Late night in Carnaby Street

13 December in CA, 14  Dec. in London

A little farther down the road, we head into my long lost past as a punk rocker wannabe.  I wonder what Carnaby Street has designed this year?  Well, of course!  An homage to Freddie Mercury:

Many famous lines are written across the street.  Here's another one:

And down the side street with the Tapas restaurant I love, we find a dual entry.  On one side, it says Ho Ho Ho and looking the other way it ways Oh Oh Oh!

Life is...

Looking up at light sculptures in London.

All is well.

No Customer Service in Customs

I mean, really.  This wasn't due to a work stoppage?  An employee sick out was clearly happening right in front of my eyes.  We started with 5 agents, then one by one they left until nobody was stamping passports!

1 hour and 55 minutes standing in a line of 150 people.  By the time we got to the front, there were at least 400 people behind us.  Why, you are asking?  Only ONE agent checking non-EU/UK passports!  And again, at times, no agents were working.  A lady missed a connecting flight when she thought a two hour layover was enough time...We had 6 employees in purple coats directing traffic, one agent checking frequent travelers, and 1 checking our passports.  When the family of 5 was up there with a language barrier and took 30 minutes to get through, I wanted to scream at someone.  Here's the sign that kept flashing on the overhead monitor:

So many things could be said, but I know it's going to be pitch black when we get outside.

But, we do, and thanks to our wonderful friends, we are staying at the London Bridge townhouse of P.D. James.  Here's the view walking to her home:

Now, that feels like England!  Here's what the Regent Street decorations are this year:

Remember remember the 12th of December

12 December

What great students I have!  We have everything in order in the classroom for a solid finals week.  And the seniors are in for a surprise:  they will be using their acquired knowledge of heroes, anti-heroes, tragic heroes, villains, and damsels in distress to analyze the literary archetypes in Phantom of the Opera.  I wonder what they'll think about the Phantom, one of the most famous and tragic villains of all time?  They earned this break!  All of their college applications are in, and decisions are about to be made for the early round of admissions.

And I?  Feeling a bit guilty, but so excited to travel to the U.K. and hopefully France in the upcoming weeks.  It all depends upon Brexit and the gilets jaunes (Yellow Jackets) protests.  Blogger autocorrect wants to call them the filet jaunts, which is about the level of my French.  I feel a poem coming on...

Filet jaunts
before Phantom haunts
with tear gas along
the Champs E'lysee...
What a way to pack:
Masks from the Paradise fires
In case I need them in Paris-dise.
Colors for the day:  pink and gray.

Teach school.  Quadruple-check the lesson plans, grades, etc.  Say good-bye to everyone.  Check the packing list.  Again.  Wonder what I've forgotten.  I've been looking forward to this day for so long.

Get into the car and drive to the airport with an hour of stoppage time.  We need it:  Left home at 4:30, arrived at 6:15 for an 8:20 flight.  Fortunately the car park was working.  Glide through check-in easily - I have never checked bags for an international flight, but am feeling "brilliant" as the English say.  I put my own bag inside of my daughter's bag and checked them both.  Not sure how it will be coming back with a huge bag full of stuff, along with mine, but I'll deal with it.  Can't wait to see her!  But first, it's time to find my seat in the very last row.

Alas, the cheap seats are cheap for a reason.  The velcro underneath my seat does not attach the cushion underneath the seat back, so I am sitting on a metal bar.  I do have plenty of leg room, as I'm in a "twin" seat, which means there is no aisle seat next to me, but there is room under the aisle seat in front of me.  This I knew when I booked the seat.  Thankfully, a wonderful steward hangs up my new winter coat, gives me free wine and a nice blanket, so I pad up the back and recline.  Ahh.  Time for reading and a nap.

Poet Laureate 3

11 December 2018

First reading at City Hall. Third reading so far.
I read "New Lights" to a packed house and started off facing the City Council.  There was a running joke about the height of the microphone, so I read the poem while doing a 360 turn around said microphone.  I was able to make eye contact with all parts of the room that way, and saw local congresspeople, contractors, citizens, police officers, and fans of the town.

It was great to talk with outgoing council member Harry Sachs, and cheer for incoming member Sabina Zafar.  It's going to be a great year for San Ramon!

Our Christmas tree is red, white and blue!

21 June Still Thinking

Slowly processing my trip, and somehow this conclusion keeps coming up.  Now, mind you, I do tend to hold a Pollyanna view of the world in that I try to put a positive spin on things.  But, I actually do see something quite clearly now, and it is heartening and hopeful.

All of those poets and non-poet soldiers thought their deaths were meaningless, wasteful, and preventable.  When I was visiting their battlefields, praying in nearby churches, or reading their poems to them over their gravesites, I felt the same way.  I used to dread teaching All Quiet on the Western Front, and felt I had to somehow make amends to those fictional characters by visiting their true counterparts on the ground where they fought.  But now, I realize their deaths have not been forgotten.

One hundred years after the war ended, normal citizens are still looking for those soldiers listed on the monuments for the missing at the Menin Gate and Tyne Cot.  And when one is found, and identified, the everyday people involved celebrate and commemorate that soldier by name.  He is honored and remembered and buried with his comrades.  Those who are determined to never forget the Great War, and teachers like me who teach the creative writing from the period, have not allowed their deaths to be buried and forgotten.

