That was a very touching story of Hedd Wyn (who I'm ashamed to say I had never heard of) and what a fine monument in your photo, Caledfwlch.
My grandfather took me to the Menin Gate when I was just a youngster but it's a place I never forgot. And neither did I forget the sad sight of row upon row of white headstones at the various cemeteries we visited.
Whilst working there, I was in and around Ieper every week and each group would spend 1 day in Ieper, arriving around 9am, myself and the teachers would take the kids in to go around the "in Flanders Fields Museum" in the magnificent Cloth Hall building, then the kids would be sent off on their own, to spend the day, exploring the town, eat ludicrous amounts of Belgian Chocolate etc. After a pre-booked evening meal in one of the restaurants near the Cloth Hall, we would amble over to the gate for about 10 minutes to 8pm, and watch the crowds gathering, 2 local Politie Patrol Cars blocking the road to wheeled traffic at either end of the "Gate" which of course is more like a tunnel, there being so many names to display.
Lot's of things with such a regular repetition can become a bit "boring" or just lose their impact, just another day in the office, but the Last Post Ceremony never became like that, not for any of us Staff Members, that's for sure
- Usually we would have 3 different schools staying at our Accommodation Centre, an old Chateaux with the barns etc turned into Dormitory blocks, staff quarters, dining rooms, entertainment centre for the kids with Bar for staff and Teachers, and 1 of us would be in charge of a specific group, not all Schools were History classes studying WW1, some would be over as part of their French Class, exploring French cultural & language stuff, general tours of the area.
1 of us would be "given" a school each week to look after, and we would accompany them every day, on trips to the Ieper Salient, and over to the Somme, seeing memorials such as Thiepval, visiting places like the town of Albert (with the worst public toilets I have ever seen, and a street market that seemed almost entirely dedicated to Johnny Hallyday (kind of a French Elvis) memorabilia! (RIP Johnny, who died yesterday, there are a lot of middle aged French women in mourning today)
However, because the Last Post at the Menin Gate does not become routine, even seeing it every day, it retains it's emotional and deeply upsetting impact, a couple of lasses I worked with simply couldn't do it anymore after their first couple, they found it too upsetting, so I would take over from them on that day, and they would do whatever I was supposed to be doing, or we would swap my day off around that week, so I saw it more often than my coworkers, and it still never lost that impact, and the emotion it inspires.
My second time, on my second week living out there was the most memorable, and a moment that made me ridiculously and probably unreasonably proud of the teens I was with! They were a bunch of 15 year old's from a School in Inner City Sheffield, proper rough and tough, not people to mess with (and that were just the female teachers!!!
)
On that, their second day staying with us, as they had been the day before, when we went to the privately owned Sanctuary Woods Museum (the day What I call the "Grenade incident" happened!) they were loud, boisterous, having fun, not taking anything seriously, generally being a bit prattish well, teenagery I suppose. Instead of the usual having the run of the town for the day, as we were coming back on day 3, to do some other stuff, as there was no Standard Plan, each week was specifically tailored to the school and it's needs, and the 3rd day would be their afternoon away from the Teacher's eyes. So in the afternoon we got back on the Coach, and visited a really small Cemetery or Memorial, a bit closer to home for them - either a Sheffield or a Yorkshire raised Regiment, I forget which.
It was nowhere near the road - getting to the place, which was really small, meant a 15 minute walk, which unnerved them, especially the Teachers, given all the rusty shells lined up along the rough path, as the path led through actively farmed fields, then through a bit of wood.
I was jumpy as hell, which the Teachers picked up on quickly, and got even jumpier, as did the kids when I had to explain why - I had been given a bit of "training" by a professional Guide, in how to identify shell types, and it were bad enough at the start of the path, with the kids going right next to the Shells, taking photo's, posing etc, but a few mins in, there were suddenly a hell of a lot of Gas Shells, presumably Mustard, and these were of course, not the wreckage/remains/shrapnel of Shells, these were duds that had failed to go Bang, so we are talking about 90 year old rusted but still intact Shells filled with Gas, and I believe if one went off, the Gas would still be lethal. So that was a little.... unnerving, especially after the "Incident" the day before.
When we got to the memorial/cemetery, you could see it was hitting home a little to the kids, where they were, seeing surnames and area/town names familiar to them from home on gravestones etc.
Then, it were back to the Coach, gingerly stepping down the path as quickly, and as carefully as possible, and back to Ieper for tea, then the Menin Gate.
As the crowds began gathering, the Politie turned up doing their road blocking thing, the Firemen with their trumpets arriving, the fact that something important really started hitting home, and these boisterous kids got quieter, and quieter, then the Ceremony began, and as the last post starts its haunting melody, I could see some of the girls were in tears, as were the Teachers, I hear sniffs, turn to my right, and 3 of the loudest, chaviest lads were stood next to me, and all 3 of them were in tears too, a couple of the lasses moved over to them, and they put their arms around each other, it was a magical moment, seeing that despite their prior behaviour, they finally understood the horror of where they were, and it was affecting them as deeply as anyone, and I got a little bit emotional the first time I attended, but seeing those young lads openly crying, made me lose it a bit, and I got a bit more than a lump in my throat
.
