A JOURNEY OF REMEMBRANCE Pt4.

By Dave Hughes.Airframes.


So let’s start this episode, in the manner we started all days, by consuming our usual continental breakfasts; my grandsons consuming their cake, croissants and rolls along with yoghurt, jam, chocolate spread, orange and coffee - all in copious quantities.  I think they probably thought each morning that there might not be another tomorrow!  To the story:

When the Allies eventually succeeded in ‘breaking out’ from the area in and around Caen, particularly to the south by this time, they did so in what became known as the Falaise Gap. Falaise is a town to the south of Caen and on our fourth morning this was the direction in which we headed, just a short motorway trip.  Our planning - my planning as far as the actual route was concerned - determined that we would initially head for Falaise but then turn east and follow the superbly quiet French back-roads - ‘D’ roads - as far as was possible, while at the same time following the general route my cousin and his colleagues must have taken.  Yes, it might take us a while longer to complete the journey, but I imagined the scenery, landscape, small towns and villages would prove to be far more attractive than the motorway journeys yet to happen; I like to feel I was correct. What an amazing scenically beautiful journey this turned out to be, it only being marred by the need to hit a motorway for the final run into Mons, just over the border in Belgium, this being our next overnight stop.

However, before I continue, allow me to just add an indicative figure to the story thus far: I found out much later that the Wessex Brigade, of which my cousin was soon to become a part, lost 1846 men in the Caen area, killed or injured.  The exact losses of the 7th South Staffs and 6th North Staffs Battalions are not known at present. Remember, the Wessex was just one of the numerous Brigades in the area.

As a taste of the flavour of France, and an indication of where we travelled, here are a few of the names of the places we passed through, each affording its own attractiveness and helping us in our enjoyment of the day. Our first village was Bretteville-le Rabet, then Maizieres, Ernes and St Pierre-sur-Dives.  Onwards we travelled to Boissey and the town of Livarot.  There was nothing before the next town, Orbec, and only one village, St Victor-de-Chretienville, between Orbec and the next town, Bernay.  At each of these larger places, with help from my grandsons and the map book, I was skilfully navigated onwards.  We came to Meneval, Serquigny, Beaumont-le-Roger, le-Plessis-Ste-Opportune - la Huaniere - and eventually to the town of Evreux.  A stop had already been discussed where we might have a lunch break but that was planned for later.  Now we headed for Pacy-sur-Eure and then Vernon.

Vernon is where on August 25th 1944, the allies effected a crossing of the River Seine, a major river crossing, where it was necessary to regroup but also to maintain momentum.  It would seem the ensuing action was much of a surprise to the enemy but, despite considerable opposition, the allies were successful in building a bailey-type bridge in order to get men and vehicles across.  The existing bridge, the one that we crossed on our journey, had been partially destroyed and needed rebuilding before it could be of further use.  My cousin’s attachment to any Army unit is a bit vague at this point.  It had taken the allies three days to charge across from Falaise - it took us just a couple of hours!! And as far as I am aware, though the 7th South Staffs had effectively ceased to be, he and his remaining colleagues had not yet joined with the 7th Battalion Somerset Light Infantry.  That was not to happen for another week.  So I wonder who he was actually with at this point.

Vernon is also the town which gave a celebratory dance for the troops passing through in thanks for its relief from enemy occupation.  Whether my cousin was present at this dance is not known.  Sadly, because we had a schedule, we saw little of Vernon, though what we did see indicated it would have been a lovely riverside town to visit.

Onwards then to les-Thilliers-en-Vexin, Vesly and Gisors, and it was here that, we had previously determined, it would be about the half-way point of this day’s journey.  So, finding a quiet spot just off the edge of town, we parked up and walked towards the central square.  Yet another delightful place; there was a castle up on the hill to our left and a huge cathedral-like church partly hidden to our right.  Sadly, we knew time was not on our side, so though it might have been lovely to have visited these, such a visit will have to wait for another journey, probably never to be made, at least by me.

We found a cafe.  It was quite obvious no-one spoke English there, but as I had said frequently to the lads, all you have to ask for is café – coffee - or hot chocolat; everyone understands these.  So we ordered and sat outside, as is the case on the continent should you so wish, enjoying the warm sunshine.  It truly was a lovely day to travel.

I should mention here that this was the only time we came across the real French version of a toilet.  Elsewhere privacy was the order of the day, but here it was definitely not.  Not knowing this, however, before we left to continue our journey, I decided to make myself comfortable and, following the signs, went upstairs towards the gents.  Turning immediately left, there was the urinal set against a back wall; there was another wall to the right and a simple partition to the left, i.e. it not fully enclosed in any way.  The ‘ladies’, this time having a door, was immediately behind where any man might stand so, had there been a lady there it would have been easy to have enjoyed a conversation whilst having a ‘you know what’.  Having made myself comfortable I then went back downstairs to tell the boys what I had found.  Naturally they HAD to go investigate!!

A short reminiscence:  On the way back to the car the boys saw a cake shop and, as they frequently did, they requested to go inside to investigate.  One bought his usual croissants and the other opted for a slice of cake.  We learned later that the latter’s eyes must have been ‘bigger than his belly’ for he didn’t care at all for what he had bought.  It looked brilliant but didn’t taste that way, at least for him.  As was becoming usual, I made them effect their purchases, though they did this generally, by sign language as no-one spoke English in the shop.

