Day Eleven: 11 November 2010: Part Two

I am back!   To continue with a memorable Armistice Day in Ypres, Belgium....

As I left the "In Flanders Fields" Museum, I decided to do some exploring in Ypres itself.   It was a very cold and wet day, with strong winds buffeting visitors in the Grand'Place.   It was now around 12 noon, and I was feeling both cold and hungry.   I spotted a small restaurant just off the Grand'Place, and decided to try it.   I went in through the bar area, which was surprisingly smoke-filled.   Don't know if the public smoking ban in Belgium had yet to be extended to drinking areas!   But I was led through to a non-smoking main dining area, which was a relief.   And it sure was busy!

The room was filled with chattering diners (some had come straight from the Menin Gate ceremony, as they all wore the poppy pin), as I was shown my table.   I ordered a dish of chicken and rice with mushroom sauce, and a lemonade.   While waiting for my meal, I watched the wait staff rushing to and fro with orders, and listened to the lively conversation of diners.

When lunch came, it was really delicious: the sauce came separate from the rice and chicken, and it was very flavorful.   My lemonade came in a slender bottle, and was tart instead of sweet (the way I like it).   The chicken was the surprise of the meal: it was incredibly tender and juicy, and it just fell off the bone!   I enjoyed it very much, and made sure to tell the wait staff so.

Soon, it was time to head back out into the cold and wet (I hated leaving the restaurant's warmth!).  But I sallied forth, and walked out of the Grand'Place, by the Cloth Hall.   And I found a most interesting monument (photo left).   It is called "Ypres Fury", and is dedicated to the memory of the citizens of Ypres who were killed in both World Wars.

This memorial was dedicated in June 1926, and is in memory of Ypres civilians killed in the First World War (and after 1945, to Ypres civilians killed in the Second World War).  

It's a rather flamboyant memorial, with a dramatic center sculpture (photo right).   It looks like a dead civilian (or is it a soldier?), mourned by women and angels (I am wondering if the angel in the background is the Archangel Michael, with upraised sword?).   The "Lion of Flanders" roars in anguish in front.   This is the same lion sculpture one sees atop the Menin Gate, come to think of it.

There were numerous floral wreaths laid before it.   That was probably done before the main ceremony at the Menin Gate.   The one here on the left is from someone affiliated with the Royal British Legion.

From the memorial, I made my way to St Martin's Cathedral.   Like the Cloth Hall and the rest of Ypres, the cathedral was also totally destroyed by the Germans in 1914.   Looking at it today, one could never tell it has been completely restored.

St Martin's Cathedral (photo right) was constructed between 1230 and 1370, and once served as the 'official' cathedral for the diocese of Ypres between 1561 and 1861, when Ypres was incorporated into the diocese of Ghent, Belgium.   It does not serve in that capacity today, but is still referred to as a cathedral.   Buried in the Cathedral crypt are Cornelius Jansen, the founder of the Jansenism theological movement, and Count Robert III, known as "The Lion of Flanders".

As I approached the Cathedral, I saw a closed door, and a very long line of people waiting to be admitted inside.   I assumed it was for a tour of some sort.   It was quite cold during the wait: the wind was blowing fiercely, and I had to stand with the wind to keep my coat hood on!   The line grew, and the door remained closed, so I decided to get out of the line, cross the street, and get some photos of the Cathedral (above right and below right).  After I took the photos, I saw that the Cathedral door was opening, so I got back into line.

When I finally entered the Cathedral, I realized the wait was NOT for a guided tour: it was for a special Armistice Day concert, called "The Great War Remembered".   It was sponsored by The Last Post Association, which was founded in 1928, and is responsible for, among other things, the continuance of the nightly "Last Post" ceremony at the Menin Gate.   

The concert was being performed several times this day, and I believe I was there for the final performance.   I did not have a ticket (not knowing it had to be purchased beforehand), so I was asked to wait until the ticket-holders were admitted and seated--and then, perhaps, I'd be allowed to attend.   Two people waiting with me decided not to wait, and left.  But I am SO glad I stayed; about ten minutes before it began, I was allowed to stay, and I paid my admission.

While I waited, I got this spectacular interior photo of the Cathedral ( below left).   I was so surprised the photo came out so well.  The blue lights aren't there every day.   But they did create a wonderful ambiance for the concert to come.

I was shown a seat on the right side of the nave (in the left photo), which had a view of the organ loft in front, and above.   The organ was playing softly, as the vast crowd settled in.  The swirling blue light on the ceiling had the effect of white clouds in a blue sky.   I thought it was quite magical.

In the Sanctuary, there was seated an orchestra: the Royal Harmony Ypriana, consisting of 80 local musicians who perform at various ceremonies in Ypres, including this one for 11 November.  There were also huge HD television screens set up in the Sanctuary, and around the nave, so those in the back, or in places with poor sight-lines, could see and hear what was happening 'onstage'.

Also appearing with Ypriana  was the Loretto Senior School Chamber Choir from Scotland (Loretto was founded in 1827 as an independent boarding school and currently has just over 600 students); the buglers of the Last Post Association; the Beauvarlet Koksijde choir from Ypres; the Roeselaars Kamerkoor, a 20-member chamber choir from Ypres; the choir of Holy Trinity Church, Dartford, Kent, UK--and UK tenor soloist Sean Ruane.

The concert began with a Fanfare by Ypriana, followed by a short Welcome from Benoit Mottrie, chairman of the Last Post Association, which was read in both English and Dutch.  Ypriana then played the latter part of Rossini's William Tell Overture, followed by another instrumental, Between the Two Rivers (depicting the peace of summer 1914, just before the First World War broke out).   Then came a reading called Start World War I, read by a young woman named Ann Sophie Senesael.   She sometimes spoke softly, which made it difficult to understand.   But the pictures on the HD screens told the story of the start of the war.

Ypriana was then joined by the Loretto Senior School Chamber Choir, the Dartford choir, and Beauvarlet koor and Roselaars Kamerkoor for a rousing rendition of George Frederic Handel's coronation anthem, Zadok the Priest, with lyrics taken from the Old Testament, describing King Solomon's anointing and crowning.   It's one of the four Coronation Anthems composed by Handel for the coronation of King George II of England in 1727, and it's been sung at every British Coronation since then.

When the applause for this anthem died down, Ypriana, along with the Fire & Rescue Service Bands and the Dartford Choir, performed the Overture to the HBO Second World War series Band of Brothers.   It is such a moving, and popular, composition; the music is also used in a song called Requiem For a Soldier, sung by the British soprano Katherine Jenkins.   This Overture always makes me cry.   It's perfect for an occasion like this concert!

