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[jo-shaneclairfaye]

War Graves, ANZAC Day & Paris

24-25/04/2018: Late start today as we intend to look around the war graves, do at least le Circuit du Souvenir and then rest before tomorrow's dawn service. Cecilia, with a day of rest behind her was keen to get out and look around.

Raring to go

While we were all having tea and coffee with breakfast, Thomas decided to reverse his car out and reversed into Benoît’s horse truck ramp. Cockup five. It had been down since we arrived. Thomas didn't trust reversing cameras so he ignored the camera in the car. He then proceeded to reverse out and just clipped the end of the ramp putting a small tear in the tyre wall. And guess what? He didn't take out insurance for windscreens and tyres. Benoît suggested that we take it to a place in Varennes but to make sure that we had the best opportunity to get a new tyre, we headed to Amiens.

Where to put the jack

What an ordeal, we looked up some tyre places, entered Goodyear Dunlop into the GPS and we were on our way. The thirty kilometre trip went without a hitch until we were almost there. As went drove along Rue de Poulainville we were right next to a large factory. It had Dunlop France stamped all over their boundary fence and on a building or two. The actual address was in Avenue Roger Dumoulin just around the corner. When we were out front it was in fact another large factory. The GPS actually took us a few hundred metres down the road. When we got there, it told us to turn around and go back, which we did. After twenty minutes or so of chasing our tails we pulled into the Dunlop factory and asked for directions. They told us that they were the spot but didn't sell tyres. They pointed us to a place further down the road that sold tyres. Fine we thought and headed off.

The complex that we were in had a rather interesting past being much bigger around five years ago. The factory on the other side of the road had been making cheap tyres for years and doing their arse. After several attempts to restructure with different product lines and shift times, amongst court action and union resistance, they gave up and decided to close. The Texan CEO of Titan, another tyre manufacture who had recently pulled out of take over negotiations, questioned if Goodyear thought he was stupid when they suggested that they reopen negotiations. "The French workforce gets paid high wages but works only three hours. They get one hour for breaks and lunch, talk for three, and work for three. I told this to the French union workers' faces. They told me that's the French way!" was his reply. When the factory was on its final legs the workers took a couple of executives hostage. That didn't work either. 

Typical French protest (Getty Images)

The next step was to find this tyre place. A couple of times up and down the road found it in a small factory complex at the back. We got the tyre out, rolled it into the work shop and waited for service. The dude behind the counter told us they only do truck tyres. Go around the corner to First Stop Tyres in Rue André Durouchez and they should be able to help. By this time Shane was fuming, actually, everyone was feeling pretty pissed off as the day was half over and instead of being well and truly on the war grave trail we were still trying to replace the bloody tyre. He and Tom packed the tyre back into the car and headed around the corner, unpacked the tyre and took it into the workshop. The dude come out, looked at it and said it would take three days to order one. At least we had an answer but not the one we wanted. "Try Norauto near Carrefour on Rue Botticelli". One last chance. We headed over to the northern end of town, pulled into the carpark and got the tyre out again. By this time Cecilia was starving so she, Jo and Beau headed in to look for lunch. They were soon joined by Thomas and Shane after again a knock back. Looks like we have to risk another flat and push on with no spare. After lunch, and Cec investing in an electronic cigarette setup, we were on the road again to take up where we were supposed to be hours earlier. The start of the Commonwealth Remembrance Trail, Le Circuit du Souvenir.

Le Circuit du Souvenir

We resumed our journey just before one and turned a leisurely day into a hurried one as the start of the trail, Péronne, was almost an hour away. When we arrived, we parked down the road and walked up the path to Péronne et l'Historial de la Grande Guerre, the Museum of the Great War and paid for a double entry, this one and Thiepval which we would visit later.  

Waiting in Péronne

As with the last time we visited, the museum was really well equipped but with an extra section that was under construction. This time it was finished but we moved into the museum proper and left "The Guardrooms" until later. What immediately struck our eye was the old Saint-Chamond tank in the courtyard, a box on tracks with a small barrel at the front. Although crude in design, it must have been rather confronting for the infantrymen when they first encountered these things and a sign of things to come. As rudimentary as it was, it was the second French designed tank of the First World War, both heavier and longer than its predecessor. None exist today, they were all destroyed. This was in fact a replica.

New addition to the courtyard, a life size replica by graphic and décor design students at Le Corbusier vocational college in Tourcoing. None of the originals remain.

The ramp to the left, leading to the entry was lined with helmets from throughout the ages, all contained within the niches of the fortress walls. Once in, we showed our tickets and entered into the Salle Avant-guerre, the first room containing militaria and chronological history of events that led up to the war. This led into two central galleries, Salle 1914-1916 and Salle 1916-1918. To the side was Salle Bataille de la Somme, a small theatrette that showed a thirty minute film of the Battle of the Somme. The galleries dealt with the first and second halves of the Great War respectively. In the centre of each were displays of weapons and military equipment from the period, recessed into the floor. Salle 1914-16 displayed mannequins dressed in the uniforms of the nations represented at the front with all their kit, personal weapons and creature comforts such as musical instruments. Support staff, nurses and medics were also there. Salle 1916-1918 was similar but concentrated on the heavier weaponry used at the front. Both galleries were surrounded by glass cabinets with paraphernalia from the period and audio-visual stations with film monitors, sound archives, and touch screen tables and tablets scattered throughout. The display was from three separate perspectives, German, French and British.

Helmets fill the niches

Salle 1914-1916

As we headed towards the exit, we took a look at Salle Otto Dix, a room dedicated to the German soldier and artist. On display were representations of his Der Krieg series of prints depicting his experiences of the horror of the war. Very dour. The last room before leaving was Salle Après-guerre showing items, posters etc that were displayed or recovered after the war.

As we left the galleries and re-entered the castle's courtyard, The Guardrooms were down to the left. There were four permanent exhibition areas namely, Castle of Péronne, Sentry over the Somme showing the evolution of the castle and its relationship with Péronne throughout history, Péronne, a Stronghold on the Border which was an audio visual animation of the city's wars and sieges over the ages, A Territory Caught in the Grip of War, photos of the area during and immediately after the war and the one we were most interested in, Australians and the Battle of Mont Saint-Quentin. This room was really good with maps and photos of Aussies during their taking of Mont Saint Quentin. 

