find also that there seem to be a vast amount of Artillery headstones, whilst it is pointed out to me that this is quite a way behind the front line and obviously this is where the artillery would have been brought, perhaps to a dressing station nearby. I also realise that the Artillery arm of the army was larger than other badged regiments etc, still it draws my attention to RFA/RHA/RGA headstones over the days.

I am beginning to realise that this visit is going to be a massive learning curve for me and I am grateful that at least Robbie seems to be as bigger battlefield virgin as me. Terry Denham informs me that any cemeteries that have over 400 headstones also has a ‘Stone of remembrance’.

A windy rough half road leads us to Varlet Farm and we all have a giggle at Robbie’s expense as we see the farm and wonder where the cash point machine will be situated, She had previous posted a question asking if there was a cash point near Varlet Farm.

Our "small white tin can" pulls up at Varlet Farm

Charlotte is there to meet us and a great welcome it is. We sort out the sleeping arrangements and poor old Will elects to share with me. Both of us and Terry Reeves and Chris are shown to the family room, later coined the officers quarters, if for no other reason than to make me and Will not feel like the children of the ‘family’

The room is fantastic, a toilet and two bedrooms off a small study type room packed with books to make the chin dribble wet and perhaps best of all a small fridge, with tardis qualities, that is packed full of all types of Beers. Bless you Charlotte.

After a quick unpack, we enjoy a short acclimatisation of our surroundings as we go for a walk around the fields that border the farm. Again I am struck by the flatness of the ground. Will and me listen as Brain and Terry R. give a small lesson in where the front lines would have been. It becomes apparent that Varlet farm was in the front line area, mostly under German ‘occupation’.

Having had a long day I am looking forward to dinner and we retire to the old barn now converted to a dining area and we are treated to not just a mouth water feast but copious amounts too. Soup and main course, twice, followed by cake and tea, all washed down with beer. I am starting to discover that Passendale beer is great. Unfortunately we learn that they are stopping producing it. This later in the tour will cause some friction, but for now we all enjoy a relaxing time.

We retire to the family room and the ‘other ranks’ go to their mess. More sampling of beer takes place and it soon becomes apparent to me that if I have to drink Leffe then I shall not be drinking the dark version.

Chris, who had been up longer than most retired to bed at around 23.30 and Terry opens a few more beers, popping the bottle tops into a jug to keep for Charlotte so she can tote up the amount we consume. I have now realised what the joke was that Martin Wills had tried to draw Robbie on when he’d posted “Robbie, make sure you collect all the tops of the bottles off the guys as when you have fifty together Charlotte will give you a book token!”

Another round of beers is greeted with a move of subject from battles to Shot at Dawn, which just goes to show how tired and stupid we could be, SAD is emotive at the best of times but fuelled by alcohol can be suicidal. Stranger even when we realise we are all of the same mind, yet still the subject gets heated. Time for bed me thinks!

Trudie my wife has tried to help poor old Will out by providing me with some ‘anti snoring’ dissolvable strips. Allegedly I snore, though how Trudie my long suffering wife can hear above the noise she makes is a mystery to me. On pointing this out to Will he says no matter, he listens to music on a headset before he nods off and once asleep nothing will stir him.

I am soon asleep.

We establish two things as we both wake almost simultaneously, one the tablets don’t work and two, and this will be no surprise to the females who read this, that my wife is right, I snore. A quick brew is put on as we take it in turns to do the three S’s (S**t, Shave, Shower) and then down to breakfast.

An array of delights awaits us as we see chocolate, cereal, bread rolls, eggs, meats, cheese, tea, coffee and juice and others too many to recall. Once we have all had our fill we are resupplied and told to make our lunch out of the remains. It is a knack we will learn to an art, with good humoured competition to see who can create the best pack up.

As we rise to leave Brian has the horror of his life as he discovers that Jon Saunders has elected to wear shorts! It is to have repercussions later on as with Jon sitting in the front with the driver there are a few moments when Brian gets confused with Jon’s knee and the gear stick. Jon does not seem to mind the fondling, though fifth gear does bring a wry smile to his face.

