WW1 Trip to Ypres - April 2015

100 Years On

This all started about eighteen months ago. I was visiting the Anglican Cathedral in Liverpool and found myself drawn to the Book of Remembrance. As I gazed down at the page, I was chilled to see my own name staring back at me. Captain Alan Cookson. 

I hurried back to the office and quickly discovered that Captain Cookson died in 1917, was buried at Erquingham Lys in France and was so loved by his men that they wrote poetry about him. I even went on Google Earth and saw the quiet spot where he was buried. There is no blood link to him - of that I was already certain. Nevertheless, "One day I will go and pay my respects", I promised myself.

Fast forward - April 2015 and I'm on a flight to Brussels with my wife - hire car booked and a quick two hour drive up to Ypres ahead. When so many men have died in uncountable numbers, it becomes impossible to adequately identify with the scale of the carnage. It is also impossible to pay anything like adequate respect. So I decided to isolate a couple of individuals and focus on those. Well, that was the plan. But as we got close to Ypres, we started to see them - cemeteries - rows and rows of small white headstones, surrounded by a low wall of stone - all have a white 'altar' inscribed with 'Their Name Liveth For Evermore'. Nothing prepares you for death on this scale.

The first one we visited was Hooge Crater Cemetery. And it is a little incongruous, set as it is, alongside the main Ypres - Menin road and across from the Bellewaerde Amusement Park. The silence is broken only by the distant screams of excited children on the rides in the park. And that is fine - that is what these heroes died for - that life might go on.

So, we walked up and down the aisles and we were soon overwhelmed. Most of the graves are inscribed with a name, the regiment served, the emblem of the regiment, the date of death - when known - and some pitiful epithet like 'He died that we might live'. There were others that simply said 'A soldier of the Great War  -  Known unto God'. But the ones that really got to me were the ones that said 'Three Soldiers of the Great War' - or  'Four Soldiers of the Great War' - four soldiers in one grave - clearly little more than a jumble of body parts - fragments of men. The Industrialisation of War writ large.

  

On another level altogether, these cemeteries are uplifting. I began to try to understand the miraculous logistical coup that has been achieved here. 800,000+ war dead but every one of them, as far as was humanly possible, has been identified and given the decency of a permanent resting place with a headstone inscribed with as many details as possible. Locations were catalogued and referenced and it's all available online. Most impressive of all - these countless cemeteries are, without exception, beautifully - and dutifully - maintained. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission works miracles with limited resources. Local people do their bit, to their immense credit. But nothing - absolutely nothing - prepares you for death on this scale. 

______________________________

During the Great War, many of the soldiers enlisted from Lancashire were originally miners. They brought their tunnelling skills to the battlefield in a quite deadly way. Burrowing underneath German lines, they created voids which were packed with explosives. The subsequent explosions were ferocious and left massive craters, killing hundreds. Caterpillar crater remains next to Hill 60 - both evocative locations that easily recall the horrors once witnessed there. Hill 60 is still an undulating knoll - battered with shell holes from years of pounding by artillery.

__________________

Day Two - Another day, another cemetery. Spanbroekmolen Cemetery lies a short distance from The Pool of Peace - another massive mine crater. And just to the north - Lone Tree Cemetery - where more heartbreaking stories remain untold. 

 The Meissen Ridge - a strategic ridge of high ground that was fought over continually and changed hands several times between 1914 and 1918.

____________

At Bayernwald, a message greeted us that said 'It is time not to look back in anger but to look forward with hope'. I have to be honest and say I didn't like being told what to think in this context. I might be prepared to dispense with the 'anger' when looking back - and even extend the hand of fraternity to the German people today. And I'm all for looking forward with hope - but if we don't look back and at least learn lessons from history, we run the risk of repeating past mistakes.

Here they have reconstructed a set of German trenches. They differ from the British trenches in being lined with wickerwork branches - somehow they look more aesthetically appealing than the British ones - if that makes any sense.

Nearby, another small cemetery - Croonaert Chapel Cemetery - commanded our attention and respect.

Horses played a vital part in the campaign and there are statues everywhere that recognise the innocent participation and contribution of these noble creatures.

They continue to play a vital role in the largely agricultural life of 21st century Flanders

After lunch in Poperinge, we turned off the Poperinge to Ypres highway at Brandhoek to seek out the resting place of the only man to win TWO VCs in WW1. Noel Godfrey Chavasse was one of the sons of the then Bishop of Liverpool. He was a medic in the Royal Army Medical Corps and repeatedly demonstrated the utmost bravery in recovering injured men while under fire. His bravery cost him  his life. Selflessness and bravery of this order are hard to comprehend - but very easy to respect. One of Liverpool's finest sons - with just the same simple white headstone as every other soldier buried here. I was humbled to be in the presence of such courage.

In Zonnebeke - near Paschendaele - they have created a fine museum - complete with recreated underground bunkers and British trenches. They have accumulated a fine collection of artefacts that evoke the slaughter - and the means by which it was achieved.
 

________________________

Just a mile to the north of Zonnebeke is Tyne Cot cemetery - the biggest WW1 cemetery in Flanders.There can be no finer testament to the fundamental stupidity of the human race than this. The willingness to contemplate slaughter on this scale rather than find a more civilised way of resolving differences is Exhibit A. And it is still going on. Why can’t we all just get along? 

In the low sun, this was almost a beautiful sight on a warm spring evening. But it wasn't enough to say "that is what these men died for - so that we can stand here now and have friendly conversations with the visiting Dutch or the Germans and listen to the birds sing". That could have been achieved anyway without all of these brave young men dying terrible deaths. Simply staggering. I was already starting to revise some strongly held convictions.