Salle-des-gardes-Australiens-©-Pascal-Brunet

After the visit we jumped back in the cars and headed a few kilometres further, through Bouchavesnes-Bergen and green fields to the next stop on the map, Rancourt. This area experienced heavy fighting during the last three months of the Battle of the Somme where the 32nd French Army Corps took on the Germans with the intention of penetrating their communications line between Bapaume and Péronne. They managed to do so, finally stopping at Saint-Pierre Vast Wood nearby during November 1916. One of the many fallen was Jean Du Bos, Second Lieutenant in the 94th Infantry Regiment. His parents commissioned the French Chapel of Remembrance fronting the roadway in 1923 in memory of he and his mates.

“Souvenir Français” Chapel of Remembrance

We stopped here for a while, walking through the cemetery where over eight and a half thousand French soldiers are buried, a simple white cross symbolising their sacrifice. Just a paddock away was the Rancourt Deutscher Soldaten Friedhof, the Rancourt German Soldier's Cemetery where almost ten and a half thousand Germans are buried, several thousand in mass graves. Straight across the road behind a small cottage was a British cemetery holding about eighty.

Simple white crosses. La nécropole nationale de Rancourt

It was then onto Delville Wood. The memorial impressed us a couple of years ago so another visit was a must. Thousands of South Africans died here during 1916 pushing back the Germans in the Battle of Delville Wood. More battles were fought here during the German spring offensive of 1918 but most met their demise during the original confrontation. The place was obliterated by shelling during the battle that saw almost nothing remain, bar one tree. Jo left the final of the school kid crosses from Tilegry primary school here. So many men died in the bombardment that thousands still rest beneath the replanted forest that is there today. First stop was the cemetery and then up Central Avenue toward the Memorial Arch in the distance. The wide avenue and oak lining gave a great sense of tranquillity. The trees were part of the restoration of the wood in the 1920's and were germinated from acorns collected in Franschoek. The person responsible for the restoration came from there and asked a local boy to collect a bag full of acorns from a tree that had germinated from acorns that French Huguenot Jean Gardiol had brought to South Africa in 1688.

The double row of oak trees lining Central Avenue

The memorial and museum were accessible this time. Shane and the boys went in for a look, Jo and Cec looked around outside, revisiting the tree that survived the whole ordeal, Aussie crosses and other nations’ symbols resting on the trunk. Although it was behind the main complex, it seemed to be in some way the centre of it all.

The Last Tree. Still there

The path went through the memorial arch and beyond to the museum. Whilst the memorial was built around 1926, not long after the war, the museum was built by 1986 and built around the Cross of Consecration. It was designed around the Castle of Good Hope in Cape Town, the first European fortification erected in South Africa. The pentagonal building has full internal glass walls with the cross solemnly on display.

Looking through the Memorial Arch toward the museum.

Built to commemorate the sacrifice of around twenty five thousand South African service men and women of all races who volunteered to fight for their country in both World Wars and in Korea, the displays included remnants from the area as well as large bronze reliefs depicting the history of battle. The front doors opened and immediately before us was a large glass etching of Delville Wood after the battle. Directly behind the etching was the Cross of Consecration in a central courtyard that we were excluded from. Just to the side was a roll of honour from one of the wars and to the left of the roll was the displays of the memorial, bronze reliefs, a glowing glass representation of the scorched earth and plenty of photos and stories.

Cross of Consecration

1914-1918

1939-1945

Nancy the springbok, mascot of the 4th South African Regiment in 1918, almost two years after the battle.

The next step was to find Jo and Cec. We thought that that they would have been for a walk around but not to our surprise, Jo was still looking around while Cec was sitting near the arch having a vape. We revisited the oldest tree in the village and then had to move on. The day was escaping us.

Cec vaping beneath Castor and Pollux

Our next stop was a brief one at Windmill Hill, which now included a memorial to the fallen animals, and then on to a big one, the British Memorial to the Missing at Thiepval via the new museum, the second half of our two for one deal at Péronne.  The memorial arches contain the names of over seventy thousand soldiers whose remains were never found or unidentified and its kept that way. If the remains of a soldier is found by locals going about their business and is identified, the soldier is given a full military funeral at a cemetery near where they were found. Their name on Thiepval Memorial is then filled in. On the way back to Clairfaye, we stopped for one more memorial, one which we couldn't find last time. The Beaumont-Hamel New Foundlanders' Memorial was just about to close when we pulled up. Just past the information centre was a pathway through the fields that had been preserved as they were left after the war. Trenches everywhere giving a good perspective of the landscape of the day, without the rain and mud. To the side was a large rocky mound with the statue of a caribou where one could ascend the path to the top and look over the battlefield where so many died.

Some tranches had small boardwalks for stability but most didn't

Beau on the memorial

That was it for the day, back to the apartment for a rest before tackling the dawn service. Just a rest, not a sleep as there was too much to do. The rush, or semi-rush was on as with Joanne and Cecilia laying a wreath, we had to be early, so the next few hours were spent eating, relaxing, packing and cleaning. Our agreement with Benoît through Airbnb was that we had to vacate by mid morning but we would still be in Villers-Bretonneux. Luckily there was no one booked in the next day. It was fine with him to leave our gear inside the apartment to collect after the morning was over. The twenty odd kilometres back verses the loading of all of our belongings that night and leaving the vehicle in a carpark was a no brainer.

Cecilia preparing for the dawn service

Thomas and Cec preparing for the service

Ninety percent packed, we headed out at eleven o'clock towards the township of Glisy, where we parked up the Volvo and joined the waiting game to go through security and onto the shuttles. The place wasn't even open yet but the queue was long and as expected soldiers everywhere. Once onboard, we headed straight off as the buses filled quickly.

Inside the security tent

Almost as soon as we left, Jo received a phone call from ABC Radio which had been a couple of days in the planning. She gave an interview on 2NC about where we were and why we were there, talking about Henry Ringland and the whole ANZAC Day experience so far. Apparently, messages from home said that she sounded good.

The greeting at the Australian Memorial was as expected, queues of people waiting to get scanned. It was okay though as we felt safe with all of the security around. Terrorists are after all cowards, and look for soft targets. There were no such targets here.

Out of the scanning marque, and for the second time on our trip, we walked up amongst the headstones leading to the cenotaph. It was cold, and although not wet, we were nervous about a downfall soaking everyone to the bone. Little sacrifice with what those before us, and the reason why we were there, went through. We were welcomed by Aussie support staff with some comforting goodies once we reached the action area. To our left was another marque, full of tea and coffee, pastries and water. We were set and grabbed a seat in a pretty good spot reserved for descendants and wreath layers, we were both. By two o'clock the entertainment started. The Army brass band and an accompanying choir. By five thirty, the service commenced.

