14.
Champagne and Picardy.
Whilst cycling on a wonderfully straight road, to the East of Reims, I had to make a decision about the rest of my journey in France. After the city of Reims, the Western Front becomes quite complicated as there are literally thousands of sites from dozens of battles and I couldn’t visit everywhere. Before I left home, I had planned two different routes between Reims and the French border with Belgium. The first of these was my plan ‘A’. Which would have involved visiting just about everywhere, whilst taking a very winding route through the French countryside. The second was my plan ‘B’. Although a bit straighter than the former, it would have meant visiting every battlefield and lots of cemeteries and other sites.
Instead, I chose a third option. A plan called, I’m bloody sick of that horrible war, my body’s a mess and I want to go home.’ It was a cut down version of plan ‘B’. I would still be visiting the main sites and cemeteries from the main battles, but I would be missing out a fair bit. Despite having money and food, my body hadn’t had the time to fully recover and my mind had taken a bit of a battering at Verdun. I still think that I made the correct decision, but I was a bit disappointed that the whole of my journey wouldn’t have gone to plan.
Anyway, I rolled in to Reims during the early evening and the whole place was heaving and not to my liking at all. So I headed to the site of a memorial on the eastern side of the city, before heading north to find somewhere to sleep.
The African Soldiers Monument was first built in 1924 to commemorate the African soldiers who had been killed whilst serving France during the Great War. Unfortunately, the original monument had been melted down by the German occupiers during the Second World War, but a modern replacement was built in 1963.
Although I had planned to find a cheap hotel for the night, the busyness of the city was doing my head in, so instead I headed to the Marne canal on the northern outskirts of the city and camped in some woods, next to the tow path.
Reims itself was briefly occupied by the Germans during September 1914, but they withdrew after the French and British victory during the Battle of the Marne. For the rest of the war, the front lines were just a couple of miles to the north east, which meant that the city was heavily bombarded by German artillery that caused extensive damage, including the destruction of its wonderful medieval cathedral in the centre.
The first Battle of the Marne was also called the Miracle of the Marne because the French and the British somehow managed to stop the Germans from capturing Paris. At the start of the war the Germans had a plan; the Schlieffen plan, that they hoped would quickly defeat the French so that they could focus all of their efforts towards beating the Russians in the east. The Germans knew that it would be exceedingly difficult to gain victory from a war that was fought on two fronts.
The Schlieffen plan involved bypassing the French armies that were positioned on their eastern border with Germany by going through Belgium. They would then circle the armies south, thereby cutting off the French retreat and capturing Paris at the same time. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite go to plan for them! Their declaration of war and subsequent invasion of neutral Belgium on the 4th August 1914 brought the British Empire into the war against Germany and the small Belgian army weren’t the pushover that the Germans expected.
The story of what happened in France and Belgium during the first few months of the war is a very tangled web and would add many chapters to this book, so I’ll just say that the Germans failed to capture Paris and were forced to retreat to the east, where they dug in and the stabilised hell of trench warfare began.
Although I was only doing a cut down version of route “B,” I still ended up going all over the place. From the northern outskirts of Reims I headed north along a very nice straight road until, after about 10 miles or so, I reached the village of Berry-au-Bac. There, I visited the French National cemetery that contains the remains of about 2,000 French soldiers and 31 British graves. From there, I carried on along that road, even though it was going out of my way somewhat, as about 3 miles to the north west was the first dedicated Commonwealth cemetery of my route along the Western Front.
The vast majority of the dead who are buried at La Ville-Aux-Bois British Cemetery were killed in late May 1918, during the German offensive of the third Battle of the Aisne. It was supposed to be a quiet sector and the tired British troops of the 50th Division had been sent there to replace a fresher French Division. The location of the cemetery is near to the place where the 2nd Devonshire Regiment was totally annihilated whilst stubbornly defending the village of Ville-Aux-Bois, which was totally destroyed during the battle. Unfortunately only 152 of the 564 graves are identified. The words, “Known Unto God” would be a common sight at the cemeteries during the remainder of my journey.
If I had carried on north west along that road, then I would have been at my intended campsite within an hour, but I had other places to see, so as the old Western Front turned a corner and headed west, so did I.
Whilst taking a short break in the small village of Pargnan, an old man tried to talk to me, so out came the translation card again. After vigorously trying to shake my hand off he beckoned me to follow him into the village churchyard and led me to a small cluster of Commonwealth graves. I think there were 5 or 6 graves from 1914 and they were better kept than the civilian graves around them. Thank you to the old man, as I would have missed them if he hadn’t shown me to them.