As the world grapples with chemical weapons once again, we can point to their first widespread use in Belgium and France, can acknowledge that both sides used them, and that both sides agreed they should never be used again.

Perhaps human history is one of aggression and dominance, but it doesn't have to be that way.  In some way, watching the World Cup soccer games reminds me that we have positive outlets for our competitive natures.  Patriotic fervor is best applied to the sports competitions that envelope the entire world. The Olympic Games are another venue for nationalism, but I kind of like what Belgium has been doing.  Most of the time, citizens relate to being from "Flandres" or "Wallonia" and not Belgium.  But, they all fly the Belgium flag when the World Cup comes around.  Their distinct cultures still exist, and they can unite for a common cause.  I am rooting for them.

I truly believe the soldiers who gave their lives for their countries in World War 1 would be 100% in favor of the European Union.  They probably wouldn't believe it could exist with 28 countries who have been enemies many times in the past centuries, but it does exist.  And countries heavily involved in WW1 started it in 1951:  Germany, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Italy.  A Europe without borders has been a Europe without declared war. When security issues arise, European countries share their resources and help each other.

That never could have happened in 1918, when each side used propaganda to dehumanize the other.  But the poets knew.

In "Strange Meeting," Wilfred Owen imagines he meets a German poet in Hell, who tells him

                  ...Whatever hope is yours
           Was my life also; I went hunting wild
           After the wildest beauty in the world,
           Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
           But mocks the steady running of the hour,
           And if it grieves, grieves richer than here.
         
           For by my glee might many men have laughed,
           And of my weeping something had been left,
           Which must die now.  I mean the truth untold,
           The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
           (1918)

Ors, France, is the resting place of Wilfred Edward Owen.  I regret that I ran out of time to go down there; he ran out of time to hunt "the wildest beauty in the world".

18 June Heading Home

United Flight 949, second time

Here I am, crammed in seat 40A.  I was the one who wanted a window seat!  Unfortunately, the 6' 5" young man in front of me immediately reclined his seat, forcing my laptop into my (now softer) belly.  I can barely type with my elbows crammed into my sides.  Mrs. Grumpy next to me slammed down the armrest and took it over.  Mind you, she is about 5'4" tall, a decades past retirement age (be kind now, Jenyth), and playing music loud enough that I can hear it through her noise-cancelling headphones into my noise-cancelling headphones.  Maybe something is going on in the wireless world.  What is not working is the plane's internet.

Clearly, I am suffering from a case of First World Syndrome.

They are going to serve a full lunch, a light snack, a heavy snack, and make four beverage runs.

The wine and beer are free,
back here in economy-
your elbows touch your knee
my cheap fare ain't so easy.

The amount of food on this plane could probably serve a lot of homeless people.  Now I have the attitude of gratitude.

My commute to the airport was quite fun today.  I took the tube from London Bridge station on the Jubilee line, switched at Waterloo station because the Jubilee train was crammed full of commuters at 8:00 a.m. and the ventilation wasn't working.  My roller bag wouldn't behave in such a crowded space where standing room only means standing on top of your neighbor.  Exiting the Jubilee train into the blast of subway air was great;  the next Bakerloo train arrived in less than a minute.  I took the brown line all the way to Paddington, and remembered to exit where there was a ramp instead of stairs.  I felt a sense of victory.

Paddington Station is so awesome - the ribs of the ironwork are artistically designed, and there's a great deal of shopping.  I want a Paddington Bear, but I only have 11 pounds 30 left, and the cheapest one is £14.95.  I have exhibited extreme credit card discipline this trip and am not going to blow it.

Because I am so cheap, I bought an off-peak ticket on the Heathrow Express.  I had to wait 45 minutes to get on a train after 9:30, and I realize if I don't get the 9:40 my time in the airport will be stressful.  Everything works according to plan, even though no one ever checks my ticket on the train.  I could have gone for free.  I remember to look at my Fitbit.  The walk from the Express train stop to Terminal 2 for United is at least a mile long, and if my gate is 31-49, I'll have an additional walk under the tarmac in a hallway where you can feel the planes overhead.  Of course, I'm gate 48.

What is it about my face?  Stopped three separate times in "random" airport searches and identity checks.  The third time I was taken into a room on the side of the United gate and asked even more questions.  This interrogator was completely stoic.  I said, "Please check anything of mine you'd like. I want this plane to be as secure as you do."  I then asked her if there was something wrong with my passport.  She claimed they have an algorithm that randomly selects people.  Three random selections seems like the algorithm is as manipulated as Facebook's.  Steps:  3458, or 1.729 miles.

Well, United offers TV, but no World Cup game.  England is playing; you'd think they'd at least announce a score now and then.  A terrific biopic of Leslie Caron entertains for an hour, but I start thinking about my experience, and wondering.  What should Belgium do with all of those cemeteries?  How will the U.K. commemorate the armistice?  I'm sure it will be a grand occasion.