Waiting for it all to start

Amongst the VIP's were several pollies, the Prime Minister and some underlings including Tony Abbott, the Governor General and Prince Charles. The service was very moving, starting with a short film, an extract from a movie called "The Telegraph Man". This brought everyone to tears with Jack Thompson being the local postie in a small town during the war and everyone dreaded him coming anywhere near them as he only ever had bad news, namely a telegram reporting their sons' deaths. This was followed by soldiers faces, posing before they left for battle and dressed in their uniform, posing with their families or out in the battlefield. All projected onto the white face of the tower. After the speeches, the final part of the ceremony was the Last Post, performed by a lone bugler from the top of the tower. It would have rung across the valley, what was once the battlefield where many, many lives were lost. Very poignant indeed and underpinned by a shower of rain before the final act, wreath laying.

The service begins

Once the officials had laid their wreaths, it was the turn of the direct descendants and general public to lay flowers. When prompted, Jo and Cec walked up to the steps of the tower and laid the flowers and a wreath for Uncle Henry Joseph Ringland. Originally Jo, Cecilia, Beau and Thomas were going to lay the flowers but an email restricted it two people per family. Jo regrets leaving the boys behind as other families had more people out there.

Prince Charles saying a few words

Waiting their turn to go up

Jo and Cec waiting for the family in blue to finish (on the big screen)

Finally, the service was over and surprisingly, instead of being whisked away by security, Prince Charles stayed around and chatted to the plebs. He didn't rush neither and genuinely seemed to want to be there. He outlasted the pollies. We didn't get close to him and made a bee line up the hill for breakfast at the Victoria Café. We did the same thing as last time and the food was good. If we timed it right, which we did, we would have time for breakfast and then work our way down to the French service at eight thirty.

A pleasant surprise awaited us while we were waiting to be served. Ex-Prime Minister and now back bencher, Tony Abbott arrived for a meal. Shane took the opportunity to introduce himself and have a brief word. Both commented about the significance of the morning and how moving it was. Shane commented about how the Somme is where it all happened and that this place should hold more significance on ANZAC day than Gallipoli. Tony agreed and mentioned that we also get on better with the French than the Turks. As quickly as the conversation had begun, it was over.

Enter the ex-PM

The French ceremony was a different affair. As expected, much more low key but every bit as important as ours. A decent crowd milled around to watch the proceedings, starting with the arrivals of the dignitaries, through a guard of honour manned by French firefighters with ceremonial axes and then the Australian armed forces.

Guard of Honour at the French ceremony

Yes, Prime Ministers

Speeches made and wreaths laid, the ceremony concluded. Everyone dispersed, us down to the end of the street with heaps of others for the shuttle back to Glisy. Back to the Volvo and back to Clairfaye. With our bags already pretty well packed, it was a case of checking the apartment, loading up the car and bidding farewell. As a parting gift, Benoît gave us a bottle of his red wine, produced locally from a private vineyard. The only identification was a sticker in French instead of a label.  Dated 2005. Cecilia thanked him and in return gave him a beany from the service with the ANZAC emblem on it. We parted ways and headed toward Paris.  

It was a slow trip to CDG as Thomas couldn't go over eighty due to the dodgy little tyre on his car. He did anyway, about a hundred clicks and managed well, but towards the end of the Motorway and nearing Paris, Shane found himself nodding off. The lack of sleep was getting the better of him. The thirty plus hours awake didn't seem to affect Thomas as much. We were travelling at over a hundred kilometres an hour so he pulled over and Jo drove the last part.

Once we left the Motorway, Shane, back in the driver’s seat, took a different turn than Thomas due to the GPS variations. With no service we struggled to contact each other. When we did, we decided to meet again at the Le Celtic in Le Thillay where we had started our journey a few days before. After meeting up in the car park across the road we set our sights on the airport and headed off. We followed each other for a while but were soon separated again.

To complicate matters, although the GPS gave an accurate location of where the Sixt return area was, getting there was a nightmare. There were so many turns available once in the airport, taking the wrong turn was inevitable. At one point, Shane stopped and asked a guy repairing the boom gates at the entry of somewhere. He told Shane to drive straight ahead and exit back onto the road that he was just on. The only thing was that at the other end of somewhere there was another boom gate and he couldn't get out. After a bit of yelling into a microphone the gate was raised. When we finally chose the right road, we ended up in a massive car park, the spiralling access roads leading us in circles, actually and metaphorically.

Finally, after what seemed and certainly was ages, we found the place, pulling up at the Sixt returns office.  As we were to return the vehicle, Jo went to look for Thomas and Cecilia who were trying to locate us by phone calls, they were still lost. With stress levels at the extreme, Shane jumped into the car, collected Jo and went to find them, which we did, a bit of a way off from the Sixt office. Shane was meant to lead Tom back but drove like he was on the freeway and lost them. The F bomb was being used by Cecilia and Tom, we finally were reunited and unloaded.

There was no opportunity to wash the cars so they went back dirty. The dudes at Sixt didn't care, they backed it into a spot near the office and went over it for damage. There was only one mark on the Volvo but it was already there. They looked for damage on Tom's car, we told them about the punctured tyre and not about the damaged rim. It was the first thing they looked for.

With all luggage out we grabbed some airport trolleys caught the lift back down a couple of levels and straight outside to the taxi rank. There were a few cabs around but all seemed too small. A young woman who was there to organise the cabs asked a few questions and stood us to the side. There were a few dodgy cab drivers around, particularly an African who stalked us inside the terminal trying to get us into his minivan before we could even get to the rank. We ignored him. The woman ended up calling up for a minivan to jump the queue and take us all together. Seventy Euro for a memorable trip back to Paris by a maniac who reached speeds over a hundred kilometres an hour, weaving in and out of traffic and abused people beside him as we went. Anyway, we got there.

Excited by the trip from CDG 

The driver dropped us off straight out front of our apartment where we would spend the next few days, 220 Rue de Rivoli. We immediately phoned our contact and was advised of the security number to get us through the oversized front door and into a courtyard. From there she met us and sorted us out getting up to the top floor (plus a couple) in the lift. After a few trips as it only held two at a time, we were at the apartment. In the roof space. The apartment was cosy to say the least. No dining room, only a small bench with stools. There was a bedroom with two singles on the bottom floor and a bedroom with a very tight double bed on the top. The toilet was downstairs next to the kitchen, no window and no vent or exhaust fan, equalled gross smells from the when well used, and the bathroom upstairs, joined by a very steep set of stairs. Break your neck type of steep. Care needed to be taken from the top bedroom as the doorway led straight onto the top step. An accident waiting to happen. The boys were in the room down stairs, Jo and Shane upstairs and Cecilia on the fold out couch. Once again Cecilia, Shane and Jo’s suitcases had to be kept down stairs and were squeezed under the little table and stools that was suppose to be a dining table.

