In Flanders Field

30th July, 2011 (Tony)

Our passage through the 5.7 km Riqueval Tunnel was a bit nerve-wracking. This is the tunnel that the Germans seized early in WW1, filled with barges and used for an ammunition dump and later, hospital. It begins just beyond the bridge that Sally wrote about in our last newsletter. The relatively narrow bridgehead over the top was of enormous strategic importance as the canal cuts through a deep, long, hand-dug channel for many kilometres both north and south of the tunnel. Squeezing two large armies through a 5.5 km crossing would have been a nightmare. It took American help with their large machinery and drilling equipment to force the Germans to evacuate the tunnel and it was a miracle that the tunnel survived. The town of Bullecourt straddles the summit above the tunnel. It was practically demolished in one of the last scenes of combat in the days before the armistice was signed in November, 1918. The tunnel was the brain-child of Napoleon who turned the first sod in 1801. Because of its length and the difficulty to sink ventilation shafts exhaust-emitting engines are prohibited. Once upon a time men dragged barges through, then donkeys were employed. But since 1906 after the advent of electricity tugs using a huge electric winch pick up and re-lay a chain to tow barges and pleasure boats through the tunnel; one way at a time. The journey takes two hours and vessels have to line up in order of size behind the tug. In front of Sable was a large commercial barge, and behind we towed a smaller pleasure craft. The skipper of the commercial insisted we needed only one line and that it should be hooked to his port stern bollard. I assumed he knew what he was doing and kow-towed to his greater experience. Mistake! As we feared, it was impossible to keep Sable on a straight course and her port stern scraped along the left-hand side of the tunnel relentlessly. Thankfully, after a couple of hundred metres the second mate on the tug lept off onto the footpath and wandered back to check that all was in order at the tail of the queue. He immediately recognised our predicament and asked me to start our motor and advance to slacken the tow rope and ordered the commercial skipper to move our line to his centre bollard. From then on it was much easier to keep Sable away from the walls but the commercial continued to scrape the whole way and as soon as we emerged we were pleased to moor up to the bank for the night and down a calming tipple.

We stayed several days in Cambrai another large town completely destroyed in WW1 but largely restored in quaint Flemish style. Throughout most of July afternoons were whiled away in front of television, glued to the Tour de France. What a fantastic outcome! However, we managed a sortie on the motorbikes to explore the countryside around Cambrai one rare, sunny, afternoon. Whilst most of France seemed to be baking in sunshine, in the north we barely have seen the sun all month. Perhaps this dull, cloudy, drizzly weather is typical of the Benelux countries. Final French port of call was Valenciennes, a lovely, lively city full of students and young people revelling in their summer holiday festivities. There we picked up Scott and Matt — the advance party ahead of the impending family invasion. Gillian and the girls were soaking in London, and later Paris, for a few days after the family had spent a fun-filled couple of weeks in Ireland. Next day we set off down L'Escaut, spent an extraordinarily windy night pinned to a seawall virtually on the border and then passed without ceremony, or notice, into Belgium. Or perhaps we were noticed, for the police stopped by as we were fuelling up to tell us our tyre fenders were illegal in Belgium.

Canals in Belgium, for the most part, are serious highways for transportation of every conceivable cargo. There are few barges here. They use ships — huge vessels, rarely less than 120m long and often 10 to 14 m wide, many are sea-going. Stay clear! At Tournai a kindly resident who obviously spends most of his retired days watching the river traffic came down to show us how to lock our ropes onto the cleats on the quai to prevent Sable being swept away in the wake of a passing ship. We were grateful for his advice as we tossed about alarmingly all night long. Sally thought Tournai was a nice city — I thought it was the pits. We enquired at the big lock down the river about the possibility of slipping up the Canal de L'Espierre to Roubaix, back in France, to collect Gillian, Kristy and Paula. We were assured it was ok and they would arrange for a lock-keeper to lift us through three locks into France whereupon the French would take over. We entered the narrow canal and waited at the first lock more than two hours before the lock-keepers arrived. They then informed us the first lift-bridge in France was out of service and we should go back. Despite the lock-keepers' insistence that the canal behind us was wide enough for Sable to do a U-turn it took three vain attempts to convince him otherwise. No option other than to go up through the lock where we easily completed our U-turn and back down again and out to the Escaut once more. The girls took a taxi from Roubaix and we met them four hours later at Bossuit where we were pleased to get off the Escaut and into the canal to Kortrik; through a massive lock that I estimated took thirteen million litres of water to lift us the 9.5m into the Flemish sector of Belgium. Belgium hasn't had a proper parliamentary sitting for more than ten years because they can't agree on the language that should be used. But in Flanders, almost without exception, everyone can converse to us in English, which is more than can be said for the French speaking Wallonians.

Kortrik is a great city with attractive street scapes and busy shops. Unbeknown to us we arrived on the eve of Belgium's national day. No kind of celebration was evident — the whole town was dead. So it was just as well we hired a car the night before to tour the WW1 battlefields. With hardly any traffic on the road we set off to visit Messines, Tyne Cot cemetery, Paschendale, and Polygon Wood where the Australian 5th Division Memorial is situated. We also payed our respects at the grave of Sally's great-uncle, Alan Bisset, killed in action 20 October,1917 at Vlamertinge, near Poperinge. By mid-afternoon all seven of us needed some spirit-lifting comfort which we acheived by way of a feast of crepes and/or waffles and icecream at a cafe in the square at Ypres. We then walked the ramparts of the city before filing into the large crowd to observe the moving playing of the Last Post at the Menin Gate. Next day Scott and I drove to Fromelles where on 19 July, 1916 the Australian 5th Division lost 5,553 men. I have long been fascinated by the well-documented story of Fromelles and the discovery in 2008-9 of 250 bodies buried in mass graves at Pheasant Wood. Peter James and I visited Fromelles in 2008 just as the archealogical investigation was about to begin but was hampered by bad weather. So it was poignant to return and see the new cemetery (picture).

To Gent. This city rocks! One day is not enough to celebrate Belgium's national day here. We arrived to find a ten day festival in full swing. The streets and quaysides thronged with crowds in party mood. A number of stages around the city centre featured bands and musicians of all genres belting out their tunes before admiring fans. Restaurants and bars did a roaring trade with every available spare piece of space filled with tables and chairs that were constantly occupied day and night. Suddenly it was all over and it took two days to dismantle the stages and clean up the mess. With Gent in introspection and last day together we took the family by train to Brugge for the day. The market was buzzing in the square when we arrived but by the time we'd had lunch it was all stashed away into semi-trailers and off to somewhere else. Every day Brugge is packed with thousands of tourists. It's so busy and so crowded what can one do, except sit down at a street-side bar and sip and survey. Kristy, Scott and Matt are off to USA and Gillian and Paula are on their way home. It has been a wonderful couple of weeks. When we recover we'll head to Antwerp, one of the busiest ports in the world. Now that's scary!