Back to the rooms for bags etc and then all into a white stead to begin the days journey around 9am. Off to the furthest point at Berkshire Cemetery extension. This is split in two by the road we have travelled on. One side has a small congregation of headstones whilst the other side is adorned by a dome memorial.

A scan off the main side shows there to be a large number of Canadian troops buried and Robbie pops off to study some Aussie ones she has located. I cross the road to the other side and I am informed that there is a Rugby player here and a boy killed one week before his seventeenth birthday.

Our first stop on Day Two: Ploegsteert

From here we travel to Prowse Point, a small beautiful lake adorned cemetery, via a stop off to study the ground around the area a plaque has been put to the memory of Bruce Bairnsfather. A further study once again shows the flatness of the ground. After this we go to the London Scottish memorial at Messines and then onto Hill 60.

Hill is a bit of a misdemeanour when it comes to it, hillock a tad more realistic. It is this ground that was so hotly contested over during the war that really brings home to me that no one who studies the battles in the salient should do so without visiting first before they pass comment. Flat as a description in an arm chair at home can not even bring to mind what it is truly like. Hill 60 or what is considered a hill says ‘hello I am considered high ground here!’

On what may be considered the top of the hill I have a kick at some concrete and as I am wondering what it is, debris or some such, I am informed that if I look closely I can see the entrance to the bunker. Christ thinks I if this bunkers door is below ground how low was this hill. Yes I am told Hill 60 was not always this high!!

I am thankful as we pass a large coach load of ‘tourists’ being given a talk on the hill. I am struck by the benefit I have of being part of a small group where the individuals all have a part to play over the tour by contributing something from their knowledge, rather than a ‘lecture’ from a single guide. Even if, as I see, the guide in this case is none other than Gary Sheffield.

We wander back down the hill and cross the road to a small museum come toilet stop and as some look at the large artillery pieces and shells etc that are adorned around, others sample the delights of rural latrines. It has been twenty plus years since I crossed the channel and I forgotten.

Brian returns from his exploratory mission, apparently there is a way to get to Caterpillar Crater and he has found it. So off we trudge across a small field and up a small hill, this one is not classed as a hill but comes someway to hill 60. However once we get into the wood that shrouds the crater I can see that the hole has a small lake at the base of it and it is pointed out to me that of course the incline we stand on is man made. The earth had been thrown up by the explosion and caused the small incline. Over the years also some had slipped back into the hole and caused the craters depth to rise.

We ride on to Zantvoorde where down what I would call an alley way we congregate around a monument to the Household Cavalry. The state of the structure and the tightness of the area we are in make it difficult to see the names near the top but the view of the surrounding area is clear and you get a good idea of the positions the enemy stormed across as the cavalrymen defended the area in 1914.

At the Cemetery Robbie discovers some more Aussie graves and it is becoming apparent that she intends to take a photo of every one she finds. A large disk for her digital is required I think but then remember she has brought her laptop with her so she can get onto the forum whilst away. Now that’s dedication. Again I am taken by the number of artillery headstones.

Next stop is Gheluvelt, I manage to get an image of the famous chateau far in the background through the tightly planted trees. Then off past the memorial stones that mark the efforts of the troops who fought here to a place the other side of the chateau and Terry R. livens up the ground by using it to describe the actions on that fateful day when the Worcesters retook the chateau. The story was not new to me and I am sure to most there, however the way Terry used the ground to tell it brought the action to life for me.

We retire to the square and lunch, how we have walked off the massive breakfast I am not sure but there is a race to scoff down the rolls and eggs and such that we have brought from Charlottes. A deep dig in the rucksack produces four cans of beer, officers use of course and Will, Chris, Terry R. and me settle down to a slightly cool drink, much to the envy of some of the others.