All their teachers were lasses, except for the Head of Year in charge, and 1 of them, Becky was very rock chick/gothy around my age and was frankly utterly gorgeous, and also had me both terrified and giggling like a kid myself on the walk past the Shells.
I had told the teachers we would be going "off road" doing hiking on a rough path, with a bit of a Hill (or at least the little humps the Flemish proudly call Hills
) So of course, imagine my shock, going into the Dining Room at 06:30 to have breakfast with them before leaving for Flanders at 7am, every one in hiking boots, or trainers, and generally dressed to go hiking around Snowdonia during a thunderstorm) - I told them they didn't need to bring the heavy coats etc, they just assumed they needed all that outdoorsy stuff because it were thick fog outside, so assumed it was going to be an unpleasant day for rambling through the Flemish countryside, but as I told them, every single morning we had thick fog ("Home" was near the town of Saint Omer in Nord Pas de Calais, France) I think someone had explained to me on arrival it was something to do with the land being so flat, the sea not being too far away, and the Sun heating the land all day, and that whilst it looked like it was going to be horrendous, by the time it got to 08:30 the fog will have burned away and it would be lovely, sunny and warm, probably with blue skies.
So you can imagine my shock, when Becky totters in, just a thin leather jacket, a Sisters of Mercy T-shirt she had DIY'd into a kind of crop top, miniskirt and knee boots with stiletto heels, bowing and grinning at all the wolf whistles from the young lads under her charge. Sisters of Mercy is one of my fave bands, and we had quite a chat the evening before, as off duty I was wearing a sex pistols shirt, and pentagram necklace, so she saw I was a fellow traveller.
As one can imagine, stiletto heels aren't great for a bit of rambling on a very rough path, and she was tottering all over the place, and I was convinced she was going to go pretty backside over elbow (to politely rephrase the slang) and land on a Gas shell or something equally catastrophic.
Still, at least my last sight on this earth would have been a beautiful lass, and aforementioned backside
Apparantly, "looking good" was more important than sense and sensibility!.
And when she saw me getting a little bit upset at the Last Post, she tottered over, in tears herself and put her arm around me, which I admit, helped make the moment even more magical. The lad immediately next to me, he was getting really upset, so I handed him some tissues, patted him on the back, and after the ceremony finished, the kids were all giving each other hugs, and that lad gave me one, and mumbled something about "thanks for not taking the mick" because at times, those first 2 days, when we weren't somewhere where messing about was disrespectful, like a memorial or cematery, I was laughing, joking, taking the mick out of them right back. That particular Last Post was one of those events you never forget.
And fair dues to them - these were tough kids, from rough families, most of them likely on benefits from an inner city, and once it hit home, they showed a wonderful example of humanity, especially in how they were comforting each other during and after. And despite the boisterousness and so on, the Teachers were clearly amazing at their job, and cared for the kids, and they had a good relationship with each other, laughing and joking.
I have taken middle class kids from the nice well to do parts of various towns or cities, all dreadfully polite, and taking everything seriously, and not a damp eye or sign of being emotionally affected amongst them, and all so formal and dreadfully polite with their teachers, well behaved, but kind of drone like
My Sheffield Kids, back at base in Ebblinghem, they and the teachers were mucking about together, playing football, baseball, pool table challenges, On a group's last night, we would do a Disco in their dining room, and the teachers were dancing along with them. The people from the "better areas" didn't do any of that, and they would barely communicate with us Staff beyond what was needed for doing our & their job. In the evenings, after tea, it was all "Rota's" some would go back to their rooms, and just stay their chatting amongst themselves, and from the bins, guzzling Wine whilst they were somewhere it was cheap and decent. Those "Rota'd" to watch their kids until bedtime, would come, maybe grab a glass of wine or a pint from the Bar room we had at the back, then go and sit as far away from us Staff as possible, no sense of humour, snapping at the kids for the slightest infraction of whatever rules they were expected to adhere to, and in the mornings at breakfast would be really, really snappy, clearly not enjoying the hangovers from their fine wines
Yes, we were Staff, some of us British some French, but we were still human beings, yet even when we were clearly off duty - ie sat in the bar room, or at the tables outside the (oddly enough) French doors in the Bar, having a drink and chat, hidden away from the kids, yet would be looking at us so disapprovingly for daring to be drinking - even though unlike many of them with their nice glass of Wine, WE were actually off duty. They also showed no politeness to the French staff, some of them didn't speak English, but the posh teachers would never politely ask, in French if they could speak english - "Excusez-moi, parlez-vous anglais, mon français est horrible?" is not hard to learn (excuse me, my french is dreadful do you speak English?) No Bonjour's, Bonsoir's, Merci's nowt. Just start rudely barking orders in English at them. Then complain to British staff members about the "bloody surly, rude French you have working here and why cant they speak English?" Yeah dude, YOUR in France, you chose to come, why not learn a few basic phrases, and show basic politeness...
The Sheffield Teachers especially, and other groups that were far less po-faced, would simply tell the kids to behave, don't burn the building down, try not to be too loud, let us enjoy a few drinks in peace, and everyones cool - we won't stand around being all teacherly with you, it's your fun time before bed too. And would then invade our bar and party with us
And OMG Teachers, especially tough Sheffield Lasses can Party when they want!!
I still remember the hangovers, "Sheffield Week" became Legend in Staff Lore, and it's probably still talked about 13 years later.