Doorman from next door, not there to greet us

Once the person who greeted us had left, we headed straight out looking for a feed, Cec's shout. Jo, Beau and Cec went first, and while waiting for the rest in the foyer , were abused by an old French lady who demanded to know who they were. Glared at Beau, who was standing away from the girls and asked were we all together, and what they were doing in the foyer. Jo explained we were on holidays staying in an apartment and we were waiting for Hubby and other son. She demanded to know what number apartment we were staying in, we didn’t know and said the 6th floor somewhere near the stairs. She then said is it Airbnb, then went on to whinge about Airbnb in both English and French. Jo smiled sweetly and said “Je ne parlez francais je ne pas comprehend”. The old bat demanded to see our rental paperwork. Jo told her she didn’t have it on her and if it’s such a big deal to take it up with the owner as it wasn't our problem. Cecilia was quite stressed though and was terrified the lady was the owner of the apartment block or the caretaker. She was convinced we would get back from dinner and find our luggage out on the street. By the time the boys had arrived the old sheila was gone. Not that they would have done much. Probably copped it as well. Anyway, we made our way out of the front doors, walked left down the pathway and then left again. At the end of Rue de 29 Juliet was a shopping mall covered in glass. There wasn't much open, but to the right hand side was a sizable fruit market which ended up being just the thing for Cecilia. All the trip so far, she wanted some asperges or asparagus. She finally got what she wanted but paid an ungodly sum for them. They were huge, not like back home.  She also bought the largest punnet of strawberries we have ever seen. Then after looking around the immediate area (our host recommended this area), we decided to have burgers at Razowskis, a local burger joint. Cecilia's shout. We sat down and studied the menu.

Eat me

The meal was good, as far as burgers were concerned but three hundred dollars for five burgers and beers was ludicrous. Cecilia insisted so that was that. Back to the apartment for an early night. Tomorrow, the Orsay.

[jo-shaneclairfaye]

Ypres (Ieper) & Ghent

23/04/2018: The day started with an early cuppa around dawn. Jo had an early shower and Shane made the cuppas. The agenda for today was Ghent, a city in Belgium where Anna, a long time internet friend of Joanne's lives. We were to meet at a popular square during the day. Another reason was to visit the Menin Gate at Ypres (Ieper in Flemish).

Tom was the driver today as it was an almost four hundred kilometre round trip and to share the travel between vehicles would be pertinent as they both had seventeen hundred and fifty kilometre limit each for the five day rental.

Early cuppa before leaving

We left in the Ford before seven, leaving Cecilia behind. Setting the GPS to motorways and no tolls had us heading out to the Autoroute du Nord, skipping around Arras and Lens before hitting almost stagnant traffic around the outskirts of Lille. Not long after, we were on the minor roads that took us across the border and into Belgium.

Entering Vlaanderenat at Quatre-Rois

Ten kilometres further on, we entered the old city of Ypres (Ieper in Flemish) from the south, along Rijselstraat and across the bridge of the Lille Gate. This gate is the only one that survived WWI and has largely lasted in its original stae bar some extensions and alterations over the centuries. Following Rijselstraat led us to Grote Markt, the centre of town. We had come in from the wrong end and expected the Menin Gates to be before our eyes. But they weren't.

Entering Ypres through Porte de Lille

It took a couple of laps of the main street before we decided where the best park would be to serve our purposes, followed by walking around for a bit which led us into the walkway through the centre of Cloth Hall and past the only remaining boundary post that delimited the inner from outer city (inside and outside of the walls) during the thirteenth century. Inside was called the Sheriffdom as the sheriffs could administer justice within it.

Cloth Hall. Destroy during the war and rebuilt

Stone boundary post displaying a rudimentary coat of the city’s arms. A cross with a double crossbar

We suppose then that we were outside of the walled city (and safe from the sheriffs) by walking out of the other side and straight through the side door of Sint-Maartenskerk or Saint Martin's Cathedral, but we walked into the middle of a funeral. We kept a low profile and to the sides and wanted to look around a bit further but the casket was at the entrance with a funeral director and one of the mourners. It was interesting but a bit awkward so we moved on.

Angels in waiting

Immediately outside of the cathedral, we decided to head back up Rijselstraat toward the gates that we travelled through to enter the town. Not far from the cathedral we encountered armed forces personnel in front of an impressive monument.  They were from several countries and discussing the memorial service that was to commence in a couple of days. They were all from the Commonwealth, Aussies, Kiwis, Canadians and a Pom (we think).

Memorial on Rijselstraat

Following a ten minute walk, we arrived at the gate and ramparts of the old city. Lille Gates where we came in. The entire southern and south eastern sections of the fortress were still in good nick. The front bastion (Kasteelgracht), built in 1678, served dual purposes. Firstly defensive, and secondly as a dam wall to keep the waters of the Verdronken Weide in. This area was formerly known as the Inundation of Mesen and up until 1383 contained Sint-Michielsparochie. The armies of Ghent and England destroyed the parish during the Siege of Ieper. Since then, the area had been treated as flood prone grasslands until 1995 when the area was redesigned and used for the city's water supply. Walking around the base of the ramparts and out onto the causeway gave us a perspective of what protection that the verdronken-weide (drowned meadow) would have given the city during the middle ages.

Rampart Cemetery near the gates and part of the Verdronken-Weide

Another view of the Verdronken Weide from Kasteelgracht

We finally worked out where the Menin Gates were and walked around the ramparts toward them, amongst tree lined paths with pieces of art of which some were well weathered. At various locations around the ramparts, banks of soil (tenailles or front islands) were piled up against the walls. These were between bastions and appeared to have accumulated over time. Apparently, they have always been there, their purpose being to allow the citizens access to the city via underground passages (poternes) through the courtine walls. The front of the tenailles had parapets where the locals could position guns. Their small boats would hide beside the tenailles and in the oreillon (behind the curvature of the bastion).

