QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT

6th August, 2015 (Tony)

Our apologies if you were confused into thinking our last newsletter was a repeat of a previous one. We are still coming to grips with our new website. Hopefully, we’ve sorted our problems this time…

We returned from our wonderful fortnight in Ireland to find Sable safely moored in the delightful port where we had left her — Picquigny (love that name). Sally’s petunias were languishing from the extreme heat over the period of our absence and the batteries were dangerously low but a good dose of water for the petunias and a few hours running the generator not to mention loads of washing soon had everything back to normal. We have been so impressed by the Somme. It has a natural beauty that is unique, unbelievably tranquil, and surprisingly, very little traffic. Like most rivers in France the Somme emerges from an underground source. It meanders its way to the sea exploring every depression of its wide valley. At times it is half a kilometre wide, a narrow tree lined channel cutting its way through a myriad of marshes and vast ponds teeming with fish and water birds. Well, we assume it’s teeming with fish as there are literally thousands of fisherman’s huts hiding among the trees along its way. It must have presented a formidable barrier to the armies in WWI as there are few easy crossing points. Nevertheless the front penetrated south of the river during the German push to take Amiens and several of the critical turning points in the defence of France occurred at Le Hamel and Villers Bretonneux where Australian troops achieved significant victories. We motorbiked up to the Australian Memorial at Le Hamel to inspect the refurbished monument that replaced the failed black granite of the original, dedicated in 2005. Sadly, the new stone appears to be either also unsuitable or the subject of faulty workmanship as some pieces have fallen and the wall is fenced-off. More importantly though, on previous visits we were always puzzled by the information plaques depicting the course of Monash’s famous battle. This time, having a compass with us, we were able to deduce that the information plaques all face west, whist the north points on the plaques delude you into thinking you’re facing north where the Australian assault came from. By turning 90o it all becomes so much clearer to imagine the battle unfolding. How the designers of the memorial could have got such a basic point so wrong defies belief. Another visit to the main Australian Memorial at Villers Bretonneux, only a 4km bike ride from Corbie, was as moving and emotional as our first in 2008.

The lower reaches of the Somme, from Picquigny to the mouth at St Valery, we did before heading off to Ireland. St Valery is a very picturesque village overlooking a vast tidal estuary. In the weekend prior to our arrival they held the annual mud racing festival which attract thousands of mudlarks whose main intention is to become as plastered in mud and slime as possible, leaving the actual completion of the crossing in the fastest time to a small bunch of competitive enthusiasts. I’m glad we weren’t there. At the end of the Somme there is a huge sea lock which we had intended to use to get out into the estuary to moor in the marina for several days. The lock can only be used during a brief window of opportunity about two hours before high tide. Getting out would have been ok but the tide chart to return a couple of days later was incompatible with working hours so we remained in the river rafted to another barge. Unfortunately some selfish boatees moor to the quay for weeks at a time meaning it is always full and difficult to find a mooring there. Local enthusiasts have lovingly restored an old steam train that plies its way around the estuary marshes. We boarded a packed train that began on the esplanade in the centre of St Valery and journeyed round to Le Crotoy on the opposite shore. We enjoyed a delicious lunch of moules and frites (sea trout for Sally) followed by a promenade along the waterfront before catching the train back to St Valery. A hugely popular tourist attraction.

Most of the towns and villages in the Somme region were destroyed during WWI, none more so than Abbeville where only the cathedral survived, although badly damaged. We had originally planned to be in Abbeville on the day it hosted a stage start in the Tour de France. This didn’t work with our schedule to go to Ireland and, anyway, the quay there is only long enough for three or four boats so it may not have been possible. The city was destroyed again in 1940. It was rebuilt in haste without consideration for architectural merit. We thus retraced our steps back to Picquigny to leave for Ireland.

Amiens is a lovely city. The cathedral is one of the biggest in Europe, dominating the landscape except for a folly of a sky-scraper tower slapped up in the 50’s opposite the train station. It is a pleasant city for pedestrians and has a network of small canals bedecked with lively restaurants. It would bea fabulous stop for bargees except the pontoon for mooring in the centre of town is directly opposite an English Pub where noisy, drunken revellers notoriously exit the premises at 3am every morning and wander across to the quayside to urinate on the boats, sometimes casting them adrift just for the fun of it. I was awakened at 3am by a couple of girls jumping down onto the quay and squatting outside our bedroom window. The VNF warns one not to moor there in the weekends when it is apparently even worse.

Cappy is a perfect stopping place to catch up on some maintenance — such as varnishing the exterior of the wheelhouse, mast and timber hatches — a long grassy bank and lots of shady trees. The village however is symptomatic of France’s economic woes; the boulangerie has closed, replaced for a brief period by a bread vending machine but even that is now disbanded; the boucher and coiffeur long gone. There may have been a pharmacie still struggling, I can’t recall. Everywhere French rural life is in decay with rarely a soul to be seen. And behold, today on a lamp post someone had tied a poster that read: ”L’Etat veut tuer nos Villages.” [The State wants to kill our villages.] The big supermarket chains have won the consumers but at what cost to the cultural character of rural France? Even Péronne lacked the busy charm that it should have. It has a fantastic Historial de la Grande Guerre which is well worth a visit, especially the new wing set up by the Australian Government to honour the actions on the Western Front where Aussie diggers featured. We took our motorbikes off to ride 16km to Ham situated on a section of the Somme Canal that, sadly, has been closed to barge traffic for years. We were astounded at the size and industrial scale of the place, much bigger than Péronne and evidently was once a very pretty and lively town. In our eyes it seemed to have arranged the funeral but missed its own cremation. We strolled the nicely paved main street and counted sixteen empty shops and businesses. It was hot, very hot, and we were keen to stop for a drink, anywhere, but there was not one bar or café that looked inviting enough. We returned to Sable moored to side of the canal in the middle of nowhere and toasted the farmer across the way frantically cranking up his combine harvester in a huge paddock of wheat vainly hoping to reap the lot ahead of the inevitable evening thunder storm. He failed. We retired to bed with all the windows open. I rose early next morning and straight away encountered a mouse. It would be difficult to tell who was more astonished, me or the mouse who presumably was seeking shelter from the storm, the harvester, or just curious. In case you’re wondering, I dropped a book which miraculously trapped him by his tail and I swiftly tossed him back out the window, instantly regretting that I hadn’t tossed him into the bed with Sally. Fortunately, I live to tell this tale!

It has been a hot, dry summer. Most of the harvest is safely in, which accounts for the sudden increase in commercial traffic we’re now encountering. Lawns and grass verges are parched, something we’ve seldom seen before in France. Water restrictions must be in place as gardens are wilting with not a hose in sight. We are concerned that this prolonged drought may force the early closure of the Canal du Centre. We’ll have to decide in a few days whether to risk choosing that route back to Roanne, or returning via the Canal Lateral a la Loire. Either way, Champagne lies enroute so we’re looking forward to replenishing stocks of bubbly and welcoming more guests aboard.