It started with another awesome breakfast at Erna's B&B. It was hard to bid her farewell, and say adequate 'thanks' for such a wonderful stay. She and I had several wonderful chats during my stay. She showed me so many photos, old postcards, and videos of Ypres, and I think she was pleased with the interest I showed!
Around 8 or so, the doorbell rang: it was my friend Steve Douglas, come to take me to the Ypres train station. I asked him to go to the upstairs landing, to bring my bag down; it was a bit heavy, and I didn't trust my footing on the slight spiral staircase. I hugged Erna goodbye, and Steve and I went out into the rainy morning, for the short drive to the station. We pulled up out front, and Steve got my bag out of the van. I hugged him good-bye, and thanked him for everything he'd done for me on my visit--and also for the memorable visits in France, at Vimy Ridge, Neuville-Saint-Vaast, and Ecoivres; and at Tyne Cot Cemetery in Belgium. I think I embarrassed him a little with the hug. Especially after all the intial grief I caused him the day of my arrival!
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| Not sure who this fellow's supposed to be! Ypres, Belgium, train station. |
The same route as on Wednesday was retraced: Courtrai, Tourcoing, and then Lille. In Courtrai, I discovered my train would appear on the opposite platform from where I was standing, so I had to shlep the bag down a flight of stairs (the escalator doesn't operate on Saturdays, I noticed!), one step at a time. I flagged down a man wearing a fluorescent vest (I assumed he worked at the train station), and asked if he'd help me carry it up more stairs, and he did. I suppose I was taking a chance asking a total stranger like that. But the bag was so darned heavy.
The train to Lille was arriving, just as I emerged from the underground passage. I ran (as fast as the bag would allow) and was pulled aboard quickly. This time, however, the train did not stop in Tourcoing; it went straight on to Lille. It was nice not having to get onto yet another train. And I could now see the outside scenery, which was impossible in Wednesday's darkness.
On the journey from Ypres to Courtrai, I got my last look at the water-logged "Flanders fields", and gave a thought to all those First World War soldiers who died in that sticky, gooey mess....
On the journey from Ypres to Courtrai, I got my last look at the water-logged "Flanders fields", and gave a thought to all those First World War soldiers who died in that sticky, gooey mess....
I was not quite halfway across the plaza, however, when I found an easier way to go. I left the plaza, and walked along a city street, and entered the station at street level.
I also stopped at a small cafe in the station to get an authentic French croissant. It was another opportunity to use my basic French, which was, I think, appreciated by the staff!
And, I was also amused by the antics of one of the station's feathered residents (left). These pigeons live in the rafters of Lille Europe station, and come in through open windows near the rooftop. I had nothing in my hands to feed them with, but the fat feathered buggers kept staring at me to give them treats. Eventually, they figured out I wasn't a feeding station, and walked away, or flew off.
Very soon, it was time to go to the Eurostar. After going through the UK Border Control station and presenting my ticket, I headed off to the Security area, where we all madly took off our coats, carry-on bags, camera bags, etc., and threw our main suitcases onto the conveyor belt to be x-rayed. I would describe it as 'controlled chaos', just like in an airline terminal.
I came through Security just fine, and followed my fellow passengers into a large waiting lounge. I discovered I needed to visit the "ladies' loo", so I got into a rather long line. There was one semi-panicky moment, when I thought I had lost my ticket: I couldn't feel it in the security bag hanging from my neck! I got out of the line, and dashed into the Security area briefly, thinking it had fallen out of my pocket. But it wasn't there. Eventually, however, I discovered it was in the waiting lounge, hiding beneath my coat. I could breathe safely again....!
That panic-moment, however, meant that I'd given up my chance to visit the 'loo'. It would have to wait until I returned to London. I just hoped my bladder could wait until then!
I came through Security just fine, and followed my fellow passengers into a large waiting lounge. I discovered I needed to visit the "ladies' loo", so I got into a rather long line. There was one semi-panicky moment, when I thought I had lost my ticket: I couldn't feel it in the security bag hanging from my neck! I got out of the line, and dashed into the Security area briefly, thinking it had fallen out of my pocket. But it wasn't there. Eventually, however, I discovered it was in the waiting lounge, hiding beneath my coat. I could breathe safely again....!