My next destination was about 10 miles away and was located next to the French National Cemetery that is on the southern outskirts of the small town of Braine. It is a slightly unusual cemetery in that it contains the remains of soldiers who originated from a neutral country, but who died whilst fighting in the German army. The Danish military cemetery was constructed in the 1930s after the remains of Danish soldiers were brought together from various cemeteries along the Western Front. They were from the disputed regions of Schleswig and Holstein that were annexed into Germany after the Second Schleswig War of 1866. Referendums were held in these areas after the Great War and whilst most of the populations wished to remain German, the north of Schleswig didn’t and it returned to Danish rule during 1920. The Danish Cemetery contains 79 men from this region who were killed after being conscripted into the German Army during the Great War.
Afterwards I headed north towards the village of Soupir and what I thought would be a German cemetery. Upon arrival, I noticed an out of place flag flying over this cemetery: an Italian flag. I didn’t know that it was there, but I’m glad that I came across it.
During early 1918, the Italian 3rd and 8th Infantry Divisions fought alongside their French allies in the Reims sector as well as further north in the Ardennes sector of the Western Front. They were sent there as a sign of mutual aid from the Italian government. 4,375 Italian soldiers were killed, whilst over 10,000 were wounded. There is a larger cemetery elsewhere in France that contains the remains of about 3,500 Italian soldiers, whilst that smaller one near Soupir contains 593.
Afterwards, I found the German cemetery about half a mile to the east. I’ve said found, but you can’t miss it. It adjoins the Soupir French Military Cemetery no1, whilst the no2 cemetery lies just over the road. These cemeteries were first dug next to a French field hospital in1917, but were greatly extended after the war when the dead were brought in from the battlefields and other smaller cemeteries. The French Cemetery no1 contains the remains of 7,806 Frenchmen either under individual headstones or buried in one of the seven ossuaries that dot the site.
Next to French Cemetery no1 is located the German Military Cemetery and I was pleasantly surprised to find that there wasn’t a dividing fence that separated the old enemies, just a change in the style of headstones. Like the French cemetery, the German one was also started by the casualties from the field hospital, whilst the rest were relocated at the war’s end. 5,134 German soldiers are buried beneath their own graves, whilst a further 5,995 are buried in a single ossuary.
The French Cemetery no2 was opened after they ran out of room across the road. It contains 2,829 soldiers and civilians, who were killed during both World Wars and is still open for business as more remains are recovered from the old battlefields.
It was an absolutely stunning summer’s day so I spent a while sat under the shade of a tree at the back of the German cemetery, just staring at the thousands of graves whilst I sheltered from the heat of noon. That combined cemetery was the most serene place from the war that I had the pleasure of visiting during my little journey. There was no bad atmosphere that I found to plague a lot of the other cemeteries and battlefields, just the birds singing, the gentle rustle of the leaves on the trees and a calmness that rested my mind. I’ve always found it relatively easy to fall asleep, but not whilst on my journey, with the exception of that cemetery. Fortunately a French couple found me asleep under that tree and they woke me to ask if I was ok. (I think?) Anyway, out came the translation card again and all was fine. I had been asleep for about an hour and a half, so it was time to get on again, but I’ll always remember the feeling of gentle calm that I experienced at that cemetery.
About 8 miles to the northwest, I couldn’t access my next destination as Fort du Malmaison was closed to the public for some reason, so instead I visited the nearby German cemetery.
Upon entering I knew that something wasn’t right as it all looked a bit modern. After a closer inspection I discovered that I was in a huge World War Two German cemetery. I felt like just turning around and walking back out. I know that I recognised some World War Two German casualties whilst in Northern Italy, but they had been buried in an extension to a cemetery from the Great War. The cemetery at Malmaison was different as it contained approximately 11,000 German casualties who died from 1940 to 1944.
The German soldiers of 1914-1918 were just serving their country like our lads were, whilst the Second World War was something totally different (although it should be noted that the Wehrmacht committed no war crimes during World War II.) I seriously thought about leaving that bit of reconciliation to another generation, as I was worried about what my Grandparents would think about me if they had still been alive, but I just couldn’t.
I didn’t leave anything at that German cemetery; instead I just walked around visiting the dead. Once again, I don’t think that they’ll receive many English visitors. But I believe that by embracing the mistakes of the past, we can prevent them reoccurring in the future.
