The Longest Day

I take a leisurely ride down to the big smoke and spend a few hours with my parents, my dear ancient father cooks me dinner and then true to form ( its a family tradition) tells me about the recent bout of the trots he got the last week after my mother eat something a bit toxic ! mm there is me tucking into a decent dinner hoping that sufficient time has elapsed to prevent me getting a dose of the trots and firing on all cylinders in my leathers, honestly I think he does it deliberately !! all that wartime generation are the same

what don't kill you makes you stronger or thinner
 

Dinner goes off OK and I gain a few hours rest while the younger member is carried towards London in comfort on the train.

Later I ride around to my brothers house for about 11pm and promptly become the butt of many jokes about my shape, the age of my leathers, the general air of untidiness of my motorcycle and the amount of stuff piled upon it, the total and utter git.

the youth contingent meanwhile appears with his slim black Moto Guzzi V7 a tank bag, a small top box and a set of Guy Martin Whiskers topped off by a 1970s style black riding jacket and trousers

oddly it reminds me of some one ?

Finally after several adjustments to my corset we depart, one mile to the petrol station ??

yep his machine was not exactly ready, an Omen I believe

however it starts off ok and I lead him off around the badlands of sarf lahndan through Peckham and eventually onto the motorway to Dover, a nice gentle cruise along to start the trip, he meanwhile rides past me with his feet up on the crash-bars vaguely reminiscent of easy riders

Soon we reach Dover, and here it begins to unravel a trifle, because we are early the staff offer us the use of an earlier ferry, so off we go and ride on to an early getaway, not having thought it through !

my original idea had been to crash out for a few hours in the terminal then get the 5.30 am ferry to Dunkirk to arrive at first light

the ferry was nearly empty, and as we departed at Calais I located the motorway to return us to our arranged route Dunkirk-Belgium

Of course arriving at something like 5 am it was freezing cold and pitch black, for me not so much of a problem as I have a nice touring windshield and heated handlebars turned up full , he has neither having removed his screen and eschewing heated bars

but for our younger explorer travelling light a combination of the cold, tiredness and Eastern European hospitality started to take a hold, himself decides to lead the tour by using his marvellous google phone mapping thingy, although I knew the road well

suddenly he pulls over to the hard shoulder and I pull up expecting him to announce some mechanical problem ? ,but no its seems that the two motor cars that he was following suddenly merged into one motor car !! , luckily I had warned him of the effects of tiredness

so he decided sheepishly to follow the old bloke on his tin donkey and stay out of trouble

we head northwards and soon passed Dunkirk and then turned off onto the E25 for Lille, soon the sign for Poperinge appeared so gently I rolled off the ramp onto smaller country roads and away from the high speed stuff, still feeling tired we followed the back roads cross country as it become light, hoping to find some where open to eat and drink in the warm, many small villages were passed but all seemed to be asleep, eventually Pop was located and after driving around for a while I got my bearings and we parked up next to a small cafe, one of the nice parts of motorcycling is clambering off and looking at your machine in the early morning light this was one of those days

Breakfast at 07.20 was coffee and some part of a horse in batter, I eat mine without looking at it, more coffee and quossants, and I photograph himself eating his bit of the horse as evidence , deep joy.

The original plan was to visit Mesen first, but as Jonathan needed food I decided to change it around, so after another coffee and some more cakes we wandered around Pop, of course the Toc H club does not open until 10.00 am so we had time to kill, its a pleasant town to walk around, but the temperature was dropping so we nipped into the local church to warm up, I explored this fine building while the younger member of the team thanked God in his own way !

After about 40 minutes I decided we ought really to move on in case the vicar thought that we were a fixture and put the locals off , we found the Statue of Ginger ( Ellie Cossins) and that brought back a long forgotten snatch of conversation from an old contemptible ( my Grandfather) I always thought it was one of his jokes, but here she is dancing and lively shimmering in the morning light ! never growing old.

