Meeting François

Posted on by CBF Students - Étudiants FCCB

Sanna with Francois' gravePost written by: Sanna Guérin

I met my great-great uncle today.

Writing those words is making me cry again, so it’s a good thing we’ve had a good supply of Belgian and French chocolates since we arrived in France last Saturday. We’ve all been on an emotional roller coaster, and that’s the point of the experience. Each one of us is here to make personal connections to the histories we’re experiencing, and that’s important.

History is my bread and butter, both as a graduate student in history and as an interpreter at the Canadian War Museum. My job is to make connections with my audience and the history I’m introducing them to, whether it’s to link new Canadians with the stories of earlier immigrants who fought for Canada, or to tell young women about our grandmothers and great-grandmothers who pulled their own weight in the Canadian war effort. (There are other ways, but those two are dear to my heart.) As a public historian, how people make use of history is really interesting for me, and I find that now I’ve been selected for the Canadian Battlefields Foundation tour, what I’m finding in France and Belgium is surpassing my expectations.

We’re all making connections, and if you’ve read the previous entries written by my colleagues, you’ll know what kinds of links we’re established with the histories we’ve been taught, and with the sites we’re witnessing here. We’re honouring not only our own Canadian fallen, laid out to rest in the perfect garden cemeteries that are scattered throughout farmers fields not too unlike those we know at home. We’re also seeing the somber and intense German cemeteries, at the young men not unlike our own who died far from home. We’ve seen the many British and Commonwealth monuments, and we’re being reminded of the imperial project of war, and the larger context of the Canadians fighting alongside their colonial brethren. For me, what’s eye-opening are the encounters with the French – the countless poilus buried in the massive cemeteries that took our breath away, and with the modern day people who I’ve encountered and who live their lives surrounded not just with the physical reminders of the world wars, but the many more that happened before.

(As an aside, it’s hard to say exactly what’s struck me hardest before today. The Menin Gate, with its integration into the city of Ieper (modern Ypres), was moving. I felt goosebumps at Lochnagar Crater Memorial where the sight of crater too reminiscent of a caldera volcano reminded me of the terrors lurking under soldiers’ feet. When we visited the Leaning Virgin in Albert, better known as Notre Dame de Brebières, I could image soldiers whispering prayers as they marched beneath, hoping the legend of the Virgin finally tumbling down and ending the war would happen before they returned to the line. And, of course, finally being able to see Vimy Ridge was an experience that still doesn’t quite feel real.)

Our itinerary today continued where we left off yesterday, where we ended with the Battle of Amiens in early August 1918. We covered the last one hundred days of the war, although the point was made several times by our guides, Graham and Andrew, that at the time no one really realized the end of the war was coming so soon. Our first stop was in Monchy-le-Preux to see the Newfoundland memorial; I noticed after Andrew’s talk that the local French memorial was next door. Memorials are a particular interest of mine, and I’ve been noticing and photographing the French memorials in several areas. This one was especially poignant because instead of the typical poilu, it was a woman and child looking down at the helmet representing their missing husband and father. If that isn’t representing the loss of war, I don’t know what will.

The theme of the missing has been heavily on my mind, because that could’ve been the fate of my great-great uncle, and this was the day I’d have the honour to visit his grave. Francois Houle was a member of the 24th Battalion, and he was killed at the age of 18 on August 27, 1918, in the early days of the Second Battle of Arras. He joined the CEF after four failed attempts due to being underage, and his stubbornness is something I identify with in regards to striving for what I want. He was originally listed as missing, and his body wasn’t reported as found until September 9 – incidentally seventy years to the day before I was born. We’ve seen hundreds, if not thousands, of tombstones belonging to unknown soldiers, and then there’s the names of the missing inscribed on memorials. It’s struck me time and time again that our family might’ve only been left with a name on the wall if circumstances had been different, and that’s left me with a strange, almost grateful feeling in my chest to whoever those people were who found Francois’ body over ninety years ago.

Our second stop of the day at Vis-en-Artois just compounded that feeling. We went to Vis-en-Artois, with another memorial for the British, Irish and South African soldiers whose bodies were never found or identified. Andrew shared details about the start of the Battle of Arras, and highlighted the involvement of the 22nd and 24th Battalions. The scene was set, and as we got back into our vans to begin the trek over toward Quebec Cemetery, near Cherisy, I felt nervous. I confessed to Graham before we left that I was feeling anxious, but it wasn’t performance anxiety. It was expectation.

Everyone finds Andrew's talks extremely engaging.

