Dodges at Ypres
Following the German attack on Belgium in 1914, and the failure of the Schlieffen Plan to take France in 6 weeks the Great War settled to a linear front 350 miles long from the North sea to the Swiss border. The only part of Belgium not occupied was a salient about 5 miles long by 3 deep around the ancient city of Ypres, now spelt Ieper
Following last years Pal’s March to commemorate the first day of the Battle of the Somme, organised by Andrew Robertshaw, then of the national Army Museum, now Curator of the Royal logistic Corps museum at Deepcut; it was decided that another event would be organised. The place decided on was Ypres to commemorate the 3rd battle of the Ypres Salient, best known as Passchendaele, (now Passendale). The intention behind the 1917 offensive was to pressure the Germans, taking them away from the French army that was at the point of mutiny after Verdun, and hopefully to strike north towards the port of Zebrugge, which was used as a U-boat base.
Last year Steve McGuire and I were invited to use our Dodges as support vehicles for the march. There was no question if the boy’s were off again, we would be there. So on Sunday 29 June, Steve, with his Canadian Dodge APT Norah and I with my Dodge WC51 Ruby Baby, set off on our merry way. Both the Dodges were fully laden with rations, tents and personnel kit. On our travels the previous day we had seen signs announcing that the main road through one village we would pass through was due to be closed. So a cunning plan was hatched whereby we would detour via the romantically named Pilgrim’s Way, so named as it was part of the route to Canterbury.
For those of you who don’t know it, the best way to describe the road is a cart track that at some time was tarmaced. Good idea, except a lot of people had the same one. We were making reasonable progress along its five mile length, ducking in and out of passing places to allow other vehicles through, when we came face to face with ‘The Old Lady From Hell’. A little silver Nissan came steadily down the middle of the road, straight towards Steve who was in the lead, past the passing point and stopped, just stopped. A pair of wide eyes just managed to peer terrified over the steering wheel, and everything came to grinding halt. After 45 minutes, which I’m sure will haunt my dreams for years, we were through and off, down the A20 to the port of Dover. Thankfully the rest of the trip was drama free and we boarded the 18:00 ferry to Dunkerque.
As European time is an hour ahead of England it was about 21:00 when we disembarked for the 30 mile trip to Ieper. Now being clever, again, and knowing the justified reputation of French drivers we had decided to cut across country. Unfortunately the tarmac moths had been out.
The French seem to think road signs are a blot on the landscape or there to confuse. They succeeded, and, after half an hour we were completely lost; except that the signs said St Omer. Now, this is a fascinating place; home of La Cupole, a huge concrete dome covering what had intend to be a massive underground V2 assembly and launch facility. It was also a target of constant Allied bombing in an attempt to stop operations. Trouble is it 180’ from Ieper. Just at this point the patron saint of Dodge owners saw fit to smile on us in the form of two gendarmes. One result of this roaming was to visit the medieval town of Bergues, this was entered over a wooden bridge, with the wheels rattling between two tall stone gate towers, just wide enough for the Dodges, the town centre had a river running through it and out through another gate follow the diversion signs, and end up going back through the gate. However, 10 minutes later and were heading for the main road and running, but I intend to return for a visit on purpose in daylight.
It was a relief to cross the Belgium border; at least we were in the right country. Part of the route was along the N38, this road runs through an area of countryside, arrow straight lined with poplar trees. Unlit with a full moon, and with an electrical storm in the distance, it is an experience any WW2 vehicle owner should try. It is the ‘Road somewhere in Europe’ of the black and white war films.
My imagination was running riot, all that was missing was the grizzled sergeant, unshaven, nursing a Thompson, chewing a cigar butt while muttering ‘It’s too quiet boys, them Krauts got to be there somewhere’.
Fortunately we were not ambushed and eventually about 00:30 we arrived at the camp to be greeted by old friends and a couple of beers. Which led to a couple more beers, and…..