Then Sean Ruane appeared with Ypriana, to sing "Nessun Dorma" from the opera Turandot, by Giacomo Puccini.  What a beautiful voice Mr. Ruane has!   This aria was made popular by the late Italian tenor Luciano Pavarotti.  But on this day, Sean Ruane made it his own!

When the applause died down, Ann Sophie Senesael reappeared, to read a verse entitled "Gas Attack 1915".  The poem was accompanied on the TV screens by horrific images of battle in the First World War, as if to signal that the war was only going to get worse.   When the poem was finished, Ann Sophie left the stage, and Ypriana performed the Overture to Carl Maria von Weber's opera Der Frieschutz: a very dramatic piece, that was considered too daring after its premiere in 1821 in Berlin.

The mood abruptly changed with the next piece: Pie Jesu.   The program I received didn't say who the composer of this version was; the words are derived from the last couplet of the Dies Irae of the Roman Catholic Requiem Mass.  The most well-known Pie Jesu is found in French composer Gabriel Faure's Requiem.  This version was sung by the Loretto Senior School Chamber Choir--and the girl-soloist had the most angelic voice I'd ever heard!   She gave me goosebumps, and I'm sure the rest of the audience felt the same way.   She received sustained applause when she finished, and looked a bit embarrassed by all the attention!

Another poem, 1916-1917, was next, read by Ann Sophie, followed by a very moving rendition of the well-known hymn Amazing Grace, performed by the Combined Fire & Rescue Service Bands, tenor Sean Ruane, and Holy Trinity Dartford Choir.   I wanted so much to sing along; I wonder if any other audience members wanted to as well?   Then followed an instrumental piece by Ypriana, Supreme Sacrifice.   I don't know who the composer of Supreme Sacrifice was.

Next was a prayer, For the Fallen, read by the Rt Rev Brian Llewellyn in English, and by E.H. Deken Roland Hemeryck in Dutch.   It went as follows in English:

Remembrance

We remember before Thee with gratitude, O Lord our God, who gave their lives for the cause of freedom.  Grant unto all of us for whom they died that their devotion may bear fruit in us in more abundant love for others, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

For those who suffer as a result of war

O Lord, our heavenly Father, we commend to Thy mercy all who suffer as the result of war; the maimed, those who are afflicted in mind; those who mourn.  Have pity upon the homeless and friendless, and upon those who no longer have a country of their own.   Fill us with compassion for them, prosper all who seek to minister to their needs, and hasten the coming of Thy Kingdom of justice and peace, through Christ our Lord.  AMEN.

This prayer was followed by the sounding of "Last Post", by the Buglers of the Last Post Association.  I never tire of hearing this bugle call: to me, it is even more moving than our Taps!   It reverberated around the Cathedral walls, and then died away.   The audience was deeply moved.   It was then followed by the singing of one of my favorite hymns: Abide With Me, by Henry Francis Lyte.  It was a favorite hymn of such diverse people as Britain's King George V, and Mahatma Gandhi (!), and sung at the weddings of King George VI, and his daughter Princess (now Queen) Elizabeth.   It is also sung at ANZAC Day services in Australia and New Zealand, in April.  Today, it was sung by the Beauvarlet Koor and Roselaars Kamerkoor.   Another solemn lament followed, Roses of Kelvingrove, performed by the Combined Fire & Rescue Bands.

But the music performed in this concert wasn't totally solemn: and the following songs would testify to that!

Next came a medley of "Soldier Songs" from the Great War, performed by Ypriana and the four choirs: Mademoiselle From Armentieres, Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kit Bag, Keep the Home Fires Burning, and It's a Long Way to Tipperary.   And the audience was encouraged to sing along with the choruses!   The version of Mademoiselle we sang was one of the 'cleaner' renditions; some of the more racy versions talk about 'washing soldiers' underwear' (and probably other stuff too!) and such.   I wasn't familiar with the verses themselves, but I certainly knew the choruses!  

It was SO much fun to sing along with the choirs and the orchestra: I couldn't get Mademoiselle and Tipperary out of my mind for days afterwards!!   Still can't, now that I think about it.....  The Loretto Choir also sang a beautiful version of Danny Boy; the young girl who sang solo for Pie Jesu did the same thing here, and was appreciated with more sustained applause.

These songs were followed by a song performed by the Fire & Rescue Service Bands, World In Union.   The program notes say this is played during the Rugby World Cup, and attempts to capture the spirit of international friendship found in 'rugby union culture'.   Sean Ruane, the four choirs, and Ypriana then followed with a beautiful version of an Irish poem, The Last Rose of Summer; then these same performers stayed around for a rousing version of British poet William Blake's Jerusalem, with music by Hubert Hastings Parry.   This hymn has become an 'unofficial' English national anthem, and is sung at international soccer matches.   The audience sang along, of course.

Jerusalem was then followed by one of the most beautiful and moving bagpipe songs I've ever heard: Highland Cathedral, played by the Combined Fire & Rescue Bands, with a bagpipe soloist.   It was composed in 1982 for the Highland Games in Scotland, and is being proposed as Scotland's own official national anthem.   I can't see why not: it has the most glorious melody, evoking the beauty of Scotland!

Here is a YouTube video of "Highland Cathedral",
performed by the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards
in Dunblane Cathedral in Scotland.

When this song was finished, there was a storm of applause ringing throughout St Martin's Cathedral.  I do hope the Scots adopt this as their national anthem!!

When the applause faded away, we all stood for the national anthems of Great Britain and Belgium: God Save the Queen, and The Brabanconne, respectively.   Even though I am not a British subject, I still sang along to the UK anthem.   On this trip, I am British at heart (although my Irish ancestors might take exception to that)!    The concert concluded with the Fire & Rescue Bands playing Auld Lang Syne, before we filed out of the Cathedral, into the waiting evening.  

All I can say is: what an incredible concert!!

When the crowd came back outside, the rain had finally stopped, but it was still windy and cold in the Grand'Place.   It was around 6 pm or so, and time to head back to the Menin Gate for the evening "Last Post" ceremony.  The street was surrounded by metal barricades, as the bands that played at the concert were to make their way back towards the Gate.

I did stop in at "The British Grenadier" to say hello to Steve, and tell him a little about the concert, but I didn't stay long.   I went back out and moved closer to the Gate, joining the throngs of Belgians, Brits, Canadians--and whomever else!--lining the street.  I chatted with a Belgian lady, and also attempted to make friends with an Italian Greyhound and a nervous black-and-white King Charles Spaniel, who were straining at the lead to sniff each other.  The Greyhound (photo above left) wore a little sweater, and was called "Gawa": the owners said it was a Sikh word that meant "Good Luck"!