Quebec Cemetery is set in a farmers field, probably by a first aid post set up during the battle, where many of the fallen members of the 2nd Division were buried. The cemetery is small compared to others we’ve visited, but it was easy enough to locate Francois’ grave. Andrew was giving a few words about the 24th Battalion, or maybe it was about the cemetery itself, but I don’t remember. All I really remember was this sudden and overwhelming sadness, and I just started to cry.

There are some wonderful people on this tour, I should mention, and they listened as I managed to catch my breath, wipe my face, and get through my presentation. Francois is my great-grandfather’s younger brother, and he and another great-great uncle both enlisted for the First World War. Eli came home, and Frank died in a farmer’s field outside of Cherisy. I shared his story to my new friends, and then I turned to Francois’ grave to tell him about his brother’s life. Although the brothers were both in France for the two weeks before Frank’s death, duty and the preparations for battle likely prevented them from seeing each other. As an older sister, I wonder how that affected Eli, as the older sibling, and that was just one of the many parts of the war he kept to himself when he returned home.

We shared as a group a ration of rum, just as soldiers would’ve had before going over the top. I made a joke about Frank not being the legal drinking age, at least in Ontario, but I gave him his portion nevertheless. As the others went off to explore the cemetery, I knelt in front of his grave and whispered a few words to him, and then it was goodbye.

 

*

 

I’m finishing this blog entry the next day. I’m sitting in my hotel room, looking out at beach where Canadians died fifteen years after Francois’ death on the Somme. I’ve come to a realization today, sitting in the van as we drove to the Normandy coastline. I’m here in France to learn about the war, and that’s something I’ve accomplished in ways I never imagined. I’m seeing history embedded in the landscape of a country my ancestors once called home. But in that cemetery, I wasn’t just presenting a story about a relative I likely wouldn’t have met even if he had come home in 1919.

 

Instead, I feel like I brought closure to a story, and eased an absence that has endured for three generations. I carried not only my own grief for a young life cut short, but a ninety-year accumulation of tears from generations too poor to visit his grave site in France.

Although I’m still crying (again!) tonight, I don’t think it’s just my own relief I feel. I think it’s Frank’s too.

In France – The Battle of the Tears

Posted on by CBF Students - Étudiants FCCB

In France- The Battle of the Tears By Eric Story

Well, today was a complete turning of the tables. Although it was an interesting and insightful day, as the previous two have been, today was quite an emotional one. We began at Notre Dame de Lorette French National Memorial and Cemetery. Here, we were able to gain some knowledge that I’m sure many did not know: the contributions France made in the early years of the war, which made the capture of Vimy Ridge by the Canadians possible in 1917. The significant losses the French sustained during this period were demonstrated by the 40,000 graves at this cemetery. For many of us, it was a surprise, a shock, and an extremely moving experience.

Besides the sites and memorials we visited afterwards, we were also treated to six presentations, all of which struck an emotional nerve, leaving many of us in tears by the end. Eric Fowler started us off with a presentation on the repatriation of the Unknown Soldier at Cabaret Rouge Cemetery. His references to the mystery of the many graves marked “A Soldier of the Great War,” and the sadness tied to the fact that so many soldiers have become faded memories was powerful.

The next presentation was Eric de Kroon, who presented a biographical piece on R.H. Britton at La Targette Military Cemetery. Eric was able to demonstrate Britton’s qualities as a leader in the community, which transcended onto the war front when he fought for King and Country.

After a few other stops along the way, the group made its way to Vimy Memorial. One could not help but to admire the size and beauty of this monument, as its white stones contrasted with the grey afternoon sky. Here, three other presenters sent another wave of emotions over us, when two biographical presentations and one historical one was given. Becky Weir started us off with the Battle of Arras in April 1917, who surprised us with the number of British Imperial and French troops lost during this battle. Comparing it to the Battle of the Somme, mentioned in the previous blog, the Battle of Arras was much worse when looking at the number of fallen soldiers each day. Next, Colleen Molloy gave us her presentation on R.J. Galloway. She was able to provide us with beautiful photographs of postcards, telegraphs and photographs that helped us envision Galloway in an extremely vivid way. The heartbreaking story of a father’s attempts to get his son back to his hometown for a burial left a lump in the throat of at least a few. The last presentation at Vimy was given by me (Eric Story). I gave a presentation on R.J.G. Bateman, and demonstrated his shift from an intellectual professor, to a pro-war enlistee, and finally to a realistic, hardened soldier who died fighting for a better tomorrow.

Vimy2013BlogPost

Graham Broad gave us our last presentation of the day, which was highly emotional for all. He ended with a quote from Macbeth, and told us that he saw his soldier, Alfred “Eddie” McKay, reflected in his own personality, and that he had ultimately become a friend. I think all of us that have done a soldier presentation can relate. I also think that today, many of us on the tour became closer friends because of the emotions all of us were able to share at one point or another.

