Sunday, 24 August 2014
Stille Tocht
Slowly they began to gather, coming together from the side streets, old, young, men, women, children. There was no rifle or bayonet prodding the unwilling residents of Aarschot on this the 100th anniversary of the atrocity that saw 173 inhabitants killed at the hands of the German army as they swept through Belgium at the beginning of World War 1. I cannot say whether the townsfolk on that evening of 19th August 1914 knew what was going to happen or not, I don't know if they struggled or just simply cooperated with the orders of the soldiers. This time, there were no orders, we were shepherded into the main square by our memories of the relatives that were lost.
We waited, probably much the same as they did 100 years ago, not quite sure of who was in charge or when things were going to start. We milled around, some of the people recognising each other. Edie, my mother-in-law whose grandfather was killed, is my particular connection to this act of remembrance. Her sister and brother were also present along with her sister's husband and my wife.
There was a big difference with our gathering, apart from the time and the circumstances of course, we knew where we were going and how things would end. We also knew for certain that we would be in the protection of our homes in the warmth and shelter at the end of the evening. Did the victims know that this would be their last evening?
Someone took charge of us, instructing us with gentle encouragement to file in rows of three abreast, we were getting ready to set our along the same route. There was no wind or rain, it was a pleasant summer evening, quiet too. For us there was no emotional goodbyes, no clinging onto loved ones, no tears, yet. I don't know if the victims a hundered years before had any idea that they would not be returning and if there were scenes or struggles. I do know that Edie's grandfather gave a purse to his son to keep hold of it, perhaps he knew or perhaps he was afraid of the Germans robbing him. It was a significant and powerful act that had an enduring impact on the young boy who took it.
We started off, ironically, escorted by the police. It was a somewhat solemn affair as we filed quietly on our way. This time the women and children came with us, I say children, there were children as young as 14 who were victims of this atrocity. Our column was maybe 100 metres long, as it wound it's way down the streets on out to towards the site of the first memorial. I cannot speak for the others but I felt very much like it was a final walk, gazing up at the windows and taking in the route in the most minute detail, more so than at any other time when I have passed, busily and thoughtlessly through the same streets.
I noted the occasional shifting curtain and slightly open door as the curiosity of the residents got the better of them, they tried to discretely catch a glance at us as we made our way past. I wondered whether the same had happened to the victims, indeed, did the women and children follow or were they kept away? I doubted whether many people outside our group even knew of the event or were aware of the lasting impact. The most powerful onlooker was a child looking through an upstairs window, no emotion in his face, just looking. I thought of the last time I had hugged anyone and I was grateful that I would get the opportunity to do so again, it would mean a little more than it had before.
As we made our way, the limited traffic was brought to a halt and made to wait for us. I wondered whether they knew what was going on or why. Perhaps they were irritated or were happy to patiently wait.
It was not long before we arrived at the first memorial and gathering in this cramped residential street seemed to be several hundered people around an otherwise inconspicuous monument. I was glad to see that someone had removed the broken rail and replaced it with some new posts that would protect the monument. Presumably someone had carelessly reversed into the old one and simply left it there. There was a short service and the names of the victims at this location were read out along with their ages. Arthur's name was read out, this was where Edie's grandfather had fallen, one of 75 to do so.
We filed on towards the second monument, where a chapel had been built as well as the memorial. Instead of standing outside we all filed into the church and a more lengthy service was held. This was the location where a further 25 were killed, including the mayor. At both services I paid particular attention to the details of my surroundings and observed the expressions of those present. Most were solemn but not tearful, maybe hardened by the years that have passed.
Although the services were given in Dutch, I knew enough to understand the meaning and impact of the event and I recognised the continuing importance to remember them.
I am glad I was there and I was glad I could hold the hand of An as we walked comfort that could be provided where I could.