 I did get a few photos of the various bands marching from the 'GrandPlace to the Menin Gate for the "Last Post" ceremony.  There were also a number of soldiers marching in the 'parade': mainly from Belgium, but there could have been British ones too.   They all marched smartly along, and the crowds lined up on both sides of the street (and behind the police barricades) applauded them enthusiastically.

I tried to get good photos of the bands (right and below), but they were initially a bit blurry, because of the motion.   Thank heaven for a photo-sharpening software!

The spectators in the street, and those within the Menin Gate, fell silent as 8 pm approached, and the members of the Ypres Fire Brigade sounded the "Last Post".   The middle verse of Laurence Binyon's poem For the Fallen, was also read, and the crowd repeated the last line: "We will remember them".   I couldn't see from my vantage point, but there was yet another wreath-laying ceremony that evening, although not as large as at the morning service.   But it was moving, all the same.

After the ceremony was over, and the crowds dispersed, I lingered for a short while within the Menin Gate, and looked again at the piles of wreaths from the morning, and the new ones laid that evening.   I also chatted with a couple from Yorkshire named Carl and Jo, and we shared our various feelings about the day, and the evening ceremony.    They were also looking for a specific name inscribed on the inner walls of the Gate.   I think they did find it.

By now, it was getting late, and I thought I had better get back to Erna's house.   The streets were virtually deserted on the other side of the Menin Gate, but there were a few stragglers from the ceremony, as I quickly walked.   Stupidly, I didn't keep track of any landmarks when Erna brought me to the Gate earlier that morning, so I wasn't sure where I was.   I found my way into one neighborhood, but all the houses looked the same in the dark and narrow streets; I asked one couple where Erna's street was, and they gave it to me in broken English.   But I only ended up going completely in circles!

At this point, I was totally confused, and decided to go back into the walled part of Ypres, and find Steve.   After futilely asking directions from a Middle Eastern liquor-store owner, I went back through the Menin Gate--only to discover that Steve's shop was closed for the night!   

I didn't panic, surprisingly; I kept my wits about me and thought about calling a taxi, so I went to a nearby pizzeria: "Poppy Pizzeria", if you can believe that!   There were few customers inside--but two, thankfully, were British!  They told me they were from Liverpool, and I told them about my day in Ypres, and my current dilemma.   They asked the young manager for help--and when I showed him Erna's address, he told me he knew her!!!!    The young man's name was Trevor, and is originally from The Netherlands.   His dad owns "Poppy Pizzeria", and he came to Belgium to be with his then-girlfriend (he told me they had since broken up)--and they would stay at Erna's house.   And to make it all the more incredible: Trevor told me they stayed in the very room I was currently occupying!!!

As Trevor drove me back to Erna's, we cracked up about this amazing coincidence.   He was so kind--as was the British couple--and I thanked them both for all their help.   I let myself in the front door (Erna had given me a key for just such an event), and saw Erna and told her about meeting Trevor.   She thought it was very funny.

By this time, it was quite late, so I wished Erna good night, and toddled upstairs to bed.   It was the end of another awesome and spectacular day.   And I had one more to go in Belgium!

Day Eleven: 11 November 2010: Part One

Before I begin, I have decided to break Day Eleven into two separate entries, as so much took place that day.  This first part will describe the 11 am ceremony at the Menin Gate, and my visit to the "In Flanders Fields" Museum.

November 11, 2010--Armistice Day, the 92nd anniversary of the ending of the First World War--dawned overcast and damp in Ypres, Belgium.   It started out for me with a delicious breakfast in Erna's home; I shared the bright dining room with an older couple from Antwerp, Belgium, and devoured some whole-grain bread and yogurt: sustenance for the day ahead.   And what a day it turned out to be!

Once we finished breakfast, Erna drove the Belgian couple and I into Ypres, and dropped us off at the Menin Gate (photo left).   The Gate itself was closed to traffic today, in preparation for the big Armistice Day ceremony at 11 am.   A crowd was already in place within the Gate, and on the sidewalks on the other side, as one can see from the photo.

I made my way through them to "The British Grenadier" bookshope, where I met Steve, who was already busy with customers (and it wasn't even mid-morning).

 I discovered that Steve had a special task waiting for me: he'd ordered a commemorative wreath to be placed during the Armistice Day ceremony, and asked if I could pick it up at a nearby florist.   I said "Sure", and did as he asked; I told the florist who sent me, and she gladly gave me the wreath (Steve had already paid for it earlier): it was a beautiful combination of red roses and greenery.   When I brought it back to Steve's shop, he placed a Welsh cross and a printed card with the name of a First World War Welsh soldier--and asked ME to take it in the procession already moving toward the Menin Gate!

And so I did.   I joined British and Sikh wreath-presenters, and hundreds of Belgians, Brits and others, as they marched towards the Gate.   I was directed as to where the other wreath-presenters were standing and waiting, and found myself behind one of the outer, smaller gates facing the outskirts of the city.

During the run up to the ceremony, I fell into conversation with a British gentleman (photo left), who was also a wreath-layer, representing The Last Post Association.   His name was Martin, and he was a bookseller from the London area.   I never got his last name.   But he was friendly, and we had a lovely chat during our wait.

Soon, the Armistice Day ceremony began.   Martin and I, along with our fellow wreath-layers, couldn't see much of the actual ceremony, as it was hidden from view by the gate.  But what we heard was very moving: prayers in Flemish and English, and music by the assembled bagpipe and brass bands.

At precisely 11 am, the massed crowd fell silent, as Ypres Fire Brigade members sounded the Last Post:

Here's a YouTube video taken from outside the Menin Gate.

I was located inside the left-hand gate, waiting to

present my wreath.

After the Last Post was sounded, a British man read a verse from British First World War war poet Laurence Binyon's "For the Fallen", which you can hear in the video.   We all responded together to the last line:

"We will remember them".

Then the time came for the wreath-laying itself.   I followed Martin, and some Sikhs who were standing nearby wearing their colorful turbans, and carrying massive floral wreaths.   We wove our way round the inside of the Menin Gate, and stopped to present our wreaths, one by one.   After I handed off mine, I followed Martin back to our starting spot, inside the smaller gate.

The pile of wreaths was growing minute by minute.   There were 'official' wreaths presented by the US and UK ambassadors to Belgium, along with UK regimental memorials.  What I also didn't realize until much later: this ceremony was being broadcast to crowds on a huge TV screen in the Grand'Place in Ypres.  Did I show up on the screen, when I presented my wreath?   That was a scary thought!

