2014 has marked a
significant change in my life, hence the absence of entries on the
blog since February. Cycling has had to take much more of a back
seat than I would like, due to these altered circumstances, but
hopefully as things change there will be much more opportunity to use
the bicycle.
One of the highlights of the year so far for me, was a
trip to France at the end of April. I travelled via Paris and took
the train from Gare du Nord to the Nord – Pas de Calais,Department. It was a pleasant journey through the countryside, but
as the train neared the Belgian border, between St Quentin and
Aulnoye-Aymeries a small British military cemetery was seen amongst the gently
rolling arable fields. A stark reminder, if needed, of the terrible
carnage of a century ago. I travelled to a town near the Belgian
border, near to the Forêt de Mormal. The Forêt de Mormal offers some
excellent off road cycling and is popular with the locals. After the
kindness of a superbe lunch, a local dish of sausage and potatoes
served with a fresh side salad, I was able to collect my bike and
change into my cycling gear. Loading my handlebar bag (sacoche)
with a present of two apples for the journey, I set off in the spring
sunshine towards Le Quesnoy. The road was undulating, reminding me a
little of County Down, but the fields were much larger and without
the destinctive pattern of hedges found in that part of Ireland. The
local houses, built of rustic red brick with pantile roofs and their
painted wooden shutters, are un-mistakenly French. The trees were
showing much more foliage than at home in Ireland and the dry soil
and growing crops in the fields told their own tale, of a much drier
winter . The temperature was much higher than I expected and I had
to stop to peel off some of the clothing layers. I feel overdressed.
On the road I am passed by some local cyclists out for a training
run in their lycra club jerseys and carbon fibre machines. Each
rider acknowledges me with a friendly 'Bonjour' as they pass by. It
is in such marked contrast to the experience of riding my bike at
home, where few if any speak, or acknowledge you, especially as I am
riding a steel frame. I continue my leisurely journey towards the
walled town of Le Quesnoy, as I want to visit the New Zealand War Memorial. I have been advised to purchase my train ticket at Le
Quesnoy today for my onward journey to Paris in the morning, as this
is a public holiday in France and most places will be closed. I
reach the edge of the town of Le Quesnoy and take a wrong turn. This
route brings me round the town on a ring road to a roundabout. I am
finding riding on the right counter-intuitive, but of necessity
quickly adjust. A right turn into the town brings my first
experience of 'pavé' for which the region is famous. Even 650B tyres
cannot iron out the effect of the cobbles completely, but thankfully
the road surface is dry and even the steeper camber of the road
surface is manageable as I am forced to the side of the narrow road
by passing cars. I cycle through one of the ancient town gateways,
through the walls fortified by Vauban in the 17th Century.
This is contested ground and has been fought over for centuries. I
enquire in the tourist information office for directions to the New
Zealand War Memorial and about accommodation for the night. After
sorting out where to stay, I ventured up onto the walls of the town
and follow the path which will take me to the war memorial.
The
afternoon sun is warm and a family with two young children are on the
path ahead. The joyfull, excited shouts of the children bounce off
the towering brick and earthen walls of the old town, breaking the
late afternoon stillness. I cycle leisurely towards my destination.
I find there is a low narrow passageway from the gravel path through
the walls up to the viewing area overlooking the memorial. I have
obviously taken the wrong route, but the passageway is wide enough
for the bicycle, and I have to adjust, by stooping down to pass
through. The passage emerged onto a small square which overlooks the
New Zealand War Memorial. The memorial is fixed to the town walls on
the opposite side of the moat from the viewing area.
There are a number
of floral tributes in front of the memorial. One bouquet, of exotic
flowers and foliage, particularly marks the sacrifice and
commemoration of the loss of life of their sons in 1918 in a far way
country. The town was recaptured from the Germans on 4th
November 1918 without a single civilian loss of life. The New
Zealanders were not so fortunate, but they opened up the Sambre Gap
in November 1918 to allow the allied armies into Belgium and Germany
and force an armistice. In this foreign field they are still not
forgotten. I linger awhile with my thoughts, before quietly taking
my leave.
Lest we forget. I'm glad I made the effort to visit.
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