Cheval in pink

Bob, a fellow British bargee, visited us this morning. He has been over here for 18 years and was able to give us all kinds of useful information. The boys thought he was French and so welcomed him and chatted to him in french which impressed us all greatly.

Notched up 17km and 7 locks in the company of a pleasant English-speaking lock keeper who looked like the hirsuit French rugby player Cheval. We are still a little unsure about tipping protocol and suspect that it is no longer accepted. So, having found out that our friendly lock keeper had two young daughters, we presented him with two party bags of sweets and toys. He was a little surprised. I wonder if he thought the pink heart shaped glasses were for him…

Cycled back for the car and stopped for a drink with Bob and his wife on their boat. 

Froncles

Wet and windy weather had left its mark on deck so we put the boys to work collecting fallen leaves. Despite the threatening grey skies we took the wheelhouse down and opted to travel without our wet weather cover.

Two loaded peniches were hot on our trail so we made a speedy departure. Just 13km today and five locks until Froncles. Moored at yet another smart mooring site with plenty of facilities : for the mighty sum of 1.5 euros per night! Our temporary Thames mooring, without facilities, had cost £10 per night.

Mooring, electricity, water and bins! Free!

Departed Joli Jonville and linked up with a young lock keeper who was happy to look at football annuals with the boys as we progressed slowly through four locks to Donjeux.

Moored up and made good use of free water, electricity and a rubbish bin. Yes, rubbish bins are cause for excitement. They can be scarce and were seemingly non-existent in Belgium.

Jolly Joinville

The tupperware made a speedy departure this morning at 7am. They were determined to get ahead of us and even told us that! But we did not care. We were going to enjoy a day off in Joinville.

We climbed the steep, densely wooded hill to the castle ruins and we meandered through the quaint waterside streets.

The boys were intrigued by a Lavoir – though Callum could not understand why you were not allowed to wash your car in it. He felt sure that his grandfather would allow it!

Party all day long!

0930 intended departure but no sign of the lock keeper. Still stormy. So we delayed going. Finally took courage to take down the wheelhouse and left at 1045.

We kept ahead of the storm clouds and pootled a mere 5km to our first proper serviced mooring in the pretty town of Joinville.

Amazingly, this mooring was empty. A pleasant picnic area bordered it and backed onto a packed camper van site. The camper van brigade saw us coming (possibly Lobelia’s smoke signals) and marched en masse to the waterside to watch us arrive. Pressure was on. Would we look good or make a complete mess?

Luckily it was a textbook arrival. Andy drove the boat alongside perfectly; Shiv threw her bow rope a seemingly impossible distance and got it onto the bollard first time. Tied up. Rebuilt the wheelhouse. Hooked up some free electricity. Connected a hose pipe. Boiled kettle. Coffee in hand. Boys playing football on the grass. 20 minutes the lot.

The boys had requested a party, so we set about decorating the kitchen and preparing some party food. Our party, in full view of everyone, was well under way when the tupperware began to arrive. (This is the derogatory name which steel hull boat owners give to gleaming white cruisers.) Boats crammed in around us until there was no room left.

 Latecomers glared in at us, incensed that such a large lump of boat should take up so much room. And all they could see, as they glared at us, was our little party and our mad disco dancing in the kitchen!

We felt immensely vindicated. So often we have planned to stop somewhere and been met with the sight of an abandoned piece of tupperware moored bang in the middle of a jetty – leaving us no option but to find another place.

Andy just could not stop grinning all day.

Lock keepers do have imaginary flutes!

A different day and a different VNF official and one who hadn’t heard my two and a half locks worth of French conversation. Yippee! Thankfully she was a young student and after three locks was captivated by Callum’s clowning.

Moored at a peaceful picnic spot in Autigny le Grand and logged our intended time of departure.

The boys enjoyed some spectacular pond dipping and captured a number of black baby catfish (or babel fish?).

