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PARIS ~ vol. deux
Hello all!
I just got in last night from venturing into the North of France. Before I get into that I'll point out that in order to streamline this news page I'll be making the previous "issues" of the "Arnois in Paris" newsletter available in the links to your left. As I'll be posting plenty of pictures this will make the page load up faster and more efficient. As well, check back in a couple of days for a detailed "taste" of Paris with of course my meandering verbosity, pictures and a sound collage of what Paris sounds like.
A journey into the past....
The trip into the north was wonderful. The vast fields stretch as far as the eye can see, it is an achingly beautiful place. Then there are the cemeteries. They dot the landscapes like seeds scattered across the Somme Valley and are stunningly maintained gardens of memory. Each one a vessel to hold not only the remains of those lost but the grief and loss of those of that generation who survived. These places are manicured better than any golf course you will see and the French tend them with painful attention to detail.
One thing that made my trip north so very special was songwriter Joe Lapinski's latest recording entitled Sundries . I had packed it for my roadtrip along with the latest Mouse on Mars recording for no special reason. I put it in the deck on my way out of Paris and it stayed there for the entire trip, I listened to it at least 7 or 8 times in two days. The choice turned out to be very inspirational. The disc is full of bitter sweet melodies, playful ditties and an amazing cohesive flow that makes all the best "road-worthy" recordings. Its a recording of great subtly and like a lot of my favourite art it gives its secrets up slowly. The disc seemed so in sync with my journey it was as if he had written it especially for me and my trip it felt that personal. One of the things I will always remember about my journey is how he sang me along the roads into the past. The places I visited are very sad and beautiful and I couldnt imagine listening to anything else but those sweet little chestnuts of music.
The places that I visited, when you are intimate with their histories,
they pierce your heart over and over. The first time I visited I had only
read here and there on them and their effect on me was deep but
different. Having read quite a bit more since 1993 I
My journey this summer involved a voyage into a part of France that once was known during The Great War as the Western Front. The main purpose of this sojourn was to visit where my Great-uncle is buried near Lens that I might leave a tiny piece of his homeland with him in the form of a small bronze pine cone which I fashioned last year in a sculpture workshop. I also visited the Newfoundland Memorial and the newly rededicated and restored Vimy Memorial.
My Great-uncles little sister Margaret periodically mentioned her brother over the years. She had his last letter home, and a dusty old carte de visite photo showing a very young looking lad. She also mentioned that to her knowledge no one in the family had ever made the journey to his cemetery. Because of this I had always felt a certain sadness in the loneliness of his fate. Thousands of miles away from his home, friends and family.
His name was Albert Lawrence Running and like so many young (and not so young) men of his time was along with his brother Thomas swept into the maelstrom of war enlisting late in 1915. After his training he was sent into the line October 26, 1916 with the 8th Battalion, Winnepeg Rifles (aka The Little Black Devils) in time for the conclusion of the 5 month long massacre otherwise known as The Battle of the Somme. They relieved the embattled Australian divisions who had been bled white in and around Pozieres. He spent the winter of 1917 learning the routine of trench life and training for the Battle of Vimy Ridge which he took part in that April. A scant four months later he perished in this tragic and pointless conflict on a hot day in August during what is known as the Battle of Hill 70.
I look at his picture sometimes and I try to imagine what he was like or might have been like if I had met him in my childhood along with his sister, had he survived he would have been in his late sixties. If he was anything like his sister I imagine that he might have been quite the colourful character. Try as I may though, the expression in the photo betrays little emotion. One thing is certain, his calm demeanor reveals none of the mischievious nature his little sister (my Great-aunt) Margaret was known for....but than again one can never tell with these old photographs. In the end there are only empty spaces and questions about this young fellow who the earth took back far too soon.
Born March 7, 1897 Albert Running was only 20 years of age when he died.
The Bronze pine cone, and some fresh flowers I picked that morning.
Buring the pine cone.
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The Vimy & Newfoundland Memorials....
Just a few kilometres from a town called Albert is a small village named Beaumont Hamel. On July 1, 1916 during the course of what apparently was not more than a 20 minute advance that moved barely 100 metres, over 700 of the over 900 men of the Newfoundland Regiment lay dead or wounded. Exacerbating the situation further the High Command insisted on a second advance. They did not realize that the entire communication trench system leading to the jump off points were entirely clogged with the dead and wounded, as a result the second attack was a disaster as they were forced to advance in the open a greater distance. Total casualties that day for the entire British Expeditionary Force was in excess of 60,000.
Awash in a sea of death, the Newfoundland Regiment's tragedy may not seem like anything different from other Regimental disasters. However, given the nature of the unit's small size and all of them coming from a very small geographical area with a small population the battle had a devastating impact upon the small "yet-to-be" province of Newfoundland. To this day July 1, Canada day is not celebrated fully in Newfoundland. It is still seen as a black day of remembrance and grief for many.
As a result of the dramatic impact of the battle at home, the Newfoundlanders put into action a rather dramatic set of plans to preserve this place for all time. The result was the Newfoundland Memorial of Beaumont Hamel. Unlike the vast majority of monuments on the Western Front they chose to preserve the trenches in the surrounding area of land they had purchased from the French Government. Their thinking was that there were so many losses with no known grave that the area was essentially a vast mass grave and so they chose not to disturb the final resting places of their young men.
As dramatic as the land is surrounding the monument, nature has slowly begun healing its wounds. Softening the craters and trenches the effect now is somewhat graceful in appearance if one did not know what occurred here all those years ago. What is the powerful central motif is of course the monument. The monumentally scaled bronze caribou, the symbol of Newfoundland, stands on a rock cairn, resolutely arching its head to the sky, its mouth open calling out, perhaps for its lost sons.
Where the Newfoundland Memorial is dramatic in its directness and simplicity, the Vimy Memorial takes the opposite route and focuses on scale and dramatic intensity. Constructed over 15 years, designed and obsessed over by architect and sculptor Walter Allward it is the without doubt the most imposing and emotional monument of the entire Western Front. It is an unabashedly emotional, and powerful statement. Walking around this monument is a moving experience as one encounters the several sculptural groups all with different purposes.
The most dramatic aspect of the sculptural programme is the solitary figure of Canada, depicted as a woman in a long mourning cloak, her head covered. She stands dejected and sad overlooking the field that her sons had fought and died for. I could write pages on this beautiful and powerful statement but instead will let the photos I took tell Walter's story as best they can.
View of the Vimy Memorial from several kilometres away. This gives you a sense of it's scale. Note the winged creature, bird or bug, that flew through the photo when I snapped it. These fields were the German rear areas and were under intense bombardment in the weeks leading up to the attack.
A poppy with the Memorial in the distance.
The book resting at the figures feet was a copy of Jane Urquhart's The Stone Carvers, which I left there for anyone to take. Interestingly, my art dealer had been telling me to buy a copy as he thought I'd like it. I bought it a couple of weeks before the trip and I discovered that it was a novel set in the late part of 19th century canada, and the early part of the 20th century. The characters in the story eventually end up working on the carving of the Vimy Memorial. After finishing the book there at the monument that afternoon I felt it appropriate to pass the book on to someone else at this place.
The figure on the left is in the act of breaking a sword.
A maple leaf carved by some soldier into the chalk walls of the tunnels below the ridge.
The cramped spaces in the tunnels, my Great-uncle would have been waiting in somewhere in these tunnels just prior to the battle.
After visiting the Vimy Memorial I paid a visit to the Givenchy Cemetery which is on the same site. In it are buried many of the Canadian soldiers killed on that snowy morning. I came across this one and was suitably surprised by the name on it.
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