Lest we forget

In late July 2108, I found myself well off the tourist trail, in a little visited Northern french village trying to locate the village cemetery while aware that I had a train to catch, but with no mobile signal and only school boy French

How did this occur and why was I there? Please read on.

Family Trees

I have for many years taken the self appointed role of family genealogist. All families have one, and over the years I have found it quite fun to connect the family tree together, and explore  the lesser known by-ways of my and my wife's family.

Nowadays this is relatively easy with the internet and sites like ancestry.com. What used to the task of crawling through dusty corridors looking for birth certificates, can now be done with a click of the button. Not only is it easy to find birth and deaths, but with the census information you can sometimes eek out all sort of other information, such as where they lived and worked.

This really brings the character alive and you can create a quite compelling narrative. For example I found one of my Mother-in-laws relative was transported to Australia (insert joke here). Via the power of the internet you could find what he was convicted of, the ship he was sent on and  the fact he never made it, dying on route (so putting the kibosh on going to Australia to discover long lost relatives.)

However the one story that has always fascinated me the most is that of Edward Stephen Edgerton.

Edward is related to me through my fathers side and is in fact my great uncle. He was born in Walsall and grew up probably thinking that he would live and die in that industrial black country town.

It was not to be. World events which he had little control were moving which would change and tragically end his life.

I am talking of course about World War 1.

Edward was 25 when the war broke out.  In 1911 he was listed as a Saddletree maker which was  probably not a lucrative job, but a skilled trade nonetheless in an area renowned at the time for saddle and leather working (Walsall football club is still nicknamed the saddlers). Edward had 4 living Sisters and 1 baby brother at this time, but I feel that it was his brother Joseph, 2 years older than him, who he was closest to.

On the 9th December 1915,  Joseph joined up. His choice of regiment was a strange one, eschewing the local regiments and pals brigades, he joined one of the Britain's elite and oldest regiments, the Coldstream guards.

Edward was already in the Army, enlisting in Februray 1915, but again the choose of service was unusual. Instead of the normal foot soldier, he joined the Royal Army Medical Corp, rising to be a corporal, attached to No 25 General Hospital based around the Calais region

The question is therefore why Edwards decided to transfer to his brothers regiment, the Coldstream guards ,in October 1918, only 2 months before end of the war.

Did he feel he was not doing 'his bit'? Was his head turned by his older brother and his battle honours and stories? Was there a sibling rivalry between them, which made transferring inevitable? We will never know, why he did it, but what we do know that in Oct 1918 he found himself on the front line in Northern France near the town of Quesnoy, taking part in the great dash as the German army front line collapsed.

Unlike his service in the R.A.M.C, we can via regiments records track his progress across France

- November 2 , to Ruesnes ( 2000 yards west of Quesnoy )

- November 3, was used to begin the offensive enemy bombing west of Villers -Pol , the objective of the attack was the high ground east of the village. " We crossed the Rhonelle and there was a strong battle in melee in a thick darkness. At 13h , we were digging trenches on the west bank of the river were sporadic shelling. " 

- November 4 , 1h, under a heavy enemy barrage , our attack was stopped on the east side of Villers -Pol where there was gunfire , intense bombing. Refueling arrived in the evening but the night was very cold and wet in the trenches.

On November 4th 1918, he was declared missing and later found dead. It was only 7 days before the ceasefire was declared.

Reading the diaries entries and already knowing the ending, feel like one of those movies where you know the final scene, but cannot look away anyway. Also it raise so many questions. Why with the war already won, was so much fighting continuing? Why did he join an frontline regiment? Was he close to his brother when he died?(Joseph lived on to 1977, despite the 3 years of active service on the frontline). How did his Father and mother receive the news, while probably at the same time as the joy of the armistice was announced?