Langemark, of all the student deaths in the German Army from 1914-1915

Day 4: Langemark

Posted on by CBF Students - Étudiants FCCB
by Eric Fowler.

LANGEMARK.

When informed I was to be a recipient of this incredible scholarship I knew immediately that I would have some pretty heavy emotional experiences in France and Belgium. I knew that we were going to be going to some particularly large cemeteries and that I would see rows upon rows of graves. I had the time and means to prepare myself for Menin Gate and Tyne-Cot, which we visited later on in the day, but I had no way to prepare myself at all for our first war cemetery: Langemark.

We pulled up our two Europcar rental vans into the driveway and there were a few busloads of British schoolchildren arriving about the same time. They all had their little duotangs or pamphlets and it reminded me of school trips to, say, the National Art Gallery. The atmosphere of the children going in was one of a typical school trip.

I thought this might be a good stepping stone for me. Germans are the bad guys, right? I can handle to see a bunch of dead bad guy graves, right? We stepped out of the vans and had our little introduction. Among the tidbits of interesting facts we received: the graves were black, not the white of the Commonwealth cemeteries. Black’s an evil colour, the dark stones are obviously seals to whatever hell evil German soldiers go to after the Commonwealth finished with them. I mean, even the graves were colour-coded. Who says war isn’t black and white?

The first thing you would notice about the graveyard is the perimeter of oddly shaped trees. I suggested they might be native to Germany; sort of how a Canadian monument or grave site might have maple trees and other good Canadian stuff. Someone suggested it was the way the trees were trimmed. They looked like an umbrella that’s been mangled inside-out by the wind. A long trunk and a bunch of branches shooting upwards from it. Past the gate were large trees and it was much more shaded and enclosed than any Commonwealth cemetery we’ve seen so far. Architecturally speaking, it had a moat, a wall, and a gate. Clumps of crosses in threes (which look curiously like soldiers if you’re in a weird headspace) are scattered about the graveyard sparsely. These are not the graves.

Inside the gate there are two rooms. They are about 15 by 15 feet and poorly lit. The room on the right was the first I entered and it was probably the most powerful experience of my day. The room looks like it is built of bricks, but once you enter you realise those bricks are simply blocks of eight engraved names. In total 4309 names run across the wall of this room. As a university student it was horrifying to learn that these names were German university students who volunteered for the war and all died. I found myself empathising with these men more than with the men I imagined I might associate with (young lieutenants, Newfoundlanders, Scottish soldiers). 4309 student-soldiers killed in action here in France were the first deceased I visited.

Moving past this initial gate you see the mass grave, with a little memorial that’s covered with wreathes (notably the German wreathes are more down-to-earth, less covered with poppies and more a simple Christmas-style wreath with a simple flower attached). Around this mass grave of students were black stones filled with names upon names of war dead. Beyond this was what one might recognise as a graveyard. A number of simple stone plaques on the ground listing names (privates with officers with jagers) or perhaps simply “X unidentified soldiers.” The French graves say “died for France”, the Commonwealth graves boasted crosses, insignia, unique epitaphs. The German graves had only names.

Our attention was drawn to the difference between the Commonwealth cemeteries and memorials and the German cemetery of Langemark. The Commonwealth graves are individual, two-feet white tablets with an epitaph, a cross, an emblem, etc. The German graves usually list multiple soldiers, are simple stone on the ground, with only ranks, names, and service numbers. In the Commonwealth cemeteries it is important to equally commemorate all soldiers. Privates get the same treatment as officers. I felt like this was even more evident in this German cemetery. There were just names upon names clustered together on stone tablets. All dead soldiers beneath us.

The fact that the first war cemetery we visited was a German cemetery was speculated upon a lot by myself and some other students. Was it on purpose? When we asked one of the guides he said that it was just geographically the first thing that made sense. I think this had a really interesting effect, though. If we had gone to a few Commonwealth cemeteries first and then visited Langemark I might have reacted totally different. I imagine I would have thought something that Germans killed all the Commonwealth soldiers and so this HUGE grave was some sort of sick justice.

That is not how I felt at all. This huge grave was a tragedy, a sacrifice, a sad story that I did not enjoy experiencing at all but am glad came first on our tour. I expected this to be a tour focused entirely on Canada and its contribution to the wars. To be hit with German death first was a bit of a doozy.

Langemark, of all the student deaths in the German Army from 1914-1915

 

Blogging from the trenches: Day 3

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By Bruce Moncur.