View of the waterway from the rampart. The tenaille and just visible poterne allowed passage from the outside to within the city walls. The oreillon below

The area approaching the Menin Gate was lined with simple but poignant memorials to the fallen. Although it was quite subdued around the top, we still soaked up the atmosphere and headed down the central stairway to the road that split the cenotaph, whose walls were covered with the names of the fallen. As was near the cathedral, there were several armed forces personnel doing drills for the ceremony ahead. Due to this some of the area was cordoned off. We were looking for the Lions, heading through the gate to the bridge over the moat where they should have been. To our dismay they were gone. We had only just seen a TV show about the Lions and their return to the gate back at home and the ceremony surrounding them. All there was, was the podium on which they stood and some ply wood. Very disappointing. Apparently, they were on loan and have returned to the War Memorial.

Central stairway down to Menenstraat

The lions, each holding a coat of arms were gifted to Australia in 1936 by the City of Ieper (Ypres) symbolising the close relationship that developed between the city and Australia in WWI. At the start of the war, the lions stood on a plinth on either side of the road leading through the rampart walls through which thousands of Australian soldiers marched on their way to the Salient in 1917. Thirteen thousand of the never returned home and half have no known grave. The thirteen thousand along with others are inscribed on the walls of the gate.

Menin Gate with no Lions

Over fifty four thousand names are here

It was refreshment time so we returned through the gates to look for a cup of tea and within a short distance stumbled across a café called Karamel, a small but interesting shop run by one lady. There was only a few in there so she wasn't too busy. We grabbed a table on the street and ordered. The tea was fairly straight forward but the coffee was a different matter. There was a long list a varieties, settling on an African blend or somewhere around there and we were not disappointed. The lady brought out tea for Jo and the coffee in a plunger for the rest. A few pastries and chocolates to hold our hunger for a while as well. During conversation with her we made our disappointment about the no show of the lions clear. She told us that the Australian War Memorial were producing a couple of replicas to put at the gate permanently. That was all right then. Should be going in for the centenary in November.

Karamel Koffie & Thee

The Menin Gate would be a good dawn service destination for the future.

It was time to return to the car and head to Ghent to meet up with Jo's friend. After contacting her to organise a meeting time and place, they came up with Vrijdagmarkt at one o’clock so off we headed, diverting to a couple of souvenir and chocolate shops along the way.

When we arrived in Ghent, we had the usual, trouble finding a park. There was none on the street and the entrance to the underground carpark kept creeping up on us. We missed it a couple of times before working it out and parking below the square. The exit led us straight onto a busy Vrijdagmarkt. People everywhere but it was large so we still had plenty of room.

The meeting was to occur under the statue of Jacob van Artevelde, pointing toward England, a symbol of his undoing of the English wool boycott during the Hundred Years War. He was hailed a hero in Ghent due to the revitalisation of the local textiles industry due to his efforts and proudly towers over everyone going about their business below.

Jacob van Artevelde, reaching for England. And towering above us

We didn't know what Anna or her partner looked like Jo knew what Anna looked like from Face Book photos but that was all. The worry was what would they look like to meet. There were many people around the statue, but after a few false starts where we thought it might be her, she finally appeared, toilet brush dog in arms and boyfriend Glen in tow. Earlier concerns about finally meeting were quickly washed away.

After a very warm welcome we were asked what we wanted to do. We only had a short time together so we had to make the most of it. After some deliberation we decided to walk down to the river and have a chat and a beer. The entire area was criss-crossed by a series of canals formed by the River Leie and we were heading to sit by one of them.

Walking down Langemunt, parallel to the river, into Kleine Vismarkt and to a small pub on the river, we found a nice little spot where we settled in. Glen was familiar with this place as he emphasised that Bierhuis sold forty different beers, and Belgium being Belgium, they were all good. We grabbed a table outside and looked at the beer menu. We all chose differently with Glens helpful advice matching our taste for dark, light and lager etc., and we were not disappointed, all different and all good.

Forty different beers besides the river

There was no wind so the cold didn't bother us, the dog however drove Shane crazy. It was so spoiled that it was jealous of us and never shut up. He could have gladly strangled it or given it a swim in the river. Anna and Glen seemed embarrassed at times with its behaviour but they could hardly complain as they had created a beast.

Jo, Anna and Glen with the toilet brush

As it turned out, Anna didn't work anymore, was Hungarian and spoke several languages. For a long time, the wife of a diplomat. Glen was an employee of the local road authority and worked with the road cameras and traffic control giving updates on local radio. After a couple of beers Anna suggested we take a longer route back via a couple of famous landmarks and a favourite eating place, the Ketchup Burgerbar, a burger joint that made good burgers.

We were fine with her suggestion and walked across the old swing bridge over the Leie, dodging the trams, and across to Sint Veerleplein and Gravensteen, the "Castle of the Counts" from the middle ages. Beau finally had one of his travel wishes fulfilled, seeing a real castle.

Neptune keeps watch over the two rivers of Ghent, the Scheldt (male) and the Lys (female)

Sint Veerleplein (Saint Pharaildis Square) with the old Fishmarket (Oude Vismijn) to the rear. The old street light connects somehow to the maternity hospitals throughout the town and flashes every time a child is born. We didn't notice anything

Sint Veerleplein served as a court for the criminals of the area to be judged up until the seventeen hundreds. The Count was the local mint and produced all of the currency. For hundreds of years the square was the local place for executions, along with a couple other spots, but the only one where the counterfeiters were dealt with. Right out front of the mint. They were boiled in oil, the murderers and rapists were beheaded.

Gravensteen, Castle of the Counts

We had to keep moving so after a brief look around, moving through the courtyard of the castle and through the Old Fishmarket façade, we kept walking along Rekelingestraat, across Lieve Canal/Gravensteen moat and left along the waterfront, back to the river. It was very busy around here, both on the riverfront and on the river itself. Tourist barges were winding their way back and forth, avoiding each other and the odd kayakers. All overlooked by impressive local architecture.

A busy River Leie

At the end of the waterfront our progress was halted by another bridge, which we used to cross the river again and Sint-Michielskerk beyond. We took the stairs to the bridge (Sint-Michielsbrug) and headed back towards the burger joint along Sint-Michielsplein, passing a couple more impressive buildings on the other side, the original Post Office, built for the 1913 World Expo and now a shopping plaza and hotel and Sint-Niklaaskerk beyond. This was a lovely area and pedestrian friendly (watch out for trams).

Crossing Sint-Michielsbrug. Old Post Office on the left, Sint-Niklaaskerk centre rear

Turning south along Veldstraat and a short turn into Hoornstraat and we were there. Before us was a very small burger joint, almost a hole in the wall, but several storeys high.