We moved onwards again for we had another stop yet to make before reaching Mons;  Trie-Chateaux, and la-Houssoye, passed by on the way to Beauvais, then Froissy, Breteuil, Paillart, Moreuil and Demouin before we finally reached the town of Albert.

Yet another short reminiscence:  I think it was at Albert, before we headed onward, that I decided to fill up with fuel; my thinking being that we ought to do so here in the quiet of this small town rather than possibly have problems on the motorway journey shortly to happen.  It was our first experience of a card only, no assistance given, petrol pump - common in France it seems - and though the grade of petrol we needed was quite obvious, the instructions on how to achieve this were vague.  Just then an old man, with his equally old wife, drove up on the other side of our pump.  Using my superb knowledge of French - Ha! Ha! - I politely asked for his assistance.  His left hand immediately shot to his ear in a broad indication that he was actually stone deaf and hadn’t heard a word.  However, by sign and gesture he did prove helpful and we eventually worked out how to obtain fuel.  After that, as we filled up at the end of each day, we were on the ball!

The significance of this area is that it was WW1 territory; Arras, Vimy, Mons and many other places that figured in the horrific losses incurred during those terrible days.  I had earlier noted that whilst on our journey, quite close to Albert, we would pass the Thiepval Memorial to the fallen of WW1; the Memorial has, carved in its many stone pillars, the 73,367 names of those for whom there are no known graves.  Consider also that just down the road is a second memorial to a further 64,000, or more soldiers also with no known grave, and you begin to realise the enormity of the losses incurred.  Many of these losses occurred on single days and, I read on an information plaque, that on one day, in one particular battle line, 60,000 soldiers went ‘over the top’; within one hour over half of them were dead or wounded.  It is almost unbelievable that the officers in command, who had sent them to their deaths, apparently considered at the time that it was perfectly acceptable to do so.  I somehow feel that, even though I know a little about both World Wars, the enormity of what happened in this area during the years 1914-1918 suddenly impacted upon me and I really felt quite angry

I had the boys look for our family names amongst those many pillars.  It was not surprising that they found the name Hughes frequently, but they also found the name Simons, their surname, twice - there could have been more.  As I tried to explain to them that who knows whether in fact these are long-lost relatives of theirs or of mine?  Did I bring them a little closer to thinking about this?  I might never know.  Yet perhaps a seed had been sown?

I’m glad we stopped at this Lutyens designed memorial, standing as it does atop a hill, in an area in which we found tens, possibly hundreds, of larger and smaller cemeteries nearby, in which are buried countless thousands; many of these graves included names whereas many didn’t, it really does remind one of the futility of it all.  And it would be inappropriate, I feel, not to mention the considerable effort made by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission in the care and maintenance of these; I was so impressed.

It was time to move on yet again; to le Sars, Bapaume, Beugny, Boursies and Cambrai.  There, our gentle journey through the absolute delights of the French countryside would come to an end, for at this point we needed to join the motorway for the final stretch to Mons and our next Hotel.

As I have said, my grandsons and I had planned things in the days before our journey had even started, and amongst those plans we had looked, in each of the countries we might travel, for signs of tolls.  We knew we might meet these in France but we also wished to be prepared in case we came across any in the other countries we planned to visit.  Our first was to happen almost immediately we joined this motorway so, using a purse my wife had let us borrow to put certain monies aside, we had the €13.90 ready and waiting - this being taken from internet information – so we were pleasantly surprised arriving at the auto pay-booth, to find that the fee for a car was actually only €1.20.  This paid, off we went.

The motorway drive to Mons passed without incident though we did miss the turning off we should have taken.  My eldest grandson was quickly onto his phone map to back-up the satnav and it wasn’t long before we were able to park up outside the hotel and then check in.  My, this hotel was something different; we were already envisaging we would enjoy our stay here, if only for the one night.

I decided to continue to address our general security by requesting that we park the car in the hotel underground car park.  Yes, we would have to pay, but at least the car remained safe.  What I hadn’t bargained for was the steepness of the approach into the car park; I imagined that going down this 45° ramp might be OK, but thought going up it might be different - as it happens, it wasn’t.

The rooms were brilliant.  Twin beds for the boys and a double for me suggested we might have a good night’s sleep.  Firstly, however, we needed to replenish our own inner needs and, leaving the hotel we quickly found a nearby burger bar.  Though most of the staff didn’t speak English, the boss did, and he looked after us well while we ordered and ate.

I don’t think there was much else to say at the end of this day.  It had been a hugely enjoyable jaunt across France, seeing places with interesting names, enjoying the scenery and particularly those long arrow-straight roads.

So how had our 4th day related to 1944 and my cousin’s journey? As far as I can tell, Kenneth and his colleagues left the Caen area somewhere around 20th August 1944; it may have been a couple of days before or after though certainly within those few days.  As I earlier suggested, they were in Vernon at some point around 25th August, possibly leaving there on or about 14th September; remember they had another battle to fight prior to leaving.  My information then suggests they were in the Mons area - actually at a place called Diest, an inland river harbour, a day later on 15th September having taken a slightly different route to ours and also having covered some 125 miles, no mean feat I would have thought. At this point, of course, there were most probably no battles continuing.  The story says they passed through Mons to “cheering and singing mounting to a roar, tram bells clanging, people reaching up to touch a hand of passing soldiers, if only for a moment”.  Overall then my cousin’s journey between Caen and Diest had taken approximately 22 days whereas ours had been completed in just one.