9 June

In Flanders Fields, and had such a tough start to the day that I decided the best plan would be to blitzkrieg a bunch of sites without thinking too much about them.  Perhaps not the best plan, but it worked.  We started our day in the Grote Markt of Poperinge, visited the Tourisme office to get free maps, and went around the corner to the execution post.  Here, several soldiers who had deserted or refused duty were shot by a firing squad, who were told, "The most merciful thing you can do is to shoot straight."

Sort of surreal that a Town Hall is in front of it, and a kindergarten right next to it.  Imagine dropping off your kid at school past this every day.  Sobering, to say the least.

A highlight of the day was a visit to Talbot House, where a pastor named "Tubby" Clayton led worship in the 4th story attic chapel he made.  Over 120,000 soldiers took their rest here.  Pastor Clayton wrote many letters to his mother, which are a large part of the exhibit back in the garden.  This story is a long and positive one, better told in detail, later.  Here's his chapel.  You have to climb up a ladder stair to get to it.

On to some little cemeteries outside of town called "New Poperinge Military Cemetery."  They added graves to this site that were found during renovations or new construction in the nearby fields.  UK headstones are curved, and the French choose to use crosses for their markers.  Notice the one cross separate from the others.  It is for a German soldier.

To be honest, the morning was getting pretty heavy, so I spontaneously decided to drive to Dunkirk/Dunquerque, France, since I'd seen the movie.  It was a foggy day, with a very low tide, and easy to see why it was so difficult to rescue 300,000 UK soldiers in WW2.  Had a terrific seafood cassoulet and felt rejuvenated enough to drive the Western Front from the ocean back to Poperinge.  What fun it was to see a poppy, and make a turn to follow the road and see something.

While I'd done extensive research, and had many "must see" spots, this method was much more fun.  We saw the King Albert Memorial, dedicated to the King of Belgium who held this section of the line for all four years of the war.  How did he do it?  Engineering.  He flooded the fields with this lock system, and blocked the Germans with water and mud.

Places we visited today:
Execution Post
Officers' Club at 12 Gasthuisstraat, Poperinge
Talbot House, Poperinge
Lijssenthoek Cemetery (2nd largest British military cemetery in Europe)
Dunkirk WW2 Operation Dynamo exhibit
Nieuwpoort - where the Western Frontline met the sea
King Albert's Memorial
Dykes and Locks by King Albert
Ijzenfront trail from Nieuwpoort to Poperinge:
        Diksmuide
        Brandhoek Cemeteries (All 3)
        Boezinge (autocorrect keeps trying to make this town Boozing!)
        Hop Farm Cemetery
        Vlamertinge.

A happy end to the day:  in our search (failed) for the little Vlamertinge Red Farm Cemetery where they filmed part of Joyeux Noel, we were stuck in a narrow land in between two farms.  A little lamb had escaped through the fence, and when he saw us, he panicked and tried to jump through the fence.  He was crying "maaaah, maaaah" so of course I immediately thought of the deer I rescued last week across the street from my classroom.  I got out of the car and herded him back inside his pasture.  He had a joyful reunion with his mama while I got into the car and tried to perform a reverse Y-turn without ending up in a ditch, or ruining the new cornfields.

8 June

I took a  Chiltern commuter train from Stratford on Avon to Leamington Spa, then a fancy Chiltern train with internet and tables into London Marylebone station.  As I looked at emails and checked Facebook, my computer started buzzing with attack alerts.  Looking around, I had no idea who was trying to get into my computer.  Now, I'm typically not paranoid, but I did put up a different Firewall and the buzzing stopped.

Here I am, trying to become a famous blogger, and you'd think I'd want more traffic, not less.  Alas, this is the 21st Century and being famous doesn't occur by writing thoughts about trains.  Toot toot.

I love how London's train stations sync with the Underground.  In less than a minute, I was heading down an escalator to take the tube to St. Pancras.  I was thinking about my dad as we boarded the Eurostar for a quick trip to Lille, France.  Now, that is a posh train.  It floats and bounces like Disneyland's old Matterhorn as you hit a bend, but for the most part the path is so straight the sheep blur on the landscape.  Dad loved trains, and I've been missing him a lot, so it became obvious I needed to play my Swingin' playlist.  It begins with "Take the A Train" by Duke Ellington and ends with "Chattanooga Choo-choo."  I might have giggled a bit during "Pennsylvania 6500".