    

The part played by the Kings' Liverpool Regiment is recorded across these four stone tablets

_________________

Day Three

 The Menen Gate

This trip had already taught me a lot - changed my view about a lot of things. Attending the Last Post ceremony at the Menen Gate left me with almost an hour to stand and reflect. There was much to take in. As this is a daily ceremony that has been going on every single night since 1928 - with just a temporary interruption to proceedings while the Germans came a-calling again in 1939, they have a rolling programme in which all countries concerned participate. This evening a large contingent of Dutch soldiers were present. But a delegation from the New Zealand armed forces took centre stage. The walls of the gate recorded names from Australia, India, Pakistan and Canada. Commonwealth countries. These days, few good words are said about the British Empire. Colonialism is generally a dirty word.  But in this context, the British Empire was a very positive force in unifying good people to make a stand against an evil and belligerent regime. Hundreds of thousands of them came to help defend Belgium and France from the German aggressor. Very very few of them were conscripts. We should be proud and thankful that they stood by us.

The ceremony itself was intensely moving: something everybody should do, if possible. After the Last Post was played, a long succession of military people, civilians and young people laid floral tributes at the gate. Here again, tears streamed as a very elderly man tottered forward on sticks and two young people (who I’d guess were at least his grandchildren) took an arm each as he laid his tribute. It seemed symbolic - certainly it was another potent cameo. When the wreaths were laid and the military stood at ease, the New Zealand contingent moved back centre stage and delivered the final challenge to my composure. Their Haka was never more appropriately used than in this context. Then the crowd of two or three thousand melted away into a night that was suddenly cold and chilly. 

_____________

Day Four

I drove us across the border into France and soon found the church at Erquingham Lys. Here, I honoured my promise and quickly found the grave of Captain Alan Cookson of The Kings Liverpool Regiment.  I pressed a small wooden cross into the hard dry clay and paused for a moment to respect my namesake. The silence of this small, peaceful cemetery was broken by the sound of excited school children in the school playground beyond the tall hedge that bordered the cemetery. A river ran along the other side. It was a beautiful and peaceful resting place for my namesake.

All the Kings Men.

Back in the car, we headed back into Belgium and happened across the Irish garden of peace - which spoke eloquently about the Irish perspective on war - as you might expect from a nation of great poets.

____________

Next stop was the Museum at Hill 62. The story goes that Belgian farmers returning to their land after the war were quick to plough under the trenches and shell holes that scarred their land. But one farmer recognised the historical nature of what had happened on his land and set aside a couple of acres, vowing, not just to preserve the trenches, but also to establish a museum as a tribute to the sacrifices that were made there. Those trenches and that museum survive to this day and are THE most authentic evocation of the horrors of the trenches in Flanders. The bare, cratered landscape only lacked absolute authenticity because the trees flourish again. The museum too was full of many fascinating images and artefacts. Some were still caked in the mud and clay which had finally given them up.

___________________

Nearby was Sanctuary Wood Cemetery. Initially, you visit these places out of interest. Then you drive on and a few hundred yards further on, there is another one. It starts to feel disrespectful to drive past them and to not honour the men who rest there. But there are simply too many - and there just isn't enough compassion and respect to go around. It really IS overwhelming.

Outside the cemetery - in honour of the many Canadians who died in this corner of Flanders, A row of Maple trees has been planted. Today they are mature and flourish. I nipped off a tiny bud on a low branch and unfurled a small but perfect Maple leaf. I pressed it into my Moleskine. A very precious keepsake.

_______________

I drove into Ypres where we had lunch. Later we went to visit the cathedral. Destroyed by the German field guns, it has been lovingly and authentically restored into a beautiful and serene refuge. It now has the look and feel of any other medieval church.

Next door, the Great Cloth Hall has been another massive restoration project. It now serves as the "In Flanders Field" museum - and very well done it is too. A combination of interactive projections and artefacts bring it all alive. The testimony of the medics was probably the most powerful part: projections of actors reciting recollections in graphic detail. 

 This exhibit told of the first use of gas by the Germans at Paschendaele - on 22nd April 1915. It was eerie to be present on the centenary anniversary of this new low in man's barbarity to man - 22nd April 2015.

________________ 

Our visit was drawing to a close but we both felt drawn back to the Menen Gate on our last night to share again the respect and gratitude shown by the Belgian people. This was another perception that was totally polarised by this visit. The Belgians don't have to still turn out every night - 365 days a year - to show their appreciation of the massive sacrifices made here. But they do. The Belgians don't have to tend the cemeteries with such love and affection a hundred years on. But they do. The Belgians don't have to be such genial and helpful hosts to those of us who take the trouble to go there. But they are. In short, growing to like the Belgians was another unexpected opinion polarised during this visit.

More generally, my view on the European Union turned around 180 degrees. If it ensures that the European family gets along without recourse to violence and we don't have to send hundreds of thousands of men to sort out their disputes, then that is worth voting for. Whether you believe we should be part of that Union or not, isn't relevant. With or without us, it has kept the peace in Europe - and long may it continue to do so.

 _____________________

  

So, I reached the end of the trip with more questions than answers. Was it worth it, all this bloodshed? Certainly tyranny has to be resisted and I'm proud that my country took a stand rather than stand by see one country over-run by another. But as we headed back to the airport, one message resonated more than any other. In the Irish Peace garden, a stone tablet carried this message:

So the curtain fell

over that tortured

country of unmarked graves

and unburied fragments of men

murder and massacre

the innocent slaughtered

for the guilty

the poor man

for the sake of the greed

of the already rich

the man of no authority

made the victim of the man

who had gathered importance

and wished to keep it

David Starret of the 9th Royal Irish Rifles summed it up far more eloquently than I could ever hope to.