Some of these questions will never get answered, but what we do know that his body and a number of other causalities were interred in a small French cemetery in the french town of Frasnoy

The pilgrimage begins

For more I learned about Edward Edgerton, the more I felt a connection and I made myself  a promise that I would some point visit his grave. In hindsight this should of been as easy, just driving down to the channel ports, hoping on a Ferry or Eurotunnel. However I am never a great one for road trips and I have that  inbuilt  British thing about driving on the continent in that the 26 miles of water represents a psychological and a physical barrier At one point, I entertained the notion of going with my father, but his frailty and my timidness never seemed to make that a reality and my father passed on well before I was ready

However the hundred year anniversary of his death and the ending of the great war meant I had much greater reason thatn before to go. So after  discussion with my wife we hatched, in the words of Blackadder, a cunning plan. We would combine the trip with a family holiday. We would find somewhere to stay in Northern France or Southern Belgium. Visit on the way out or the way back and in between spend a relaxing few days seeing the sites.

The first problem came finding somewhere to stay. This part of the world is a long way removed from the usual holiday spots on the Normandy coast or in the hills of the Ardenne. Northern France away from the coast is flat, while Southern Belgium is more industry than recreational.  As a consequence, searches for holiday accommodation was difficult. However eventually we did located a holiday complex situated next to a large man made lake, so in late we set off on the long journey to the channel, and to brave the French and Belgium motorways.

We decided to visit on the way back. Obviously we were time constrained because we had a Eurotunnel connection booked, but it looked like we had plenty of time to stop off, find the cemetery, pay our respects and then catch our train.

I had however assumed, rather naively, that finding a cemetery in a small village would be easy. I had looked at the location so often on Google maps, that I was confident of locating it. It turned out to be a little more difficult.

First problem was just getting there. Frasnoy is, and probably ever was, well off the beaten track.  Google maps did a great job getting us so far, but then we ended up going many KM on small  non-descript French roads. It was also complicated by the fact google maps directed us to the larger Frasnoy communal Cemetery in le Quesnoy. I realised this rather late as we were seemingly headed in the wrong direction and instead set google maps to direct us to the center of Frasnoy.

During our week in Belgium we had got complacent with mobile coverage, with high level of 4G. Northern France was a different story, and as we entered Frasnoy we found ourselves in a mobile internet black spot. Unfortunately I had also not printed off the map of Frasnoy with the cemetary map location marked. We were well and truly lost.

In the end we meandered to the central square and church, guessing that the cemetery would be close at hand. It was not to be, and with time running out, we had to resort to asking directions. Unfortunately my French is pretty appalling and unlike Belgium, English is not widely understood  (If only my French teacher had warned me there would be days like this). However both my wife's and eldest daughters French is pretty good. So I sent them off to ask a old gentleman the directions. This he promptly did, the only problem was after leaving him, my wife realized that his droite and gauche were actually opposite to what his hand were saying. So we had to take a guess. We were wrong.

Central Frasnoy and church with a memorial to the English soldiers who liberated Frasnoy on the day Edward died

Collecting spring water, probably the same one used for hundred of years

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After driving 5 minutes, we realised we were not going anywhere, so headed back to the center and parked in the church car park and sent my wife out for new directions. She came back pointing up a road next to the church and we decided to set out on foot. We were just about to give up hope, when I saw just over a rise the unmistakable silhouettes of tombstones. We hand found it!!

We've found it

Paying respect

I had sort of assumed that the cemetery would be a small affair, but it was in fact quite sizeable and consisted of the kind of monuments and mausoleums common in Catholic cemeteries. Still tucked in the far right corner were a row of immaculately maintained white gravestones standing up from the dark gravel like teeth. Among them, was Edwards Edgerton gravestone, with his Regiment, serial number and date of his death.

I had assumed that we would have an hour here. Unfortunately  due to our shenanigans we had far less time. So I gave a little speech to the girls about Edward's life and death, in the hope they will not forget, planted a small cross and poppy and left a note in French about Edward life and thanking the residents of Frasnoy for looking after him. Then it was time to go.

I would of liked to of visited the far larger German cemetery on the way out, but time was against us, so it was back on the Chunnel and back home.