The old ladies performance had been faultless. They had both been fully loaded cruising at about 45 mph, the song of the engine sounding in my ears, the smells from the countryside wafting in it’s a good reason for owning an open Dodge.
The camp site was on an area named by the British in 1917 ‘Forward Farm’. It had been part of the second line trenches, where troops formed up before entering the fighting trenches. The rule is tread softly you don’t know who you may be walking on. The other rule is if you’re digging and hit metal, stop, you never know.
I awoke at about 7:00 and following the great English tradition - kettle on and tea brewed. The day started with the briefing and we discussed the work the Ladies would be doing over the week. First job was a trip to the local Belgian Army base to pick up chairs and tables. It was like taking a kid to a sweet shop and telling them to keep their hands in their pockets! 10 ton Mercedes GS trucks vied with Unimogs, G Wagens and two Augusta helicopters and what was on the stores racks. Unfortunately all we were given were 50 chairs and 15 folding tables, that they wanted back. I can now state that 50 folding Belgian Army chairs plus 5 folding tables fit comfortably in the back of a WC51.
The next task was to move all the modern vehicles off site to storage. On the way back a slight detour and the first entry into Ieper town. The heart of any Belgian town is its square. In Ieper the dominating feature is the Cloth Hall. Originally 12th Century when Ieper was the centre of the Flemish wool trade, the pictures of its destruction from 1915 are archetypal images of the destruction of war. Following this the townspeople lovingly rebuilt it, taking 40 years from 1928 to 1962! Today this magnificent Gothic Building is again the heart of the community and houses the In Flanders Fields museum.
The vehicle and occupants in uniform immediately attracted attention so what was intended to be a quick visit to one of the many tobacconists and chocolate shops stretched to about half an hour.
We returned to camp and dinner, this was also the breaking of bad news. The APT had developed a nasty rattle. Rapid diagnosis was the front Dynamo bearing, and to add a new word to your vocabulary it was ‘Gerrfunkened’ which I am assured is a technical description, and not in any way the European equivalent of an Anglo Saxon description. During dinner discussions started that though we would be starting so early in the morning it would still be late at night, a quick trip into town for a beer and airing the uniform wouldn’t go amiss. With the timings there was also a chance to attend the world famous Last Post ceremony at the Menin Gate at 8 pm. First started in 1927, just as the gate was completed, the intent is to sound the last post for every name on the memorial.
The tradition stopped during WW2 but recommenced on the evening Ieper was liberated. The honour of sounding the last post is jealously guarded by the Belgian fire service, with the occasional guest. Wreaths are laid by visiting organisations at this time. So with Steve up to his ears in Dodge, I took off with some of the boys.
Although the Menin Gate is a memorial, it is also one of the main ways into the town through the original walls; as the crowd gathered the traffic was still flowing. The boys arrived and many of the crowd wanted pictures, a complete pain for me as ‘official photographer’. As the ceremony began and the silence fell the 6 silver bugles sounded filling the arch with the echoes, the credo was spoken and a minutes silence observed. A piper then played a lament, and the world returned.
The idea was that afterwards we’d have a photo shoot. Fat chance! The various visitors at the gate tailed after us requesting photos with kids, wives, and the dog. Unfortunately, when doing events like this you have to wear many hats. I am a Jersey man, living in England, driving an iconic American vehicle, through a town in Belgium that is world famous. I claim to be there to honour those who fell; I therefore am bound by honour and duty to do nothing to denigrate their memory.
 It can still get a bit trying though when all you want to do is play with your toy. By the time we got back to camp it was again gone 23:00, and we were due out at 02:30 to start the march. When we did start it was so early in the morning it was still late at night. A bleary eyed bunch settled themselves in full Great War marching kit and loaded onto the vehicles. With Norah temporarily out of action it required a double lift to get everyone to the start point. The timing had been set 90 years before as that is when the battle started. As the Germans saw the attack they launched flares to signal their artillery. We continued the tradition, at the appointed time flares were launched at points along the route and the march commenced.
