In memory of Beaumont-Hamel, July 1, 1916

I've written a few pieces about our visits to the great battle-grounds of the First World War in France and Belgium: here, here, here. I've covered Vimy Ridge, other areas of the Somme, Ypres.

One of the most moving stops on our tour was at Beaumont-Hamel. It was there, on July 1, 1916, that more than 800 members of the First Newfoundland Regiment — later the Royal Newfoundland Regiment — were sent over-the-top straight into a storm of German machine guns. Only 68 were able to answer roll call the next morning. It was one of the deadliest days in the history of modern warfare.

The day we visited the battle site, it had been raining off and on and the grass and path-ways were wet. Our tour guide is a historian and author and he makes a point of knowing where the people on his tour are from. He tailors his tour accordingly. Because we're Atlantic Canadians, he gave us a detailed tour of Beaumont-Hamel and spent a lot of time explaining the battle and the advantages that the Germans had arranged for themselves.

The land where the battle took place was bought by the Government of Newfoundland in 1921. It's had some restoration work done and it's now maintained by the Veterans' Affairs Department of the Government of Canada.

It wasn't an easy walk, through the wet ground, up and down trench slopes, into and out of shell holes — but it wasn't bad enough to even come close to what it must have been like then. It's hard to picture and it's hard to think about.

At the end of every war, it becomes a challenge to be able to justify it and explain why people gave their lives. It rarely changes much from some variation on, "They gave their lives to preserve our freedom/our values/our way of life." The further we get from the First World War, the easier it is for the historians to acknowledge that it was an ignoble war and there was nothing much to be gained by it.

The total number of military and civilian casualties in World War I was more than 38 million: there were over 17 million deaths and 20 million wounded, ranking it among the deadliest conflicts in human history. The total number of deaths includes about 11 million military personnel and about 7 million civilians.

Beaumont-Hamel affected much of the population in Newfoundland and it is still felt as a raw wound. The dead will be memorialized at the battle-site in France and also back home in Newfoundland and in Ottawa.

Brian McKenna's documentary, Newfoundland at Armageddon, aired on CBC-TV on the eve of the 100th anniversary. It's definitely worth seeing and in this day and age, it will be possible to find it sometime later and watch it. I recommend it.

July 1, as always, is a sad day for Newfoundland. The early part of the day is always spent remembering Beaumont-Hamel and mourning the dead. Later in the day, for those who are so inclined, there's Canada Day to be celebrated.

It's very much a day of mixed feelings, all round.

Left behind at the Louvre: Part two

Read Part one right here.

We went through customs in Montreal and, fortunately enough, we got to deal with a very pleasant fellow. He listened to our story, took in all the details, examined the receipts and decided our best bet was to declare the purchases so there would be a record of them if and when they made their way to Canada. That part of it felt good anyway.

The day after we got home, we began our campaign by going to the Louvre website. I think we just went to "Louvre shops" and clicked on "contact us." We thought it would be smooth sailing from there.

I will be never be able to tell you the whole story of our relationship with the Louvre shops. It's just too lengthy and complicated.

It started on August 31, when Dan wrote this email to the very shop where he had left the package:

On Monday August 29 I bought four items of jewelry at the Louvre book store and gift shop, but mistakenly did not collect them after I paid at the caisse. Because the museum and shop were closed on mardi, I could not return to collect the items before my flight back to Canada.

The four tags for the items of jewelry and the receipt from the caisse are attached.

Can you ship these items to me in Canada, please? And please advise what I need to do to pay for the shipping.

On September 2, he sent this one, to a different address:

Below is an email I sent two days ago. Since there has not yet been a reply, I am writing to this address to try and bring my request to the attention of the people who can assist.

Thank you.

As autumn went on, there were several more attempts on our part. Early in the new year, our subject line looked like this:

PLEASE READ -- LIREZ S'IL VOUS PLAIT! Jewelry bought at Louvre but left behind by mistake

And our email message, in big bold letters, looked like this:

We are very disappointed and discouraged as we have sent this note so many times and we cannot get any response. It wouldn’t be such an issue if it didn’t involve a lot of money. Please read and respond!

(Another of the items left behind: a lapis lazuli scarab necklace)

We did get a response on January 6 from Olivier Bassibey that said this:

Your message was deleted without being read on Friday, January 06, 2012 11:08:42 PM (GMT+01:00) Brussels, Copenhagen, Madrid, Paris.

It was the first of several messages, with a whole variety of names attached.

From Christophe Legendre:

Votre message a été lu le lundi 9 janvier 2012 09:07:00 (GMT+01:00) Bruxelles, Copenhague, Madrid, Paris.

From Laure Doublet:

Votre message a été lu le lundi 9 janvier 2012 10:15:24 (GMT+01:00) Bruxelles, Copenhague, Madrid, Paris.