That panic-moment, however, meant that I'd given up my chance to visit the 'loo'. It would have to wait until I returned to London. I just hoped my bladder could wait until then!
Very soon, the train number was called, and it was time to go. But instead of joining the crowd on the escalator to the platform, I took an elevator instead to the platform, where I joined my fellow passengers in waiting. Shortly, the Eurostar pulled into Gare de Lille Europe. I found the right carriage to enter, and put my big bag in the baggage compartment near the carriage entrance. Finding my window seat, I sat down and waited until the Eurostar began pulling out of the station. I sat back and mentally said 'au revoir' to the French countryside, as we zipped by. Soon, the Eurostar entered the Channel Tunnel. And before I knew it, we were back in the UK: I noticed the scenery change immediately. And best of all: it was DRY. Not a drop of rain to be seen!
The Eurostar pulled into London St Pancras around 3 pm, and I joined my fellow departing passengers out into the main terminal: out the same door near where I waited for Sir Martin Gilbert the previous Tuesday. I decided to not take another train to my hotel, but instead left St Pancras to get a taxi. It was more expensive, to be sure. But I didn't feel like dragging my bag over one more train platform! I flagged one down at the taxi stand and got in--and immediately we were stuck in a Saturday mini-traffic jam between the British Library and St Pancras. But we got moving eventually, and thus began a rather rapid trip through London streets crowded with Saturday shoppers and walkers.
I'm not sure of the exact route we took--but I do remember sweeping past Trafalgar Square to The Mall, and turning past Buckingham Palace into Buckingham Gate. While on The Mall, I did glimpse a troop of mounted Life Guards trotting away from the Palace. Was it a Changing of the Guard?
In the event, we arrived at last back at the Crowne Plaza St James Hotel; a place I now considered my "London home away from home". The cabbie parked, and got out to look for the doorman; when the latter arrived, he took my bag for me, and I paid the cabbie (and gave him a good tip for the fast ride!). I checked in at the front desk, where the job was done by a lovely Spanish girl called Patricia--only she pronounced the last syllable of her name as 'thee-ah', instead of 'sha'. And my bag was taken to my room by a young man from the Galapagos Islands! How in the world did he end up working in London???
I followed the young man through a confusing maze of corridors from the reception area: one turn this way, another turn that way. We finally stopped at the lift near the health spa, and it was a VERY tiny lift indeed! Somehow we squeezed ourselves in with the bag, and we went to the 8th floor, where my room was located in a tiny private hallway. He let me in and deposited my bag, and I tipped him very generously for his help.
My new room felt so much bigger than the one during my earlier stay at the Crowne Plaza St James (although that first one was quite comfortable). The bed was wider, and the bathroom was all shiny marble in different colors. It also overlooked the hotel's Inner Courtyard. I took a few moments to settle in, and then called my friend Nick in Worcester, to say I was back safely in the UK. I also shared a little about my Europe adventures, and my breakfast meeting with Sir Martin. He and his Pat had been, as he put it, 'puttering' round the house all day.
When I finished my chat with Nick, it was nearly dusk. But I decided to take a walk to Westminster Abbey, to see the "Field of Remembrance", organized by the Royal British Legion Poppy Factory, as part of its annual "Poppy Appeal". The green space next to the Abbey, and in front of nearby St Margaret's Church was covered with 340 plots of poppy crosses (and one of poppy Stars of David) in the names of British military organizations and associations.
The "Field of Remembrance" had been started in 1928 by Major George Howson MC, the founder of the Royal British Legion Poppy Factory. Major Howson and several disabled ex-Servicemen from the Poppy Factory grouped together around a battlefield cross, familiar to those who had served in Flanders and on the Western Front; with trays of poppies, they invited passers-by to plant a poppy in the vicinity of the cross. Since 1928, the Field of Remembrance has evolved to include a wide range of military interests. Ex-Servicemen and women, both young and old, turn out for the opening ceremony to pay their respects to their colleagues.