Heading for a burger

Anna and Glen liked smoking so as not to be rude we sat on the footpath so that they could have a durry. With us on the footpath, there was not a lot of room for others to order.

The kitchen, if you could call it that was the entire bottom floor except for the stair to the floors above. The place was very small but three or four storeys high. As it was the toilets were at the top so if you had to go you experienced the entire restaurant. It was either themed on Heinz or owned by Heinz as everything was Heinz. The tomato and all other sauces as well as all of the artwork throughout.

Heinz sauce range over the years

As it was the burgers were pretty good and the experience also good (except for the incessant whinging of the dog).

Healthy eating

After a very late lunch we said our goodbyes and we thanked Anna and Glen for taking the time to show us around. Warm goodbyes were said and hopeful promises of returning one day for a longer period were made.  Glen warned us that traffic heading out of town at this time would be gridlock so suggested we go back to the castle and have a better look around. Hopefully the traffic would be flowing a little bit by the time we finished there. We headed into the castle entrance but quickly discovered closing time for walking tours was finished. We were however, able to go through a Dungeon area where we saw a well that was used to imprison baddies. We then retraced our steps back to the car and headed back into France and to Clairfaye.  It wasn't long after leaving the car park that we discovered the massive traffic jam that Glen warned us about. It took 40 min just to get through the town and onto the motorway. Time was late almost 8pm. We pulled up at a Maccas for some takeaway. Alas we didn't get any provisions for Cecilia. Her first response when we walked inside our house was "Did you bring anything home for dinner?' Oops, she wasn't happy with us. On the upside the large fireplace in the living room was going. During the day, Cecilia had met our host Benoît and his adult son. Cecilia was able to communicate via google translate the electrical problem in the kitchen as well as ask how to start the fire. 10 minutes later an electrician was at the house repairing the fault and Benoît and his son delivered a load of fire wood and kindling to our door and got the fire going.

Warming up before bed

Tomorrow's a big one, look around the war graves, get some rest and an early start for the dawn service. Something to look forward to.

[jo-shaneclairfaye]

Villers Bretonneux

22/04/2018: The intent of today was to have a quick stop at the Australian Memorial near Villers-Bretonneux before moving to The Remembrance Trail that links the towns of Albert and Péronne. This was not to be due to the time spent at the Australian Memorial looking around, chatting and getting advice for ANZAC Day.

Another beautiful day. Cecilia, up before six, managed to video the early dawn with the local bird population singing away in the trees out back.  The rest of us didn't get up until seven or in the case of the boys, later.

Clairfaye at dawn

The morning mist out of the kitchen window

When we did get our heads together, it was time to scout around the property. Clairfaye was a beautiful property owned by Benoît, whose picture on the Airbnb site belays his age. He looked as old as Cecilia when we finally met. His property was consisted of buildings built of stone. The monastery, a huge limestone structure was many years old where the two adjacent houses, although also old, were much younger. As far as we could gather, the whole place has had a bit of a rough existence. Located between Varennes and Lealvillers, the property's foundations were laid and the original construction completed around 1140. The dude who founded it, Hugues III de Campdavaine, count of Saint-Pol, built it for the Order of Saint Augustine from the Congregation of the Lake. He died a year later.  A few centuries thereafter, Charlie the Bold destroyed the joint, razing it to the ground. Someone must have rebuilt it because it was burnt to the ground again during the Thirty Years War. After the French revolution it seemed to go into private hands and now belong to a lucky Benoît.

L'Abbaye, Les écuries and Le pigeonnier were the three lodgings on his property. L'Abbaye on the left joined to the old Abbaye

Le pigeonnier and Les écuries

Around the back of the Abbaye, Benoît stored his collection of carriages in a timber lean to. He was into horse and carriage racing, breeding Cob normand léger or light draft horses and manufacturing and selling the carriages and accessories. This was an interesting place but as we hadn't yet met Benoît, we kept our distance. We didn't want to tread on any toes by going where we shouldn't. Further around there was the typical farm storage area, crap everywhere, straw where the animals were penned, piles of old building stuff and long since expired machinery.

A few of Benoît's creations

All the while we were looking around, Beau was hard at it with his university work. We had given him an ultimatum when we booked the trip. He was quite welcome to join us for free but would need to miss some lectures but keep on top of them online. He didn't give it a second thought but being in his last year of software engineering, he had some group assignments to submit so he was busily typing away on his laptop consistently.

He was still on a good deal though

A few cups of tea, some toast and light packing, we were on our way to the Australian Memorial down the road. Jo and Cecilia put their names down for laying a wreath and had to organise it. That along with the chat and picking up some badges and booklets took a while. They also picked up quite a few crosses from the Aussie school kids to place around the headstones, just as last time. This time we had some local kids' crosses, from Tomaree Primary School.

There was a greater presence of security this time. Armed soldiers keeping an eye out two days before the event. Totally justified though with the scale of terrorism around. As soon as we climbed the stone stairs at the front of the memorial, the sombreness of the occasion dominated thoughts. All attention focused on the rows and rows of headstones representing the Commonwealth soldiers that laid down their lives for our future. We strolled to and fro, between the rows, placing the small timber crosses into the garden beds at their base until we arrived at the seating that was being placed for the upcoming ceremony.

About to place the crosses from Tomaree School

Ahead was the band and choir rehearsing, just as it had done last time we were here. Unlike last time, staff were asking us not to sit on the chairs too close to the front and had no go zones up near the memorial walls. We still managed to act a bit dumb and wandered up to them anyway for a quick look before being ushered away. Another priority was to have a look through the new John Monash Centre, apparently an impressive display that our Prime Minister had opened only a day or two earlier. It was totally booked out for the duration of our stay around Villers-Bretonneux so we had to give it a miss. As such, it was back to the car and off to the next appointment, lunch.

Last time we had a couple of beers and a cheap and nasty feed at the local pub, Le Point D'arret on the corner. When we looked through the windows, it had plenty of space as there was no food. Beer and wine only. Next door, Le Victoria Café, where we had ANZAC Day breakfast a couple of years earlier was also closed. All the chairs were stacked upon each other so it wasn't opening too soon. Most restaurants are open in Newy on a Sunday but not here, probably siesta time or God's day.

Just around the corner and along the street where the French Memorial will take place was the only open restaurant in town, Monsieur Kebab, specialising in Specialites Turques. No wonder they were open, Turks running a kebab shop. In we went, the place was buzzing. Simple food, overpriced food, and wall to wall Aussies. We were in no position to bargain so we ordered at the counter and grabbed a seat. As simple as it was (ingredients of a kabab on a plate), it was still okay. We finished up and headed down the street, stomachs full and wallets empty, men in front, women dwardling. Next stop, the museum around the corner.

