Three Days with Benji in Picardy part 1

8 a.m. - Dover docks and the boat about to leave.
The last three days of sabbatical - and somewhere between grandchildren and cricket I managed to fit in three days in France. Booking a cheap ferry meant a departure at 8 a.m. from Dover - about three hours by car from home, but only two and a half by Benji at 3.45 a.m. Stopping for fuel and a coffee just outside Dover at 6.15 then arriving at Dover docks where I met some other bikers - two of whom wouldn't speak to me as I had a BMW and they were on some Japanese contraptions designed to give you backache after 10 minutes hard riding.
So I chatted to a nice Polish couple who were taking their very nice Moto Guzzi across France, Italy and through the Czech Republic to Poland to visit their relatives. I confess to having been envious - o well perhaps next year (all except visiting the relatives that is.)

Not a bluebird in sight. Time for some breakfast and catch up on email and facebook. 

 Now this is what I call keeping in touch. I think I counted four mobile 'phones and two tablets. I would have loved to know what she did for a living.

I decided to eschew the luxuries and speed of the autoroutes for a nice leisurely drive from Dunkirk to the beautiful town of Albert, partly to avoid the French police who are apparently having a blitz on bikers in a bid to raise revenue for the government apparently. There are more rules than you can shake a policeman's truncheon at, including it being compulsory to wear a yellow reflective jacket and now, apparently, to have reflective stickers on your helmet. I decided the stickers were ridiculous - and, as far as I know, potentially damaging to the helmet, so decided to take a chance on that one. I can honestly say that I did not see one other biker with a yellow jacket, yet alone helmet stickers on. Anyhow, here we are at the municipal site in Albert. I like French municipal sites - they are invariably clean and well run, cheap and welcoming to bikers travelling alone. This was no exception, the very pleasant gentleman running the site and I having fun communicating in a combination of pigeon French and pigeon English. Not sure whose was worst.

 The site was near a number of fishing and boating lakes, and this gorgeous river ran next to the road and into the town centre, about a mile away.

 Albert has the most amazing church that dominates the skyline, and seems far too big for the size of town, but it was to prove a useful landmark when navigating round the nearby countryside when I wasn't using my satnav.

 This was the first port of call - the Somme museum in the town centre, and as I had arrived in Albert for lunchtime I had the afternoon and evening to enjoy what the place had to offer. I had chosen Albert as a central location to visit the attractions relating to the battlefield of the Somme that achieved fame - or rather notoriety - in 1916 when the British went for "The Big Push" so wonderfully illustrated in the last Blackadder episode with tens of thousands of men walking across No-Man's Land to their death. Mrs. P isn't into world war things, so having done Normandy last year the Somme seemed an ideal place for a solo visit.

 This museum was fantastic - I would give it six out of five on Trip Advisor. It begins with a walk down a passage to the underground tunnels where the exhibits are held, beginning with a film alternating between French and British commentary.

 

 Among other things there are cabinets full of artifacts just picked up off the battlefields....

 ... some of which are poignantly mundane.

It makes you stop and think when you realise that all this stuff was once in the hands of the men whoso bravery was only matched by the stupidity and arrogance of those who led them.

 The German trenches seemed much posher than the allied ones

 Some of the machine guns that wreaked such havoc on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, when 58,000 British soldiers were either killed or injured

I kept thinking of Corporal Jones in Dad's Army and his recollections of former wars and the famous words "They don't like it up 'em." Well you wouldn't, would you?

 At the bottom you can see some flare guns - used to give the signal to go "over the top."

 An endearing array of hand grenades, whose sophistication and capacity to kill was enhanced through trial and error throughout the war.

Some of the artillery shells that were supposed to render the Germans senseless, though I suspect these were the smaller ones.

 The spiked German helmet most of us have seen was only used in the first bit of the war - it didn't really offer much protection and was really for ceremonial purposes. They changed it for the kind of thing seen on the top shelf. Now I didn't know that before.

Now in this war gas really was used, though the effects were apparently less severe than is often thought. But if you were on the receiving end I suppose you wouldn't think that.

 There were many plaques like this. See part 2 or three for the site of the Newfoundlanders' battle - Beaumont Hamel really is impressive.

 This was brilliant - these are different ornaments and devices made from the spent artillery shells that failed to prevent the Germans manning their machine guns when the advance took place.

 Insignificant looking stakes - these were the metal stakes that held the barbed wire in place that wreaked such havoc, thousands of men being caught on it while the German machine-gunners just picked them off

 Poignant - the last man to be killed before the Armistice came into effect - by a sniper who probably thought he would have one last pot shot before the whole thing ended. A testimony to the futility of the whole thing.

 So many medals and regimental regalia - you could almost sense what camaraderie there would have been even in such a dire environment

 Artillery carriage wheels I believe - they still used horses to pull things around.

 More discarded detritus

 The staggering numbers of those who perished. This section at the end of the museum also had reproduced letters of soldiers sent to their loved ones at home. These letters were perhaps the most moving exhibits of all; in some of them you can sense the desperation of husbands and fathers writing to wives and children knowing that they would probably never see them again, but trying to sound positive and cheerful. Reduced me to tears.

 The beautiful fountain in the middle of Albert - how is it the French do these small provincial towns so much better than we do?

And finally the inside of that church - huge place but positively I had the impression a lot of good things go on here, even if bowing and scraping to the virgin before visiting the confessional isn't exactly my cup of tea.
More to follow.................