Sojourn on the Somme
Malcolm Rogers goes cruising around the Valley of the Somme in the
northern French region of Picardy.
 By Malcolm
Rogers
Right, let’s get one thing out of the way. I went to Picardy in
the winter so there wasn’t a sign of the roses.
“In the hush of the silvery dew,” sang John McCormack, “Roses
are flow’ring in Picardy.”
But not in December. Never mind. The ancient land of the Picards had plenty
to offer even in mid-winter.
Picardy is now largely absorbed into the département of the Somme,
with the city of Amiens its capital. That’ll be the same Amiens
as in Amiens Street Station, Dublin, named after the World War I battle.
Once the Brits departed Ireland the station was renamed in honour of
James Connolly — a move which could begin a philosophical discussion
that might reasonably occupy us for the rest of this article. Because
here in Picardy, in the near vicinity of this ancient Celtic city, several
thousand young Irishmen went to an early grave — considerably more
than died in the Easter Rising.
For ever and ever, Amiens
Originally Samarobriva (bridge on the Somme), Amiens was the chief town
of a Celtic tribe the Ambiani. Yup, they’re as Celtic as you or
me. Under Caesar the settlement flourished and in the 4th century St.
Firmin set up shop here. Fast-forwarding to the 9th century, Norman raids
devastated the place — any visitor from Ireland will be excused
for saying “plus ça change”.
In the 90s Amiens became subject to the French crown — that’s
the 1290s of course. But community relations didn’t improve significantly
over the centuries. The battles of two World Wars flattened much of Amiens,
although today this tranquil, handsome city bears few scars of a history
for which the word chequered barely does justice. The old city including
the reconstructed 17th-century city hall, the 15th-century Church of Saint-Germain,
and the ancient theatre with its Louis XVI façade has been through
that great mincing machine of European history.
Amiens is criss-crossed by tendrils of the Somme River leading to the
Hortillonnages — a network of canals cut out of the marshlands of
the Somme valley 2,000 years ago. Tours on motorised punts through these
waterways — which used to drain Amiens’ market gardens —
give a fascinating view of the city. But it’s doubtful if this is
the canal trip which gave Jules Verne his inspiration for Twenty Thousand
Leagues Under the Sea. Could have, of course, as the novelist lived here
and takes his eternal repose in La Madeleine Cemeterie in Rue Saint Maurice.
You can take a Jules Verne walk, disappointingly not called Journey To
The Centre of Town, or visit the Jules Verne International Centre on Rue
Charles-Dubois.
From here you’ll emerge on to the Rue de Otages, and you may fleetingly
believe you’ve stumbled into a film set — half-timbered houses,
pavement cafes where groups of men smoke Gaulois cigarettes for a living
— plus the largest Gothic cathedral you’ll see in this neck
of the bois.
The Cathedral of Our Lady has presided over Amiens for the best part of
1,500 years through the offices of the Bishopric of Amiens and Picardie,
set up in 511AD fact fans.
Notre Dame de Amiens, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, could comfortably
accommodate two Paris Notre Dames. Inside it appears to be the size of
Co. Carlow. And impressive with it. Intricate statues, painted altar friezes,
stained glass glories — many a visitor has buckled under the sheer
volume of beauty. All this plus the relic of John the Baptist housed in
a jewel case. It would be fair to point out however that other places
also claim the earthly remains of John one of the main movers and shakers
of the early Christian church. Those old bones of contention again.
Tales from the riverbank
The Somme’s broad, quiet waters are ideal for cruising — the
only crowds you’ll encounter here are flocks of duck. Even if your
only previous experience of boating is the odd car ferry from Holyhead
cruising down one of France’s great rivers will pose you no serious
maritime challenge.
To begin shivering your timbers, you’ll pick up your Pénichette
cruiser at a place called Cappy from some very helpful people called Locaboat.
The cruisers take between four and 12 people and are the last word in
navigation niftiness — they even come equipped with bikes so when
you moor up the roads of Picardy can become your very own fin de cycle.
At the Locaboat headquarters in Cappy you’ll be offered a choice
of routes — a five-day cruise will take you from Cappy to Bray (no,
not the one in Wicklow. Stop being silly), Amiens, Abbeyville and St.
Valery. With more time you could swing by Compiégne, Péronne,
St. Quentin — through an area full of woods and valleys, chateaux,
abbeys and Gothic churches.