By mid-afternoon, the Salle Victoria beckoned. The place was recently refurbished, probably for the occasion. Last time the exhibition was in the Marie and full of amateur historians that had a story to tell, whether they were just interested as war "enthusiasts" or that their roots were in the Somme and had their lives touched by the conflicts through family. They were here again today.

We entered the new building and had to climb the stairs to the display area. Luckily there was a lift for those so inclined. As we started to look around, several people with authority come through the front door, accompanied by several other dignitaries to look around. We shared the space for a while, impressed by displays, distressed by historical photos of their town and bemused by displays of toy lead soldiers from all sides as well as varying models of the weaponry of the day. Post cards, letters, it was great stuff and the people showed a genuine passion in what stories their displays portrayed. Soon it was over and back to the street.

Some great displays in the refurbished hall

Taking the easy way down

Our departure coincided with that of the dignitaries. Cecilia quickly recognised the Aussie accent and struck up a conversation with Darren Chester, our Veteran Affairs Minister. Being from Tamworth, Cecilia quickly brought up the subject of our recently ex-Deputy Prime Minister, Barnaby. The topic of Barnaby getting an ex-staffer up the duff was the first thing on the agenda to which she firmly voiced her opinion, all to the aghast of the French entourage. The banter continued for a short period until he was whisked away to his next appointment.

A couple of Australian 'cookers' near the front. Preparing a hot meal before the men go into night battle

By late afternoon it was time to visit the Commonwealth Memorial, and Henry Ringland's grave at Serre Road No.2 Cemetery.  Just nearby was the French Monument, Cimetière national de Serre and perched between, a small unassuming monument to two German reserve soldiers from Württembergisches 121 Regiment and one British unknown soldier from King's Own Royal Lancaster Regiment.

Roadside monument to three lost souls

This was the first time that Cecilia and the boys had visited and it was overcoming, for Cecilia at least. Just as it was for Jo a couple of years earlier. This is after all, Ringland family heritage. We found his grave fairly quickly and again placed flowers and crosses of the Australian school children, looked around at the headstones of his neighbours and rested in the shelters on either side and within the Memorial Arch, reading the Ringland name in the Remembrance Book, and once again leaving a message on behalf of the extended family.

Serre Road No.2 from the across the fields

Reflection and Facebook time

With the time approaching five o'clock it was time to return to Clairfaye for a break and some dinner. It was a good, easy day that has set us up for the real thing on April 25th.

Resting after a good day. The flash in the background

Tomorrow we travel to Ghent via Ypres and the Menin Gates.

[jo-shaneclairfaye]

Getting There

20-21/04/2018: As is recently the case, we were dropped off by a maxi-taxi at Newcastle Interchange for the 9:24am service to Central Station so as we could settle in and be assured of a seat next to the luggage racks. It’s a bit of a guess at times fluking the right carriage if we get on at Broadmeadow. We were there a little early, about a half an hour, and there was no train in sight. The station worker told us which platform to wait on and steered us away from the train already there. It was going to Telarah.

She’s keen

The train arrived soon after, followed by another, straight from one of the sidings down the track where it would have spent the night. It seems like a man thing, but all of the males around the place were interested in the shunting of the two trains, coupling them into one. The women couldn’t give a stuff.

Secret mens’ business

We don’t give a stuff. Just get us to Europe

With very few people on the platform, we chose where we wanted to sit and duly shoved our luggage where ever it would fit. On the large racks next to the carriage door and the racks above our heads. It was then time to settle in for our new adventure. A few days in the Somme, taking in ANZAC Day, then a week in Paris, fly to Venice, train to Florence and finally Rome before heading home in a month’s time. It was lucky we were early as we were well settled in when others turned up with the same idea but there was no room for their bags. They had to look elsewhere for luggage space. We were sweet.

Bags stowed and ready to go

As always, the near three-hour trip to Central was uneventful, as was the next stage to the International Airport. We checked in our luggage and headed for the duty free to pick up some goodies, tequila, Galliano, bourbon etc, paid and bagged them for collection on our return. Cecilia was thinking ahead though, she wanted some Cock Sucking Cowboys on our arrival in Paris, so bought what was necessary and prepared herself to drag them halfway around the world to do so (butterscotch schnapps and Bailey’s Irish Cream). We then moved to the Bridge Bar, just across the way, for a quick beer and feed before boarding. 

A quick snack at the Bridge Bar before security

So as not to be waiting too long at the boarding gate, we timed going through security to avoid the queues at the other end. First cockup of the holiday. While the usual dramas with security eventuated, belts, boots, laptops and jackets, all in a tray, and the usual 100mm of liquids in a plastic bag etc, Cecilia didn't declare something crucial to our progress, her titanium knees. She didn't clear the scanner, it duly went berserk and she duly copped a spray from the security lady for her sins. When asked, in an abusive tone as to why she didn't mention her knees, Cecilia duly responded with a “well, you never asked”. What a trip this was going to be, and only a hint of what comedy of errors that laid ahead. This was our first problem on the list that would be known by Cecilia as the “List of Cockups”.

We boarded an old Thai Airways 747-400 for the first leg of our trip, over eight hours to Bangkok. The flight was full. It was Beau's first flight, his fear perfectly summed up by his Facebook status update saying he was “about to board the flying tube of death’, the first overseas flight for Thomas, and the first long haul flight for Cecilia. She had gone no further than New Zealand. Landing just after ten and looking forward to stretching our legs, we were soon queueing up again for our next flight. We can understand the security required these days at airports, but if we never left a secure area within the airport, why the hell did we have to open all of our belongings, remove our belts and boots and jackets and go through the scanner all over again. Seemed senseless but to argue would be futile. Our focus was quickly taken away from the dilemma with another dilemma, cockup two on Cecilia’s list. Heinemann, the duty-free seller at Sydney had neglected to put Cecilia's Cock Sucking Cowboy ingredients into the appropriate bag with an appropriate seal. The result was that some small, scarfed women at security tried to confiscate it. Cecilia refused to give it up and a heated argument quickly developed. Jo giving it to them from one side of the table and the security women returning fire from the other. It petered out as quickly as it began when Jo realised that it was all in vain. After much protesting, the alcohol was gone. Cecilia and Shane told her to settle down as the Thais only had to delay her for half an hour and we would have missed our connection.

