Before we left to start this walk we were asked by an Australian Franciscan Friar what our theme or focus would be for the walk. Alison said, off the top of her head that it might be an opportunity for us to reflect on and think about those who have passed away. Essentially, since our last long walk we have lost both Alison’s brother, Martin and Amy, Alison’s mother. We also lost Martin’s widowed partner, shortly after Amy died. So, there is still a lot to process and life has had its other demands, and this seemed to be a way to make good use of some of our time out of daily life.

We have had some time and, especially when we were walking in England, we were visiting churches along the way and would take time to reflect and pray in the quiet of those places. Sadly, not many churches seem to be open in rural France. Of course, we always use the time honoured Dugald Principle established on the Camino routes but just as relevant on other pilgrimage routes, too. It goes, “Never pass the door of a church on the way without trying the door handle, and if the door opens, go in – you never know what you might find inside.”. It has worked for us so many times, including stumbling over fantastic pieces of art or Medieval wood work, discovering interesting and important historical thing/facts, encountering amazing people, or stepping into a beautiful musical performance. And sometimes it is just the place of peace you need at that time.

But if the door doesn’t open, there is usually a seat nearby where you can have a drink and a rest, and so on.

The last three days have also had times when we would have loved to have been able to get into certain churches simply because they have been so intriguing.

The first one looked like it was possibly a ruin. From a distance we could see right through holes in the spire and, as we got closer, the tower looked the same and there seemed to be a framework around the building, too.

As with most of the villages we have walked through, you see the church from afar, you follow the path around the edge of the village, now obscured by trees or the buildings lining the early, out-lying streets, then you turn into the village and, at some point, the church reappears. So it was with this village and, when we saw the church we were astonished. Look at the pictures, there are three churches n this area that we have encountered and we suspect there are more. And they all have hollow towers and spires incised with shaped holes of different sizes and a tower that contains some sort of monumental statuary as part of the design.

In Peronne we had a long chat with the young guy holding the fort in the local tourist information office. He told us about how much of the town, and surrounding villages, had been totally destroyed during the first world war. Almost everything had been reconstructed using brick as those were the easiest, fastest and cheapest local building materials to produce. Buildings like churches had been made of stone, before but many of them had been reconstructed in brick. He also said that art deco buildings in the area were important to him because they were new after WW1 and doing something more than just re-building.

These churches have notices saying that their interiors are being renovated  because they contain some very important art deco designs and art work. You can see that they are in need of some TLC so I’m glad of that fact but we were both sad not to step into those places ourselves. For us they signal that there was some clear movement to make a statement between the wars in this area. Partly thanksgiving for having survived, partly to remember those lost in the war and partly as a sign of hope and a way forward for the future.

Somehow for me, they are better than the war memorials, although many of them are impressive and moving, too. These buildings were a massive sign of intentions to move on to a better world and I suppose, the fact that they survived the second world war says something…. I will do some research when I get home and possibly plan a pilgrimage of architecture and art after the first world war about positive ideals for the future….

This is a phase in our walk where we  are coming to terms with this journey through such a troubled landscape. It is, perhaps, a new window that has opened onto the idea of reflecting on loss. We are in a landscape of remembrance that didn’t stop after the end of the first world war; we are now seeing plaques remembering deaths from the second world war, too….

Tonight in Seraucourt le Grand we are in a campsite where they have a section of the site where pilgims can camp and we and two Belgian cyclists are staying here tonight. Before settling down here we walked through the town and decided to walk out of the town to visit the town’s local British War Graves Cemetery,

Afterwards, I spoke to my sister Elizabeth and she told me that our great uncle James Smith died in the 3^rd battle of Ypres and that he has no grave but is listed on the Menin Gate. Alison also has a relative listed on another memorial and here we were, the third time in two days, looking at British and commonwealth graves and reflecting on what it all might mean.

I thought it easier to say it my way.  Photos will follow when we have a system that works…

Reading the names

Blue set against white
names but not on every stone
rows of the lost are resting
and the wood pigeon’s throaty call
echoes the sound of a solitary car
grumbling up the slope
on the little shaded road below

Some swallows swipe along the rows
and swoop over to the next line of graves
gleefully taking a late lunch in the August heat
as we look at the many unnamed stones
and on others read the names and ages
of young men from different regiments
from Yorkshire or Ireland, or Western Australia
ennumerated, placed at rest with care
and just resting in peace

We walk down each row and our pilgrim hearts
remember the roads we’ve walked
through the fields of heavy clay
below the gathering clouds
over the sweeping curves of land
that once hid fetid trenches
now strewn with bales of straw
like golden monuments
to the abandoned ruins of war
and on the way we see the shells and bullets
now ploughed up and raked from the land
lined in low rows and little stacks
awaiting collection for disposal.

Such a peaceful landscape
scarred and littered with remnants of war
and left with a patchwork of remembered grief
in careful places of regimented rest
where reading names
is always an act worth doing