Beautiful sunshine disintegrated and, as darkness fell the humidity built and the sky rumbled. A spectacular electrical storm exploded in the night sky, the stillness was swept away by a ferocious blast of wind and the rain drummed hard on the steel roof of the barge.

Criss-crossing over the River Marne. Views from Lobelia

Entertaining the lock keepers

We had told the VNF (French canal authority) that we would leave our St Dizier mooring at 0930. Amazingly – we kept to our promise. We are now heading south and everyone we meet tells us how beautiful the trip will be. But nobody had warned us about the numerous lifting bridges en route. There is nothing wrong with a lifting bridge, but there is something wrong when it is built at an odd angle and so small that a barge can only just squeeze through the gap.

A VNF official met us at our first lock and trailed us until we moored. Progress through the locks is slow so there is plenty of time to chat in French. I have now worked out that my French conversational pieces amount to two and a half locks. Today we did four. Luckily the family whistle brings small boys running across the deck and their antics provide good entertainment!

Hand Gestures

Have just worked out why we gather so many onlookers at the locks. On a lock approach Andy is at the wheel and Shiv, like a proud figurehead, is at the bow and helping to line up the portside. Shiv uses the American “ok” sign (rounded forefinger meets thumb) to signal that the barge is lined up. It transpires that, in France, this hand gesture means “you are worthless”. Sorry Andy! Now we know why you get those looks at the lock.

However, there is some recompense. In this multi-national place we all rely on hand signals, some friendlier than others. On several occasions Andy has been out on deck as a beautiful lady has passed and the lady has used her hands to signal great length. Andy is always quick to say thank you.

The boys have discovered that the French have various hand gestures to indicate that they are getting bored : first you may see a hand wiped across the forehead, or perhaps fingers are flicked across the cheek. Or, best of all, they may just stare ahead and pretend to play an imaginary flute!

We are now almost willing someone to do this… with the state of our French it is surely only a matter of time. 

Valuable Volvo

Still struggling to get fuel for the barge. Waterside fuel stations are rare and a tanker delivery needs to be booked two weeks in advance - which is a bit of a headache.

Andy and I went to chat to a commercial barge skipper on the quay in St Dizier. He was very helpful and even phoned his own fuel supplier on our behalf – but to no avail.

Plan B : Andy loaded the faithful old Volvo with containers and after four trips to the supermarket fuel station purchased a whopping 800 litres of diesel. 

Grease is the word!

Andy made an alarming discovery. Suspicious oozing noises emanating from the ballast tank meant that it needed to be emptied. The ballast tank  sits directly over the propeller shaft. On close inspection it seemed that the tank was strewn with spaghetti strands of grease. CSI Bailey deduced that the grease had come from the corroded stern tube greasing pipe and this meant that the propeller shaft had probably not received any grease during our entire trip (despite Andy’s diligence in filling and turning the greaser at all times). Immediate action necessary.

Andy emerged victorious after several incredibly mucky and greasy hours in a cramped corner of the engine room.

A Day Off

Tested the family cycle fitness with a 21km trip to retrieve the car. Once again the boys were brilliant – though Callum may have hit his limit as he fell asleep as soon as he got into the car!

Time to replenish the larder… and the wine rack. Spent the rest of the morning doing just that and then took the car to the nearby Lac du Der. A beautiful lake with countless beaches, play parks and sailing clubs which kept us entertained for the entire afternoon.

An Unpleasant Encounter

Woke up to the serenity of our perfect surroundings. The waters were still and the reflections in the canal were stunningly beautiful.

Set off by 10am, just infront of a loaded peniche from Holland.

The canal sparkled in the sunlight. We were happy and relaxed as we notched up lock after lock. 

But things went sour at our fifth lock.

