Driving On The Right

I’ve been dreading driving on the ‘wrong’ side, but the worst part is understanding the signs. At first I am baffled by ‘Sortir d’Usine’ and I find myself keeping to speed limits appropriate for cars towing caravans in high winds.

I am quite happy to ‘Céder le Passage’ however, although not quite certain when to give priority from the right. The other problem is that the signs are not where one’s eye expects to find them, even accepting that one’s eye knows to look to the right rather than the left.

"You are too short..."

Eventually we hit a motorway and I am stumbling around the tollbooth trying to make the machine give me a ticket, when a Frenchman drives right up to me and tells me “You are too short”. That may be true, I think to myself, but it’s a mild sort of insult. Then I realise that there may be some sort of ground sensor that the wheels of the car activate, so I move the car forward and lo! a ticket comes out of the machine.

Having heard that the French police can levy on the spot fines for even 1 mph above the speed limit, I continue to travel at the pace of a well-bred caravan and am passed by all and sundry.

We come off the motorway near Béthune and decide to investigate this favourite town of Tommies in 1915-16. We manage to mumble an order for one white and one black coffee at a pavement café and feel quite pleased with ourselves.

The waiter then repeats our request back to us in perfect English.

It’s only 10 30 a.m. French time but it feels like a whole day has gone by.

The Stream At Ourton, Looking Through The Mesh Fence On The Bridge

Ourton

We veer off towards one of the Battalion’s [the 22nd Royal Fusiliers – the Kensington Fusiliers] favourite rest-villages, Ourton, where our 93-year-old friend Roland Whipp bathed in the stream there (in 1916).

The reason he remembered the stream was because he forgot to take off his [expensive] watch, which never went again!

There is unfortunately no place to eat in this delightful little village, but we have a beer in the local equivalent of an estaminet.

Four old French farmers are having a very noisy game of cards there – with cards which look as if they had been around since the Tommies were here, so grubby and curled are the cards.

Eating In Montauban

The effect is increased the next day when we begin our historical studies. Searching through lots of villages we find nowhere open for lunch. Eventually we find one of these houses-cum-estaminets in Montauban – you know a bar in one room and a door leading through to their sitting room, with the loo approached by tramping through their sitting room.

A drink is ordered; in response: “Allemande? Anglische?”

“Oui, Anglais – Anglische” (The important thing is that we are not German, the Écossais bit can come in later in the conversation)

“Ou qu’on pouvait obtenir quelquechose à manger?” (Or words to that effect).

The answer comes back, that there is nowhere nearby, but if we would like some oeufs on the family frying pan… And she goes to the store cupboard and takes out a tin, “Et sardines”.

Some bread plus sardines in tomato sauce arrives and a platter of about half a dozen indifferently fried eggs follows: I omit to mention that I have never cared for sardines – well, I’m hungry and the continental rolls/croissants breakfasts are none too filling.

She flings in a couple of desserts: one imagines them pinched off the family’s plates to give to the “Les bons anglais qui étudient les champs batailles”. A real Tommy lunch; all that’s missing is the huge bowl of frites – and they accompany just about every other meal!

Geudecourt

On the way back in the evening we pass Geudecourt where Brigadier-General Barnett-Barker (BB, the former Colonel of the Kensington Fusiliers, then commanding the 99th Brigade) was killed in March 1918.

We read Christopher Stone’s moving “BB”, which describes the circumstances of this death. We get to the western side of the village where the ‘end of village’ sign is, and where the wayside Calvary still stands on a little mound.

Here he wrote his last orders and just across the road is a flat patch – probably where they pitched a tent for his HQ.

The Western Edge Of Geudecourt, Where Barnett-Barker Was Killed

Having given Christopher Stone his last message, saying that the Brigade HQ was moving back a mile, BB and his Staff-Captain moved off, and then came the stray shell…

As we approached the spot, the track on the car stereo moved to a softly wistful anti-war song (beginning with the sound of distant gunfire) called “Brothers In Arms”.

We had discussed visiting BB’s grave in Albert and what sort of homage we could pay; perhaps we could read the passage from “BB” – and it would be nice to play “Brothers In Arms” as a tribute in modern music. But the music serendipitously reached the right track at the right time with words such as: -

“Through these fields of destruction
“Baptisms of fire
“I’ve watched all your suffering
“As the battles raged higher
“And though they did hurt me so bad
“In the fear and alarm
“You did not desert me
“My brothers in arms”

And later: -

“Let me bid you farewell
“Every man has to die
“But it’s written in the starlight
“And every line in your palm
“We’re fools to make war
“On our brothers in arms”

Then, at first to check that we were in the right location, Gary began reading out the passage from “BB” describing Brigadier Barker’s death.

As he continued, we both knew that this was the tribute, and it was an emotional moment, with the sun streaming down outside the car, and at almost the exact moment of the day (just after 5 30 p.m.) when he had died.

Later we motored west down the road where they had borne his body, and that of his Staff-Captain, past Le Sars, near where the bearers had been able to ‘con’ a lift to Albert on an empty ammunition lorry.

Looking West From Geudecourt To Le Sars

Pozières And The One-Handed Patron

At Pozières we stopped at a place described on a (modern) war map as the Burma Star Café (It is an official staging post for the Burma Star Association, although Burma via Northern France looks rather roundabout).

The patron has only one hand and has a metal gadget on the other one – to which he fixes things, for example for changing gear in his car.

He is fascinated by our interest in the Great War: we see the walls covered by material featuring the 38th (Welsh) Division at nearby Mametz Wood in 1916.

There is, we learn, a reunion meeting this very evening. (They speak no English and have very guttural French so we never find out if we could have gone to it).

The Moving Memorial To 58th Division at Chipilly: The Artilleryman And His Wounded Horse

The next day we drove south, visiting Chipilly for the 58th Division Memorial, then to Villers Bretenneux for the Australian memorial and (after taking about an hour to find it) the Australian school-museum, which the curator opens specially for us (we catch the curator at the Australian monument on the other side of town, accompanying a party of Australians, led by a typically no-nonsense Australian Colonel).

We go on to the Riqueval Bridge that the 46th Division stormed in 1918 (I was researching an article on this).

We see a monstrous American memorial at Bellicourt (the Americans won the war, we learn).

Back to the Burma Star Café

That evening we return as promised to Pozières. The meal is indeed a ‘Tommy’ one: it begins with tuna and salade, goes on to the French way of treating mince (grillé?), plus a monster bowl of frites and a carafe of quite passable red wine.

We show them some of our materials and photographs, including pictures of Pozières. The patron is very interested: indeed he drags me from my seat (just as the hot dish arrives and much to the annoyance of la patronne), indicates for me to get in his car, screws on his gear-lever hand, and drives me to where the remains of the German observation post, captured by Australians in 1916, can still be seen.

Elegant Celtic-Style Cruachan Memorial