Into the salient. That phrase sent shivers into many a brave man. So, we are now in Belgium. We had to retrace back to Fleurbaix in France to find my Uncle Albert, on my mums side. He died of wounds sustained in May 18 during the Kaisers Offensive. He recieved a poppy from our Mother, who joined him last autumn. 

I like Armentiers, it has cycle lanes. A complete contrast to Arras and its environs. The plan today was a gentle trundle to Ypres, directly 22 km but I was to wander about finding Hexham men and seeeing as many lads as I could. In the end it was 46km. It was blisteringly hot but occasionally I had a good cooling wind. The bike is performing wonderfully.  Once out of the urban sprawl I was into open country once more and I love it. 

The names of the places en route were really evocatve, especially when given Tommy names. Plugstart (Ploegsteert), Wijtschateate ( you guess!) , Hemmel. Crop of the day: Hops. It was really easy cycling but hot, hot indeed. The first cemetary, the Strand, I found a Mauri soldier from Rotorua; I’ve been there, and it is indeed very smelly from the hot springs.  What an awfully long way to travel to die. For the people that nicked his country. There were no Long White Clouds today, utterly blue sky.  At Hyde Park Corner, I met a Cameron serving in the Cameron’s and a lovely poppy adorns his grave. The Cemetaries came thick and fast, I had to pick and choose. I chose well. 

There was a massive, even ostentatious memorial to the Berkshire Regiment, almost inappropriate, opposite Hyde Park. Almost everywhere I have been people have shown curiosity and interest in what I am doing. At the Berks memorial, there was a people carrier with several English men with southern accents, smoking tabs and drinking beer; they never gave me a second glance. Why were these men here? A jolly, a week away from their partners on a lads drinking trip?  They saddened me, drinking and smoking and swearing in front of a beautiful if gory monument to dead men. Just down the road I saw a sign for the Christmas Truce memorial and two Cemetaries, Mud Corner and Prowse Point so I trundled down the lane. Mud corner was a charming small plot, it now housed the Cross originally erected for the Christmas Truce. A New Zealender native to Auckland has a poppy there. Prowse Wood was named after a Major who took the position without loss of his companies lives. Lost his though. In between was the awful, tacky appalling UEFA monument to the Christmas truce. Why? They moved the original Commemorative Cross down the road to Mud Corner, so now all they see is this celebrity endorsed eyesore instead. Bloody awful. 

I had some bait at mud corner and headed off up Messiness ridge, about 2 km of relatively strict climb. Halfway up is the wonderful Island of Ireland Peace park with its evocative tower. I took pictures, left a poppy and sent the photos to my good Irish mate that I work with; unfortunately I suspect he is a State man. Trundling up the hill, I finally reached Messiness and looked for my map for the way to Kemmel. BOLLOCKS! I had left it at Mud Corner. I could buy another one at the shop I was parked by, but no, this was MY map and it had served me well so was bloody well going to get it back. So I did. 5km added to the journey in scorching heat. But it was my map. And I love it. I found it. tatty though it is. 

I have bad news for Karon, my supportive and lovely partner.  I’ve fallen in love with my bike. If it wouldn’t have punctured my air bed I would sleep with it. I’ve lived with it, hurt with it, gone through the best and wort of times with it for over a week now and I cant bear to be parted. I even cycle to the loo at the campsite. It’s taken me from St Quentin to Ypres and been my mate and companion. I’ll miss it when I throw the bloody thing in the garage after all this and go back to Karon. As Robert Shaw said in Jaws, ” you’re going to need a bigger seat”.

Back on the road to Messiness then to Kemmel. Wild goose chase looking for one of our Hexham lads then I did a naughty thing,  I only had a straight 8 k to get back to Ypres so I stopped at an estaminet and had a beer. Shocking. After that another Northumberland Fusilier got my poppy and I trundled towards Wipers. Shortly after I came across La Laiterie, a square large cemetary which contains two of our fine Hexham lads and it was a pleasure to lay them my lovely hand made poppies. 

Talking of hand made poppies. I had nearly two hundred wonderful hand made poppies to give to the lads. I even flew especially to france to meet my magnificent ladies who made me so many marvellous poppies. So they are entitled to know where they went. Just like I sometimes randomly select men to honour, I have a pannier full of poppies which I fill every day. On each visit I plunge my hand in blind and select a poppy at random. Each poppy is appreciated with all my heart, but that’s the way I do it. 

A couple more Graveyards on the way to Ypres and then I met the Pair in the square. After 72 hours long wait I got served and the Pair went back to the campsite whilst I contemplated my navel over another beer. I was photographed by a Belgian man who wanted  my email address to send me the photos. He stared at me a lot. I think he loves me. Its not reciprocated.              

I had more beers than were recommended by the Temperance Cycling Club and rejoined the chaps slumbering away at the campsite. I cooked last nights doggy bag of Flanders beef stew with some carrots and onions and it was delicious . Ray had a pint of air. We sat all evening and talked bollocks until the early hours. Three old men and a bike. 

Technically, I have achieved the aim of cycling the whole British Front by arriving at Ypres from St Quentin. By rights I should stop now; Ive met my remit. But the front didn’t end at Ypres; it ended at Nieuport; but that was covered by by the Belgian army My quest is the British line so I must end it at Dunkirk. There lies another story, another war. My Grandfather, Bob Gould, was evacuated from those beaches. Tomorrow I will wade into the sea as he did so many years ago. My mothers father, my mother having joined him last year. This last part is for her and my Uncle Victor, Auntie Elsie, Auntie Marjorie, Auntie Betty and Auntie Carol. 

I’m now terribly sad it is nearly over. One last push and I’m at the sea, the climax of all that I have planned and dreamed of. My pair have been magnificent, as has Karon with her techno skills and all the others at home. But, to be immodest, there was only one man on the bike and  I hope I made my family and friends proud. I am proud of myself too; at stages I thought I wouldn’t manage it.  But like the Duracell Bunny, I am still there. Not bad for a man approaching 59?