I had to leave the escort to the Land Rovers, as one of the participants had been taken ill and required dropping at the rail station to return to UK.
This left me in Ieper at 04:30, dark and quiet. This was too much a temptation; back the Menin Gate, camera out and some quick pictures. I returned to camp and half hour later the crunch of hob- nails on tarmac announced the boys return out of the darkness and the first stage was complete.
Steve and I could now turn full attention to Norah. Fredrick, a Belgian archaeologist, and the farmer’s local knowledge there was a major European distributor of SKF bearings about a mile away. Steve and Fredrick disappeared, soon to return with the bearings and a puller. Some frantic work followed. The engine started and the ammeter kicked satisfactorily over to the right. The three of us had big grins, and Fredrick had survived his introduction to Dodge engineering. As the bearings removed were stamped 1941, we thought that there was probably no chance of a warranty claim being successful.
Later in the day, well 09:00, late by our standards, the boys left camp for the second section of the march, to Hill 62, a high point that saw much bloody fighting. We were tasked to pick them up about three hours later and bring them back to camp. Now it was important to celebrate the start of the march, and Norah’s return to fitness, so off to Ieper again, but with the strict proviso of an early night. So for the first time in 3 days I got to bed the same day I got up
Wednesday dawned, after a decent night’s sleep and a civilised start of 09:00 breakfast was a pleasant affair. With Norah running it was a single lift to the start point Hill 60. this point is not a natural hill; it was the spoil from the nearby rail cutting. During the Great War the Germans fortified the area with concrete pill boxes. It changed hands four times and was also the scene of fierce fighting during 1944, also the place of execution of two French resistance fighters. Once again the Land Rovers did escort, so Steve and I had a couple hours to spare. we had been invited to a nearby archaeological dig at Factory farm. This had been a medieval moated farmstead, mined during the Great War as it was the extreme right hand edge of an Australian attack. 3 German bodies had been found near the pool that now remains. Unfortunately owing to looters the site had been desecrated and the MOD had started a rescue attempt. I decided on a recce and was rewarded by a fascinating hour of conversation with the diggers. I returned to Mennin village to collect the guys and found Steve outside the Irish pub, I kid you not, happily soaking the rays, eating chocolate and drinking Guinness. It a lousy job but someone has to do it. Following lunch of fresh soup and the wonderful Belgian bread I took some of the guys back to the dig while Steve returned the rest to camp.
They were treated to a guided tour of the site and briefed by the diggers, whilst the others were overrun by visitors to living history camp. The archaeology of the area is complex, more so as it is in a vibrant modern community wishing to expand. The problem is every new building project disturbs the remains. One of the biggest problems is munitions. During both wars records give an estimate of 150,000,000,000,000, munitions fired. Approximately 30% of these failed to explode, plus others buried by counter shelling exploding mines, and carried by the dead. The result is a stupendous job for the Belgium EOD team. This consists of 167 operators of who 1 in 4 is always on assignment elsewhere. In addition to normal HE and SA, there are various chemical weapons, still potent. The Belgian Government has recently spent 10, 000,000 Euros on chemical weapon disposal facilities, but it will be a long time yet till the job is finished. The so called ‘Iron Harvest’ will continue to cause death and disruption.
Another major problem is looting of sites, or to be blunt, grave robbing. There is a large market for Great War relics. This is fuelled in many cases by illegal use of metal detectors, which must be registered in Belgium and raiding of known sites. As any human remains can only be identified by these relics, to remove them destroys any chance of finding a body’s identity. To quote Andy Robertshaw ‘you kill the man twice’.
The evening was spent in Ieper; here I indulged myself in another Belgian speciality of the season, mussels, cooked plain and served in a large crock, with cabbage, onion and celery stock, accompanied by the Belgian staple, chips. It is rare to see a thin Belgian.
