Quiet on the Western Front
/12th July, 2011 (Sally)
Bottles to Battles. It was with great reluctance we left Champagne. Who said, "Too much of a good thing is wonderful." However first things first, a ninth birthday to celebrate and a local patissiere who speaks no English. Suellen's French is basic, however sign language conquers all and the resulting gateau, Une Grande Gateauticked all the right boxes. This was Joey's second birthday celebrated in France, so we know what is expected, and a can of escargots, all 60 of them, among the parcels certainly brought a smile to his face. The snails went home in the luggage and have since gone to school as "Show and Tell"; the comments after that could be interesting.
Only a few kilometres north of Reims we were at Berry au Bac, and turned east to travel along the foot of the Chemin des Dames. This was the front line of the German/French standoff for most of WWI and also the scene of the infamous Nivelle offensive of April 1917. After months of being bogged down, General Nivelle convinced the French government that he could break through the German lines in 24 to 48 hours. After intensive artillery bombardment, the French attacked and were met with withering machine gun fire. By the time the attack was called off two weeks later, the casualty list numbered 102,896 dead, 65,132 wounded among the French, another 5,000 from a Russian brigade and 7,000 Sengalese. It took 300 trains and one month to evacuate the wounded. The troops eventually mutinied, which resulted in 554 death sentences, most of which were never carried out and Nivelle was replaced by Pétain, but his name will always be remembered as one views the numerous cemetries and memorials that line the Aisne.
At Bourg et Comin, we moored to celebrate the ninth birthday, and suddenly one becomes aware that there is a totally different agenda when travelling with children, no longer are we looking for a shady tree to enjoy a pre-dinner appertif, but rather a grassy bank for a game of soccer, and the floating pontoon is not an ideal mooring but rather the launching site for an amada of boats made from corks, toothpicks and paper sails [I knew I was saving those corks for a reason] and every scrap of bread is now food for ducks, swans and any water bird that is on this stretch of water. From Bourg et Comin we turned into the Canal that joins the Aisne River to the Oise, a gentle climb through fields and woods to the summit tunnel then out the other side to start the slow descent. At the summit we moored next to the large reservoir which feeds the canal and saw it had been made into a massive playground and water park. Hard to believe why when the population of the village would be less than 200. The next day, Sunday, was hot, over 35 deg and they came in their hundreds, we joined them late, after a leisurely lunch and nap, and at 5pm the park was still crowded. Sunburn! I can't remember when I last saw so many red sweltering bodies, not a scrap of sun lotion in sight, and still they lay there getting singed making sure they got the very last rays of the sun. Our Slip Slap Slop message has not reached these shores.
We stopped at Pinon, another good soccer pitch, but also a train station for a trip to Laon, a walled medieval city dominated by its cathedral. Laon is perched on a rocky outcrop, reached by an exciting fenicular train trip, and the cathedral is known for the forty seven statues of oxen that stand at the top of its towers. It is remakable not only for the sculptures, a reminder that it was oxen that pulled all the stone up the slopes to build the cathedral but also for the short time it took to build — less than fifty years. Elsie, who never goes anywhere without a book, was more impressed with it being the coolest place in town to sit and read. We made another side trip to Compiegne to view the Chateau de Compiegne with its sumptuous furniture and huge gardens. Most of the furniture dates from Napoleon's time, but it is also remembered as the place where Marie Antoinette was introduced to her future husband, Louis XVI.
Our final mooring with the family was at St Quentin, and you can imagine Joey's face when he saw right next to the canal the biggest water park we have seen in France, so that was first stop on our agenda. The men were not allowed in wearing board shorts but the remorseful staff found some speedos for them to borrow (I suspect from the lost-and-found bin). Just as well no photos were allowed. Tony Abbot would have been proud of our men in budgie-smugglers! Next day it was in the hire car and off to visit Villers Bretonneux, Australian Museum and War Memorial and also the newly reopened memorial at Le Hamel. The three generations paid our respects to my great uncle whose name is listed on the wall at Villers Bretonneux, along with 10,981 others who have no known grave. A very sobering experience. We then went on to Amiens where Suellen and I took the two children on a boat tour through les Hortillonnages, a colourful, 360 hectare patchwork of marshland market gardens that were originally dug during Roman times. They are now private allotments and as you drift through them on flat-bottom punts one can view well tended vegie plots, some colourful flower patches and others where the occupants are content to relax and let nature prevail. Meanwhile the two guys were "walking with the ANZACS" at Pozières, the Lochnagar crater, the British Memorial at Thiepval, and the New Zealand Memorial near Longueval to name a few. We all met at Amien cathedral, the biggest in France, and opted to dine at a restaurant overlooking the canal — a traditional meal of Moules and frites {mussels and chips}. The next day it was a bit more of the same, another trip to the water park, then off to inspect the seldom visited Australian 4th Division Memorial near Bellinglise — the last place where aussie diggers fought in 1918. We then continued on to the bridge — the only bridge across the St Quentin canal retaken intact (pictured) — which features in a famous photo of Britsh troops massed on the, then barren, banks of the canal being addressed by an officer. A stop at the entrance to the Riqueval tunnel, then to the Newfoundland Memorial Park where the original trenches and shell holes, though now grassed-over, have all been carefully preserved. Having the car also meant a quick deviation to look at Arras, rebuilt after the war in resplendent Flemish style.
Our last day with the car we went in a totally different direction. Fresnoy le Grand, although a small town has several attractions, our intent was the Textile Museum, and what a find that was. A room full of old wooden looms, that until 2004 were in full production of traditional furniture coverings and wall tapestries. Some of the designs were incredibly intricate and it took months to produce the hand-punched cardboard patterns for the weavers to follow. When production ceased they were heritage-listed and today are all frozen in time as the last stitch was made. The whole family was fascinated. In the same town we found the factory outlet shop for le Bourget, french underwear and stockings. Suellen stocked up, excuse the pun, and then it was on to le Creuset, cast-iron cookware. Ooh La La! The car was looking decidedly full by the time both our parcels found their way into the boot. Being sale time the prices were reduced a further 30%, a fraction of what one pays at home. Of course then came the inevitable problem, packing; the small bags that arrived a couple of weeks before were now heavy, cumbersome and numerous.
Our final reminder of their time with us was a tour of the St Quentin basilica that they had kindly booked for us before they left. We joined a small walking group and were taken up a narrow spiral staircase of over 200 steps to emerge into the roof cavity. All rebuilt with prestressed concrete beams and new woodwork with a timber catwalk the length and breadth of it. Then we exited onto a small balcony to admire the view over the town and surrounding countryside. I don't have a fear of heights but that was a little too high for comfort so was pleased to retreat inside. However next step was out another door and a full walk around the circumference of the roof, looking down on flying buttresses and gargoyles. Stomach churning stuff, my respect for the builders of these magnificent cathedrals has increased even more.