One of the songs played was the hymn "Jerusalem", made famous by its inclusion in the 1981 Oscar-winning film Chariots of Fire.   It is also considered England's 'unofficial' national anthem in some quarters.   I sang along with the crowds--and Martin complimented me on knowing the words--and I'm not even British!   He said that, as an American, I probably put a lot of Brits to shame!!   We also sang "God Save the Queen", and listened to La Brabanconne, the Belgian national anthem.

Near the end of the ceremony, a very moving moment occurred: poppy petals were 'raining' down on us!  We looked up, and saw handfuls of red poppy petals being tossed down from several large openings in the ceiling of the Menin Gate.   This is also done at the end of the Festival of Remembrance at the Royal Albert Hall in London, and is symbolic of all those who lost their lives in war.

A YouTube video showing the falling poppy petals.

The hymn being played is called "O Valiant Hearts", 

which was composed after the First World War by

Sir John Stanhope Arkwright, with music by

Dr. Charles Harris.

The lyrics are below:

O valiant hearts who to your glory came
Through dust of conflict and through battle flame;
Tranquil you lie, your knightly virtue proved,
Your memory hallowed in the land you loved.

Proudly you gathered, rank on rank, to war
As who had heard God’s message from afar;
All you had hoped for, all you had, you gave,
To save mankind—yourselves you scorned to save.

Splendid you passed, the great surrender made;
Into the light that nevermore shall fade;
Deep your contentment in that blest abode,
Who wait the last clear trumpet call of God.

Long years ago, as earth lay dark and still,
Rose a loud cry upon a lonely hill,
While in the frailty of our human clay,
Christ, our Redeemer, passed the self same way.


Still stands His Cross from that dread hour to this,
Like some bright star above the dark abyss;
Still, through the veil, the Victor’s pitying eyes
Look down to bless our lesser Calvaries.

These were His servants, in His steps they trod,
Following through death the martyred Son of God:
Victor, He rose; victorious too shall rise
They who have drunk His cup of sacrifice.

O risen Lord, O Shepherd of our dead,
Whose cross has bought them and Whose staff has led,
In glorious hope their proud and sorrowing land
Commits her children to Thy gracious hand.

I also took a photo of the falling poppy petals (left).   I wondered who was standing on the outer roof of the Menin Gate, and tossing handfuls of petals through the three openings in the ceiling?    Citizens of Ypres, perhaps?   Or visiting Brits, or veterans?   Whoever did it, I found it all so very moving.

As the bagpipers, bands and crowds filed out after the ceremony, I bid farewell to Martin, and walked over to look at the masses of wreaths.   Many had personal messages written on them, in memory of the fallen, from regimental associations, military-assistance organizations, and the like.

The spectators, and those who participated in the wreath-laying, both lingered after the ceremony to look at all the wreaths, and to read the messages attached to them.   Nearly all were snapping photos, or taking video, of the scene.   Strangely enough, there wasn't much idle chit-chat going on.   Most were quietly reading individual messages, or just taking in the entire scene.   

The flowers and wreaths (photo left)  created a splash of welcome color, on this somber day.   And it was rather windy and cold as well, with frequent rain showers.

A number of people--including myself!--were especially intrigued by the visiting Sikhs, who wore their distinctive turban headgear.   We took a lot of photos of them, and they were quite obliging, as you can see (photo right).   I stood near a couple of them during the march to the Menin Gate, and during the ceremony, while waiting to hand off my wreath.   And they didn't seem to mind standing close to a woman.   One or two smiled at me, in fact.   But I made sure not to stare unduly at them.

I stopped to take several photos inside the Menin Gate.   And not just of the masses of wreaths (left).

It is mind-boggling to think, that over 55,000 British and Commonwealth soldiers, whose names are inscribed on the interior walls of the Menin Gate, have no known graves!   It's as if they've just disappeared...   It is so very sad, and yet, so very moving, to read the names carved within the Gate.   Putting names to The Missing means they are not forgotten, even after so many years.

Before I left the Menin Gate, I encountered an elderly Second World War veteran, who attended the ceremony in a wheelchair.   He was wearing his service medals, and he had paused to look at the piles of wreaths.   I went to him and thanked him for his service; I believe he had fought on D-Day, 6 June 1944, on the beaches of Normandy.   I took his hand, and bent down to kiss his cheek.  Not to brag, but I think I made his day.

I followed the crowds back into Ypres, but stopped to see Steve at his shop.   I found I could not put into words how I felt about this ceremony.   Steve smiled, to indicate he understood.   I didn't stay long in the shop, as it was pretty crowded, so I decided to go back to the Grand'Place, and visit the "In Flanders Fields" Great War Museum, inside the rebuilt medieval Cloth Hall.

It was a cold and wet walk along the cobblestone street to the Grand'Place.   It was also very windy, and it wrecked a lot of people's umbrellas, turning them inside out.   I saw numerous broken umbrellas dumped in trash cans along the way.   I pulled up the hood on my jacket as I leaned against the wind and rain.

Looking at this beautiful building today (photo left), one can't fathom the fact it was totally destroyed by the Germans in the First World War.   Three separate battles were fought for control of Ypres in the First World War; Erna had shown me some old post-war postcards of this scene, and it was nothing but rubble, and a few walls standing!   The Cloth Hall, and the town of Ypres itself, was literally rebuilt, piece-by-piece.   And the Cloth Hall reconstruction wasn't completed until 1965!!

I found the entrance to the "In Flanders Fields" Museum, and got inside out of the rain and strong winds.   By this time, my hands were freezing, as I followed several other visitors up several flights of stairs to the Museum itself.

This is no ordinary museum: it had lots of interactive stuff (wartime newsreel footage and such), and an incredible amount of actual artefacts and photos.  The explanations were in English, French and Flemish, and many visitors were about, perusing the massive amounts of artefacts: soldiers' relics, equipment--and first-hand accounts of surgery in-the-field, being under fire in battle, and life as a prisoner-of-war, as read by unseen presenters.   The battlefield account was particularly difficult to 'witness': visitors stood in a big room, as period footage was superimposed on the walls, and flashes resembling shellfire (with accompanying crashes) startled all.

Here are a few photos I took inside the Museum: first, a large oil painting depicting the burning of Ypres by German forces, in November 1914.  The Cloth Hall is the tall building in the center (right).  

I cannot begin to imagine the terror felt by the citizens of Ypres on that day.   To see their beautiful town needlessly destroyed in this way must have broken their hearts--and fed a healthy hatred for the occupying Germans.

Near this display was an alcove, displaying two famous First World War poems: In Flanders Fields, by Canadian Army doctor John McCrae, (left) and Dulce et Decorum Est, by British poet Wilfred Owen.   The poems were read at intervals by unseen voices.   Both poems were displayed in the authors' original handwriting.

