Dearest Emily and Darling Audrey (as I am aware you are now returned to each other)
As the early morning twilight crested the arc of earth once more, our weary troupe arose and went about dismantling camp. We had a few final important missions to accomplish en route our final destination. The first of these, an intriguing jaunt through the Belgic town of Tournai.
In an attempt to survey our position, I began the excursion with a venture to the summit of the Belfry of Tournai, witnessing spectacular views from its peak. The Belfry is the oldest in Northern Europe, erected in 1188. It towers over the city at 72m high and served historically as a watchtower for the town. Its peak is majestically crowned with a symbol of power and vigilance, the golden Dragon. Descending the spiral staircases to ground level, I continued to wander the astonishingly clean streets. I joyfully noted a delightful folklore museum before conducting a more thorough study of the 800-year-old Our Lady’s Cathedral with its five towers, Romanesque style nave and transept built in the 12th century and Gothic choir built in the 13th century and even included a detailed archaeological display within.
The only slight disappointment of this terrific town was a visit to the parc Henry VIII to visit the defensive tower built by the English monarch after conquering the city. Being the only Belgic town ever occupied by Britain, Henry built a fortress to retain power. The castle once had 60 towers and 18 gates, but very little remains. The tower is in utter disrepair, scaffolding covers every crumbling curve and walls are choked with wicked weeds and rotting relics. The surrounding park seemed inhabited by groups of troublesome teens enjoying inebriants and the explorations of curious youth. There is little else to do in the area, so following a brief circumnavigation of the park; I traipsed from whence I had come. After some overpriced and underwhelming souvenir treasure hunting, I made myself comfortable in Au Dragon, a little corner bar by the Belfry, with a cold Belgian beer to watch the world go by. Tournai was another in a long line of impressive Belgic towns. I had severely underestimated the quaint quality of this incredible country. I never expected it to be bad, I just had no idea it would be so good!
As the team regrouped beneath the towering turrets of the Belfry of Tournai, it was time to move along on our epic adventure. We boarded our sturdy vessels and prepared for the long trip across Belgium towards our homelands.
Continuing the voyage, we soon discovered one of the many perils of modern migration. A carefree container careened towards our vessel without warning. It was only by the heroic reactions of our courageous captain and the swift swerves of surrounding excursionists that we narrowly avoided becoming the next day’s mournful headlines. Fortunately, we escaped unscathed and after some deep breaths and fraught nervous systems, we continued on to our next destination.
Later than hoped, the penultimate expedition saw us arrive at Waterloo, to witness the incredible monument erected to one of the most famous and ferocious battles on European soil. The battle of Waterloo was fought in 1815 between Napoleon Bonaparte and a coalition army fronted by the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal Blucher. The decisive battle took place on the Mont-Saint-Jean escarpment. Napoleon committed his last reserves but this final attack was beaten back. The Allied armies counter attacked and routed the French army. The defeat marked the end of Napoleons rule as emperor, the French Empire and the end of the Napoleonic wars.
We found ourselves thrust amongst nervous soldiers on the brink of war, dressed in full military garb, cavalry horses being unloaded ready for battle. The mists of war were preparing to engulf the bloody battlefields. Unfortunately we arrived too late to take full advantage of the moment, the doors shut as we approached, this battle would be fought tomorrow, by then, we would be far away.
Arriving at our final camp, Camping Mont des Bruyeres, we settled down with a hope to enjoy decadent comfort on the final evening of our epic odyssey. A fairy tale forest location in the middle of stunning countryside disguised a rather less than average quality campsite. Areas for tents were uneven and riddled with roots, showers were cold and weak, at one point becoming a feeble dribble before disappearing completely. The bar accepted only cash and refused our requests to witness the women’s world cup semi-final matches, despite having an enormous TV gathering dust on the bar room wall, perpetually turned off. It was a lamentable end to the adventure, having enjoyed such compassionate hospitality throughout the voyage, but we made the most of it with a communal feast and several beers, we concluded our nomadic community with a friendly reminisce.
The next morning, our caravan across the vast desert of twisting tarmac had only three remaining ports to call. The first was our final excursion, at the monumental town of Ypres. Poignant for its place in the history of the great wars, Ypres is a living memorial to those who lost their lives defending and protecting the position. During WW1, it stood firmly in the proposed path of Germany’s ambition to conquer Europe. The invasion of Belgium would bring the British Empire into the war. Ypres was surrounded by the German army and bombarded throughout. British, French and Allied forces captured the town from the Germans and despite facing the first poison gas attacks and the almost complete obliteration of the entire town, managed to hold the strategic position. There was an unbelievable loss of life on both sides, with well over one million casualties.
The Menin Gate is the doorway to the town and a stark reminder of the immense suffering experienced on this hallowed turf. The memorial was constructed in remembrance of all those unfortunate souls who lost their lives but whose final resting places are unknown. Within the city walls, it seems every store, bar and restaurant bears imagery of the town’s traumatic history. Some appear to profit from the connections, selling artefacts from the traumatic ordeals as tourist trinkets or using symbols of the conflict as advertisement opportunities. Is this a mark of respectful memorial to those terrible times or a theme park of human horror and misfortune? Thankfully, memorials that are more tasteful are also common as are the rebuilt monuments of the city. St Martin’s Cathedral is a stunning feat of architectural brilliance, whilst the parks and rivers surrounding the town add to an overarching tranquil calm, creating a serene cemetery ambiance that consumes the entire community. We whispered our conversations out of some unspoken symbol of respect, and made our way solemnly to the awaiting transports. It was time to move on.
Finally, we set off for the ferry and home to Albion. At Calais, armed guards patrolled the waves of vehicles arriving at the port, a stark contrast to our own at cheery Dover. Surviving the questioning glare of security, we boarded the ship and I indulged in a wonderful pint of cool crisp beer, this one to bookend my first, which felt like such a distant memory. I drank happily, chatted with friends, fondly recollecting the wealth of exciting discoveries made upon this expedition and the battles won along the way. As the white cliffs came into view, we disembarked the tireless vessel. I said farewells to my brave companions and made for a direct train home to you my darlings, my loving family.
I sit now upon that train, the final furlong of my fantastic voyage and look forward to being in your arms again. Whilst I predict a potential trip to the A&E, I cannot explain my delight at the thought of holding you both close, to English tea, home cooking, a hot shower, climbing into my own bed and sleeping more soundly than I can even imagine.
I shall be with you very soon. Until then my love,
I remain, forever yours
Craig xxx