Swimming is obviously forbidden in the locks. However, as we approached this lock we could see that the canal bankside was littered with rubbish and very close to a “campsite”. There were kids jumping into the lock even as we entered it. Thankfully they climbed out in time, but then gathered en masse above us on the lock edge. We sent Dan and Callum inside. The kids on the lock wall realised we were English and the abuse began. Spit rained down on us and their legs dangled perilously close to the slack ropes which quickly become tight and have the ability to sever fingers. I yelled at the kids to move. I yelled in English, French and Spanish. They moved enough. The lock filled slowly and we drew level with the kids. I tried to chat with them and they tried to get onboard. The spitting continued – mostly from the girls! The boys seemed much more relaxed. Eventually we gained an advantage – we were higher than them. I decided to give them a taste of their own medicine and used gravity to great effect. I think they were a little surprised. Andy was delighted!

We motored out of the lock and watched them sabotage the gates.

We wondered if they would follow us up to the next lock, so used the time to prepare ourselves. We shut down the hatches, locked the front door (though the wheelhouse is down, so the boat is still open) and set up a water cannon.

Thankfully they did not follow. But they did manage to spoil our day.

Reached St Dizier by 5pm and moored in the centre of this large town.

We had just moored when the lock keeper pulled up in his van and quizzed us about how long we wanted to stay. We have now reached the point where we have to log our daily itinerary with canal officials. We are about to leave the world of automated locks and will need a lock keeper to travel in tandem with us. Not sure how this will fit into our relaxed style. We don’t like to plan ahead and we only choose to moor if we like the look of the place. This could prove a little difficult!

A New Canal

We had heard on the grapevine that it would be sensible to bypass Vitry-le-Francois as it had a sizeable and not necessarily agreeable “campsite”.

We shot through, said goodbye to the Canal Lateral a La Marne, dived across the junction with the Canal de la Marne au Rhine and swung under a very low set of railway bridges onto the Canal de la Marne a la Saone.

Or is it? It seems that France is having an identity crisis and is now in the habit of renaming towns and now canals. This canal has recently been renamed the Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne. 

We quite like the new name – just as we rather like the liquid produced in abundance in both areas!

At our first lock we were given a zapper to operate the locks. No more perche or tirette for a while.

The first 9km of this waterway was beautiful and peaceful and bathed in sunshine. Moored at Ecriennes and cycled back 15km for the car.

When we arrived in Belgium we had doubted the boys’ ability to cycle 10km. But they have now become bike fit and make no fuss about our long towpath rides. In fact it is proving quite hard to keep up with them! They have now cycled every bit of our last 60km of canal.

Zig-zagging over the Marne

Got out of Pogny just before our mute onlookers returned. We waved to them as we left and wondered if they would be still there when we returned for the car.

As we travelled along this canal we glimpsed the raging River Marne swollen by the rain. The canal crosses above it occasionally and its calm waters seem strangely at odds with the river’s swirling insanity.

Clocked up another 14km through sleepy villages where shops remain shut for August and the businesses which once thrived thanks to passing commercial barges are now sadly boarded up. Canalside property has been abandoned by traditional river folk. Lock cottages sold off. Bars and workshops abandoned or converted to private homes. Factory and silo quays left forgotten and dusty.

However, on the other side of the canal the towpath is alive with cyclists, joggers, fishermen and dog walkers. We moored up in Couvrot and jumped onto our bikes for the return journey to collect the car.

Escape from Chalons

By 2pm a small patch of blue sky gave us the courage to dismantle the wheelhouse and leave our mooring in Chalons. The canal was long, straight, narrow and edged in soft green. 

We plodded on and stopped to chat to the crowds who gather at locks to see this strange barge from England. Banter is usually quite easy and always pleasant.

14km later we arrived in Pogny where we attracted a different breed of onlookers. These guys just stood and stared for a very long time. Conversation was not an option.

The towpath from Chalons had been good and we decided the boys needed some exercise. We cycled back the 14km to Chalons and collected the car.

Rain rain go away!