In Flanders' Fields was written by John McCrae after witnessing the death, and presiding over the funeral of, a friend, Lt. Alexis Helmer.   By most accounts, McCrae wrote it in his notebook--and inexplicably ripped it out, and threw it away.   Thankfully, the poem was rescued by a fellow officer, and submitted to the British magazine Punch, for publication.

The Punch editor at the time, however, claims it was submitted in a more prosaic way: by simply putting it in an envelope and sending it in.   Either way, it would have been a tragedy, had In Flanders' Fields been discarded.   It is one of the most well-known, and most remembered, poems of the First World War.

Near the end of my visit, I came across a section describing the horrible trench warfare taking place in Flanders--examples of which were not far, in fact, from where I was now standing.   The soil in Flanders has a very high water table, and all the shelling and bombardments in the First World War had destroyed the drainage system in the farm fields, creating a literal quagmire of water and mud when it rained.   Wounded soldiers and animals literally drowned in the mess, and it inspired one of the most famous poetic lines in that war, by British poet Siegfried Sassoon.   It comes from his poem Memorial Tablet (right)

Passchendaele is a village not far from Ypres.   And I would be not far from it on the following day.

After finishing my Museum tour, I stopped in their gift shop to buy a few things.   They were all poppy-themed: two poppy drink coasters, a poppy umbrella, and a poppy fridge magnet.   The "In Flanders Fields" Museum is a must-see for any visitor to Ypres, and it is a very moving experience.

Next, I will describe for you an incredible concert experience in Ypres.   Come on back!

Day Ten: 10 November 2010

I am on my way to Belgium today: I am taking the Eurostar from St Pancras International station, and changing trains in Lille, France, to go to Ypres, Belgium.   Sounds simple, doesn't it?   Read on, and discover that, in my world, 'simple' isn't really that at all!

Everything started out normal enough: I paid my phone charges from the day before, and checked out of the hotel, and wheeled my bag to the station.  My Eurostar connection wasn't leaving until after 9 am, so I had time to get some breakfast.   I stopped at the same restaurant where Sir Martin Gilbert and I met the day before, and watched passengers and commuters going by, while waiting for the food to arrive.   It's really rather fun to just sit and people-watch: it distracted me from any anxieties about going off to the European Continent.

The Eurostar is such a cool thing.   Imagine taking a train from London, and the train goes into a tunnel under the English Channel!   If this had been around 70 years ago, when the Nazis were planning to invade the UK, it wouldn't have been as difficult thing for them to pop over.   Something to think about....

I finished breakfast, and went to the Eurostar counter to check in.   It's much like what one encounters at the airport: bag-screening, Passport Control, etc..  A mad scramble to get your bag up on the table, so it can go through the X-ray--plus taking off one's coat, camera bag, and anything similar on your person.  Thankfully, I didn't have to remove my shoes this time.

I got through Security with no problems, and went into the passenger lounge to wait.   This area was quite nice: the floors were polished wood, and there were several small shops nearby, where passengers could get snacks, newspapers, etc., for their journey.

Eventually, my train number was called, and my fellow passengers and I boarded huge escalators, which took us to the train platform.   I found the correct car with little trouble, and my window seat.   This train's ultimate destination (photo left) was the Disneyland Paris park on the outskirts of Paris.   But I would be leaving the Eurostar before that, at Lille.

My carriage (photo below right)  had several families with young children in it, so it wouldn't be a 'quiet carriage', with little or no noise.   But at least the kids weren't running about inside like little monsters.

We made our way out of St Pancras a little after 10 am, and I was immediately taken with the smoothness of the ride.  The Eurostar didn't bucket around like my train from Worcester did on Monday.  But the Eurostar is a high-speed train, unlike the local one from Worcester.  And it was very comfortable in the seating!

The scenery flew by my window, as we left London behind.  We made one stop at Ashford, to pick up passengers, but it wasn't a long stop, and soon we were on the way again.   I noticed beautiful rolling hillsides, with small villages and towns, and each seemed to have its own little church with a square tower.   And more of the ubiquitous sheep, grazing in the fields!!  We were in the county of Kent, as we got closer to the Strait of Dover--the narrowest part of the English Channel between the UK and France.

Just before we got to the Channel Tunnel, near Folkestone, I noticed a strange sight: a large white chalk image of a horse, carved into the hillside.   At the time, I didn't know if it was an ancient image or not, as there are a few similar hill-images in other parts of the UK.   It wasn't until I returned to the States that I found out it was modern, created by some locals as a way to bring more visitors to their town; it's called the Folkestone White Horse.   I wish I'd gotten a photo of it, but we were going too fast.

The photo of the horse on the left isn't mine.   It's from an online image search.   But it sure is awesome-looking!

We entered the Channel Tunnel--but I don't remember how long we were inside it, as I managed to doze off!   The gentle motion of the Eurostar put me to sleep, so when I did come to, we were already in France.  When I looked out the window, I noticed several small towns and villages, with more pointed red-orange roofs.   And their churches all had tall pointed steeples.   I also noticed rain in the far distance, and hoped it had passed through Belgium already.   And some of the little English kids were asking: "Are we nearly there?"--meaning Disneyland Paris.   I loved hearing them say it in their accents!

And little did I know, but another challenge was headed my way.   And this was again due to my stupidity!

I think I dozed off again after we reached France, and that was my undoing.   I felt the train slow down, but thought little of it--until I looked out the window and saw we were in Lille!!!   I scrambled to my feet and tried to get to where my large bag was stored, but I was too late: the train didn't stop for a long time, and it was back on the move again--to Disneyland Paris!  

I didn't panic, however: I got the attention of one of my fellow passengers, and one of them tracked down the train manager: a very kind Spanish fellow named Miguel.   When I explained my situation, he took my ticket and went to the front of the train.  A few minutes later, he came back and showed where he'd stamped my ticket, and wrote that I'd missed getting off at Lille.   He also gave me the number and time of the French TGV train that was going back to Lille.  I thanked both Miguel, and the helpful Englishman, for their assistance.  I guess this sort of "missing-the-connection" thing isn't unusual for first-time Eurostar travelers.

The Englishman who helped me had an unusual accent.   It almost sounded Australian, but he said he was from Norwich, in East Anglia.   He and his wife, and our other traveling companions, and I all had a laugh over my situation.   What else could I do?   Going nuts wouldn't have helped the situation one bit.