For 2010, the Field was ceremonially opened on 12 November by HRH The Duke of Edinburgh, husband of Queen Elizabeth II.
This evening, I joined the crowds of people silently pausing by each of the plots, trying to read what was on the poppy crosses in the fading daylight. Directly in front of the Abbey (behind the fence) was a small Pro-Life demonstration, with people carrying signs, Catholic banners and crosses. Prayers were said quietly by the participants: no shouting was heard, and no noisy bullhorns were used. Some people outside the Abbey gate stopped to watch, but most were heading into the Abbey Gift Shop, or over to the Field of Remembrance. It was too dark to take good photos, but I knew I'd be back the following day--Remembrance Sunday--to attend the service at the Abbey, and get photos of the Field. So I stopped in the Gift Shop to buy a few things, and went back to the hotel for the night.
I was really surprised at the number of people out walking on Victoria Street, when I left the Abbey. It was comforting to know I wouldn't be walking alone in the dark! I reached Buckingham Gate and entered the hotel through the Courtyard--and proceeded to get lost! I stopped in a hotel bar entrance to ask for directions, and a staff member kindly led me to the right door. I thanked her profusely, and took the lift to my room.
It was really nice to be able to finally unpack, and hang clothes in the closet for a change. I was so used to staying in one place for just one or two nights at most, and living out of the suitcase: this time, I could really relax. I ordered supper in, and settled in to watch a BBC tradition: the yearly "Festival of Remembrance", from the Royal Albert Hall in London.
The Festival of Remembrance is put on by the Royal British Legion, which was founded in 1921 to serve as a voice for former British Armed Services personnel as the "British Legion". It was granted a Royal charter in 1971, on its 50th anniversary: hence its current title. It supports former and currently-serving British military personnel and their dependents, through activities such as the yearly Poppy Appeal, where thousands of poppy pins are sold (for any size donation). I bought several of these pins myself. And I saw many ordinary Brits wearing them during my visit.
The Festival itself is held in the Royal Albert Hall, on the Saturday before Remembrance Sunday. It consists of military displays by current Service personnel, musical performances, and an Anglican prayer service. There are also videos on two huge screens, showing the work sponsored by the Royal British Legion, in rehabilitating wounded soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as interviews with family members of deceased soldiers. The latter are among the most poignant moments in the Festival.
The Festival is run twice on this Saturday: the first is open to the general public in the afternoon. The evening performance is by ticket only to members of the Legion and their families, and is attended by senior members of the Royal Family (the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York and the Earl of Wessex). It is televised live on BBC One.
Here are some YouTube clips from the Festival:
The entrance of HM Queen Elizabeth II, and
members of the Royal Family into the Royal Albert Hall.
I really enjoy the precision marching of the British military bands. Here is an example from the Festival:
The Band of HM Royal Marines Portsmouth.
In the above video, the band is performing an original march, composed in honor of the town of Wootton Bassett, in Wiltshire. Whenever a deceased UK soldier returns from Afghanistan at the nearby RAF base at Lyneham, the citizens of Wootton Bassett come out and line the High Street, and solemnly stand in tribute, as the cortege carrying the body comes through the town. As church bells toll, the cortege stops briefly, so the soldier's family can place flowers on the hearse. This is a wonderful tribute to Wootton Bassett.
As an update: in March 2011, the town of Wootton Bassett was given the honor of changing its name to 'Royal Wootton Bassett', in recognition of its dignified, and moving, tributes to fallen UK soldiers.
As an update: in March 2011, the town of Wootton Bassett was given the honor of changing its name to 'Royal Wootton Bassett', in recognition of its dignified, and moving, tributes to fallen UK soldiers.
A young choir-girl named Isabel sings a poignant song, "You Are Not Alone".
This was a particularly moving moment. Immediately preceding the song, there was an interview with the widow of a UK officer killed in action in Afghanistan. Her grief was still palpable. This night, while Isabel sang this song, this widow was escorted by one of her husband's colleagues; they led a small group of other family members of deceased UK soldiers from Afghanistan onto the stage, as honored guests.