In search of the graves

Edward's Grave

 In memorium

After reading, researching about Edward, and for so many years planning to go to his grave, I had mixed feelings after visiting. There was a sense of achievement of finally getting their, mixed with a bit of a disappointment of not having more time to spend. I would also of liked more time exploring the area

There was also some sadness about why I was here at all.

Edward's brother, Joseph died in 1977, when I was about 14 years old. Now I look back I believe I may well of visited him, when my Grandmother, his and Edwards sister, took me long bus trips across Walsall to visit various elderly relatives. If he had been alive today, I would of had many questions about him and his brother. However a 14 year old boy has little interests in various old relatives and so it was with me.  It is only now that I appreciate and have some understanding of his and countless others sacrifice.

As we reach the 100 year anniversary of the great war, we are reaching the point, when even the longest lived were mere children when the  war ended. We have already lost all those who directly took part, and it will not be long until there are no living memories left to tell there stories 1st hand. Today the task of making sure that we do not forget is passed to my generation, and one day that responsibility will be passed on.

There are already some people who seem intent on subverting this task and the symbol the poppy represents and subverting it to something that glorifies war and not the symbol of refret and loss that it is meant to be. The responsibility to ensure that the symbol remains pure is one which we must not relinquish.

I don't believe Edward, went to war for glory, or some other jingoistic cause. Edward went to war because he felt it was his duty, because he wanted to be with his brother and friends, and because it was the right thing to do. He did not die gloriously, but just another casualty in a foreign field, one of many. What his last thought were, we will never know, but I'm pretty sure that it was not a wish to be consigned to a foreign field, far away from the streets he grew up on.

I, like many other people with similar stories, keep his memory alive, not to glorify war but as part of his legacy of duty that he passed down. It is so that future generations should not have to shoulder the same burden.

Behind that long and lonely trenched line
To which men come and go, where brave men die,
There is a yet unmarked and unknown shrine,
A broken plot, a soldier’s cemetery.

There lie the flower of youth, the men who scorn’d
To live (so died) when languished Liberty:
Across their graves flowerless and unadorned
Still scream the shells of each artillery.

When war shall cease this lonely unknown spot
Of many a pilgrimage will be the end,
And flowers will shine in this now barren plot
And fame upon it through the years descend:
But many a heart upon each simple cross
Will hang the grief, the memory of its loss.

John William Streets (killed and missing in action on 1 July 1916 aged 31)

Frasnoy Poppy's

Belgium Man, BELGIUM

So yet another family holiday....

After the sun and fun of Crete and Croatia, this year it was to be....errrr...Belgium

Belgium doesn't really come on the top 10 of holiday destinations. Yes it has Bruge, and the Ardenne, but our plans were to steer away from those places and instead decamp on the Northern French border,  just south of the city of Mons.

So why there you may well ask?

Well we had a cunning plan, but we'll come to that in a bit.

We ended up in a place called les Lacs de l'eau d'heure (translation lakes of the water hour )in the Walloon region, just outside the town of Froidchappelle. These are a giant set of artificial lakes built in the 1970's and now represent a major tourist and watersport area. In fact they are hard to miss being sign posted to them from about 30 miles out in each direction.

I had no idea what I was going to find in this part of Belgium photographically, but I must admit, my initial reaction was one of disappointment. This area, like northern France is pretty flat, more akin to Norfolk, but without the coast. The area is largely agricultural and Belgium, like the UK, was suffering a dry, hot summer so we had arrived in peak harvest season. When we were not watching harvesters take in the corn, more often we were dodging tractors on the roads transporting the aforesaid harvest.

Generally the villages and towns of the region do not improve the situation. As well as agricultural, the area has a rich history of mining and steel, meaning many of the villages reflected this heritage

It was hard not to see why the majority of UK tourists gravitate to the coast or further East.

That is not to say the area was unattractive, just it does not boast the variety of outstanding features that might attract a photographer.

Still we were there, and to be fair to the Wallonia government they try their hardest to present what they have.