In the U.S., we are taking down Confederate statues, as if the past that glorified the exploits of Robert E. Lee can disappear.  What is the best way to remember the tough times, the less than glorious battles where no one really wins?  What part do I play in remembering World War 1 this fall, knowing that most Americans don't feel any connection to it at all.  In fact, not many World War 2 veterans are still alive.  My dad, a WW2 vet, was never that interested in WW1.  But I am nearly obsessed with those soldier poets who thought they died for nothing.

What will I do this 11.11.18?

"Now must I throw my little candle on his torch..." wrote Wilfred Owen.

17 June London Laughs

17 June afternoon

Some people are just so much fun. Jean and Jeff Lindberg, old friends from my volleyball coaching days, invited me up to the city for an afternoon of touring.  They just moved to London for a three year gig, and I must say I was a little jealous when I learned of their plans.  After touring battlefields and an intense week of studying the WW1 poets I love, it was a much-need breath of fresh air.

Jean has already figured the best photo ops in her neighborhood.  Here's the black egg near London Bridge and her new sports club, Third Space.

Tourists were lined up to take their pics, and none of us were able to budge it at all!

Jean and I have known each other since our daughters were in 7th grade, and always had a great time on volleyball road trips.  She was the first person I knew to use Uber, and London will never be the same with her on the loose!

Here is my first lemon and limes Pimms, from the Marylebone Street Fair.  What a beautiful neighborhood!  An opera singer from Covent Garden was singing, lots of restaurants had booths, and the atmosphere was so fun and festive.

But, what's more fun and festive than Carnaby Street?  The famous men's tailors are still there, but only a few of the classic punk rock stores still exist.  Fortunately, my favorite shoe store is still there. They used to create handprinted Doc Martins, and now they have expanded their repertoire to include toddler shoes and shoes for men.

This street off of Carnaby Street is awesome at night.  It looked a lot like this on my first visit in 1984.

Jean's new balcony in the London Bridge area has a drop dead view of The Shard.  We learned you can go near the top for free if you have a reservation at one of the lounges in the upper floors.  Next visit, for sure!

I'm checked in for my flight, and kind of amazed at all I've been able to do.  What a gift travel is!

16 June Lyme Regis, Dorset

Saturday in Lyme Regis.

How droll that sounds!

The famous Cobb of this town has been featured in Jane Austen's Persuasion, which was published six months after her death in 1817.  John Fowles' 1969 novel The French Lieutenant's Woman  was also set in Lyme Regis, with the iconic opening shot taken at the end of the Cobb on a stormy day.  I tried to replicate the shot, with little success.

This is really one of the prettiest coastal towns I've seen.  It is very touristy, and we did run into a beach guitar festival.  Again, covers of famous songs with different inflections made UB40's "Mirror in the Bathroom" very, very funny.    The impresario tried to get everybody pumped up as bands changed the stage, but he ended up looking like a cross between Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka and a Mick Jagger wannabe.

Past the music we found the inner harbor at low tide.  It was really low tide.  These boats have propellers that bend up so they don't get stuck in the muck.

Lots of tourists are taking pictures, eating ice cream, walking their dogs, and enjoying the beautiful day.  Weather changes quickly here.  It was foggy and misty when we arrived, which meant we went right to the pub for lunch.  The Cobb Arms is about 400 years old, but doesn't smell as musty as you might imagine.  We ate fishcakes, and I discovered the Juicy Lucy, a double cheeseburger with carmelized onions and cheddar cheese.  After we stuffed ourselves, the waiter brought us each our own tub of fries, with "salad creme" as dip.  Did not even open the bottle of that.  I did try the pub mustard (quite strong), the HB sauce (a cross between a brown sauce and BBQ, with tamarind), malt vinegar (not as malty as in the U.S.), and straight up Heinz ketchup.  After, the sun came out, the wind blew away the mist, and we went on a walk.

I was ecstatic to find a garden area dedicated to Jane Austen.  I knew she had visited Lyme, but didn't know the exact dates.  Could not find a house with a plaque on it, but did find these plaques below the flowers.  Several memorial benches were in place, and the steps were really steep.

Next on the list - Sidmouth.  It's one of the more popular ocean towns for retirees and is in East Devon.  Lyme Regis is barely past it, but technically in the County of Dorset.  We had to travel along very narrow lanes with hedgerows so tall they joined the canopy of trees over head.  Were they around in 1804-5, when Jane Austen was alive?  A horse drawn carriage would be more at home than  a car, which nearly has to pull over to oncoming traffic.  And when a bus is approaching head on, it's a gut check, especially when we seem to be on the wrong side of the road!

We learned from our local Brit about town names.  A town that ends in -cester originated from the Roman times 2000 years ago.  A town that ends with -mouth has a river or estuary that feeds into the ocean.  Exmouth and Sidmouth are located where the fresh water meets the salty sea.  Sidmouth is part of the Jurassic Coast, with lots of fossils in the beach pebbles and a red, clay-like soil on the cliffs.  At the end of the coast here, you can barely see some white cliffs, made of chalk.

You might be wondering, where is the sand?  So were we.  But, natural beauty is a wonderful site.