Young Isabel did a tremendous job singing, considering she was doing this before Her Majesty the Queen, and a UK-wide audience, via television and radio.
Young Isabel did a tremendous job singing, considering she was doing this before Her Majesty the Queen, and a UK-wide audience, via television and radio.
British singer Hayley Westerna sings an arrangement of
First World War poet Laurence Binyon's verse"For the Fallen",
before the Remembrance Service begins.
Ms. Westerna did a nice job with this song.
The placing of drums on a dais represents an 'altar in the field', where a Book of Remembrance is placed. The precision with which this was done was very impressive! The Book was brought to London by a Serviceman who led a race across the UK, in tribute to British service personnel killed in Afghanistan. And the Book contained the names of those personnel.
The placing of drums on a dais represents an 'altar in the field', where a Book of Remembrance is placed. The precision with which this was done was very impressive! The Book was brought to London by a Serviceman who led a race across the UK, in tribute to British service personnel killed in Afghanistan. And the Book contained the names of those personnel.
The Soldiers and singer Hywel Dowsell,
singing "I Will Carry You".
I really liked this song a lot! And The Soldiers aren't bad-looking, either, dressed in their best uniforms!
Before the Service portion began, there was a 'mustering-in' of representatives from the Armed Services. They assembled on the center floor of the Royal Albert Hall, and consisted of members of the Army, Royal Navy, Royal Air Force, Royal Marines, the Nursing Corps, the Territorials, the Gurkhas, veterans of the Merchant Marine, and Reservists. There was also a tribute to "The Few": the surviving members of the Royal Air Force who fought against Hitler and the Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain in 1940.
The Remembrance Service itself was conducted by the Bishop of Manchester, the Rt. Rev. Nigel McCulloch. It consisted of prayers offered by serving Service chaplains. The London Gospel Choir also sang--quite robustly, I might add! Three hymns were sung by the combined choirs and the audience: O Lord of the Year, How Great Thou Art--and Abide With Me. I wasn't familiar with the first hymn. But the second and third hymns are amongst my personal favorites.
During How Great Thou Art, the camera panned sections of the audience, including the Royals--and Prime Minister David Cameron and his Deputy PM, Nick Clegg. Mr. Cameron, in particular, seemed deeply moved by this hymn, and by the overall event. I thought I saw him wiping tears from his eyes. And Mr. Clegg, who claims he is an agnostic, was also seen singing the hymn!
During How Great Thou Art, the camera panned sections of the audience, including the Royals--and Prime Minister David Cameron and his Deputy PM, Nick Clegg. Mr. Cameron, in particular, seemed deeply moved by this hymn, and by the overall event. I thought I saw him wiping tears from his eyes. And Mr. Clegg, who claims he is an agnostic, was also seen singing the hymn!
Here is that robust version of "Abide With Me",
followed by a lone bagpiper playing the lament, "Flowers of the Forest".
followed by a lone bagpiper playing the lament, "Flowers of the Forest".
The most moving highlight of the Festival was the conclusion of the Service, with the reading of a verse from Laurence Binyon's poem 'For the Fallen', and the Silence, accompanied by the raining-down of a million poppy petals from the ceiling. The falling petals symbolize the deceased Service personnel:
This clip is from the 2009 Festival of Remembrance.
The Silence was broken by four Royal Household trumpeters, followed by the leading of Three Cheers for The Queen, by members of her Armed Services: Three Cheers for Her Majesty, by members of her Armed Forces!
I must say that, as an American, I was deeply moved by watching the Festival of Remembrance, live on the BBC. I've never seen anything like this done in the US. The British take the Season of Remembrance very seriously--unlike certain sectors of US society, which use 11 November only as an excuse to hold a retail sale.
I felt so blessed to be able to visit the UK at this time.
I felt so blessed to be able to visit the UK at this time.
Next I will describe my unforgettable Remembrance Sunday.