Chris produces some drinks and biscuits from the back of the bus to finish off lunch and then its back on the trek. We pull over at Hooge as some of those present wish to relieve them selves and Brian goes to buy a drink so we can use the toilet.

Then its across the road to the Hooge Cemetery. This is the largest one yet and the sloping ground puts me in mind of the smaller slope at Prowse Point. Jon finds a gravestone to a Lord Wolseley who died in 1914 and is apparently is a relation to The Duke of Wellington. It is a long quiet walk down to the bottom and then turning around you get the full impact of the slope and the sea of white leading up hill. A silent moment to contemplate the meaning of what I am seeing.

Next we visit the scene of the charge at Nonne Boschen in November 1914 and Chris takes us through the movements of troops expertly even if there is a dirty great motorway in the middle of the battle area. Arrgh! But I guess progress has to go on.

At Wietje we see a massive memorial to 50th Division and then nip across the road to Oxford Road Cemetery. Will finds a gravestone to Colin Blythe and another VC, Robertson, is located. I am still studying Artillerymen and something is beginning to occur to me but for the moment I shall not show what I think is ignorance and do some silent investigations.

The stop at Kitcheners Wood, named not from the man him self but apparently a literal translation. A stone memorial stands outside a small house commemorating the fighting that took place around here in April 1915 during the German gas attacks.

Then its off under the guidance of some dodgy directions to a ceremony to commemorate the Gas attacks of 1915. When we finally get there, which Chris does well to guide us in, we see a platoon of Belgian troops at the ease and a crowd of civilians waiting for the procession to arrive.

Armourer Sergeant is in red, hiding behind other members of the group. Oh, and Jon Saunders' knobbly knees. We are at the Worcesters and South Wales Borderers memorials in Gheluvelt

I am not sure if these troops were regulars or ‘territorial’ but the waists of some and the actions of others lead me to believe they were not regulars. There is a few females amongst the platoon and talking seems to be common place. One trooper even pulls out a great hanky and blows his nose. Enough to make an RSM cry, and I see ex Sgt-Major Reeves behind me is holding his head in his hands. That said they are at least willing to stand the post.

The ceremony is a small one and then we dive back into the bus and dash off for another smaller one at Currefor-des-Roses (Rose Crossroads) where some students play instruments and a few readings are said. I notice a German tank officer, distinguished by his Panzer insignia. Remembrance is a two edged sword.

Then its back to Varlet farm after Brain has a word to me, gently, about leaving the bus window open!
A quick drink, of course and then a wash and brush up before Chris leaves us for a pre-arranged event that Charlotte has invited him to. For us its off to the Mein Gate and a ceremony for the 90th Anniversary of the gas attacks.

As we approach I am struck by the fact that it is bigger than I thought, though I keep this to my self as I am obviously looking already like a newbie. We are met by Jacky Platteeuw who gets us better ‘seats’ and as we stand waiting for the ceremony to begin we see Kate and Martin Wills with Ian Whitlock in tow coming across to us. A quick hello and then the ceremony begins and guess who! Yep it’s the lads and lassies from the afternoons performance.

When a trio of Royal Engineers lay a wreath the chest grows as they show how to march, though even this drops as during the last post one member stands at the ease! Me thinks a lad will have a talking too from his platoon Sergeant. Afterwards Jacky comes across to tell us nicely not to take the micky of Belgians soldiers, and I feel a tinge of guilt for making fun of them. They at least were here showing respect as do many Belgians every night, military or civilian.

Stomachs again and this time we go to Vivaldi’s restaurant for a nice meal. Good food, plentiful, washed down with a pudding and wine. We learn that a member of our party, who will remain nameless, (£5 gets you his name) went off to the Shell Hole instead of the Mein Gate and showed his remembrance in a way I am sure the soldiers of 1914-18 would have appreciated. It certainly does not damper his contribution to the evening. Though Robbie stands guard all the way home, and our short drive home turned into a National lampoons holiday, “Oh look kids Hellfire corner again, anyone seen Tom?”

