And on into Germany

But not before having a look round some of the places Grandpa mentions in his diary. Steenwerck where he was in hospital for a couple of days just before falling into German hands, Erquighem where he rejoined his group, also Estaires and Sailly sur la lys the twin town of Carnforth where we visited a German cemetery. It's interesting to note the dates in the various cemeteries and to find Germans who died around the time Grandpa became a prisoner. You can trace the offensives etc. Visited an Erquighem boulangerie patisserie and had a very nice lunch by the river.

Then on the motorway from La Chappelle d'Armentieres (also in the diary) through non-stop to Siegen where Marianne was finishing meal prep and after conversation with Charlotte and eating, we sat out (just warm enough), before retiring to Gasthaus Reuter nebenan.

The Western Front

We left Kingston at 6.45 this morning and by 10.30 French time we were in Calais and an hour later on the Western Front in the territory where my grandfather fell into German hands in April 1918. Until this 100th anniversary year of the outbreak of the First World War I've never been particularly curious about anything to do with it. However, having become acquainted with the diary he kept, and now read All Quiet on the Western Front, a novel from the German perspective, it is fascinating to discover the commonalities of the experience. And the First World War seems increasingly inexplicable, even absurd, the more you find out about it! Ieper/Ypres offers a last post remembrance experience every day at 8pm and is clearly on a certain type of Briton's tourist trail. Add to that, it'll be Anzac Day in a couple of days and ceremonies are being prepared, and you sense just how pivotal WW1 still seems to many.

We're staying the night at Broekenstraat just west of Nieppe where my grandfather's active participation in the war came to an end and his 8 months as a prisoner-of-war began. The area is dotted with cemeteries, the dates of which tell the story of territory that exchanged hands more than once without either side gaining decisive advantage through it. The hills of Flanders make for a pleasant experience not least at this time of year with larks singing, yellow wagtail, swallows, partridges, lapwing seen, chiffchaffs calling, blackcaps in full song etc., a fabulous bluebell wood on the slopes of Mont Kemmel.

It's fascinating also to be staying 700 meters inside Belgium, a country we haven't stopped in before. I'm ready to use my French, but no-one seems to speak it even though - or precisely because - France is so close. German is equally unused, but many people seem to have a fair amount of English as the foreign language of choice. Still don't really see how a country can be said to have borders if it isn't surrounded by sea or some other major barrier.

Our B&B hosts are the same age as us, already retired and developing interests in music, puppets and story-telling. Quite a bit of this seemed to come from a regional, provincial pride. They kitted us out with a map and info that lead us, as it turned out, to a very acceptable omelette and salad in Kemmel in a fairly basic bar where in her turn the landlady kitted us out with stuff relating to the Flanders fields, especially in relation to the 1914 anniversary. So many impressions...