Day 9 Bapaume to Péronne

All cows are black at midnight

Monday 9/4/2018

Distance 25.8km Total Distance from Canterbury 224.5km

‘All cows are black at midnight’ was one of the myriad gnomic utterances of Fr Swetnam, my first professor of Greek in Rome. He was a wise and good man. I have been on the receiving end of full time education for some or all of the 1950s, 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s. I took a break in the noughties but was back at school in 2011. In between times I have tried to redress the balance, teaching medicine, theology and ancient languages. I’m not sure who my best ever teacher was but am certain of the worst. Also in Rome I was obliged to upgrade my classical Latin to ecclesiastical and was taught by an unhappy person. One day he said, looking around the room, ‘Today we come to the ablative absolute, and I know by looking at you that 40% are never going to understand it.’ To quote another very wise  man, an Australian speaking to third level lecturers in Nairobi, ‘If learning has not occurred, teaching hasn’t happened.’

Anyway. All cows are black at midnight. Everywhere looks the same in the fog. The French call it brouillard which sounds to me like a warm nourishing soup you might have on an autumn evening. And on  Monday morning the brouillard was thick. I’m not good at estimating distances but if I stood at one telegraph pole I could see the next, but the second was quite faint. So not actually dangerous to walk or cross a road. I set off using  the Raju book as my guide. And nothing too difficult with the route today, except this: lines like, ‘church spire visible 1km ahead’ and ‘heading for a very large radio transmitter on the skyline’. These landmarks were completely invisible to me.

Just a short distance from Bapaume I came to the first cemetery of the day, another Commonwealth Grave, called Manchester Cemetery, 61 graves, most from the Manchester regiment, and sadly nearly all died in August/September 191, very close to the end of the war.

Shortly after this I cam to a village called Villers-au-Flos with a sign pointing to a German military cemetery. It has 2,449 graves and I was interested to see it, to compare, but after a few abortive attempts to follow the notice, which didn’t suggest how far the cemetery was, I (like the Germans eventually) admitted defeat and decided it was not wise to get lost in the fog.

I continued on still in dense fog to Rocquigny and Sailly-Sallisel, the names seem rather beautiful. Rocquigny had a most extraordinary church, hard to fully appreciate in the fog. Like many churches it is not terribly old – the devastation in this area in WW1 was overwhelming and much of what is dates from after that time. The church is built of brick, but has a concrete campanile attached, which is unusally tall and of modern design. I looked all around the locked church and looked for anyone to ask, but nothing to explain its story. You will see that the top of the spire is almost hidden in the fog.

My guidebook told me that I was moving now from the departement of the Somme, away from Pas de Calais, and also that I was now in the old province of Picardie. At this point, tiring a little of muddy trails in the fog, I ignored an instruction to turn left and continued instead along the tarred road. Something very unexpected now appeared out of the mist, and something not mentioned in my guidebook – a hotel. Absolutely in the middle of nowhere. Called the Prieure or Priory. And it was huge and it was open. I was met at the door by a maitre d’ – a lad of about 18 dressed in a rather too small black suit and dickie bow. I asked if I could get something to eat and he ushered me into the empty dining room with seating for about 100. The kind of place that must do wedding receptions and the like. I asked if it was possible to sit in the bar and he said yes, with a look of disappointment in his eyes. A young lady came and said they didn’t actually do bar food but she would have a word with the kitchen, and we agreed on a ham sandwich, and a cup of coffee which was served with a small meringue and a chocolate. There was someone behind the bar, and a kitchen waiter and obviously a cook, and the large boy, and two people behind the desk, And me. That is all. A nice unexpected break.

I proceeded along the road then with renewed energy and in a few hundred metres came upon the Necropole Nationale, a huge French military cemetery, with a large chapel. And the remains of 8,500. I am skirting the former Somme battlefields these days.

Back to the cows. I have written elsewhere about my love-hate relationship with cows. They love me, and I hate them. But they do not know that. As the fog lifted,  I was passing a field with eight or nine Friesian cows. They stampeded across the field to greet me at the corner.

I don’t understand it. There is a well known and much loved song in Ireland, written by Revv E Crilly and D McGuire. You can watch it here. I sometimes feel I have morphed into that song, with just a slight change of words. ‘My beautiful cows……’ But I’d be lying.

From there it was an easy walk to Peronne, a busy little town. I stayed in a nice bijou apartment and what was met there by the not young, but friendly, couple who owned it. They spoke no English but we had a friendly chat.

Today is the Solemnity of the Annunciation exactly 9 months before the birth of Jesus, his conception. But not this year, as it was displaced by the timing of Easter. But don’t worry, Christmas will not be delayed it will just be a little premature this year – on December 25th.