Jon tries unchivalrously to lay the blame on Brian and his understanding of directions, we who were there in the dark tour of roundabouts of Belgium know who was to blame. Mind Will had fun, so many roundabouts he thought he was back home in MK.

Finally we arrive back at Varlet Farm and bed.

Up at 6.45am and the now normal cuppa, book and ablutions. Chris is roused but Will and Terry still dead to the world, but finally they wake. The normal delicious breakfast and pack up. We are then given a small tour around the farm and shown the artefacts that are an everyday way of life for the farmers in the area. A collection of guns, helmets, bombs, shells and lots of other stuff that is thrown up by the ploughing of the tractors. I am amazed to learn that there are very few fatalities due to munitions.

Due to the delayed shock from the previous days events I guess a loan of a belt for Robbie is a good idea and we settle into the bus rather more calmed knowing that she is belted up. Today is a 1917 day for touring. I check my camera as I had left it in the Sergeants quarters the night before and I am amazed to see that I have very few photos left on the disk. My stomach churns and reaches vomit proportions as I can not see any of my photos I have already taken. Then a snigger alerts me to the fact that someone has been tinkering with my camera and switched disks on me. I try to hide my relief, badly.

Roy stands out as the guilty man, wrongly accusing me of the beer incident on the first night, I suspect the hand of Jon stirring the pot. Never trust a man with knobbly knees.

We all de-bus for awhile to discuss the ground around Kemmell and the Spanbroek Molen Crater which is another one full of water. Then its on up to Lone Tree Cemetery, dodging the cow poo on the way.

A nice little cemetery and Terry plays with the horse that sticks it snout over the wall.

Again I am struck by the amount of artillery headstones and once again the differing styles.

Brian does a poo shoe inspection before we get back on the bus and off to Whitesheet Cemetery and here I am struck by the seemingly large amount of unknown soldiers held here. I also take photos of a couple of Motor machine Gun Corps chaps who are titled ’Gunners’. These seems strange to me, though I am sure I will get an explanation from the forum at a later date.

An unscheduled stop at Ypres Railway Station ( the real one not a name for another cemetery!) and a few weaker bladdered Pals jump out as Chris leads of the Baker Pals formation Peeing team.

Next we visit Essex Farm and I am told that this is the most commonly visited Cemetery. Drawn maybe by the combination by the dominating Memorial, the dugouts, McCrae’s stone plaque ( he of In Flanders Field fame) and another VC winner, T Barrett a South Staff soldier and as such an interest for Chris Baker. I am less impressed with this cemetery than many of the others. I am realising that it is the smaller less trodden ones that amaze me. The care taken for ones with a few hundred laid to rest as against those with thousands. To me small is beautiful.

At Artillery Wood Cemetery I spot a Battery Sergeant major of the RA, I am know taking ones of differing ranks and jobs in an attempt to build up a collection of different ranks. I have abandoned the thought of cracking the headstone question and satisfied myself with seeing what different ranks and ‘titles’ there are.

Around lunch time we visit the German Cemetery at Langemark, its rather sombre effect heightened by the ‘chopped’ trees that adorn the front. On walking through the enclosed entrance a glance to me left and right shows the names of the innocents inscribed on the walls and then as you walk out into the cemetery grounds you are hit by a more sombre impression by the large slabs with names engraved and then in place of what I have become accustomed to of the raised traditional headstone we are met with intermittent raised crosses amongst the flat stones.

We stop for lunch here and Will breaks out the officers beers. I am left with a completely different feeling after visiting here, it seems so different from anything I have seen so far.

After lunch we head to St Julien and a talk by Paul W about a tank engagement in the vicinity, ably demonstrated by handouts and a cross reference to the ground around us. I am struck by what a sight we must have looked to any locals or passers by as seemingly we are all avidly looking at maps in a vain attempt to find out where we are.