15 Harry Potter and more in Exeter

Friday 15 June

Many things about England impress me.  The people really care about those who are at risk, or unprotected.  Exeter is home to a large school and college for the deaf.  On High Street, you can find an entire row of charity boutiques.  Oxfam is a favorite organization and they actually have three separate shops, right next to each other.  One houses books (how I miss bookstores in the U.S.), one houses music - including a large vinyl collection - and the third has clothes and household items.  Around the corner is The Heart Association, then The Kidney Foundation, and finally The Hospice Foundation.  There was an imitation crown brooch that I should have bought for £4, but didn't.  It was a nice walk down to the River Exe, where there are some crazy old intersections, and the old Roman road, complete with observation/toll tower.

Because the intersections were just added onto over the centuries, they are a complete mess.  Fortunately, they built Pedestrian Subways underneath the whole thing.  Most of the graffiti is incredibly artistic, but a lot of it didn't look any different from ours back in the U.S.

The river slows down, takes a bend, and becomes a quiet quay.  Several centuries ago, they built a market awning, several shops and pubs on this bend.  Some of the shops are nothing more than little doors covering old caves in the side of the hill.  Very cute and quaint.

There's a great pub restaurant called The Prospect where we had lunch with all of the business people in town, it seemed.  Many went inside to watch World Cup soccer, which was our plan later in the day. Audrey's friends Caralina (from Portugal) and Chiara (from Germany) came over for dinner, and we went to The Black Horse to watch the game.  Nothing better than a British pub crowd watching a soccer match!

OK, maybe going to some live music at the Firehouse with a band who changes popular songs to "funk" music is better?  Nope.  Hysterical.

Around the corner from The Firehouse Pub is Gandy Street.  J.K. Rowling went to uni at Exeter, and reportedly spent a lot of time in this pub.  The old street was the inspiration for Diagon Alley, which I get.  Now, the bar was renamed and looks like a bad imitation of a Disney attraction during Halloween.  Of course I went.  I mean, this is all about pilgrimages, right?

14 June in Exeter

Great to be back in Exeter, home of ancient Roman walls aqueducts, bridges, and towers.  Many buildings were destroyed in World War 2, but I didn't think much happened here during the Great War.  However, recognition and remembrances are all around.

This poster is in several places in town.

My beautiful studio apartment was right next to these gardens, and they are starting to outline a place to build replica trenches, right behind this next statue.  The students love to party in this park.

Most of the town statues call the war the "Great War" and most of the monuments were installed between 1918-1920.  This one had a little plaque on the back, recognizing victims from WW2.

Even in the nearby beach town of Exmouth, we found poppy wreaths around the town square monument. They were gearing up for an event later in the summer. It's clear the British are committed to remembering the sacrifices of their soldiers.  But, it's time to get into vacation mode.  For me, that's more hiking and more history.  I'm looking for strange and wonderful sites.

So, here's "The House that Moved,", which was built in the 14th century right next to the Roman Road, moved in the 16th century, and just moved again to make way for Exeter student housing.  It's pretty far from campus, but near the Quay and beautiful walks.  The remains of part of the road are still attached.  You can see the builder wanted to avoid paying taxes, which were based on the footprint of the building.  There were no rules against building out over the next few stories, which this house accomplished.  It is now an upscale bridal salon.  The green plaque talks about it's history, and is attached to rocks, some dating back to 55 A.D.

Here are St. Mary's steps, probably redone in the 14th century with new stones. The cobblestones down the middle probably replaced an ancient, gravity-based sewer system originally developed by the Romans.

On to beaches, and a real vacation tomorrow!  Cheers!

13 June The Rescue Mission.mov

13 June

The fly is out of the water, on a napkin, and trying to get his wing to spread out.  But, water has made the diaphanous wing roll up and stick against its ribs.  I wish I could say he succeeded within the ten seconds of this video, but, alas, it took another ten minutes before he could fly away.  And, actually, he did a lot of crawling before he took off.  I'm really not sure why I did this.

Liberte Fraternite Egalite

13 June  in Exeter, England

I should take a day off of writing, but I can't leave Flanders Field behind.  It has scarred/scared me.  Our last night there, an interesting thing happened.  Here we are having a wonderful dinner, with an awesome bottle of French Cotes de Catalanes.  Carbonade Flamande, which is Flanders Stew.

The sky over the Menin Gate, which isn't in view, was stunning.

Then a fly landed in my water glass.  My first instinct was to smash it against the side with my napkin.

Then I saw red wine staining my napkin (that is chocolate mousse next to the fly in the glass), and I instantly thought of the blood of war, the drowning horses and soldiers, and had to begin rescue 911.  He was really waterlogged, but I carefully removed him, and watched him dry off his wings.  It was fascinating.  I'll post the movie in the next blog.  10 seconds is too much for this post.

You may be wondering, was she always an animal lover?  Yes, I have always picked up worms and repatriated spiders outside.  But it was the associations that were new.  No wonder the nightmares have begun.

Crossing the Channel

12 June

The alarm rang at 6:45 a.m.
All Quiet on the Western Front this morning in Ypres, Belgium.
I didn't want to leave.

I had not seen it all, nor heard all of the stories, but I still had to fill up the car with gas before returning it to the Hertz in the Lille, France, train station.  We had packed last night, and at 7 this morning lugged the bags down the steep, slanted stairs of the Hotel Ambrosia.

What an ironic name, now that I think of it.  Only hotel I've ever been in with a machine dispensing beer and wine as well as soda.  Vincent had told the breakfast cook we'd be down early, and we grabbed some Pain au Chocolate to go.  Such wonderful hosts.