The town becomes busy as we wandered around doing the touristy bit and this allowed us to notice many unique little details that probably escape the locals, we wasted enough time and were the first visitors at Talbot house, in fact we waited while they unlocked

The Toc H club, Talbot House was founded in 1915 by the Rev Tubby Clayton, as a place where enlisted men could get away from the horrors of war, named after Lieutenant Gilbert Talbot who was killed in action in July 1915 ( his grave marker is mounted in Tubbies Chapel)

Men could rest, drink tea, eat and borrow books from the library, and even use the shower block constructed there, or just sit in the Garden , in the second World War, the locals emptied Talbot house of all the effects, spirited them away for safe keeping and returned them after war

The away team confused as to why the house was empty, nevertheless used it to billet their troops in, this protected it from damage, of course in true allo allo traditions the tunnels under Talbot house were used to hide evaders on the route back home to blighty, Talbot house is a Christian Charity still running today, you can rent a room and stay the night in this peaceful and well loved house

We had a wander around, and much to our surprise found that Jonathan was allowed to play THE piano , yes the self same instrument, a trifle weary but still game, followed by nice home made cake and a pot of tea, I wont try to describe the house, you must explore this for yourself and let it talk to you in its own way

Feeling refreshed and awake we returned to our motorcycles and Jonathan did his magic with the box of technology and off we went along the roads to Mesen

Himself full of the joys of hot coffee, horse penis roll washed down with tea and cake at Toc H decides to lead in true British style, I follow along and enjoy the view and familiar scenes, as he takes a right turn, and just to test the locals reaction he decides to ride on the left ??? I toot my horn but to no avail as ear plugs mask the noise, eventually he spots a car coming towards him and realises that he is in the wrong opera ! seamlessly to the correct side he goes and I thank the passing car by pointing to him and making that old fashioned sign , they laugh

as we near Mesen I over take and point out that I know where we are, this causes a little distress between us as it appears that his googlebox and its crapnology tells us we need to go right down some poxy dirty farm track, now Mesen has been around since about 1300 or so along with this road, so I point out that technology might be a bit rubbish in this region ( the odd argument and hissy fit is a requirement of our trips )

sure enough the familiar cross roads known to my grandfathers generation hoves into view, and a quick right and left and we pull up outside the museum in the old cobbled market place

The compact and well laid out little museum is in the old fire station, another part of it is on the first floor of the town hall ( up the steps) and it also has excellent warm toilets !

( Mesen is the Flemish name, it is more commonly known as Messines)

Mesen is the smallest town in Belgium, also known as the location of the Christmas day football match, a statue commemorates this in the market place , the town has been here for 917 years give or take a bit of damage caused by the brits in 1383 and 1914-18 and the Germans and the French in 1477 and whoever else got the hump whilst passing through but they have forgiven us now thankfully.

Some Brit visitors parked up and harrumphed about the two motorcycles parked near to the statue?? they quickly walked through the museum, missing the important upstairs part, took the obligatory picture and left in their hire car, for them it was just a place to visit a box to tick ,whereas for us its a place to learn, absorb the culture and history and to understand the hardships that our grandparents experienced and that we thankfully have been spared.

We then took a walk down into the high street as the only cafe in the square has now closed ( sad about that) and the nice lady in the co op makes us fresh rolls for our lunch and we add a few other provisions and pay while the locals wait for us without complaint, we thank them for their tolerance, but for some reason they seem to like us here, we then saddle up and ride on to the peace memorial, although we could have walked ! as it was only the other side of the road !

Sitting on top of the Messines ridge, the Irish peace park is an amazing landmark that can be seen from many miles away, we park outside, and then walk in to explore and observe this amazing place, the park is dedicated to the Soldiers of Ireland of every political and religious belief, who died were wounded or are missing in the fight for freedom, Irish men and Women who served with all of the Armed forces here, Australian, British, Canadian, Kiwis Saffers and the U.S.