The Franklins departed in the rain. The rain stayed. All day. All night. So we didn’t go anywhere. We camped out at home and got on with jobs. Andy retreated to the engine room and after several tough hours managed to resurrect an old Petter engine.

Monday and still raining! No sign of it stopping either. Lobelia’s crew needed some respite. We headed off to the giant Carrefour supermarket where we spent a few hours and plenty of cash. The boys ran wild with all the French kids. Nobody cared. Even the shop assistants use roller skates to get around the store.

Spent the afternoon on the telephone trying to find fuel. Canalside pumps are non-existent now that commercial traffic has diminished. Tanker deliveries are fraught with difficulty thanks to health and safety and the August holiday season. There just aren’t any drivers available. Resort to Plan B : Andy makes good use of the Volvo and a variety of containers and tops up the tanks with 300 litres of diesel.

The rain eased off by the evening. The dinghy on deck was full of water. We measured a depth of 9 inches in our outdoor candle pot. Local reports claimed 35cm fell in two days. We looked on the bright side : at least the boat would stay afloat and potential moorings might now be deep enough for us!

Where did you get that hat?

Sadly the Franklins have to leave us. But, just for Narelle, we posed in the berets for a few photos…

Darren, Sue, Alex and Scott : thank you so much for coming to see us. Great to see you and come back again soon!

Franklins en France

Today has been a day that we have all been looking forward to. The Franklin family are due to visit and are making a spectacular detour on their return journey from La Rochelle to Calais. 

However, our permanent blue skies and sunshine have disappeared and been replaced with solid grey and heavy rain. We can’t believe it. We are moored in a beautiful spot which is perfect for young boys with footballs and boundless energy.

Luckily the skies clear by the early afternoon and just in time for the big arrival. Dan and Callum are overjoyed to be reunited with their great friends Alex and Scott. And Andy and I are equally pleased to see Sue and Darren.

The boys head off into the park to play football and soon join forces with a French family for a fast paced kick about. We relax with a glass of wine on deck and take a stroll in the gardens. Fantastic.

Tourists from hell R Us

This morning, somewhat uncharacteristically, we made a snap decision. Without so much as a discussion we raced up to the Tourist Information Office and signed up for a tour of Chalons. Made it with moments to spare and not enough time to reconsider.

We met our guide. She was elegant, of mature years and did not speak any English. She saw us and two fidgety young boys and had a mild panic. Within moments she had enlisted the help of an English-speaking assistant and explained to us that she would be our translator.

We set off on our tour. First stop : St Alpin’s Church. I’m sure it is a very interesting church, but our translator steadfastly ignored us and our guide was besotted with the stained glass windows. They weren’t the only things glazed : the boys had a thousand yard stare. Andy decided to make up his own stories about the windows and their imagery. The stories became more and more irreverent. I tried my best to listen to the guide, but Andy’s stories soon became much more interesting. Then the boys joined in and soon shoulders shook as giggles were suppressed. I think we might have been a bit badly behaved.

At last. Left the church and trotted down to the Town Hall. Not much better here. Andy walked in and started to comment on how it would make a good film location. Meanwhile I got a fit of the giggles when looking at the chandeliers because I reverted to Only Fools and Horses humour. The kids slumped on a bench with their DS game, which proved a little embarrassing because the bench became a focal point of the tour!

Escaped the Town Hall and realised that we were now the main element of the tour group. Our translator (who never spoke) disappeared, and so did the rest of the tourists. We were left with our guide and a journalist who had just arrived. We descended into the town’s medieval cellars and nodded at everything the guide said. The journalist took photos of us looking interested. Finally it was all over and we could go. We bade farewell and our guide looked relieved. But then Dan stole the show. He walked up to our guide. He shook her hand, and said in perfect French “Merci Madame. Enchante.” Our guide melted and beamed at us. We were redeemed.