The country lanes turned into four lane highways, then we hit the commuter traffic outside of Lille and took 45 minutes to go 8 miles.  One way streets and few gas stations meant the one we did find had to suffice. However, the pump did not take Visa, MasterCard, ATM or cash.  Not a human to be found.  Surrounded by skyscrapers and honking horns, we couldn't fill up Rennie.  The additional charge would be almost 100 Euros.  It was clear on the contract.  American Express would have worked.  We left Rennie in the parking garage and scurried to the Eurostar, looking for a cup of coffee.  Security was simple, and we were on our way.

Floating over the French Flanders Fields to the chunnel, and thinking. Lille considers itself the capital of Flanders, and it's easy to see why in terms of topography.  With or without a border, this flat landscape including Belgium and France will always be linked in history.  Belgium declared itself neutral when WW1 began, but instead it became central to the outcome of the bloodiest war in history.  Between 1914-1918, 10 million soldiers lost their lives, and another 7 million civilians were casualties.  Historians estimate the deaths of no fewer than 37 million humans were caused by this war, an unfathomable definition of collateral damage.

If I lived here, I'd be driving by WW1 cemeteries every day.  They are unavoidable.  It is clear why the Belgians are so anti-war.  Never again, I would think, every time I saw the perfectly tended cemeteries.  Yet they are so vibrant, welcoming, and energetic as a people.  Our host Linda in Poperinge took the time to wash the street lamp electrical box one morning as she cleared her patio for the morning coffee crowd.  Vincent sat down with me in his lobby and explained the next renovations he planned for his hotel, and how his 12 bicycles for rent were a surprise supplement to his income.  Industrious, proud, and warm they were.

We have many hours of trains today, and I have many incomplete blogs to finish as we travel.  I rushed around Flanders Fields, looking for yet another bit of buried treasure, hurrying so brutal reality would not soak in.  Now, I need time to think. Tomorrow, I will rest in beautiful Exeter, Devon.

Ypres Salient 6

It is still 11 June.

I had to continue bushwhacking through the countryside, first finding the old Menin church, which had had a university for centuries.  Then, I found the other piece of the Christmas Truce story in the city square of Menin!   Next to the tourist office is a newer sculpture of a German and a Scots shaking hands over a soccer ball.  

I also learned yet another sad story.  When the Orthodox Church was destroyed in WW1, so was the institution that had been rebuilt there in 1776.  There were no students left to attend.  Gone were the liberal arts classes, oil paintings (the Flemish were first to paint in oils), and the famous lions at the gates.  The beautiful and costly organ was destroyed.  Some say the church tower was targeted for its onion dome shape.  Not many men returned to town to rebuild, but the church of St. Nikolas did reopen, thanks to help from the Australians.  I went inside and lit a candle. A little girl skipped in, dropped her .50 euro piece in the metal box, and lit a candle.  "Will Opa see it?" she asked an older woman in Flemish.  "Huit," she replied.  

It's still light outside at 7:00 p.m.  Wijschate is the next tiny town full of more bodies in cemeteries than residents in homes. Down the road I find one of the few American Monuments, for those who fought in 2017 and helped take back the Messiness Ridge.  

It was near Kriekstraat, which I accidentally drove down.  “Krieg” means war in German, and when I found three small cemeteries in a two kilometer stretch, I inferred "Kriek" means war in Flemish. Really, the area is littered with cemeteries.  You can't drive anywhere without seeing at least one or two.  Maybe it wasn't an accident I found this beautiful little road near the end of my pilgrimage.  I didn't feel lost - I knew exactly what surrounded me.

I thought about the farmers who continue to plow around the little farm cemeteries, and the builders who occasionally find the remains of a soldier during construction.  These are reverently returned to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, who do their best to identify each body, first through archeological means.  They look for dogtags, uniform buttons, weapons or bullets.  They crosscheck the soldiers who are still missing from the area, and often they find them.  In rare instances, they even match DNA, but that's quite expensive.  In the larger cemeteries which list lost soldiers, brand new Addenda slabs are corrected for each new find, and the soldier is given a proper burial ceremony in Tyne Cot or a more local cemetery.  His name will eventually be transferred from the wall of the missing to the ground of the found.  A re-burial occurred just two days ago.  I was sorry to have missed it.  Over 200 tons of unexploded shells are found each year in Belgium. Still.  I am not sorry I missed those, especially since some are filled with chemicals.

Lest We Forget.

Ypres Salient 5

11 June late afternoon

I'm hungry.  So many of the little pubs and corner road houses are closed on Mondays, I learn.  Still, I navigate the highway that's under construction and am reminded of a favorite childhood game:  Milles Borne.  Lots of road hazard and speed limit signs, just like the game.  Also, no gas stations, either.  But, I know I can find this place.

On Christmas Day, 1914, the Germans started singing Christmas songs in a trench near the tiny town of Ploegsteert.  The French and Scots in their trenches joined them in singing "Silent Night," and the famous Christmas Truce began.  Soldiers left their weapons behind and wandered over the barbed wire into No Man's Land, exchanging cigarettes and champagne.  Later, they played soccer.  Here's the famous picture that got many men into trouble for fraternizing with the enemy.