There were others, all very similar, all from different names.

Then, on January 9, came this note:

Dear Customer,

This day we received an email about jewelery you have forgotten in August 2011 at the Louvre store. I’m a little embarassed because we sent to you two mails on the 7th october 2011 and the 27th october 2011 without any response of you, with the following adress mail [the email address was my brother-in-law's workplace address in Antwerp — long story but he didn't get it]. It was the only adress mail in our possession received in our store at the end of september 2011.Your items are still available in our shop and you may come to recover it when you want. Don’t hesitate to write to us for any further questions to the following mail :virginie.picano@rmn.fr.I send you files attached. Hoping this response can bring you any satisfaction.

Best regards.

Florence

I loved Florence so much right then, I wished I could "come to recover it."

(A brooch, also inspired by a painting)

I'll spare you all the details of how we finally made the arrangements to get the packages but in my second last note from Florence, she had a couple of questions about one of the pieces, then she said:

"Thank you to give us your preference. In return we ‘ll send you gifts and purchases ,and the references to follow this sending on the internet. Sorry for the waiting. All the best. Florence"

And finally, on March 14:

Madame,

Your package left today. The references to follow this sending is CY 660738024 FR. We wish you good reception. Thank you for your patience.

Best regards. Florence

When the package arrived, Florence had indeed included little gifts: an unusual golden bookmark that you slip into your pages and it hooks over the top of the book; two exquisite notebooks, different sizes with Louvre art on both covers; and a lovely Louvre calendar. The things that Dan had bought were whisked away so they could be presented — according to his original plan — as gifts for birthday, Mother's Day and wedding anniversary, all coming up in May.

They've been enjoyed and appreciated ever since.

(This is close to being the other brooch. I browsed for this picture.)

Left behind at the Louvre: Part one

Paris was the last stop on our European trip in 2011. We got there by way of Rome, Florence, Munich and Antwerp. We did all our travelling by train so we saw a lot as we made our way from city to city.

We arrived in Paris early Saturday and spent the weekend seeing lots of Parisian sights and eating good food. We reserved Monday for the Louvre and were leaving for home on Tuesday.

We got to the Louvre quite early — for us. (When we're on a trip, Dan would like to get our days underway by 7:00 a.m. William and I are a little harder to get moving in the morning. I'd like to think we've compromised but I doubt if Dan is really happy with our start-times. If there's something he really wants to see, he'll often take off early and then come back to get us. That works.)

But we got to the Louvre at a pretty decent hour and began our walk-around. The Louvre is, of course, huge. We knew we'd only be able to see a fraction of the art there and we tried to make some choices of both well-known and less-well-known exhibits. We saw both the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa. Well, you sort of have to, don't you? I'm glad we did. But we saw a lot more and really made the most of our limited time.

At a certain point, we decided to have some lunch. It was good — I had a curry-type dish and a salad. As we were leaving the restaurant, a wave of weakness and light-headedness and just general awful-feelingness swept over me. I thought I was going to collapse. We were just off the lobby and there were chairs and tables — all occupied — but I found some kind of uncomfortable little ledge to sit on. I sent Dan and William off to see more stuff and said I'd be fine; they should check on me in a while.

I didn't get any better. I felt worse and worse. Fortunately, a table became vacant and I was able to get off the little ledge and sit in a proper chair. I wanted to lay my head on the table but I didn't want to attract attention to myself. I put my sunglasses on so I wouldn't have to make eye contact with anyone.

When Dan and William came back, I told them I had to go back to the hotel and they're so nice and I was so sick, they didn't just put me into a taxi. They came with me, all the way and tucked me into bed. I insisted I could manage from there and they should return to the Louvre. Which they did. They saw a lot more and took lots of photos. I looked at them when we got home but it wasn't the same.

By evening, I was well enough to go out to a nice restaurant and have a bit of soup. And then we packed because we were leaving in the morning, Tuesday.

When you buy something at the Louvre shops, you give it to the sales person, pay her/him, and get your receipt. On your way out, you go to a different counter, produce your receipt and you're given your purchases. As Dan was packing that evening, he realized he was missing something. He had some of his purchases but he soon figured out that some had been left behind.

He looked quickly to see what time the Museum opened in the morning, assuming there'd be time to make a dash there and pick up the packages before we headed to the airport. And what did he find? Tuesday is the only day of the week the Louvre and all its shops are closed.

He checked with the desk at our hotel, got a few phone numbers where someone might know what to do — the Louvre is publicly-owned and it's directly administered by a government department. Its employees are, in effect, civil servants. We pretty much knew though, at this point, that we were going to Canada without some of our purchases. It wouldn't have been a huge problem except we weren't talking about a few souvenirs. There was some very nice jewellery in those packages. All paid for and receipted.

There were lovely earrings that were inspired by a Berthe Morisot painting.