Cruising to Chalons en Champagne

Sunshine returns and we get away from the mooring just after 9am. That’s pretty good for us! Turn onto a new canal – the canal Lateral a la Marne. Today’s chunk is 16km dead straight to Chalons en Champagne and punctuated by three locks. The canal is quiet this morning. Fishermen line the banks and nod to us as we pass. We see a few other boats, four of which fly the Ensign. One of them, a cruiser called Il Largo, has been cruising the same waterways as us since the end of June. We always wave and shout hello but have not yet met to chat.

“Celine” passes us en route to Conde. Andy chats with them on the VHF and we arrange to meet later.

Dan and Cal enjoy the trip down the canal and get involved with catching the perche to trigger the lock. Cal loves being in the locks and scoots around the decks, checking on us and our ropes before taking on the responsibility of activating the gates. He hangs off the bow, watching the anchors as they lurch nearer to the gates, his deep voice providing an amusing commentary. For those of you who know Callum, you will know that this commentary is animated with his trademark “happy hands and feet”.

Moored in a peaceful, picturesque spot along the banks of the ornamental gardens in Chalons. The moorings fill up around us and the resident swans flap their wings in excitement, knowing that an abundance of bread will shower down on them.

In the afternoon we cycle the 16km back to Conde to collect the car. The boys are brilliant. No complaints. Just good hard pedalling and lots of banter.

Our new friends on “Celine” are moored in Conde and kindly invite us onboard for a cup of tea. They have been cruising since April and we share useful snippets of information about life onboard a barge in France.

Chalons Market

The weather forecast had been right. A grey rainy day. Not an ideal day for travelling with the wheelhouse down. Decided to take the car to nearby Chalons sur Champagne and recce the canal for moorings.

Chalons boasts a large market and we enjoyed shopping for fresh fruit.

During our search for moorings we met an English couple on a Dutch barge called Celine and shared a chat about boat meanderings. We promised to try and meet up again sometime.

Returned to Conde with thoughts of moving the boat down to Chalons. However the rains came instead and we decided to stay put. Andy donned a boiler suit and got suitably grubby in the engine room which now contains more engines than room.

Where is everybody?

It is August and everyone is on holiday…somewhere else. Every village seems deserted. Conde sur Marne is no exception. The boulangerie is shut; the bar barricaded; the charcuterie a building site without builders. We wandered the empty streets to the soundtrack of barking dogs and a tolling church bell. Perhaps the bell pull was attached to a dog’s wagging tail because we never saw anyone near the church.

Cycled along the towpath to the next village – Tours sur Marne. The towpath is sandwiched between the stillness of the silvery green canal and swirling deep waters of the River Marne. The village was beautiful and resonating to the sound of dogs and very little else.

In the afternoon we traded football time for champagne cellar visits. Both parties seemed happy with the results. The boys ran rings around us, defeated us and gloated lots. We did not care. 

Drove to Epernay which is a large town and actually had people in it and visited the cellars of Achille Prince. For 8 euros we could walk, without a guide, in the 18^th century chalk cellars and view the sleeping treasure.

The tunnels and niches had been carved by hand. Carvings in the chalk revealed names from long ago. We returned to the surface and, as part of the price, enjoyed two glasses of champagne each. Epernay took on a rosy glow.

Gastronomy

France. A country known for its gastronomic delights. Great pride taken in the choice of ingredients, the quality of the produce, the combination of delicate flavours and the presentation of a taste sensation. We are in France. In fact, at this very moment, as I type, I am in Epernay - capital of the Champagne region and home to some fantastic restaurants. Yet, on a terrifyingly regular basis we find ourselves in McDonalds. (I am in one now.) We are actively seeking them at the moment. Fear not, it's not for the food. We are chasing free Wi-fi and McDonalds provides it in abundance. At least the coffee isn't too bad!

Oh la la!

Time to move on. Heading south. Vineyards to the right of us, play parks to the left, here we are, sailing down the middle and fast approaching another long tunnel. “Billy le Grand” is a 2.3km of wall to wall Lobelia subterranean experience. Andy is unshakeable. Lobelia unscathed.