Next stop is Bank and Spree farm where Chris asks Terry R to read an extract from a book by Campbell. He fought over the ground we are standing on and once again it puts the whole in to perspective. As we stand there an old local farmer comes out of his house and produces a box full of old war mementos he has dug up over the years and a few are allowed some safe souvenirs, buckles and shrapnel balls in the main. Chris struggles with the local dialect to understand the chap. A thing I had never considered. Don’t all ‘foreigners’ speak the same accented language. (Oh dear Andy you really should get out more I hear you cry!)

Then its off to what I have been considering the big one, Tyne Cot Cemetery. As we drive along the road we can see it prominent in the distance and I can already get a perspective as to its size. We stop for a while to take pictures of it in the distance, before approaching.

I find it difficult to say what I feel as I look left, right, up, down and all I see is a sea of white. I climb up to the top and look down from the main memorial housed in the cemetery and I confess to a small moment of emotion, you can not fail to be struck by it, I am sure those that return regularly are still effected by it.

I walk along the memorial walls with the names of the missing, snapping a few of the artillery dead and then as I pass the Irish Guards a name jumps out at me. Captain Rodakowski, a name I had read in Kipling’s History of the Irish Guards in the Great War. A Polish name I know very little of him but having a hankering for Poland’s military life it has stuck in my mind. It is fitting in a way that his name should call to me and someone comments that he must have known I was looking for him!

From Tyne Cot we head off into Passendale itself and true to my word I buy a round for every one! Unfortunately we can not get our favourite but settle for Leffe, which goes down nicely. This is almost the first money have spent whilst out, apart from the chocolate bought in Ypres.

Refreshed and after a small walk around the town we head off to Polygon Wood Cemetery and the NZ memorial there, it splits between two cemeteries which on out tour is unusual. Mounted on an old rifle range and casualty station during the war it is seventh heaven for Robbie as she snaps away .

At the Butte cemetery in Polygon Wood

Then its on to Ypres Town Cemetery and another different experience, after the carefully crafted CWGC cemeteries this appears to me to have the indiscriminate planning of centuries with packed like sardines coming to mind, until you come to the main area for the CWGC graves. Seeing these headstones amongst the jumble of the civilian ones exaggerates the neatness of the CWGC, but that then reminds of the great and sterling work done for all the fallen by this organisation. Work done without the majority of people knowing they even exist.

Jon directs me to a group of officers that he has noticed and it becomes apparent that they are the dead sustained when General Lomax was killed at Hooge Chateau in 1914. This holds my fascination for a while as I can recall reading this often in books covering 1914. With the rain beginning we return to the bus and then back to Varlet farm.

But in place of a relaxing rest we become greatly vexed as we understand that there has been stuff up in the commissariat arrangements and all the Passendale has gone to the Sergeants mess. After a lot of grovelling, first commando attempt was foiled as there was a guard on the fridge, we manage to beg four bottles and retire back to the officers mess. Terry R is unhappy to hear we were made to grovel, which as founding member and chairman of T R Enterprises he considers banishing Jon and Terry D from the board! But once the liquid hit’s the sides he relents content in his drink. I kid you not the stuff is that good.

At dinner we are once more treated to a feast with Charlotte serving up Pork and Croquette potatoes. Robbie tries to tell us of chicken and ham croquettes she has had but I question how you can have a croquettes without potatoes! I mean blinking Aussies.

Jon Saunders under goes an impromptu ceremony by Brian as he is enrolled into the Kwak club, sanctioned obviously by Terry R (how quick we forget the begging I endured) . This ceremony is a major shock to Jon who thought he was already a member! However he too forgets easily as he is presented with a bottle of Kwak. These people, life evolves around booze. It is no surprise to the rest of us though as it had been obvious that he was just the whipping boy.

Through out the dinner Jon wears his badge as proud as punch, or should I say kwak.. During the meal we all avail ourselves of that game that declining years plays on you. ‘The guess the name game’ as we all try to recall the name of Asquiths mistress followed by ‘who sang that German song DA DA DA’?. As I write this I am still trying to remember that one!

After dinner we all recall our best bits and a few more beers is followed by bed around midnight.