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.................

(Another) canal walk

I

 Well the time has come - I've reached the last week of my sabbatical, and its time to put down the books, leave the writing up of my reading and research until I am back at work, and prepare myself for the dreaded return to normal work. Actually I think I've worked harder in the last 12 weeks than normal, but its been refreshingly different and has provided a wonderful break from the routine of pastoral ministry.
What to do for the last week? Well tomorrow I'm taking Benji (my BMW bike) to France for a few days, blog and pictures to follow - think I'm going to go and explore some World War One battlefields. But yesterday was an opportunity to do one of my favourite things - a canal walk.
I guess it's partly because they are such peaceful places, and I love water, but also you know the ground will be flat. A perfect place to go and talk to God about life, the universe and everything - and what he wants me to do when I resume work. This is the Leicester Branch of the Grand Union canal near Welford, a really nice waterway running from Leicester to Braunstone junction in Northants.  Only thing missing was my wonderful wife, who I usually share canal walks with. But she was at work, earning money to keep me in my profligate lifestyle.

 Something idyllic about the serenity of the water and the lush green of all the vegetation. The conversation with God? As usual he seemed far more interested in my relationship with him than in what I do for a job - so we mainly talked about that. Pleased to say I think he still loves me. I know that sounds as if I am talking to an imaginary friend, and I do sometimes wonder, but most of the time I think it's real enough. And today I think I learned one or two important lessons. The sort of stuff you can't learn until you're ready to hear it. Anyway - five miles of canal complete and A14 ( a really busy road like a motorway) reached, it was time to head away from the canal to make a circular walk.

 Anyway - enough religious stuff. This was part of an amazing complex of buildings, but attracted my attention because of the reverse symmetry of the two houses. Wanted to walk up the driveway for a closer look but it seems the sort of place with high security where they would probably not be too keen on scruffy individuals wandering around. But positively the landowners keep the footpaths across their land in immaculate condition - not always the case.

Into Welford - and some really nice buildings of great character

 I loved this - one of a number of thatched houses in Welford, and immaculately kept.

 I'm into chapels at the minute - this is Welford Congregational Church, built according to the plate above the main door in 1793. This was a really interesting era in English church history when all sorts of things were happening. It wouldn't have been called a congregational church then - they were known as "independents". In the 1970's most Congregational churches merged with the Presbyterians to form the United Reformed Church, but about a quarter thumbed their noses, said "Yaboo sucks" and stayed independent. This would be one of those. I love the thing stuck on the roof - I've no idea what it is.

 Anyway back to the canal and Welford marina.I walked back along the Welford arm - a short one and three quarter mile stretch of narrow, winding but very busy waterway which takes you to a dead end where you can park (sorry moor) your boat and enjoy all the delights of Welford, then leave again 10 minutes later. No - sorry Welford - it's a lovely place - more village than town, with the most fantastic village shop from which I bought the best sausage roll (certainly the biggest) I've ever had I think. It was made by Joseph Morris of South Kilworth, a little independent butcher, and I had a wonderful time eating it by the side of the canal..

This one had come rather a long way.

Well tomorrow will be about cross-channel ferries rather than narrowboats, and croissants et baguettes avec fromage et jambon rather than sausage rolls, but France still has quite a tough act to follow.

Random jottings from a week in Northumberland on sabbatical

 Our cottage had a rare week free of bookings, and I had some reading to do, so I decided to take my books to Northumberland and work in more inspiring surroundings. Benji the BMW had not been to Scotland before -at least not since I'd owned him, so a late afternoon walk in the Lammermuirs was called for using a book of walks we have just acquired. This was a short out and back to a Broch. Nice to sharpen your appetite for dinner.

 Over the rickety rackety bridge, keeping very quiet as I understand Scottish Trolls are particularly aggressive at this time of year.

 Safe from Trolls, but the Scottish midges more than made up for it. This river is Whiteadder, I believe, pretty well dried up but still picteresque

 A steady climb by the side of the river watching the threatening rainclouds fast approaching

 The pictures, as is often the case, don't really do justice to the beauty and serenity of the place

 The rain has arrived and I still have to climb that hill to find the Broch. Shame about the pylons and telegraph poles.