Renting a car in Lille, France, from Hertz was a snap.  Getting out of the parking garage with a sticky manual transmission was worse than Lombard Street.  But, we made it out and into the countryside.

Not many people enjoy wandering around the countryside as much as I do, but fortunately my oldest daughter has become very patient these days.  We made it into Poperinge, Belgium, after a few extra laps around the round-a-bouts, and in time to hear the church bells chime 8:00.  Dining at the Oude Vlanderren, trying to speak Flemish, being schooled in English - well what's better than that?  Perhaps a Belgian beer?

I have mixed feelings about tomorrow's visits to the Western Front.  How will I hold up when facing a thousand graves of boys who look just like my students?  Will the bugs in the fields eat me alive?  Will I get too emotional at Talbot House, a sojourn for troops who needed a respite from the front, laughing at the show, only to face death again in a day or two?  Will I want to punt and take a train to the French Open so I can happily root for Slone Stevens, instead of finding the grave of a 14-year old boy who died in a gas attack?  I am in search of poppies.

The inspiration?  John McCrae's poem  "In Flanders Field."

In Flanders fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

By Major John McCrae – Dec. 8, 1915 - Boezinge, Belgium

Be sure to read it top to bottom, then bottom to top.  I prefer the second way, myself.

7 June in Stratford-on-Avon

Shakespeare's Sonnet #59 thus begins:

     If there be nothing new, but that which is
     Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd...

I agree with Shakespeare - our brains do know of new ideas and opinions, and humans can't help but wonder about the past, and try to innovate the future.  In the present, it's very interesting to think about Shakespeare as a baby, as a little and big brother, as the oldest son of a creative and prosperous merchant who married the beloved youngest daughter of a well-to-do farmer.

Now, what would Shakespeare think of a Hop on and off Bus Tour?  Or iPhones?  Or blogs?
Let's leave that one.

The bus was a great way to see all of the paths he loved, homes he lived in, as well as the beautiful Cotswold countryside's farms, hedgerows, and horse farms.  The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust has done an outstanding job, even if their version of his life is slightly sugar-coated.  Here's a picture of the inside of his house, in a room they call the "birthing room." The actor playing a nursemaid explained that the ropes on the trundle bed needed to be tightened every week, using the wooden "key" in the shape of a cross.  The chamber pot was on this side of the parent's bed, which was about 50" wide, not much wider than a twin.  The toddler had to be careful when getting out of the trundle.

We also learned the origin of the four poster bed with a canopy top.  Thatched-roof houses tended to house rodents and bugs in what would be the bedroom ceiling.  One who slept with his mouth open might have a tasty "breakfast in bed" in the morning, so the newfangled canopy prevented these pests from landing on the sleepers.  Since those living in the 16th century never washed their sheets and simply bequeathed them as part of their wills, the fleas and other bedbugs weren't kept out by the canopy.  To the left (our right) of the bed, babies slept in rocking cradles.

Several sights in town were around during Shakespeare's time.  My favorite was this pub, which seemed to be right in the middle of town, but was actually just outside its limits.  Therefore, the owners were allowed to keep the thatched roof, even though they were outlawed in town due to their flammability.

Many of Shakespeare's rhymes fit every occasion, but these seem the best as I head toward Belgium and France and the Western Front:

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.

Sonnet 55

6 June 2

In the evening, Audrey and I attended the Beating Retreat, which is a performance of military bands and Horse Guards focusing upon drums, fifes, and cornets.  The British contingent included a cadet Core of Drums, their regular band of the Household Division Core of Drums, The Band of the Grenadier Guards, The Band of the Coldstream Guards, The Band of the Scots Guards, The Band of the Royal Yeomanry, the Honorable Artillery Company,  The Countess of Wessex's String Orchestra, The Band of the Welsh Guards, The Band of the Irish Guards, and the Band of Royal Choral Society.