Thursday was a short section of three miles starting from the camp. This ended at the village of Langemark, here a short wreath laying ceremony was held in conjunction with our German friends at the German Military cemetery just outside the village. Then on to the village at Zonnebeke. The Passendale museum is located in the chateau. Originally the cloister of a monastery, it was occupied by the Germans, when recaptured by the British an extensive dugout system was constructed under the ruins. This dugout has been reproduced in great detail; the result is one of the best museums on the subject. For some reason, our chaplain and some of the other had decided that they would play a game a cricket in the grounds. To ensure this they had marched carrying in addition to their normal kits, stumps, bats and a ball. As cricket is a game requiring two teams the German contingent found themselves dragooned into playing. Considering they had already marched about five miles in temperatures going for the upper twenties while not having a clue about the rules, they weren’t that keen.
The camp opened to visitors at 14:00, from then until colours at 18:00 a steady stream of visitors of all ages were educated and entertained. The PR is important for many reasons, first to keep the memory of the fallen fresh and second most important to make people understand the importance of the area which to them is just the place they live. It is their eyes and ears that will catch and deter the grave robbers.
The evening was spent pleasantly in camp, I was able to do some admin, catch up on filing the photos I had taken and just generally chill out. Catering on the trip was done by Peter, John and another Tony. They were producing three meals a day for a 120 men, on period field kitchen equipment. This means a constant supply of fire wood, and any means necessary is employed to keep the fires burning. Another of Peter’s culinary delights is his famous throughout the re-enactment world, Gazinta soup. The recipe is a closely guarded secret, which I will now reveal. What ever you have gazinta it. The result is inevitably a well flavoured rib sticking soup that fills very satisfactorily.
Friday dawned warm and dry; this was the last day of the March. The start point was the camp heading north east towards Passendale itself. My first job of the day was rubbish disposal. Belgians believe wholeheartedly in recycling. So, everything is separated by type; and taken to a local waste depot for reuse; not the most pleasant of tasks, but inevitable when 120 people live in one place for a week.
 Steve and I then took the lunches out to Tyne Cot, the largest Commonwealth War Graves Commission site in the world. The CWGC maintain cemeteries for war dead all around the world. These can range from specific sites such as Tyne Cot to two or three graves in a local churchyard. Due to its history the salient has many such places in a small area. Whatever the size these are always immaculately maintained and landscaped. The most poignant thing about Tyne Cot is the wall at the back; here are some 35,000 names of men who have no known grave. Within the grounds are three German blockhouses, these were one of the causes of heavy casualties. The blockhouses were taken by the Australians; and the Cross and Sword, seen in all CWWGC cemeteries, is built over one of them. Here a wreath was laid and twenty minutes ease taken before the last leg to Passendale itself.
Finally, about an hour and a half later, the boys hove into view and entered the square at Passendale. Ninety years before this had been the final objective. From here British and Commonwealth troops could look down on the German rear. The way they had come was mud, death and total desolation; from the top of the ridge they saw a peaceful green land of tranquillity and plenty. The Boys were over the moon; sore feet and tiredness forgotten in the jubilation of their achievement. It had to be celebrated; so once more off kit, into the Dodges and away to the local café for a well-earned beer.
The main square in Passendale has a beautifully detailed 3D brass plaque, with a contour map of the area and short history of the Salient. The village was taken finally by Canadian troops and Steve’s Canadian Flag was much appreciated. The afternoon was the usual round of visitors and a lot of spit and polish ready for the laying of a wreath at the Menin Gate during the Last Post.
Ruby and I were also privileged to undertake a very special duty. Where we were camping had been part of the British support trench line during 1917. That August, a man called E. Hanmore, a Private in the Royal Sussex Regiment was stationed in or about the farm. He sustained injuries on 1st or 2nd and died of his wounds on the 3rd August 1917. He was buried at the Du Hamelly ADS (Advanced Dressing Station) cemetery on the outskirts of Ieper. His great nephew was one of the marchers and I took him down to lay a wreath on his Uncle’s grave.