 This swing gate is, without doubt, the stingiest I have ever come across for allowing space for capacious stomachs like mine. I just managed to squeeze through without giving myself a hernia. Good job I went before dinner.

 The top of the hill approaches

The Broch! What is a Broch? I hear you cry. Well, it seems no-one is quite sure, except that it was somewhere possibly to live, or a fortification, or something.......

 This one (if you don't want to blow up the picture and read about it) is unusual because they are a rarity in the southern part of Scotland, usually being found in the Highlands, Northern and Western Isles. The theory was that someone migrated to the Lammermuirs from further north and built one.
I wondered if he was just on holiday, and the beach was a bit far to go so he built this instead of a sandcastle. No-one so far in academic circles has given this suggestion the credibility it undoubtedly deserves. 

 They are impressive - not so much from this distance, it just looks like a stone sheepfold...

 But when you get close up you see an inner and outer wall and lots of rooms like this one. Just enough room for a double bed, I think.

 Now who lives in a house like that? It's actually a retreat house of some kind. I drove round to see it and was accosted by a shirty Englishman who asked me what I was doing on the public road leading to it. I pointed to my tax disc; he said something vaguely unpleasant in a posh Surrey accent. I nearly told him that if I wanted some sort of a retreat and he was running a house it would be the last place I would go. Fancy - living your life somewhere like this and still being miserable.

Proof positive that I was in Scotland

Seen better days, but a lovely old rowing boat

 One last glance at Whiteadder Water before going home for dinner

 And of course I went to Lindisfarne and took some photos entirely identical to hundreds I have already taken. I apologise not!

 Harbour beach at low tide. I was having this conversation with God - I think he was listening, actually I'm pretty sure of that, but was he directing my thoughts? Anyway I got to thinking about faith, and whether it is a bit like having a boat. The boat you need is the one that does the job you need it for. For instance, there would be no point trying to use a cross-channel passenger and vehicle ferry to land at Lindisfarne harbour. It's too cumbersome, insufficiently agile and - well just inappropriate. But if you were setting out from here to cross the North Sea to whatever it is you hit if you go East (Germany, Denmark, Sweden or Norway I think, depending on how straight your line is) you would need something tough, robust and dependable.

 But if you just wanted to sail around the Farne Islands then a smallish dinghy would probably do the job, unless the seas were rough. Anyway I kept extending the analogy and decided it probably worked on a fair number of levels.So I had a jolly good look at the boats in the harbour and decided which one best matched me.

 Then I thought about the people who have dragged their boats in, turned them upside down and taken shelter in them from anything that threatens them. Safe from storms they might be, but they ain't going anywhere. Of course it's fine for fishermen to do this, and the upturned boats on Holy Island are one of its most iconic and endearing features.

 I made a fantastic discovery; I have been researching the history of the Primitive Methodists and one or two fascinating groups like the Magic Methodists of Delamere Forest, who I would have loved to have met. They were into things like trances and lying down in a stupor for hours on end. That's often how church makes me feel if the sermon is boring. Anyway I found that Berwick records office has a whole load of records on the Primitives Methodists in the area, and that there was a circuit based in Lowick, just a short distance from our house. Tragically Lowick Methodist has now been sold as a residence, but I really enjoyed dipping my toes in the water of the immaculate records they kept. This is a view from the walls that once used to guard Berwick. Well worth walking around if you are in the area.

 Berwick new bridge with haar coming in to obscure it.

 A better view from a little corner of the town I hadn't discovered before

 And a final walk round Lindisfarne. I love this kind of view - could have stayed for hours. Actually I think I did.

Took this one on a walk round the island, and you really can't see from the picture, but it was two ladies who were quite clearly together sharing an afternoon out. But they were both talking 19 to the dozen on their mobiles, clearly oblivious to each other and the wonderful beauty all around. I wanted to go and shake them and take the batteries out of their 'phones. I thought better of it.
Three weeks of sabbatical to go.