Day 1,363
War never changes
Our ferry had taken us to Dunkirk. Us cyclists were first off. Tom won the competition of when we would see our first tourer, a young guy from London off to cycle around the war graves. He shot off before we could get a photo or even his name. He was hoping to make Ypres that night, we were just hoping to clear Dunkirk.
Here we go!
Within minutes we were on world-class cycle paths and not much later we had left France and entered Belgium. We had mile after mile of canal paths to ride along. We had done the same in the UK, but here we had a wide perfect surface, not the narrow, rutted and often muddy path that is what's available at home. The canal was obviously having a regular clean up, with a dredging crew hard at work. As dusk drew in, we had no option but to wild camp beside the path, not ideal, but we had a quiet if somewhat cold night. We were both glad to have packed extra layers for cycling and sleeping in. Despite the freezing temperatures we slept like logs.
Everything in Belgium seemed very well maintained
We headed off through many small villages looking for a cafe, eventually we found a small bar-cum-restaurant that served coffee and cake. Warmed and fuelled up we returned to the cycleways.
We were cycling by farmers fields, that just over a 100 years ago were the battlefields of Ypres. The memorials in small villages had not only the names of soldiers but of the citizens who perished too. We saw flags all around. Irish flags, Welsh, Canadian, British, so many. Each one commemorating a battle that had taken place at that very spot.
The graveyard of the reservists, called the Fathers, due to their age, all dead, killed by the first use of gas. Just yards away the spot where the young Irish poet, Francis Ledwidge fell. His war poem, Soliloquy, displayed beside his photo. Then we passed Pilkin Ridge. On 31st July 1917, at 10.10am the opening attack of the third Battle of Ypres started here. There was heavy rain, within a few hours every officer was dead, over 75% of other ranks either dead or taken prisoner, and they gained no ground. On and on we passed more and more tragic sites.
Francis Ledwidge’s poem
The cemetery from a single gas attack, the first of WWI
I spotted a sign on an old farmhouse beside a windmill. Free museum, so off we went. The museum is run by a local artist and historian, Jan Fieuw. The building is full of artifacts he simply picks up lying on top of the soil in the fields all around here. Guns, helmets, endless broken pieces of metal. One of the most moving was a simple spoon. Engraved upon it was the ‘number’ of the soldier it belonged to, Jan hopes to discover his name and track down any family so he can return the spoon to them. He has two wonderful projects, ‘Message in a Poppy’ and ‘Faces of War’. Jan explains about them fully in our film of the visit, but both are very moving. The Poppy project is so personal. The family of a fallen soldier, sends Jan details of their loved ones and if known, where they fell. He then finds the spot and collects some shot from the ground, from which he crafts a poppy, which he sends to the family. His ‘Faces of War’ is a work of art, constructed from old railway sleeper or trench posts, he carves a face in each one, 129 in total, representing the number of countries that sent and lost soldiers, from both sides, during WWI. It is incredibly moving to walk through it. The museum and windmill itself was a key site, taken by the Germans due to its elevated position. They destroyed the windmill, so locals could not send messages via the sails, and from here had a 360° view of the surrounding land. If you stamp on the floor, you can hear the hollow echo of abandoned tunnels and trenches beneath your feet.
Just a short distance away we reached Tyne Cot, the largest Commonwealth war graves site in the world. It was simply too much to take in. So many graves simply read ‘Unknown soldier’, or just the regiment, but some had the name, rank and age of the fallen. Most young boys, barely into their 20s. Jan had told us about a local lad, aged just 14, his dad had lied about his age, telling his son he would be a hero after the war. Well yes, he's a hero, but he died aged 14, all the same.
An information panel at Tyne Cot - frightening reading
As we went on we left Dutch speaking Belgium and entered the French speaking area. The land grew hillier. We had different memorials here, to the fallen of WWII. On a hillside above us we spotted 5 white crosses, each marking the spot where a young Belgium resistance fighter fell in 1944.
Finally we saw a modern monument to probably the greatest cyclist ever known, Eddy Mercx. Previous top cyclists lost their lives in both world wars, hopefully no more. Though I know we still have so many conflicts around the world, just praying Ukraine, Sudan and so many more find peace too.
We had a night with another wonderful Warmshowers family, Arnaud and Margot, who have a lovely 18 month old son. Arnaud is a historian, and we were put to shame at our limited knowledge of the Battle of Waterloo. Tom's birthday day, 18th June is the same as the Battle, much to Arnaud's envy. We were so impressed with the uniforms made by Arnaud for reenactment events.
Along further cycle paths we saw amazing willow art, large enough to house a table and chairs but not quite enough space for our tent, fun though! By now we were exhausted after 5 days of solid riding and we needed a break. So after a somewhat underwhelming few miles, passing a few brothels, we made it to Namur, with, wait for it, a cable car! Who said Belgium is flat?!