All that navigating and lolling about on deck can be tiring enough. Pas
de probleme. Restaurants and cafés vie for space along the riverbank
with weeping willows and reed-beds — water water everywhere and
quite a lot to drink. Avoiding wine here is like trying to avoid casinos
in Las Vegas.
 Idyllic
and picturesque the countryside of north-east France slips by, the light
shimmering through the meadows as the Somme flows serenely flows to the
sea. The sun breaks through the branches overhanging the river and sylph-like
shadows flit through the alder trees on the bank. Deer probably, maybe
fox.
To the south way beyond the riverbanks lie the rolling cultivated plains
of Santerre and on either side a sleepy countryside of orchards and meadows.
To the north-east in this peaceful, verdant landscape lies the valley
of the Haute-Somme — and the killing fields of the Great War.
Song of the Somme
The Battle of the Somme killed or wounded some 1.8million men with the
Allied forces making a net gain of six miles. This was the war when a
few dozen aristocrats sent 10million men out to die in the name of nationhood.
One of them was an Irishman. Lord Kitchener (of Your country needs you
fame) born in Ballylongford, Co. Kerry.
The Historial De La Grande Guerre, Chateau de Peronne, Peronne, presents
an absorbing — and horrific — overview of this conflagration
which caused the disintegration of four empires and changed the fabric
of European history for ever.
Even the vexed question of Irish involvement in the Great War is handled
sensitively. That the various regiments (all voluntary) weren’t
exactly singing out of the same hymn book is attested to in a fine explanatory
exhibition.
“Some 206,000 Irishmen contributed to the British war effort,”
it explains. “Two divisions, the 10th and the 16th, were considered
Nationalist, while the 36th Ulster Division was openly Unionist.”
In all the Irish — Catholic and Protestant — suffered 40,000
casualties at the Somme.
Nearby Peronne is the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing. This vast arch,
built by Lutyens and visible for miles around, is inscribed with the names
of those whose bodies were never found. Some 73,000 names including men
from regiments such as the Royal Dublin Fusiliers and the Iniskilling
(sic) Fusiliers, the Connaught Rangers and the Munster Fusiliers.
 And
of course the grave of Willie McBride.
Three W. McBrides are listed amongst the dead of the Somme. Two William
McBrides and one W. McBride died in 1916 — one commemorated in the
Thiepval Memorial with no gravestone. The other two are buried in the
Authuile Military Cemetery. There, amidst carefully tended gardens, these
men from Irish regiments take their eternal rest. None of the details
exactly match Eric Bogle’s song but that scarcely matters. On the
day I visited someone had left a copy of the lyrics on the gravestone
of Willie McBride of Armagh City. Fittingly the drizzle had smudged the
ink giving it a tear-stained, forlorn appearance.
Just as poignant was an un-named grave with the inscription: "A soldier
of the Great War. Royal Irish Rifles. Known unto God."
For miles you can follow the Road of Remembrance over the flat plains
of the Somme past an infinity of battlefield sites and memorials to the
war that didn’t end wars. In places parts of the battlefield have
been preserved. The trenches, carved in zig-zags to prevent a shell travelling
the full length of the defence, are eerily silent. Nearby are the remains
of dug-out shelters, fire-steps and bomb craters. Now all grassed over,
undulating gently, a theme-park of warfare. It is impossible to imagine
the mud, the noise and the stench which attended those terrible times.
As you drive away with the latest news from Iraq, Afghanistan and the
Middle East on the radio you can only come to the conclusion that mankind
has an extraordinary capacity for violence and destruction and no amount
of reminders seem able to make Homo un-sapiens desist.
Funnily enough as I made my way back to Amiens it wasn’t Eric Bogle’s
lyrics which came to mind. It was the First World War song: It’s
A Long Way To Tipperary sung as a lament, as originally intended.
Under the December drizzle which blanketed the Somme the green plains
of Tipperary did indeed seem a very long way away.
Factfile
Amiens is 90 minutes drive from Calais and 30 minutes from Beauvais Airport,
The Historial De La Grande Guerre, Chateau de Peronne, Peronne, (Tel
0033 3 22 83 14 18).
In 2007 Locaboat celebrates its 30th birthday and offers a range of
self-drive inland waterways cruising in France, Holland, Italy, Ireland
and Germany. Prices for a week’s cruising start at £535. More
information by calling 01279 505097 or visiting www.locaboat.com
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