After that, I’d had enough for the day so I headed towards my intended campsite about 10 miles to the north on the outskirts of the city of Laon. After putting my very tired looking shelter up at the municipal campsite to the west of the city, I went for a bit of a walk in some nearby woods. The German cemetery at Malmaison had slightly disturbed me and I was having doubts about the nature of my journey again, but these doubts evaporated when I reached my next destination.
A clearing in the woods showed the location of the 2653 men buried at the Laon German War Cemetery and a closer look confirmed that they were all from the Great War, phew! The dappled light of the early evening sun shone through the leaves and lit up the large field of the cemetery, giving it a vestige of beauty that it normally lacked. It was just a field planted with a lot of stark black crosses, but what more do the dead need? The culture of remembrance is for the living as the dead are unfortunately past caring.
After walking amongst the dead Germans for about an hour, I left them to their eternal sleep and walked a couple of miles to the east towards the centre of Laon, where the wonderful medieval cathedral of Notre-Dame was shining like a yellow beacon in the last light of the day. Despite being visible from the battlefields to the south of Laon, it was fortunately not targeted by either side during the war, as it would have been impossible to recreate the beauty of its amazing gothic architecture. The cathedral itself was used as a German Divisional HQ as well as a hospital during the war years.
I spent an hour sat outside a cafe near the cathedral, just staring at its magnificence, as it was lit in the dark by floodlights. I’ve never seen anything like it before and it helped to take my mind away from the battlefields and cemeteries, as I gazed upon its many intricate details. The only thing that I then needed to totally relax was somebody to speak to and I found this a little way away from the cathedral, in a small bar just off the main street.
After walking in and ordering a beer in my horrible version of French, the woman behind the bar asked me in English if I was from the north of England. Damn, was it that obvious?
She introduced herself as “Mad Moiselle” (Her singing stage name I think?) and she’d lived in London for about ten years. I bet she wished that she hadn’t told me that she could speak English, as I hadn’t had a decent conversation with anybody since Verdun, so I was probably a bit too talkative. Thanks, “Mad.” You really helped to cheer me up!
The following day I headed back towards the route of the battlefields that were a few miles to the west of Laon, where my first destination was the German cemetery at the village of Viry-Noureuil. It was a simple but well kept cemetery which contained the remains of 1,613 German soldiers who were killed during the Great War. Whilst at that location, the fine weather that I had enjoyed all the way from northern Italy took a turn for the worst and it began to rain, which set the mood for my next destination about ten miles to the north west: the adjacent British and German cemeteries in the village of Muille-Villette.
Both of the cemeteries had been built next to a British casualty clearing station in 1918 and were extended after the war, when the dead were brought in from the battlefields or moved from smaller cemeteries on the battlefield. The British cemetery contains the remains of 485 Commonwealth soldiers, whilst the German cemetery contains about 1,600 German dead. Like at many other cemeteries, they were enemies in life, but neighbours in death.
From there, I followed the Somme Canal to the north east whilst visiting the many British cemeteries that are located nearby. These were:
My last cemetery of the day, but by no means the least was La Chapelette British and Indian Cemetery, which contained the remains of 577 Commonwealth soldiers. Whilst walking amongst the graves at this cemetery, I understood why the British authorities decided to use the uniform Portland headstones at every cemetery. Every man is equal in death and from a distance all of the graves look the same, irrespective of whether they were a General or a Private, rich or poor, Christian, Muslim or Sikh. There is no discrimination at the Commonwealth Cemeteries and for that we should be grateful.
After La Chapelette I’d had enough for one day and even though it was still only mid afternoon I began to search for somewhere to stay the night. The nearby town of Peronne didn’t offer anything that I could find, (it probably does, but I got a bit lost!) so I found myself heading west along the banks of the Somme canal, hopefully looking for another option rather than sleeping in the woods that lined its banks. I then reached the village of Feuilleres and my prayers were answered with a campsite.
I once again had a few communication problems, as I don’t speak much French and the campsite owner’s English was about as good as my French, but fate was once again quite nice to me for a change. Whilst we were both trying to figure out what we were saying to each other, a nice woman came along and offered to translate and I ended up camping next to her, her husband and their two dogs.
Terrence and Karin were a lovely couple from Sidcup in south London and it was great to be able to have a conversation with some native English speakers for a change. (Karin was originally from Holland, but I only found that out later as I couldn’t tell at the time.)
As well as talking to me, they also fed me and shared their wine with me! What more could an Englishman far from home wish for? They also invited me to stay with them when I passed through London in about a week’s time and I’ll always be very grateful for that, as I would’ve been sleeping in a park otherwise, due to the very steep London hotel prices.