At the top of the park is the tower 33.5 metres high, and the inside of the tower is only lit by the sun on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month

after a walk around Jonathan finds his families County listed on the large memorial tablet

there are also stone tablets giving the names of the missing and killed, and lines from Irish poets, from this point you can look along the Messines ridge and see exactly why it was such a stronghold for the Germans and why so many lives were lost in the taking of it, and yet, compared to the English countryside its is not so very high

As it was quite we took the brewing kit and brewed up out of sight of any one and then after some refreshments we walked around the peace memorial again and understood a little more about it, then I tidied up leaving not a trace of our being ( as it should be) and we rode across the road to

St Nicholas Church

we were hoping to explore the inside of the church, but a service was in progress and we did not feel like intruding, the church was thought to be only a few hundred years old, however when a British shell aimed at the tower went through the floor, it exposed a hitherto unknown Romanesque era crypt, one that was soon used by injured German troops, sadly for history one that survived was a certain house painters son from Austria, and the church is the subject of one of his water colours, later on after the war another young man that was treated here came back every year in his holidays and used his skill as a goldsmith to adorn the rebuilt church with his work to give thanks, this proves that an entire nation cannot be evil.

We then rode on to the Messines ridge British cemetery where we explored, walked around the graves and looked out at the Belgian countryside, in the distance the woods where so many mines were exploded and so much death and destruction, Ypres can also be seen and the road from it is in clear view from this, one of the highest points of the ridge, that is why the Germans installed a blockhouse next to the windmill, this is now incorporated into the memorial for the New Zealand and Maori troops, so many of whom lost their lives here, having been awake for so many hours, we picked a quite corner and slept, I dont think they would mind, its not disrespectful to stay amongst them and we felt safe in their company, everything in Mesen is in walking range, and paths intersect the field to allow you to miss the road, if you were driving then is probably easier to leave the car and walk.

After our short rest I felt ready for a shower some grub and an early night, the accommodation was the province of the technical part of the team , I am merely the ideas man !!

of course I had suggested something local so that we could crash out for a few hours and then take in the 8pm service etc, but himself had booked an airbnb in Kortrijk

a mere 33Km away or a brisk half hour ride, however his unusual navigation and lust for curvy roads took us along a great many narrow agricultural roads and it was not until much later that we arrived there, as we rode into City it coincided with the evening rush hour, deep joy, but soon he located a small turning and then we spotted the house, the keys had been left ready for us in a letter box, but the owners were at home and welcomed us in, motorcycles quickly parked up on the drive and unpacked, boots and riding gear off and our vast room was shown to us, at this point I noticed we had to share a bed, and so renamed him gaylord ! A quick wash and our lovely hosts sat us down for a drink, now I rarely drink, I cannot handle the stuff, but as they had poured out some of the finest Belgian beer, I thought it rude to refuse so along with some snacks I imbibed and we got to know our hosts, the owner had designed the house himself, very modern and to me like something from a film set ( think Salamander) full of innovative features like sliding doors and soft edges, and lots of glass, far better than the stuff you see Kevin Mcloud doing.

Now an evening meal was needed and rather than rely on crapnology I asked our hosts to suggest a place to eat in the city, always the best way and we were given the name of the bar Allo Allo ??

That sounded quirky enough for me and after a short walk we found this bar in the main square, the staff were lively and friendly and served us a wonderful freshly cooked meal, jonathan tested the local beer and approved I stuck to soft drinks,( after we returned home I went on to the internet thing to leave a review, and I was surprised to find complaints and winging about the service and the food, oddly all from Brits ?)

Perhaps I am more European than I realise, but many Brits do not seem able to adapt and want to take their own version of little England with them and do not respect the friendship offered so freely, we stagger back to our accommodation using the crapnology provided by google, and walk at least twice the distance needed ?? I am lucky in that I have a good sense of recall and direction and can always find my way about a strange city, but google I think is too accurate like a digital watch, one only needs to know the portion of the hour in the day not the exact second, but eventually we find our bed for the night and crash out, I explained to him that any attempt at moving on to my side of the bed and pushing me out will result in a beating ! I am not used to sharing beds with strange young men

but it all goes ok and we sleep the sleep of the gods