The painting and the earrings together

The painting a bit closer-up

The earrings a bit closer-up

I'll come back tomorrow to tell you more about what was in the packages and whether they ever found their way to Canada.

The follow-up is right here.

Canada Bereft: In the right place

The Canada Bereft statue at the Vimy Memorial in France is also called Mother Canada and sometimes, Mother of Canada. She looks bereft and you can feel sad just being near her.

“Mother Canada” or “Canada Bereft”: A female figure draped in a cloak stands alone on the wall at the north-eastern side of the memorial. She bows her head and is looking down at a stone sarcophogus, representing Canada's war dead, at the base of the 24 foot (7.3 metres) wall below her. The magnificent view across the Douai plain and the location of the old enemy of the time spreads out before her. This figure is called Mother Canada or Canada Bereft, representing the nation of Canada mourning for her dead. The figure was carved from a single 30 tonne block of limestone.

The memorial is vast and she is very much to scale. She's overwhelming only in the compassion she engenders.

Compare her to this:

This is the statue – also called "Mother Canada" – proposed for Green Cove in Cape Breton Highlands National Park. It is the subject of much controversy not least because it's so ugly – a monstrosity, it's often called. It's also planned to be located in a National Park and it's a blatantly commercial venture, masquerading as a site to honour Canadian soldiers who didn't come home from the wars.

Those are all legitimate reasons to shut down this awful project and there's another good one. The statue in France stands in the middle of a battlefield. She's surrounded by graveyards and numerous reminders of the tragedies she's mourning. She's part of something much larger than herself.

She's so moving because she's in the right place.

And let me add this assurance – with definite reference to the commercial plans for the monstrosity – there is no Canada Bereft Gift Shop anywhere in sight.

In Memory of Their 60,000 Dead . . .

I don't know if I really buy the mythology about Vimy Ridge – the often-quoted assertion that the battle was a defining moment for Canada, "when the country emerged from under the shadow of Britain and felt capable of greatness." It sounds a bit romanticized to me, the kind of emotion I try to avoid when looking at wars.

But it doesn't really matter what I think about it. The Battle of Vimy Ridge is a major part of our history. I've known veterans of that battle – gone now, of course – and as we so often do when we look back, I wish I had asked more questions about it. I wish I had known which questions to ask.

We visited the Vimy battlefield a few weeks ago. As always – as I've described here – I can't imagine the scene as it must have been. I can't imagine it because I can't conceive of it.

It looks like this now. We know it didn't look like this then.

It's a very peaceful site which seems appropriate. People are quiet. You get the impression they're trying to absorb the history that surrounds them. But maybe I'm reading too much into the atmosphere.

I've seen lots of pictures of the cemeteries – you have too – but I'm not sure any number of pictures can prepare you for the endless fields of graves – not only the Vimy cemeteries but the cemeteries that cover miles and miles of surrounding countryside.

The Vimy Memorial is instantly recognizable and is as impressive as everyone has told you. It's very very big; it dominates the surrounding landscape and commands careful attention from all sides. It's made up of many sculptures, all of them with symbolic – mostly religious – meaning.

The Canadian Memorials are all seen to be expressions of grief and mourning unlike some of the national monuments which are seen to depict triumph and victory. In keeping with the religious imagery,

"the figure of 'Canada mourning her fallen sons' makes a clear reference to traditional images of the Mater Dolorosa (the Virgin Mary in mourning)."

Most of the people I knew who served in the wars didn't talk about it – not about the bad stuff. We have to try to understand it outside the history books through the trenches, the tunnels, the exhibits, the graves, the memorials. It's a representation of history, an album of pictures that's put been put together with love and respect and with much dignity. There's an air of sadness all around but enduring the sadness is surely the least we can do.

A war story. . .with a happy ending

I don't really understand war. I don't mean I don't understand why there are wars. I'm afraid I understand that all too well. What I don't understand is how war is done.

I remember being at Gettysburg, the site of the largest battle of the U.S. Civil War. I was able to go so far as to imagine the thousands of soldiers who had converged here to do battle (helped by a diorama in the interpretive centre which illustrated where the armies were placed) but I couldn't imagine anything after that. I have no understanding of how the generals strategize; I can't comprehend the idea that something like this is learned in special schools.

If I wasn't able to grasp Gettysburg, imagine how I felt visiting the great battlegrounds of World War I in Belgium and the north of France. Even with the best of guides as a teacher, I was often at a loss.

At Vimy

(Don't forget to click on the photos.)

I do understand horror though. When I wrote about books a couple of days ago, I didn't mention Erich Maria Remarque's masterpiece, All Quiet on the Western Front or Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth. Both tell the story of the young people who suffered most from the war. They're powerful works and it's hard to look at war as a noble pursuit after reading their brutal accounts.