I love the movie Joyeux Noel, which dramatizes this little piece of history, and I have to find the exact spot. Past Berks Cemetery and Berks Cemetery Extension, past the Ploegsteert Experience to an “unmarked pasture road” where I’ll find the temporary cross on the exact field where Germans, Scots, and French soldiers played.  Never mind the signs that read “local traffic only” in Flemish.  I can’t read Flemish.  Cows look up, dust raises from the crushed gravel road, and I’m rewarded by stumbling on several tiny cemeteries near Mud Corner Cemetery.  It is clear to me that the boys playing soccer probably ended up here, or nearby, in 2015.  Toronto Avenue Cemetery contains some Canadians, Ploegsteert Wood Military Cemetery some Belgians and French, and Rifle House Cemetery contains Commonwealth soldiers.  It is likely some Scots are in Mud Corner Cemetery, and as I turn the tight bend, nearly colliding with a cyclist, I see a larger monument at the top of a hill. Up there, I find a French Cemetery, and a new UEFA monument to the Christmas Truce.  In 2014, the international soccer leaders dedicated this area, built a German-style trench and a British-styled trench, with barbed wire in between. People from all over the world have left soccer balls and little Christmas trees at the base of an old shell casing with a soldered ball on top. If you look out past the shell monument to two trees with a white path between them, you may be able to see the white cross of Mud Corner. The trenches are the overgrown areas on each side.  I love what UEFA inscribed in their floor marker:  To all those who experienced the “Small Peace” in the Great War.  But this is not the real field.  

Across from a pond with an old "Winston Churchill was here" plaque is the wooden cross.  It was placed there in 1999 by the “Khaki Chums” with a carved slogan, “Lest we forget.”  I was so excited to see it, so pleased to see the healthy, waving wheat.  

So thrilled that it was on a flat field, located where it was described in cartoonist Bruce Bairnsfather's journal.

I have to find one more piece of memorabilia from this wonderful Christmas today. This has been such an emotional journey, but I found the one cross I was truly seeking, and it wasn't made of marble.

Ypres Salient 4

June 11, early afternoon

Audrey is off to Ghent on the 12:15 train. The towns I love are too small for her, and she is new to chasing poppies, so I’m off in Rennie with a pile of maps and GPS.  It will be fun to hear about her adventures at a late dinner on the Grote Markt square.  I have over a half tank of gas, and head south toward the French border.  This part of Flanders Fields was particularly bloody.  I’m sure to find some ghosts here.

Hill 60.  Tucked away off of a peaceful country road and fronted by some very luxurious homes with gardeners whacking away weeds, this place is different.  Apparently a British family bought the land after the war with the notion it would never be disturbed, never whitewashed into something beautiful. Artificially made from dirt excavated to lay nearby train rails in 1863, it was lumpy and bumpy and clearly disturbed today.  The minute I opened the gate, the wind started blowing. Nobody was inside.  A sheep pen stood inside the edge, under a bending oak tree, and droppings on the creaky boardwalk suggested the sheep are set free at night to keep the grass trimmed.  Despite the weed whacker noise, I could sense the voices I had traveled to hear.  This coveted hill had been early conquered by the Germans, then barely taken over by the Allies, then re-established by the Germans.  By late 1915, it was the most feared region on the front.  Numerous suicide missions and air bombardments occurred, with both sides counterattacking, until the Aussies came in 1917.

An entire Australian engineering brigade spent months tunneling under the German encampment on Hill 60 after the Allies lost control of it, and the Aussies detonated 53,000 lbs. of explosives underneath the Germans on the 7th of June.  This created a crater called Caterpillar.  Within 15 minutes, Allies were charging the hill, but unfortunately, the wind changed and the yellow mustard gas blew back on them.  Many deaths all around.  In July, the worst rainstorm in 30 years dumped inches of rain in the area, stranding tanks.  Horses and men drowned in the mud and were never seen again.  Against this horrific history stood an ancient cherry tree, just behind the monument, surrounded by a slatted wooden pole fence. A large dead branch clung to the side of the tree, and provided a roost for some poppy crosses.  Here I imagined voices and wrote this haiku conversation:

                                                                    I.

                         

                                 Wheat waves a hello.

                         Who lays below grassy lumps?

                                 The cherry tree knows.      

                          

                                                                    II.

                                  The cherry tree speaks:

                          What lays beneath grassy mounds

                                  Cannot wave good-bye.

                                                                     III.

                             Good-bye Hill 60.                 

                                     Speaking volumes for the peace,

                             Silent are your ghosts.

This was a disturbing little park, except for the sleeping sheep.  I had nightmares later.  But look at this tree!  In one little circle, cherries, wheat and rye ripen.  I hope the soldiers enjoyed them, one hundred years ago.