I settled back into my seat again to look at the scenery.   This part of France--called the Pas-de-Calais--was rather flat and featureless, with the occasional hill popping up here and there.   I saw signs for towns like Arras, Reims--and of course, Paris.   I could see why this area in France was such a battleground in the First World War: armies fighting to hold what few high spots there were, etc..   I think I saw one French military cemetery near the tracks: it had the French tricolor on a pole in the center.

SO--we finally arrived at Disneyland Paris.   Or just outside its gates, at the Marne-la-Vallee Chessy station.  I bid farewell to my UK traveling companions, and got off to go upstairs to the ticket office.   Some annoying Disney-music--was it "It's A Small World After All" in French?--was playing on the PA system, as I got in line.   After explaining the situation to the ticket staffer (in mixed French and English), and showing them my Eurostar ticket, I got my France TGV ticket with no problem (thank God I'd brought enough euros with me, for such emergencies!), and went inside a waiting lounge to call my friend Steve in Ypres.  I got hold of him, and described the situation.   Steve groaned (good-naturedly, I hoped!), and we had a good laugh about it.   He then told me to call him when I reached Courtrai, my first stop in Belgium (there are no direct trains to Ypres from Lille), and we'd figure out what to do.

Outside the station, the sun played peek-a-boo, but the gray clouds were beginning to lower--and then it started to pour.   There was an old church outside the waiting lounge window, and I tried to photograph it through the raindrops.   But it didn't come out very good, so I trashed it.

Hey--at least I can say I was near Paris, right?   I sure didn't expect this.....

When the train to Lille came in, I got on, and got into a bizarre conversation with a French couple.   They didn't know English, so whatever 'conversation' we had was in fractured French, or with hand-gestures.   After some hilarious attempts to understand one another, I gave up, and decided to stare out the window.   The sun and rain-clouds were competing against each other; when we got closer to Lille, I saw a beautiful rainbow!   It disappeared in short order.

It was around 4:15 pm when the train pulled into the Lille Europe station, where I should have gotten off earlier.   When I disembarked, I found out I had to catch the train to Courtrai from another train station--Lille Flanders, which has trains going to the rest of Europe--across a huge city square.   I left Lille Europe, and shlepped my bag across the wet pavement; it looked as if a rainstorm had hit not long before we arrived.   I did manage to get one photo of the center of Lille (below right).

When I got inside the Lille Flanders station, I joined the queue to the ticket windows.   The first window I went to had an attendant who couldn't--or wouldn't--speak English, so I got back into the queue again.  This second attempt was more successful: the man there did speak English, and he described where I had to go.   I thanked him, and purchased a ticket for yet another town: Tourcoing, on the Franco-Belgian border, where I'd catch a train for Courtrai!   I then waited near the station entrance, and watched the train schedules to see which platform to go to.

It was dark, when I got on the Tourcoing train.   I had some assistance getting on from two French passengers, and a SCNF (the French national train) staffer named Hakim, who wrote down the train time to Courtrai on my ticket.   When we arrived in Tourcoing--which was, literally, the end of the line: the train stopped with nowhere else to go!--Hakim very kindly walked me to the correct platform.   I thanked him profusely for all his help, and waited for the Courtrai train.  It arrived just after 6:15 pm, and it was now dark, damp and cold.   I called Steve again, to let him know when I'd arrive in Courtrai, and assumed he'd be there to pick me up, and then drive back to Ypres.   I was SO wrong about that assumption....

When I finally arrived in Courtrai, I went outside the station and waited at a taxi stand out front.   It was raining again, so I was getting wet--and then my mobile phone rang.   It was Steve again, telling me he was sending his shop assistant to pick me up....but NOT in Courtrai.   I was to catch another train to Ypres, where the pick-up would happen!   It was a stupid assumption on my part, but we had another good laugh about it: Steve called me 'crazy woman'--but not unkindly.   So I went back into Courtrai station, bought a ticket for Ypres---and then the train arrived very shortly thereafter.   I got on just barely, with some assistance from inside, and stood in an area in-between cars with several Belgian people--including a young woman with a small Belgian Shepherd dog on a lead!   The woman didn't mind my petting her dog; it didn't get nervous, and seemed to like me petting it.   I almost scared the poor creature, however, when the train suddenly stopped and I almost fell over onto it!!

The woman and her dog got off at Wervik, two stops from Ypres.   By this time, the crowd thinned out, and I was able to sit down in a seat in one of the cars.   I kept asking two women across from me if the next stop was Ypres; they were patient with my inquiries.

At last, we arrived in Ypres.  After I got through the station, I noticed a van parked outside that said "Salient Tours", with a swarthy man behind the wheel.   I waved at him, and he got out of the van and introduced himself: his name was Mohammed, and he was Steve's shop assistant.   He insisted I call him "Mo", so I climbed into the front seat, while he stowed my big bag in the van, and off we went to Ypres.

The ride was short, and we arrived in the central Grand'Place of Ypres, where its totally-restored medieval Cloth Hall dominated the square, bathed in floodlights.  Mo parked the van in the square, and I followed him along a narrow street to Steve's bookshop, "The British Grenadier".   At the end of the street, also bathed in floodlights, was the massive Menin Gate: (photo below left) a First World War memorial to the 55,896 British and Commonwealth soldiers who died in defense of Ypres from 15 August 1917 on, but who have no known grave.   It would play a role in the following day's, 11 November, commemoration of the end of the First World War.

When we arrived in Steve's shop, it was busy with customers, most coming from the 8 pm sounding of "Last Post" at the Menin Gate, by members of the Ypres Fire Brigade.   It's a tradition that's been going on in Ypres since the end of the First World War (except from 1940-1944, during the Nazi occupation), and it is done in memory of those whose names are carved inside the Menin Gate.   Steve came from behind the counter and wrapped me in a big bear hug.  I apologized again for causing so much trouble this day, but he shrugged it off, as did Mo.   It made me feel much better; I hate being such a pain in the neck!

I should mention that Steve Douglas is the Webmaster of an awesome site: The Maple Leaf Legacy Project.   He started it as a Millennial project in 1997, and it combined his interests in computers, photography, and Canada's war history.   He aims--along with his army of volunteer photographers--to get photos taken of every Canadian soldier's gravestone around the world: in Canada, Europe, the Middle East, the Far East, South Africa, the USA--anywhere a Canadian soldier is buried.   We 'met' online in the late 1990s, and I contributed a couple of photos to the Web site.   We became correspondents--and friends--after that.   It was an honor to assist him in this endeavor.   As of now, over 105,000 grave photos have been submitted.