The sun beating down upon us, a light breeze softens the sun’s glare. Not a cloud in the sky. Perfection. As our group enjoys our bagged lunches, made for us by Michelle, the care taker of the farm house we occupy, we rest on a hill trying to absorb the morning’s events.

We lay on a berm, directly behind us is a peaceful village. The steeple of the town’s church is all that can be seen. We eat our lunches outside the war monument, Thiepval. The birds singing their songs in the distance is rather unnerving, as they are clearly oblivious to the horror that shook the ground we walk upon but only a century before. We listen to the church bells ring in the distance and our professors begin their lectures.

They bring aspects of the war to levels that I have never fathomed. So far, the names that I have read countless times before, such as Ypres and Somme, are now in front of me. Envisioning the carnage and the horror of war is that much easier. Futile charges, desperate counter attacks, and the stories of those buried beneath the pristine cemeteries have finally begun to sink in. The entire group, mere strangers 48 hours before, share a bond that should have taken years to create. However, France has fast forwarded such formalities. This opportunity is truly once in a life time. Every day is filled with a plethora of extraordinary experiences. We have seen more here in the last two days than most people see in an entire lifetime. It’s overwhelming to think we still have three weeks of history to absorb. However, to be among 14 fellow minded historians is a breath of fresh air. The conversations, debates, perspectives and opinions that my peers bring to each battlefield enriches the entire experience to something beyond what I could have ever expected. To be able to take this trip, accompanied by professional historians, has been an eye opening experience. Fellow tourists hear our conversations and realize just how much knowledge our group has. They strain their ears, eager to hear what our tour has to offer in terms of perspective.

In the morning we visited Lochnager crater. In the battle of the Somme, mines were tunneled underneath the German lines and detonated before attacks began. This crater was 300 feet wide and 100 feet deep; it could fit a six story building in it. At one point, the crater inhibited the Allied advance because it was so large in size, it was difficult to cross. The British objective was to get across to the enemy side. Many have debated over the military usefulness that this tactic possessed, but none deny the immense magnitude of the detonations. The blast took 26 tons of aminol and a guide told us that at the time it was the biggest explosion the world had seen. It was rumored that citizens in London felt and heard the explosion.

Our next stop was at Delville Wood (Devil’s Wood), where the South African cemetery and war memorial are currently located. Dr. Broad had, but a day before, explained how Commonwealth Cemeteries were shaped into the way we see them today. There are over 22, 000 cemeteries in over 150 countries with over 1.7 million fallen soldiers buried worldwide. In France and Belgium alone, there are over 2,000 cemeteries. The South African cemetery and war memorial is often referred to as the equivalent of Vimy Ridge for South African soldiers, and was unveiled in 1932 (four years before Vimy). Similar to the dominion forces, the South African units had to deal with dissention among the ranks. While the Canadians experienced tensions between Anglophone and Francophone communities during the war, the South Africans felt tensions between the Boer and Anglophone communities in a similar respect, further muddying the cohesion that most countries take for granted. While the Canadians welcomed the aboriginals into their ranks with relatively open arms, the South Africans refused to allow black South Africans to serve in any capacity within the units.

The most profound memorial I saw today was Theipval, a British Memorial to the missing of Somme. Inscribed in the largest British war memorial are the names of 72,000 men. Although there were no Canadian names etched on the walls, because all of the Canadian missing are on the Vimy memorial, the magnitude of this monument is not lost on us. The weather was perfect, the immaculately manicured lawn was awe inspiring, towering trees provided a peaceful shade. Initially, the view of the memorial is blocked by the trees, but as one turns the corner, the trees separate and are no longer able to cover the immensity of the memorial. A digital camera cannot possibly capture the grandeur the brick monument commands. Unveiled in 1932, it opened initially to mixed reviews. Some felt it was too industrial in aesthetics, but in my opinion, and that of my peers, the monument was incredibly powerful and majestic.

BrucePhotoSM

From this site, we moved on to a site that hits close to home for us all: The Newfoundland Memorial Park, at Beaumont Hamel. It is famous for the catastrophic casualties that the 1st battalion of the Newfoundland Regiment took after being exposed for an hour. Of the 801 man battalion, 733 were casualties, including all of the officers. The Caribou Monument in the center of the memorial park offers a unique view of the battlefield that cost so many young Newfoundlanders their lives. Walking around the park, seeing the old trenches, compels one to remember the sacrifices these men made.

Finally, the day concluded with some downtime at the farm house. There was dinner, dancing, and relaxation as we tried to soak in the day’s events and prepare to do it all over again tomorrow.