Going underground 

One thing this area does have is a plethora of caves due to its limestone rock. We chose to go to the Grote de Neptune, since it was close by. Unlike the caves found in the UK, these are relatively amateur family run affairs, which to be honest is a pleasant change after the gross commercialism of places like the Cheddar gorge.  I don't think a lot of UK tourists come this way, but the guide was quite happy to translate between Flemish and English, only balking a bit when my wife admitted she has a degree in Geology.

The caves themselves are relatively easy to enter and end up with a small underground boat trip. Belgium, like the UK has been suffering from a drought and we were lucky that they had some rain a week before. Other times it has to be cancelled because the water level drops to much.

Photographing in caves is always a challenge. We were not allowed to use flash, and tripods are unwieldy, so I relied on pushing the ISO as high as I could, even so I was only getting speeds of 1/10 seconds. This meant sharpness was out, but I did get some interesting ICM images.

Chimay

Chemay Church and refreshment

Inside Chimay church

In the afternoon, we headed of to the town of Chimay.

Chimay main claim to fame is the beer that bears its name. Unfortunately the monastery that the beer was produced from is actually a little way out of Chimay, and Chimay itself is a bit of a sleeply backwater with not a huge number of interesting features. However like many of these towns it does possess a large an impressive Catholic cathedral. Virtually all of these churches are open in the daytime and their does not seem to be any photographic restrictions.

The Gardens

The gardens in IR

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The chateau and gardens

The 2nd day we headed west and the Les Jardins d'Annevoie. These are a wonderful set of gardens, combining French, Italian and English styles. The gardens are not huge and mid summer is not when they are at their best (Spring and Autumn are probably better), but there is plenty to photograph there.



Walcourt

Walcourt was one of those accidents that happen when you don't slavishly follow the sat nav.

Its not really on the tourist map and the main routes avoid it, but it boast a fantastic little town with a fantastic church, far bigger than the town really should have. The only downside of such a sleepy backwater was that ordering tea was a greater ordeal than it should of been, and due to translation error we ended up with 6 teas, rather than 2.

Mons

Mons was capital of culture and this sculpture is a hangover

Mons cathedral

Mons Occupation museum

Mons town square

The new Mons train station

On the 3rd day we headed to the city of Mons. I only really knew Mons from its 1st world war history, but I was pleasantly surprised by the city, which is generally attractive with a fantastic Cathedral and main square. The only downside was that parking was a bit of a nightmare, with public parking being difficult locate. We headed for the Mons memorial museum, which while photographically uninteresting, was a interesting diversion and well presented. It was also pretty well empty.

The centre of Mons is based around a huge central square and it is a good place to walk around and see the people of Mons at play


Dinant

Dinant - the birtgplace of Alfonso Sax

Commemoration of the 600 people killed during the German occupation of Dinant in the 1st world war

Dinant is what you would call a typical tourist town, squeezed between a giant rock cliff and the river Meuse.  A combination of the citadel and the river provides plenty to photograph. Boat trips are frequent and you can even hire your won boat if that is your bent. To get to the citadel you can take a cable card, or alternatively climb the 403 steps. The citadel had a small, but informative museum at the top.

Waterloo (how does it feel that you lost the war)

We could not really go to this area of Belgium without visiting the Waterloo battlefield (I'm a sucker for a battlefield). The Waterloo memorial museum is actually quite a way outside the town of Waterloo, and the 3 main museums are spread over a considerable distance, so it is not worth visiting more than one on the day.

The battlefield today is difficult to make out, the terrain being reshaped over the years, not least by building of the Lions mound which dominates the landscape and  commemorates when the prince of Orange stubbed his toe or something. Strangely there is no obvious monument to the thousands who lost their lives apart from a few individual memorials spread around.

The actual museum is very good, and one of the thing we found was that Belgium museums are adept at combining traditional and new technology to create a  compelling narrative.