I had to find Palingbeek, where Koen Vanmechelen created ComingWorldRememberMe as a temporary art exhibit out of 600,000 clay busts he designed.  The dogtags from the 600,000 victims represented are temporarily housed in an aquarium case, and will be permanently installed in another sculpture on the grounds.  Artists from all over the world helped create the clay busts over the four year time centenary, in time to be placed here in May. Vanmechelen intended to create "an ode to a new future grounded in our remembrance of the horror and futility of the First World War. The installation symbolizes the rebirth of a hopeful desire for a new and more peaceful world.”  The work is symbolically in niemandsland, or No Man’s Land, between The Bluff (British controlled) and a wooded area controlled by German forces.  For a long time, these trails have been encompassed in the current day Palingbeek Park. It’s a beautiful setting for bikers, hikers, equestrians, and seekers, but perhaps in such a place it is too easy to forget about the war that occurred along the verdant paths. Not today. Crowds were exploring the exhibit, and talking in at least seven languages I recognized.  

Vanmechelen will take apart the art in November, but it’s uncertain where the giant egg and 600,000 busts will go.  If you could view it from overhead, the busts create the shape of Belgium.  The egg is "birthing" more.

Hard to top this afternoon, but I have one more critical find. Will I be able to locate the actual field where a famous soccer game occurred without maps or GPS help?

Ypres Salient 3

11 June Part 1:  Morning

The In Flanders Field Museum deserves its own post.  It was the coolest, most interactive museum I’ve ever visited.  Upon entry, you receive a white and red poppy bracelet, which has a microchip in it.  You register your name and surname, then tap it at a variety of spots.  The correct language arrives, and at the end, you can find out the four people they have connected you to from the exhibit’s archives. One of mine had my birthday, and another died on my birthday.  The other two were German, as I used my maiden name.

There was a fabulous table used as a projection screen to describe the movements of the troops during the four Ypres battles.  What a terrific learning tool, as movie clips, troop activity, fires and floods were all depicted on top of a topographical map of the region.  It was impressive.  Another area had a curved screen, which from the outside looked like the front of a Zeppelin.  From the inside, the camera angles looked like Soaring over California at Disneyland. They combined current landscapes with historical photos and film clips to tell the story of Ypres, the town. Looking at the beautiful square today, it was hard to realize the Germans completely flattened it in WW1.  They rebuilt most of it using the original stones with additions. Besides a fashion show of uniforms like the display at Passendale, this exhibit emphasized the French’s need to camouflage their bright and cheerful uniforms, which were too easy for the enemy to target.  French soldiers used coffee, tea, and clay to dirty their uniforms.  When they Americans came over in 1917, they were in various shades of khaki because the Allies learned what worked.

The museum is in the old Cloth Hall, off of Grote Markt.  That space has been used for trading for centuries, and it was a matter of pride for the Belgians to rebuild it as soon as possible.  We paid the extra 2 euros to climb 215 steps up to the top of the tower.  From this vantage point (with the help of aerial photos) we were able to identify most of the sites we had seen and were going to see.  I was able to conquer a bit of vertigo as long as the spiral staircases had stone walls, but when we had to climb a fire escape type of ladder, it was tough.  Fortunately, that brought us to the bell room, where a computerized organ is programmed to chime the bells at certain times.  Little did we know it was almost 11 o’clock, but when the first bell rang within 10 feet above our heads, we did know.  Eardrum vibrations sent us scurrying to the next stone spiral staircase, laughing as we went.  I recorded the last ten bongs and hope to play them on 11-11-18 for the Centenary of the Armistice, somewhere.

Ypres Salient Part 2.2

Nighttime June 10 - 

James Robertson, VC

Behold How Good and How Pleasant

It is for brethren to dwell

Together in unity (Mother)

Upon driving through the Menin Gate, and seeing how incredibly massive it was, I realized 55,000 names require a great deal of real estate.  Will told us at Tyne Cot that the CWGC is committed to maintaining the name slabs so they are always legible, which means each slab is replaced a minimum of every ten years.  The brand new ones looked amazing.  Tyne Cot was constructed from black flint from the Midlands and Portland stone from the U.K., which were shipped over the channel.  The Menin Gate has the same stone, but uses bricks instead of flint. At 8:00 p.m., 365 days a year, the Last Post is played by 3-5 cornet players in swanky uniforms.  For our night, a band had applied to play as well, so we were treated to Last Post with horns, a bagpiper playing the Scottish song , and a small band of 20 playing two songs while guests placed wreaths at the transom.  Several wreaths were laid on Sunday, and a nearby Brit, who retired in Belgium, said it was an unusually long ceremony.  Very moving and beautiful, despite this same Brit/Belgian confronting a drunk local about being respectful.  We know how to run from a fight!  My pics aren't very clear, but do go online and look it up.  Beauteous.  

Here's Tyne Cot flint and Portland Stone.

Our Hotel Ambrosia is run by Vincent and his family.  He’s been at it for 11 years, and feels the strong traffic to his hotel will continue after the end of the 14-18 WW1 Centenary.  He asked us why we were there, as few Americans go to Ypres.  We explained our pilgrimage, and he was very helpful.

He couldn't wait to hear about our thoughts about the In Flanders Fields museum, by far the most high tech museum I've visited.  Here's a picture of Audrey looking at old chemical weapons canisters from Germany.  Yellow means mustard gas, blue means chlorine.  You get the idea.

This museum needs its own post, so au revoir!