While at the bookshop, I heard the sounds of bagpipes and drums coming from the street, so I went outside to see.  The bands were coming from the Menin Gate to go to the Grand'Place, after the "Last Post" ceremony at the Gate.   I then darted back inside the shop, and Steve and I made plans to meet before the big Armistice Day ceremony at the Menin Gate at 11 am..  I left Steve to his customers, and rejoined Mo, who would take me to Steve's friend Erna's bed-and-breakfast, outside Ypres' walls.

The house was in a little cul-de-sac, and it looked like all the other small brick houses on the street.   Steve told me later that all these houses were built in the 1920s, after the First World War.   The town of Ypres was totally destroyed by the Germans in the war, and literally rebuilt piece-by-piece afterwards.   It looks today like it was never demolished: the restoration work is that good!   We went to Erna's door and rang the bell, and she opened it and welcomed me inside.   I thanked Mo for all his help, and he brought my bag in and went back to Ypres.

Erna's home inside is immaculate: marble floor in the entranceway, white walls, and a slight spiral staircase going to the second floor.   We went into her kitchen, and she poured me a glass of orange juice while we sat for a bit and chatted.   Erna is middle-aged, with blonde hair and glasses.   She speaks excellent English, and she admires Steve very much.  (Steve refers visitors to her B&B too!)   She is a widow, having lost her husband in 2009, with no children.   I imagine she sees Steve as something of a son, with the great affection she has for him.

During our chat, Erna asked if I enjoyed books.   When I said I did, she had me follow her into her front living room, where she got out three photo albums.   Inside each of them were collections of pre-and post-First World War postcards of Ypres, showing sights like the Cloth Hall and St Martin's Cathedral.  The contrast between these beautiful structures, and their smashed ruins during the war, was a sad sight to see.   Erna and her husband had collected these postcards over the years, so they were of course great treasures to them.   She also lent me a paperback book in English about Ypres, which I promised her I would read.

It was getting late (close to 10 pm), so Erna took me upstairs to my room; she pulled my bag up the staircase (I was afraid she'd get hurt!), and opened the door.   My room faced the front of the house, and it was as clean and immaculate as the rest of her house: wood floor, pink-and-white wallpaper, pink-and-white cabinetry behind the bed (photo below left).  

 She showed me how to operate the inside window shutters, and where the heater was.   We then went across the hall to the bathroom, where Erna showed me how things worked in there (the lights, the shower, etc..).   The bathroom was absolutely bright and spotless, with a step-up and walk-in shower.   When all that was done, I bid Erna good-night, and she went downstairs.  

I then took a shower, and collapsed into bed, after a very adventurous journey to Belgium.   And it would only get better after this rather inauspicious beginning!!

Day Eight: 9 November 2010

What a day this turned out to be: it went from a great high, to the near-depths!   It was another cold and damp London day, with occasional sprinkles and gusty winds.   I woke up very early, in order to get to St Pancras International station on time, to have breakfast with my friend, the eminent British historian Sir Martin Gilbert.

I got semi-dressed up for the big event: my best black sweater and trousers--and even a semi-fancy necklace, which I don't wear often.   And off I went to St Pancras (left), passing by the 'new' British Library (of which I will have more to say about later).

I arrived between 7:45 and 8 am, and went to our pre-arranged meeting spot, across from the exit for the Eurostar trains.  To pass the time a little, I went into a nearby Foyles Bookshop and purchased a UK country map, and then it was back out, to sit and wait.   I watched many people go by: mostly British people commuting into London for work.   But there was also a good-sized group of young Asians chattering away nearby.   Couldn't tell if they were Chinese or Japanese at first.   But I think they were the latter.

Sir Martin Gilbert.

Around 8:40 am, I noticed the Eurostar arrivals door opening, and saw a man wearing a trenchcoat and carrying a document bag--but only from the back.  He looked vaguely familiar, so I dashed round to where I could face him.   And there was Sir Martin (left)!   I half-cried out his name, and he turned round and smiled, and shook my hand in greeting (he recognized me from a photo I'd emailed to him before my arrival).   Sir Martin then led me to a nearby cafe, and commented on the way St Pancras has been saved and restored to its former glory--all in thanks to the Eurostar.

The photo at left is not, unfortunately, one I took of Sir Martin.   I think I was too overwhelmed at meeting him in person, that I totally forgot if I could take a photo of him.  But then again, that might have also been a bit rude of me to ask.

We found a table in a corner, and ordered breakfast.   While we waited, we began to chat: I inquired about how his wife, Lady Esther, and his three children, and Lady Esther's daughter and son-in-law in Israel, were faring.   He told me the latter are expecting their first child next spring, which was wonderful news.

Sir Martin told me that he, and his Iraq Inquiry colleagues, had recently met with families of UK soldiers who died in Iraq--and, that the Inquiry's work will be going on until at least spring 2011!   I was really shocked at that: I'd heard previously that their work would be done in November 2010.   But it's better to be thorough than fast, especially in this instance.

The Inquiry's met with the families a couple of times, and Sir Martin has said it's a difficult thing to listen to.   I've watched some of the public hearings online, and they're very detailed and complex--and I almost never get to see Sir Martin ask any questions!

He inquired as to what sights I'd seen in London since my arrival.   I mentioned Westminster Abbey and the London Eye.   Sir Martin and Lady Esther have attended invitation-only services at the Abbey--including the one in November 2009, marking the passing of the last three surviving First World War "Tommies".   I saw excerpts of this service on YouTube, and it was so incredibly moving.   He likes attending such services at the Abbey, in comparison to St Paul's.   And I wondered aloud if it was because the Abbey is so much more ancient, whereas the current St Paul's Cathedral has only been in place since the 17th century.   They attend these services, even though they are both Jewish.

As to the London Eye: Sir Martin told me he doesn't like heights very much, so I imagine he's not gone up in the Eye.   When visiting Israel, he said he's not crazy about going to Masada, the former Roman palace-fortress by the Dead Sea.   To get to the top on the south side, visitors can take a gondola ride to just below the summit, and then climb a series of stairs--or walk up the Roman siege ramp on the north side.   I've done both myself, and I prefer the south side!   Sir Martin also told me that his son Joshua has flown in a small plane over the Judean Hills and Jerusalem: something he himself would not do, either!

I asked him about his contacts with the Royal Family, and specifically if he'd ever met the late Diana, Princess of Wales.   He did, twice: once, just after her wedding--and second, in the last year of her life, while working on an Atlas of British Charities, including several that Diana was the Patroness of.   He liked her very much, and was particularly impressed with her work campaigning against land mines.

After the Princess died, Sir Martin said he noticed all the flowers piled up against the gates of Buckingham Palace, and was at first afraid that Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, had passed on; the Queen Mother was aged 97 that year.  At that time, he didn't know that Diana had been killed in that Paris car crash.

