Humbled

We got up reasonably early on Wednesday for the 90-minute drive to northern France. This was the day we were visiting the Canadian memorial at Vimy Ridge. Roads were a little busier on this trip, particularly around Lille, but the GPS got us there okay.

We arrived about 10:30 and were told that the next available guided tour of the trenches and tunnels was 2 p.m. In French. They could not fit us in earlier. Seems busloads of British school kids take precedence over Canadians. At least it does to Parks Canada. We took the 2 p.m. tickets, then did a self-guided tour of the trenches, listening in on another tour. We were told to check back at noon in case the 12 p.m. tour cancelled, so we went up the hill to view the monument. Stunning.

 

We hitched a ride on a golf cart with a Parks Canada guide named Renée from Peterborough. She took us around to the front of the monument, saving us about a 15-minute walk. She also took the time to shoo a British tour group off the lawn, which seemed rather silly and oh-so-Government of Canada-like.

We were able to get a few pictures at the monument before the Brits swept in, all pimply and not giving a rats' ass about the significance of the monument or who else was there out of genuine interest and respect.

Back down the hill we went, on a road lined with maple trees, passing alongside a landscaped still pockmarked with the ravages of that battle 97 years ago. We ate our packed lunch while Moi went to check the status of the noon tour. Seems it got stuck in traffic so we scored tickets to the noon tunnel tour - in English, fittingly with some English folks and a couple from Ottawa.

Again, as we were about to enter the tunnels, more Parks Canada silliness, asking some school kids to stop playing ball. Sure, the ball could by chance go under the wire and a teenager could by chance chase it and by chance suddenly go boom by stepping on a long-lost shell, but c'mon - I think the boys who died there 97 years ago would appreciate our generation of kids having some fun.

After the tour, we stopped by two Canadian cemeteries in the park. I was surprised at the ages of the fallen. Sure, a couple 19 and 20-somethings, but a lot of the graves I saw were men in their late 20's and early 30's. Thought they'd be younger, for some reason.

Looking back up that now-peaceful hill, it's hard to imagine the noise, the chaos and the carnage on that Easter Monday morning 97 years ago as 100,000 Canadians went over the top. God bless them all.