24-27 April: All Pretty Bloody Great on the Western Front, Mate

Bonjour tout le monde,


Here we are in a rustic stone farmhouse in Normandy just outside Bayeux, with a free and easy internet connection - hurrah! For the past few days, the lucky ones amongst you have been receiving urgent correspondence from the far corner of Hotel de Ville carpark in Vernon. That's an excellent travel tip but this is far more comfortable - and much easier than embroidering a 68 metre long tapestry to tell of our exploits!


But I digress by a number of wars and about a thousand years...


After Paris, we picked up our Citroen Picasso and headed north to the WWI battlefields of the Somme with the help of our velvet-voiced GPS, Paloma. We stayed near the small town of Villers-Bretonneux which, by coincidence, was recaptured by Australian forces on 26 April, 1918. It was the first time that Australian troops had fought under Australian command (General Monash) and, along with Gallipoli, this is the only place in Europe that celebrates Anzac Day. We knew all this but we were totally unprepared for the warmth of the welcome we received and the genuine feeling held here for the Australian people.


It was so sweet and unsophisticated - from the fluttering flag outside our homestay to the painted plywood kangaroos in the grounds of the Town Hall and the children's artwork in the local school. We spent the 24-25 April visiting various war cemeteries and memorials and attending a fabulous game of Aussie Rules between the very serious team from Villers-Bretonneux and a bunch of knockabout Aussie tourists thrown together in the wake of the volcanic cloud. The locals won by 20 points but, true to form, the team called Aussie Spirit found plenty of excuses for that! It was a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon and the atmosphere was amiable and relaxed. The town had held Aussie Rules workshops for local children during the morning and in the quarter breaks, they threw a ball around with Australian (Victorian) children.


It was the local primary school, however, that really brought a lump to the throat. It is called Ecole Victoria in recognition of funds raised by Victorian children to rebuild the school in Villers-Bretonneux following WWI. Entering the playground, the boys were astounded to see the huge painted motto "Do Not Forget Australia" emblazoned across the weather shed (see photos) . The WWI museum itself is housed within the school grounds and was staffed by eager school children during the Anzac Day weekend. As a touching footnote, children from this school have spent the past year diligently raising funds to rebuild a primary school destroyed by the Victorian bushfires.


We stayed in a farmstead converted into a number of small gites which - surprise, surprise - were all occupied by Australians at the time. It was a great and varied group of people (a number of whom are reading this now - hello y'all!) and, to the satisfaction of our jovial french hosts, we came together to share an impromptu and memorable barbecue under the trees the night before Anzac Day. Among us was Professor Linda Shields from Curtin University, who was preparing to represent Australian nurses on the Somme for the very first time - a personal crusade for her and a moment of real connection for the rest of us at the dawn service the following morning.


The dawn service itself was really beautiful. As many of you know, John and I are not huge Anzac Day/Australia Day afficionados but driving through those darkened fields in the chill of pre-dawn towards the Australian Memorial illuminated on the hill was one of the more memorable moments of my life. About 2,500 Australian and French people attended. My ALP comrades will be glad to know that Steven Smith spoke beautifully on behalf of the Australian people and that he is known here as 'le renard en argent'. The bugler stood atop the looming monument as the sun rose behind and during the minute's silence, all you could hear was the rising twitter and song of birds in the surrounding fields.


Afterwards we returned home for breakfast and then hurried into Villers-Bretonneux for the (very french) ceremony outside the town hall celebrating the town's liberation - complete with hatted gendarmes, Mayor, local band, Steven Smith etc.


In our three days on the Western Front, however, the real stars of the show were the fields of France themselves. From the ploughed furrows to the lines of poplars, from the Roman roads to the rows and rows of white war graves, the entire landscape there was all about straight lines and squares. I had expected something drab and dreary but the pastures were emerald green, the canola fields were unfurled like scarves of blazing yellow and the cemetries scattered across the landscape were lined with almond blossom. It was beautiful and it was sad and you couldn't help thinking of Willie McBride or 'thighbones tugged excitedly from the soil by french children on picnics'.

We have since moved south to Giverny where we dabbled briefly in the peace and quiet of Monet's watergarden before subjecting ourselves to that second great conflagration - the D-Day landings in Normandy. These beaches are truly dreary, I can tell you, even in this unseasonly bright weather. They are no less interesting for that, however, and at least we are able to return each night to the bucolic pleasures of our stone cottage at the end of a beautiful country lane leading to the village of the Cahagnes. There are dogs, there are cats, there are black and white cows, there are four-week-old kittens - the boys are happy and we are all looking forward to a few weeks respite in our little house in Brittany.

But before then, we have to conquer Britain and the Bayeux tapestry - allons-y!

Love to you all. It's so nice to receive your messages back, no matter how brief and newsless.

XXX

Alison, John, Lawrence and Francis