Checking out our next aircraft

By seven fifteen the following morning and after an excellent flight, we landed at Charles de Gaul, breezed through security and were effectively out on the street. Well almost, cockup three was about to occur. We needed to pick up a couple of rentals from Sixt just outside of the exit. Things were going well until the girl, after sorting out Thomas, mentioned that the BMW 5 Series that was ordered had no insurance. That was extra. After Shane worked out that he was at fault and agreed to pay the extra forty seven euro a day, over half of the hire cost of the car, his card was declined. Twice. Joanne handed over her card which was also declined. There was no Wifi available where we were so Jo headed off to find some reception and to find out what was going on. There was an assumption that everything would be smooth so the others were three floors above preparing Thomas' vehicle. Jo ended up moving between floors and Wifi service, reporting that there was plenty of money linked to our cards. To solve the problem, we ended up getting Thomas to front up and pay, as he had transferred about ten grand into his account before we left. Having payed the excess, he become the number one driver for both cars. It ended up that the insurance paid on the BMW 5 Series (luxury vehicle) only reduced the excess to around four thousand dollars. If a BMW 3 Series was ordered, insurance was covered in the cost. Sixt tried to hold the four thousand dollars as security but not planning for this, and not having a credit card, Shane and Jo could not pay, as their holiday daily budget was less than this. Thank god for Tom and his huge bank account. After this cockup, Jo and Cecilia headed off to pickup a local SIM card for Jo’s phone. Cecilia and Thomas had Telstra benefits for overseas calls (more to come).

We were well head of the 9am pickup time when we arrived, but by the time we collected the vehicles, it was closer to eleven and after all that drama, neither of us got what we booked. A Peugeot 308 turned into a Ford Kuga and a Series 5 Beamer turned into a Volvo, albeit a new Around the World Yacht Race V90 Cross Country wagon. Neither of us got what we ordered but they were still okay. The Volvo was beautiful with only two thousand kilometres on the clock, but for the one hundred and fourteen thousand dollars to buy one, we’d get two of our Caprices for that.

We then planned to meet at a small town on the outskirts of the airport where we would regroup. Queue cockup four.

Talk about the six P's. Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. We both entered our destination into the vehicles' navigation systems before we left the garage. What could go wrong? As soon as we left the airport, the two systems had us heading in different directions, Thomas probably in the right direction but Shane back to the airport. Traffic everywhere. After an about face and some discussion over the phone, we decided to scrap the earlier plans and head for a little industrial village to the airport's north, Le Thillay. Shane was practically there from driving in circles but Tom had to find the place. After driving around the village a couple of times and multiple calls of where are you, we ended up running into each other near the TABAC, next door to Le Celtic, so we parked the vehicles up and went in for a beer and further planning.

Le Celtic, Le Thillay

From Le Celtic, we drove an hour north to our next meeting place, Montdidier with the intention of a further meeting an hour after that at Villers-Bretonneux. As we approached Montdidier, Jo receive an email notifying us of that the apartment was ready whenever we were. Our host was busy and would not be there to greet us. This was two and a half hours earlier than expected so we pulled up in front of an old church on the outskirts of the town, that was shut. Saint Peters Church was supposed to have been built in the twelfth century, destroyed a couple of times and rebuilt a couple of times. After the rest stop, we changed our plans and headed to Amiens which was the largest town nearby for food and groceries. Amiens was not too far away, about thirty kilometres. All towns seemed to be thirty kilometres apart. 

Eglise Saint Pierre, Montdidier

The last demolition job

Antoine-Augustin Parmentier. Potato lover and pro vaxer

We arrived in Amiens in no time, and parked underground near the centre. Cockup number five, Cecilia’s count is growing. As Thomas and Jo drove into the underground carpark, there was a loud sound as a hefty bang occurred as they entered. Thomas was swearing, Jo was yelling at him. It all turned out inconsequential as no marks were on the car.

It was about two o'clock when we got there and most places, except Macdonald's were shut. We ended up at a small cafe on a side road which led to the cathedral, our next stop. La pelle à tarte was a small restaurant run by a mother and daughter on Rue Victor Hugo. Nothing flash but good food. Salmon wraps, salads, spinach tarte with raisins, smoothie, milkshakes. The five of us were fed for sixty four euro.

After lunch we walked down the street to the cathedral to look around. Being close to ANZAC Day, there were banners scattered about with archival photos of the area almost a century before. All showing before and after photos and their related tales. A lot of photos were of the measures taken to protect the local landmarks and of goings on in general. The pictures in the cathedral were particularly poignant, depicting the lengths that the locals went to, to protect their cathedral from the German and Allied bombings.  

The Cathedral from across the forecourt

Walking back towards the carpark, we took the opportunity to do some shopping at Monop' for groceries but no big bags were available so Beau and Thomas had to carry their goodies, mum and dad bought a few large cooler bags for the rest of the stuff and we all headed back along Rue de Noylon to Place Alphonse Fique, turned right and into to the car. We all put Clairfaye into the GPS and we headed off on the final leg of the day's journey.

Large poster in the street. Aussies came from far and wide to attend a race meeting at Allonville during the conflict

Amiens was not far from our destination and as such we were soon travelling through Varennes and a further, two kilometres to the property. Once again the navigation sent us in different directions and different travel times, causing more stress to Cecilia. Being a rural property, the entrance was a farm gate amongst trees and piles of gravel. At first, we weren't sure that we were in the right place as nobody was home, but after looking around a bit worked out that we were okay, there were several gites on the property and we found one that looked like the photos in the Airbnb site. The windows were open and the keys in the door.

The welcoming committee

First impressions were that the place was spot on. An old, reasonably sized residence that was used for who knows what in times past. The large open living room down stairs was complimented with a large open fire that would be spot on in winter. We looked forward to giving it a go when we booked it as the weather was wet and miserable around ANZAC Day a couple of years earlier when we stayed in Colbie. The weather was a lot warmer this time. The kitchen was tacked onto the end of the living room. A rickety old set of stairs led us to the upstairs area containing a bathroom and three large bedrooms. The steps were very steep so as to avoid the large beam holding the top floor up. Plenty of people would have cracked their heads on this.

Can’t wait to get the fire going. And watch you head going up the stairs

Only Tom and Beau struggled with their suitcases upstairs. The rest of us were happy enough to leave them under the stairs and saved the effort.

The rest of the evening was spent with dips and cheese in the back garden, a look around, both above ground and below (in the underground rooms and wells), a few beers and to bed after plenty of hours on the plane and getting here.

The day finally over (and the temperature dropping)

Tomorrow Villers-Bretonneux.