Photographically, in truth there is not much at  Waterloo apart from the mound. The landscape being relatively flat and featureless. However it it worth visiting the old Hougement farm which formed Wellingtons right flank during the battle. Most the building still exists and looks very similar to Wellingtons day. There are even 3 old chestnuts which still have the battle scars from the intense fighting that took place there

The dam

The  lacs de l'eau d'heure was created by building a giant dam. However even by 1970 standards, this is one ugly structure being made of the kind of concrete that was so popular in that era and given sexy name like brutalist. There is a small visitor center and you can visit the hydro electric plant below, but we decided to give it a miss. However the combination of still water and a decent sunset, did provide a good platform in the evening. (I also managed to drop a camera battery into the dam itself which may confuse future archaeologists)

Canal du Centre

The boat lift

The last day was a bit of a dilemma. The kids wanted to take advantage of the leisure facilities, while I wanted to do some more exploring. In hindsight we should of headed to a small nature reserve near Chimay, where there were Storks nesting., but instead we headed north to historic canal boat lift. The approach to the lift was disappointing in the least being in a industrial estate, but the lift itself was interesting and as you drop down the canal become more attractive. There was a little museum which although only in French gave a interesting story of how immigration has defined that part of Belgium over the years.

One thing we did notice was that Belgium has a far more relaxed attitude to health and safety than the UK, with no barriers to accessing the boat lift despite the precipitous falls and large amount of water.

To those of a industrial archaeology bent, the boat lift was interesting. Built in 1888 by Edwin Clark, the person responsible for the Anderson boat lift, these hydraulic lifts  raise boats up 15m, so removing the need for a large set of locks. Apparently they are still working,but traffic now bypasses this site to a new canal system and boat lock, with this being relegated to a few pleasure cruises


The reasons we are here...

Finally the reason why we chose this part of Belgium was because there was a small part of me left in this part of France

Edward Edgerton was just another ordinary bloke, growing up in the West Midlands who answered the call to go and fight in the 1st world war in France. He joined the Royal Medical Corp and served 2 years, but in 1918 he transferred to one of UK's premier regiments, the Coldstream guards to fight with his brother.

On November the 4th, 1918 around a small northern French town called Frasnoy, with the armistice only 7 days away he was killed.

Edward Edgerton was my fathers uncle (and my great uncle). I had researched my family history for many years and his story had stood out. It has been an ambition to visit his grave for some time now and honour his sacrifice and just to show that he is not forgotten. With the 100 year anniversary coming up of his passing, it felt like the right time to go.

So on the way back  to the channel tunnel, we found ourselves navigating through small rarely traveled French lanes, except by locals.

Frasnoy is a small farming community and probably little bigger than it was in 1918. The 1st problem we found, that unlike most of Belgium, mobile internet was patchy. This meant that finding the actual cemetery was more difficult that expected. Fortunately with a combination of vaguely remembering from the satellite images  that it was north of the church, and with the help of my wife's and daughters superior French, we walked the two km, to the small communal cemetery where he and a number of other UK soldiers are buried. It is gratifying to see, that after 100 years, such places are get in a such pristine condition. We laid a small cross and left a card detailing his life.
 
This was a personal pilgrimage rather than a holiday and in truth without this personal obligation  we would probably never visited this part of the world.  Although it does not hold much for the photographer, Belgium is a fascinating place with great people. It is a place that recent history has dealt some bad hands too, but has made it a stronger, happier place.

Unfortunately we then had the contrast of returning back to a country which continues to misrepresent its place in history and fails to understand the lessons of the last century. Edward fought and died to win the war to end all wars. The great war, as it was called, failed in that respect and it required another 7 years of misery and suffering until the lesson was learnt that exceptionalism and belief that as a nation you are somehow superior to your neighbors only leads to war.

Belgium people in many ways suffered far more than people in the UK. Parts of Belgium was occupied twice and entire populations were killed or sent to forced labour camps. They know that the key to prosperity and peace is cooperation and emphasizing what makes us the same, not concentrating on what is different.

Pity it a 100 years after the end of the great war it is a lesson that we have forgotten in the UK  

  They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

 

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