In 2009, I'd read Sir Martin's book, Letters to Auntie Fori, which is a series of letters written to the mother of one of his University of Oxford classmates.   Fori is Hungarian-born--and Jewish--but married an Indian man, and lives with her family in India.   When Sir Martin was a young man, he and Fori's son were trekking through the Middle East (including Iran and Afghanistan!), when he fell seriously ill while in Iran.   He recovered enough to get to India, but fell ill again--and Fori saved his life.   Sir Martin emails Fori often (and she's over 100 years old!), and he'd also like to visit her in person more often.   But Sir Martin and Lady Esther's schedules are pretty full right now: they're going to Israel at the end of the year for a few days, to see family and friends--and Sir Martin's giving some lectures at various places, too.   Plus, the Inquiry is taking up a lot of time, too.

The conversation also turned to the 2012 Summer Olympic Games, which will be in London.   Sir Martin told me that the Women's Beach Volleyball games will be held at--of all places--Horse Guards Parade!!   He says that beach sand will be brought in to cover the grounds, after I remarked that the little stones being crunched underfoot would make it hard on the competitors' bare feet.   He's not thrilled that the Olympics are coming to his home city: I imagine that they will cause a lot of disruption of 'normal life' in London (traffic issues and the like).   He doesn't see 2012 as an Olympic year; instead, he's more interested in the fact that it's The Queen's Diamond Jubilee!

Lastly, we chatted about both World Wars.  Sir Martin had a cousin who had been in a Japanese POW camp--and how the cousin wouldn't discuss his experiences.   And even today, there is still great resentment against the Japanese among surviving UK Pacific War veterans and former POWs (and I'd venture to say among US and Australian/New Zealand former POWs too).   After reading and seeing what was done to Allied POWs by the Japanese, there's small wonder at that.   Sir Martin and his father made several visits to First World War battlefields on the Western Front; his father's brother fought in the Battle of the Somme, and he would never share his experiences either.   I told Sir Martin about my German-born mother's family, and her growing up in Germany, during the First World War.   This knowledge has increased my desire to learn more about that War.

By now, it was time for Sir Martin to depart, and go off to join his Iraq Inquiry colleagues.   I thanked him for breakfast (he paid!), and for his time.  He asked when I would be returning to London from Belgium, and we made plans to meet again at the Churchill War Rooms in Whitehall, on 16 November.  (I'll share the results of this later.)   And with that, he left.  And I went back to the hotel to change clothes, and get my backpack.

When I got back to my room, I sat down and cried, and thanked God for the privilege of spending this time with Sir Martin.   I still couldn't believe it had happened, and was just overcome with emotion.   I then changed clothes, grabbed the backpack, and off I went to St Pancras again, to get my tickets for the Eurostar.

That was when the day got a little darker.   And it wasn't because of the weather, either.

Unfortunately, I was under the impression that my travel agent and I had made reservations for the Eurostar.   I had a printout of what I thought was a reservation.   But when I got to the Eurostar ticket office, they could find NO RECORD of any reservation in my name!   It was hard to understand at first. But I had to call my agent in the States, and find out what was what.   But because of the time difference, the travel office wasn't open yet, so I needed to do something to fill the time.   So I decided to visit the British Library.   And I am glad I did.

The British Library--or the small part of it I saw--was SO cool!    I only visited one exhibition hall, but what I saw just took my breath away.   For instance, I saw the original score for Handel's The Messiah, Ludwig von Beethoven's tuning fork, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's marriage license, the score of Franz Joseph Haydn's "Miracle" Symphony, Ralph Vaughan Williams' score for the film Scott of the Antarctic (a portion of which he used for his Sinfonia Antarctica)--and that was just in the classical music display!   Next to this display, I saw original song-scribblings of The Beatles' songs Help!, A Hard Day's Night, Ticket to Ride, and Michelle.


In a Literature display, I heard a recording of a reading from Shakespeare's Hamlet by Sir Laurence Olivier, and a poem of First World War poet Wilfred Owen,  Dulce et Decorum Est, read by former Poet Laureate Cecil Day-Lewis.   If I am not mistaken, I think there was a book that Owen used to write his poems in, in the display case too.   I also saw the diary that Antarctic explorer Sir Robert Falcon Scott kept on his ill-fated expedition there in 1910; I could read the final page where he had written just before he froze to death: "For God's sake look after our people....".

In other cases, I found a scroll with a prayer written by King Henry VIII, a Gutenberg Bible, some awesome illustrated Jewish and Christian manuscripts (there were also illustrated manuscripts of Buddhist, Hindu and Islamic writings as well)--and two of the four extant copies of Magna Carta, which were in a small separate room off the main exhibit hall.   There were also some drawings by Leonardo da Vinci, and an original copy of the book Birds of America: drawings by American naturalist and artist John James Audubon.   THAT book was really impressive: Audubon's drawings were incredibly detailed and colorful!

If my toes hadn't been hurting so much--and the Eurostar thing didn't need to be settled ASAP--I would have spend the entire day at the British Library.   It is like a virtual Aladdin's Cave of historical artefacts!!

When I left the British Library, I thought about returning to St Pancras at first.   Instead, I crossed Euston Road and found an Internet cafe, thinking I could email my travel agent.   When I managed to get online, I was having a lot of trouble with the computer; the keyboard wasn't cooperating with my fingers.   After sending a couple of emails to my sister and a dear friend, I gave up and went back to my hotel, to call her on my room phone.   I knew it would cost some money to do that, but I didn't care at that point.

I did make contact with my travel agent, and she told me the bad news: we had NOT made Eurostar reservations at all!   The printout I had gotten was for information only.   I had totally forgotten that I would get back to her when originally making trip reservations in August.   I felt really, really stupid at that point.   And the agent felt very badly for me.   What the heck was I THINKING, anyway?!?

But in the end, it all worked out okay.   After the transatlantic call was ended, I went back to the Eurostar ticket office and told them what happened.   Thankfully, I had enough money on hand to make reservations right there: I got a round-trip ticket from London to Lille, France--where I would change trains for Ypres.   The Eurostar staffer was very helpful indeed, and I thanked this person for their assistance.   I went back to my room, and used my UK/Europe mobile to leave a message for my Canadian friend Steve Douglas in Ypres, as to my arrival.

After this call, I didn't go out of the hotel room again that day.   My big toes were badly bruised from my shoes (the right one was worse than the left), and I didn't want to chance being lame for my trek to Belgium.   So that night, I packed up and got prepared to catch the Eurostar for the Continent.

And--unknown to me--another, even more bizarre, 'adventure' was about to begin....