Ypres Salient Part 2.1 no pics

Driving through Flanders Fields, you see tiny little cemeteries everywhere.  They were built by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, and are maintained by them worldwide.  It's quite an operation, with a wonderful office right by the Menin Gate.  They take donations, but the 67% share the U.K. funds totals 66 million pounds!  It's quite an undertaking, and clear that the British culture's attention to detail and care for the past has resulted in a spectacular assortment of cemeteries and monuments to the Great War.  Yes, there are four German cemeteries and a few French only cemeteries in Flanders, but the Brits have the most impressive designs.  Perfectly aligned plots, beautiful roses and native plants, a design that sits in the landscape like a Greek amphitheater- Tyne Cot is by far the most impressive cemetery I have ever seen.  Arlington is a distant second, to be honest.

Driving through the countryside in Rennie, our little Renault with a troublesome clutch, we could see Tyne Cot from about 3 miles away.

There, our tour guide Will gave us the history of the architectural plans and construction of the massive site.  The large cross in the center stands on a "pill box," the British name for a bunker.  It was built by the Germans and cost thousands of lives to overtake.  Tyne Cot has a special relationship to another massive monument, the Menin Gate in Ypres.  In the post-WW1 plans, the British Government wanted to honor all of its men who died, but weren't found, after the war.  They planned to carve 55,000 names into the wall, but soon realized they needed much more room.  So, Tyne Cot includes not only 12,000 burial plots, but also an additional 35,000 names of those who had no recorded burial.  Here, one truly understands Erich Maria Remarque's idea expressed in his novel All Quiet on the Western Front:  an entire generation was destroyed by the war.  1.7 million lives lost.


Here's the headstone of a famous Canadian soldier. (next post) Under the Canadian maple leaf, there's a Victoria's Cross, the most prestigious battle award given to Commonwealth soldiers.  James Robertson was huge - 6'3"- for a soldier.  He was out in the trenches with his comrades, trying to figure out a way to take out a German machine gun site.  No Man's Land was cleared of wire one night in anticipation of a raid, but there was still wire around the site.  In the early morning hours, he spied an opening where the wire was only about 3' high.  He figured he could jump over it with his long legs, and take out the shooter.  So, off he went, armed only with a rifle and bayonet.  He did overtake the gunman, and brought back his machine gun.  His bravery saved the lives of many and allowed them to advance, if only slightly.  He did the same thing a few weeks later, however, this time two comrades were wounded and lying in No Man's Land.  He was able to carry back the first soldier, but he received a mortal injury while carrying the second to safety.  After the war, relatives were asked if they wanted anything special on the headstone, so his mother wrote the message for him.  For a bit of perspective, out of 12,000 graves, only 6 had the VC designation in Tyne Cot.

Tyne Cot was so overwhelmingly beautiful it both magnified and glorified the war, and I wasn't so sure how I felt about that.  I had no spiritual connection to the place;  perhaps it was too grand.

Fighting in Passchendale was particularly difficult during the battles of Ypres, and most likely the setting for All Quiet on the Western Front.  There's a German cemetery nearby, and also a museum called the Passendale Experience, set in a Belgian chateau next to a lovely lake.  Here there are demonstration trenches reflecting the different engineering methods of the corps.  Also, dugouts that replicate the living conditions of those on the Western Front provide a close (claustrophobic, actually) view of living underground.  The museum is actually in Zonnebeke, which was pretty but on a Sunday afternoon it was hard to find any food!  Hot and tired, we drove into Ypres, not realizing we'd actually drive through the Menin Gate on our way to the city center.

To be continued - pictures later as internet is sketchy today.

The Ypres Salient, Part 1

10 June

Another intense day of searching for and remembering the hundreds of thousands of soldiers lost to the war.  Since I've been using a British guide to the Western Front, I'm not going as far south as where the American offensive helped turn the tide of the war in 1917.  There's so much to see and do in the north quarter.

Poperinge finished with visits to the War Horse Memorial.  The statue is unavoidable, in a major intersection's round-a-bout, with poppies and lupine planted all around.  Here's a picture.

At the Essex Farm Cemetery, I saw the bunkers where Lt. John McCrae tended to the wounded and wrote "In Flanders Field."  Here's the bunkers, beautifully preserved between a drainage ditch and the Ijzer Canal.

The tall Essex Farm Memorial obelisk is for the Commonwealth's West Riding Division, and was installed by the division's commander in 1920.  It has a very pregnant tiger guarding its steps, who loves to be pet, but don't touch her tummy!  Cats are beloved pets in Belgium.

Other notes:  whenever a Commonwealth cemetery has at least 40 graves, it has a cross to mark it.  If a battlefield burial had fewer than 40 graves, those men were moved to the larger cemeteries.  If it has a Stone of Remembrance, the cemetery has over 1000 graves.  Essex Farm had both.

The Yorkshire Trenches were in a commercial zone with a Biomass recycling station.  If you could stand the stench, you could find an awesome excavated trench site.  It was found in 1992 when they were building, and an enthusiastic batch of amateurs mapped and dug out the trench.

As you can see by the following list, I did way too much today.  Emotionally exhausting to see the Brooding Soldier at Vancouver Corner/Canadian Park, Tyne Cot Cemetery in Zenebeke/Passendale (largest Commonwealth Cemetery in the world with over 12,000 plots and 35,000 names on the wall), then the Passchendale Experience museum, and many other sites.  More tomorrow.