During the Great War many London B Type motorbuses were commandeered. They did every duty from troop transport to casualty evac. They were converted for such diverse purposes as mobile lofts for carrier pigeons and early radio vehicles; very like the Dodges. They did whatever was needed. The buses were known to the troops as Old Bills and to honour this link, London Transport have donated buses to the Cloth Hall museum, inevitably named Young Bills; the latest of these is a 1964 Routemaster, known in service as the RM. This is classic London double-decker, with the open back entrance. The Mayor of Ieper had insisted that this vehicle would be made available to transport everyone to the town, a great honour. The Dodges weren’t missing out though, and I finally got a picture of me driving Ruby through the gate. That there must have been a couple of hundred other photos taken of her by visitors has not of course, caused my hat size to increase. Further celebrations long and hard then ensued.
Somewhere around Saturday morning everyone started to surface. There was no marching, however some of us went on a ‘Robertshaw Ramble’ to the Essex Farm dressing station where the poem ‘In Flander’s Fields’ was written. This is the basis of the red poppy becoming a symbol of remembrance. The concrete dugouts still exist and can be entered. Andy in full flight is a sight to see. His eye light up the arms gesture and the information comes out in a barrage. I swear if the man doesn’t know every tree on the western front personally, he knows its relations. Our camp had also attracted the attention of the local military vehicle group. They turned up with a Jeep in the colours of the Polish Airborne who liberated Ieper in 1944 and a Canadian Ford. Fredrick was over the moon. He told me that familiarity had bred certain contempt; the local people were losing touch with their heritage. He considered that the march and camp had been a great success as it started to raise interest again, and made people value what they had. The afternoon was frantic, with the London bus running trips from the Cloth Hall to the camp.
At 18:00 we had a visit from the Mayor of Ieper, he brought with him a gift, a couple of crates of a local brew called Hummel. If you don’t want to drink the stuff you can run the Dodges on it!
After his departure the final celebration began, following a full roast dinner, the turns began. You need a broad sense of humour to appreciate the turns, a series of sketches performed by the boys based on Great War humour. When the whole thing is Hummel fuelled, stand back. The army information team performed the ‘Actions as laid by orders, Belgian Portaloos, for the use of’. This brought the house down, especially the impromptu appearance of Max the farmers G.S.D. Pity Ben had his trousers down at the time, still I am pleased to report Max is in continued good health.
Sunday, the adrenalin had drained as we started the chores of breaking camp. All the anticipation of the week before had gone, and we were faced with a long slog home. One final commitment was outstanding, and I was honoured to lay a floral tribute in memoriam at the gate on behalf of the members of the forum. Using the motorway, Dunkerque was reached in about an hour. Queuing to book in for the ferry underlined the reasons for letting an engine soak after a long run. At the end of the motorway Ruby was running at about 185’ and an idle oil pressure of 22lb. After two or three minutes at idle the temp had dropped to 170’ and the oil up to 40lb. Coming of the ferry at Dover, the old ladies sniffed the cool night air of home and went for it. So about 2 ½ hours later I nosed Ruby into home.
 Last thoughts on a successful week, 850 miles on the clock, mostly carrying full load. First the great hospitality shown to us by the farmer and his family. Then the tolerance of the people of Ieper. Quote of the week from Peter the Scottish cook when someone had the temerity to ask what was in the Gizinta soup. ‘Why ask me? I’m a couck, no’a bloody detective’. My abiding memory is standing at the grave of Private Hanmore on the ninetieth anniversary of his death. We have an invitation to return to Ieper for a military vehicle event.
DEDICATION
Regretfully early on the morning of Sunday 4th August, the eldest son of the farmer, on whose land we were camped, was killed in a car accident. I and all who took part, who were treated with such hospitality by him and his family, share their sorrow. This short story is dedicated to them.
|