We did our tour in France just a few weeks ago with an excellent tour guide. Our family had booked Carl before we ever got to France and he was picking us up at our hotel in Arras when another hotel guest overheard him asking at the desk for us and heard why he was there.

When we joined him, she chatted with us. Karen turned out to be a fellow Canadian (from Vancouver) who had been visiting her daughter in The Hague. She decided to come to Arras to look for the grave of her great-uncle which no member of her family had ever visited.

She had no idea where to start looking for him but we were happy for her to join us on our tour. She was only going to join us for the first couple of stops but our guide was so knowledgeable and interesting that by the time we reached Vimy Ridge, she couldn't resist the tour so she joined us for the day.

Karen and William at the beginning of a series of trenches

I'll come back another day to try to convey the vast range of emotions a person must go through on a day like this but for now, I'll just tell you about the joy.

As we left the hotel in the morning, our guide took Karen's great-uncle’s name and a couple of details about his death. As he took us from place to place – driving us here, walking us there, dropping us off to do some individual exploring – he was also researching and putting two and two together.

In mid-afternoon, he took us to the fairly new and very impressive Ring of Remembrance.

A new memorial to mark 100 years since the start of World War One has been inaugurated in northern France with the aim of focusing attention, not on the nations involved, but the individuals.

Wilfred Owen's name is there. So is fellow poet Isaac Rosenberg's.

There are rows of Smiths, and Wrights, and even some Camerons, but also Fleisches, Ernsts and Mullers.

There Karen found her great-uncle's name. We all were mesmerized looking at names, only able to take in a tiny fraction of the hundreds of thousands of names there.

We still had other stops to make but before the day was over, Carl took us to the cemetery where Karen's great-uncle was buried and she was able to visit his named grave. It was one of those things that was somehow meant to happen. She would never have found that grave, among the hundreds of thousands, without our guide. It was a very emotional experience for her and we were so grateful to be with her.

William took photos of her with her own camera, standing next to the gravestone – as he had earlier when she found the name at the Ring of Remembrance. We all hugged and we all got a little teary. We were all just blown away by the trouble Carl had taken and by his expertise in locating this grave having been given just a few simple clues.

That evening, we waited in the lobby of our hotel for Karen as we had all decided to have dinner together. Karen was a few minutes late; she had been busily on her lap-top, emailing photos to family members. It was something she had never expected to do and we were so very happy for her.

A stroll around Arras

It would be possible to feel quite sad in the areas of the north of France that were the sites of so much death and destruction and are the final home of so many of the young people who went to war. I thought a lot when I was there about the collective memory of the towns — how the past must permeate even today's generation and the small children growing up there, surrounded as they are by so many reminders of what took place there.

But maybe I'm projecting and maybe if one lives there, it's so much a part of life that it has less effect on the residents than it has on the visitors.

The fact is, the people who live in Arras live in a very attractive town and the people whom we saw out on the streets, in the restaurants, in the shops seemed to be enjoying life so what can I say?

Because the weekend has come and I've had a disorganized and distracted day, I'll just share some photos with you. Our tour guide said, in his opinion, Arras has one of the prettiest town squares in all of France. The town squares are surrounded by a unique architectural ensemble of 155 Flemish-Baroque-style townhouses. The Town Hall belfry is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

What do you think of Arras?

Memories of war

I came away from our tour of the great World War I battlefields and memorials in the north of France knowing more but understanding less. Looking at the unending fields of graves as we drove through – hundreds of thousands of graves, often as far as the eye could see – left me, as always, in the dark about the fascination with war across the generations.

I cared deeply about the young men – 16- and 17- and 18-year-olds – who had gone happily to fight for King and Country – and whose gravestones in France often represent a whole family or a whole street or a whole neighbourhood of boys who enlisted together, who travelled together and who were killed together, same day, same battle.

We had an excellent tour guide in France. Our family had him booked and he was picking us up at our hotel in Arras when another hotel guest overheard him asking at the desk for us and heard why he was there. When we joined him, she chatted with us – she turned out to be a fellow Canadian (from Vancouver) whose daughter is living in The Hague and she was visiting there. She decided to come to Arras to look for the grave of her great-uncle which no member of her family had ever visited.

To make a long story short, we were happy for her to join us on our tour and our guide was so great, he took that great-uncle’s name and a couple of details about his death and before the end of the day, he took us to the fairly new and very impressive Circle of Memory where Karen found her great-uncle’s name.

For our last stop, our guide took us to the cemetery where Karen’s great-uncle was buried and she was able to visit his named grave. It was quite amazing. She never would have found that grave, among the hundreds of thousands, without our guide. William took photos of her at the grave and by that evening, she had sent them to her family. It was a moving experience for all of us and we were glad to be there, to share it with Karen.

I’ll be back in the days to come with more about our often heartrending tour of World War I sites.