For now…

The tunnel was at the top of the hill. We now had great views but needed to work our way back down the hill via a closely grouped set of locks. Small locks. No lock keepers. No onlookers.Edged into the first and set the lock in motion. The chamber emptied quickly. Lobelia lurched and alarmingly the bow dipped as the stern rose. The rudders were caught on the back sill. We were in trouble.Andy raised the alarm rod and I ran to the lock intercom. I spoke to the kingdom of far far away and pleaded for assistance. Meanwhile the lock had stopped emptying and Lobelia sat at a crazy angle, her rudders taking far too much weight.Within ten minutes the lock keeper arrived. He came to look and shook his head, muttered in French, wagged his finger and set about refilling the lock.He saw us safely through and Lobelia seemed to be ok. Our lock keeper stuck to us like glue as we worked our way down the chain. His disdain gradually disappeared and he seemed to warm to us. “Mais oui” – he liked the garden. Though he declared that the tomatoes had a mould problem due to too much heat.Seven locks later we bade farewell and gave him a bottle of wine. He seemed happier.

Moored at Conde sur Marne and heaved a sigh of relief.

An agreement is reached!

Spent the morning in the playpark. Cost a fortune to get in. Still don’t understand why adults have to pay to watch their children play. By 2pm Andy and I had had enough. We stamped our feet and demanded to have our playtime. The boys nobly complied and allowed us to visit the hills.

Eleven years ago and in a time before children (B.C.) we had visited Reims and purchased a champagne which had knocked the socks off the taste and price of Vintage Veuve Clicquot. Our purchase of six bottles had lasted long enough to welcome the arrival of our first child. But then, alas, it was gone (A.D. “after Daniel” or “all drunk”) and we could not find anywhere that sold the same champagne. On an interim visit to Reims we realised the shop had gone too. We were desolate. Even our visit to the caves in Reims this week had proved fruitless.

Luckily we still had a cork/capsule with details of the town name and the maker’s name. We headed straight for Verzenay :

a tight, twisted cluster of red tiled houses clinging to the hillside surrounded by acres of regimented vines, that line up as far as the eye can see.

Spent an entertaining couple of hours at the Verzenay lighthouse which has been developed as a museum dedicated to the life and culture of the vineyards. Fantastic for both adults and children alike. We were kitted out with audio guides and swanned around the exhibit at our own individual speeds. The boys seemed to love it, took it all in and were able to remember it too! They enjoyed the climb up the lighthouse and the views were breathtaking.

But still no sign of our favourite champagne!

However, back in the museum foyer we found a leaflet for our favourite champagne house. It was just minutes away. We raced. We parked. The place looked closed. I rang the doorbell and pleaded. No pleading necessary. The garage door raised and an Aladdin’s cave was revealed, complete with tasting table. Andy danced for joy. The kind lady smiled and opened a few bottles.

A little while later we loaded the Volvo.

Some time later, out on deck, we sat with chamagne glasses in hand and watched the sun set over the vines (our backs to the play park!)

Escape from Reims

Left Reims and fled south to the Champagne hills.  Views up to the vineyards seduced us and our spirits were high. We tried to moor. Agony! Torment! Again and again, we failed to find a deep enough mooring. And all the time the vines called out to us.

A potential mooring revealed a lively wasps nest as we tried to tie up. Three hours and three locks later we finally found a place to stop. At last, our dream of bringing our own barge to this blessed area of France had come true. However our mooring revealed a conundrum. On one side was the road leading to a life tasting champagne. On the other side was a playpark with bouncy castles and go-carts. The ensuing battle could get ugly.

Reims

Walked into Reims and visited the Cathedral. Like so many others, it is partially swathed in scaffolding and undergoing extensive renovation.

Beautiful inside and filled with history. We were all drawn to the magical stained glass window created by Chagall. Dan and I enjoyed swapping bible stories about the images!