The United Arab Emirates' Band and Pipes, the United States Army Europe Band, and the Horse Guards of both the U.K. and Jordan were part of the show as well.  It was terrifically exciting to see the Jordanian Arabian horses run in and a rider slice a watermelon in two with a curved scimitar, then another shoot off a gun in the air.  Here's a picture of them:

The other horses were the Irish Black warmbloods, very calm indeed.  The Household Division's drum horses were a draft breed called the Shire, closely related to the Clydesdales.  I couldn't believe how still the horses were, except for the drum major's, who stepped in time to the music when they stopped and played!  You may be wondering what a "Beating Retreat" is.  In the previous several centuries, near dusk, the corps drummer would beat a certain song or rhythm, which meant it was time to retreat back to camp and rest for the night.  He beat the retreat.  The rules of warfare had this code of resting at night, and WW1 was one of the first major conflicts where troops did not cease fighting during the night, due to the German Starshells, which lit up the battlefields (and better radio communications helped as well).  Still, with fog and rain common, the corps drummers and/or pipers would give signals to the troops on the front lines.  The horse drum was still in use at the beginning of the war.

Here I am next to one of the two Horse Guards, who sit with their swords resting on their shoulders as they guard the entrance.   This horse kept wanting me to pet him, which is allowed.  He stood perfectly still for at least 30 minutes.  His coat was as spotless as the guard's uniform.  The gold was blinding.

At the end of the show, Royal Scots bagpiper played, "Last Post" as he stood on the monument to those fallen during WW1.  Here's a daytime picture of the monument, just across the street from the Horse Guards' Parade.

I saw many monuments around town with commemorative red poppies, like those on the left-most wreath here.  The piper played right next to it at 9:45, as darkness fell complete.  So sombre.

6 June 1

What a magnificently beautiful day in London!

                                    70 degrees with floating clouds
                                     Sun shadow on the brim
                                     Of a trim poet in front of the Globe
                                     Would you like a poem, I ask?
                                     For he's writing on demand poetry
                                     And I know no one has given one in return.
                                     As usual, my brash accent silences him.
                                     So cheers to you, my shy bard.
                                     Sometimes it is hard to receive poetry
                                     When you're soaking up sun at 70.


The list of stops today included the Churchill War Rooms under Whitehall, the Horse Guards grounds where the 2012 Olympic sand volleyball occurred, The Clarence for lunch, the Millennium Bridge, the Tate International Gallery of Modern Art, a water taxi back to Westminster, 5:00 evening prayers at Westminster Abbey, dinner at Lord of the Moon, and an evening with the Beating Retreat performance featuring the Household Guards of the Queen, a marching band from the U.S., and a band from the U.A.E., and a Horse Guard from Jordan.  Whew.

Highlight of the day?  I can't pick.  Here are two pictures about Winston Churchill's involvement in WW1.

The failure at the Dardanelles is significant, for that's where poet Rupert Brooke died.  Here's his famous poem:

The Soldier

BY RUPERT BROOKE

If I should die, think only this of me:

      That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

      In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

      Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam;

A body of England’s, breathing English air,

      Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

      A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

            Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

      And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

            In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

That's it for now.  Cheers!

                                   

4-5 June

Beginner blogger here doesn't know how to backdate a posting.  But, Monday was an interesting day, mostly for the people I ran into in the United line at SFO.  First, I met a couple from Exeter, UK, who were returning home after a five week vacation.  Pete was a retired cop who always wanted to see New York, Denver, and Yosemite. So they did.  They completely understood the pull of WW1 and commemorating its soldiers, and wanted to know if other Americans felt as I did.  I told them I didn't think so!

On to Jean Lindberg, who was my team mom when I coached volleyball.  She and her husband are moving to London, and were on the same flight!  Terrific moment of serendipity.

I arrived at Heathrow, took the Heathrow Express train to Paddington Station, met my daughter at the Pride of Paddington, and began my journey back to a time 100 years ago.  I was startled by the building along the Thames River, near our apartment, and made this extemporaneous speech.

Packing

One of the themes of this blog:  baggage.  Will I be allowed to carry on everything?  And, will I be able to learn how to use my Ozmo before we land in London?  I AM going to be part of the 21st Century!