We wandered into Reims. It was a mess. Major roadworks and regeneration projects. We had had enough. We gave up on Reims and went home.

Arrival in Reims

Boat moving day. Departed Berry au Bac and began our way on a new waterway – the Canal de L’Aisne a la Marne. The locks on this canal are operated by a “perche”. This is a rod which is suspended over the middle of the canal. You must line the boat up and hope that your crew have long arms! One quick twist of the rod and the lock swings into action.
Wheelhouse down, sun blazing, we pottered through 9 locks and 24km to Reims. It was a very sociable day. At one lock we were assisted by two bouncy black labradors; at another we deposited our unwanted blackcurrant/gooseberry bush with an anonymous gift tag for the lock keeper; a bit further on and we entertained a former lockkeeper and her three grandaughters and took them on a tour of Lobelia; and we purchased a bucket of spuds at another. 

Along the way we chatted in French with passersby who were all eager to know about the barge with the garden and the English flag. We waved to familiar faces on the working barges as we edged past one another on the narrow canal. Normally barge crews nod and smile as they pass us. But with our new friends on Zen, Medea and Vage we are now at beaming and waving stage. We have chatted with a few of them and some remember Lobelia in her former life on the waterways.

We approached the city of Reims at our sedate pace. Traffic raced alongside and above. It was noisy and ugly.

We moored in our ribbon of green and blue trapped in a realm of grey. The noise of the city thundered around us.

Some light relief

We toured the area by car and visited a fabulous park at Lac Monampteuil. The boys swam, played on the beach, climbed on the extensive play equipment and defeated the parents in a football match. Boy bliss!

Chemin des Dames

The countryside around Berry au Bac was wide and open and calling to be explored. We set off in the car and headed up onto the ridge known as the “Chemin des Dames” which translates as “The Ladies’ Way” and refers to the origins of the route as a road created for two princesses, daughters of Louis XV.

However, the ridge has a sad history as a much sought after strategic point : in 1814 5000 French and 7000 Russian soldiers died on this hill in a matter of days during Napoleon’s victorious Battle of Craonne; a mere century later the toll grew as four years of bloodshed stained the countryside.

We visited the “Caverne du Dragon”, a quarry with extensive tunnel systems which sits on the top of the hill. The French had lost this quarry to the Germans in 1915. The Germans had then converted it into a large underground barracks, complete with electricity, first-aid posts, chapel, bath house, cemetery and firing positions. It took the French two years to recapture it. And then the Germans counterattacked and reclaimed a section of the cave. Bizarrely the enemies lived in the same place, separated by mere walls, some of which had ventilation holes. The men were in constant fear. Above ground soldiers worried that the enemy was below them and that they would be blown up. Below ground they suffered from cave collapses and feared attacks from the neighbours.

It is a very eerie place.

World War 1 involved 60 million people from 90 different countries. The Chemin des Dames became the living hell for many of these nationalities. On the hill beside the quarry there is now a striking monument to the “Senagalese” soldiers who suffered heavy losses on this hill. There is archive footage of them doing drill and images of them seeing snow for the first time.

In April 1917 the French launched a massive attack on the German positions. Five million shells fell on the hill over five days. Amazingly, the German positions were not destroyed. Unfortunately, the shells remained.

After 1918 they tried to clear the battlefield. Farms and villages were rebuilt and vast war cemeteries were created. However, some areas could never be reclaimed. Brave souls from the Forestry Commission planted trees in these areas. They are now mature forests but you must not enter them. They are the camouflage for the old trenches, shell holes and fragile ordnance. Every year the ground releases these dangerous relics. Last year they retrieved 40 tons.

It is so hard to believe that this happened on such a beautiful hill. Dan, aged 8 and wise beyond his years, wrote about it in his journal :

“…in place of all the sorrow, evil and pointlessness that had taken place on this land, there were dozens and dozens of fields of sunflowers…”

Long may that be.