Saturday, 16 August 2014
Suicidal Slugs and Snails
Once again I geared myself up to commence some sort of exercise regime and the latest target was to cycle for at least an hour at a reasonably high intensity. I donned my special lycra padded shorts, my luminescent top and, perhaps more importantly, my not too often used heart rate GPS watch. I always feel like I am strapping on a bra when I put the sensor round my chest. I then wait for the tell tale beep that it has been recognised by the watch. I had got my Ipod out of the car earlier on and loaded up some 'cycling' songs. Some of these songs are quite pacy, others are not really suitable but I like them, Insomnia by Faithless being one example and The Race by Yello another.
The bicycle is a purpose built hybrid bike complete with not so trendy shopping panniers. I pump the tyres up to a good hard pressure, which does not quite seem adequate when I mount it. I should wear my helmet but my route does not take me along too many roads so I just put on my Gran Canaria cap, there is a story in itself behind that but it is much too off putting to write it in a blog. I make sure that I have paid a visit to the toilet before departure, there is nothing quite so annoying and uncomfortable as getting caught short whilst on the move.
Opening the garage door, as though preparing to launch Thunderbird 4, I may as well be playing the tune as well. I don't of course that would be a bit too much... I also have the pregnant pause of waiting for the GPS to register on my heart rate monitor before I begin. The GPS records, distance, time, elevation, speed, heart rate and calories burnt. It is really a bit of a motivation tool to help me compare my performance with future trips. Once the satellites have been picked up I have the odd timing event of starting the music and the timer to make sure I don't lose any time, not that it makes a vast amount of difference.
The weather had been rather wet and it was still coming down a bit every now and again, but not so heavy. I turned right out of our street and then left towards the bank. This first kilometre or so is all road/cycle path and, as this is Belgium, I have a status on the road akin to the Man of Steel (Superman, in terms of invincibility), cars, lorries, buses and any other motorised machine on the road trembles at my sight and had best not get in the way! To fellow (more serious) cyclists I am Mr Magoo and I need to keep my wits about me as I fight the herds of lycra clad wilder beast that stampede their way along the paths and roads.
The aim of the exercise is to keep going, burn calories and get fitter and so as my journey continues I make my way to the riverside path, this entails passing under the railway line and then running parallel for a while before I get to the River Demer, there is a decent cycle path that runs alongside and for some considerable distance. There are several interruptions to the path in the form of bridges and, when I have run the same route I have only ever got to the third bridge before crossing and returning. That run is approximately 10kms. This time however my aim to was to get to the fourth bridge, which was some considerable distance further along, almost level with Rotselaar. The distances get progressively further between the bridges with the first two fairly close together. I have to cross the road to get past the first and this is still in Aarschot, near the industrial estate. The second I can sweep beneath the bridge and it is one of the two fleeting climbs on an otherwise flat route.
The real work starts as I get on towards the third bridge. Mentally, both for the run and the cycling, this is an aiming point, a marker. I am constantly thinking of my muscles and how I will cope, whether I am going too fast, if I will get a cramp or, for comedy value, trying to concentrate on the unlikely event that I would fly off either side of the bank and end up swimming or in the trees and bushes on the other side. It is a sharp drop on either side and with the disdain that other cyclists show you, there is the possibility that you could be pushed off the path in some Last of the Summer Wine moment. My field of view is quite narrow as I focus on the hazards immediately ahead of the bike, it is not a leisurely ramble through the countryside, I have no time to view the sights as I go by.
It was whilst keeping my head down that I first noted the suicidal slugs and snails. The wet conditions had clearly given them the opportunity, perhaps more so than they could otherwise take, to cross from the non-river side of the path to the river side of the path, but with it came the hazard of cyclists and remember, they stop for no one and would not hesitate to hurl their fellow cyclists into the nettles. I on the other hand was swerving in a vain and fruitless attempt to allow them just a few more moments of life. As I came close I was oohing and aahing as I narrowly flashed by their antennae with the force of a high speed train, comparatively speaking of course. To be honest they may as well have been doing pyramids in front of me and been lining up end on end. Eventually I just did my best but no doubt some ended up a little bit flatter and wider than they had started. The birds were enjoying the mashed slugs and snails and at least they could get out of the way in time!
By the time I had made it to the third bridge my bottom was getting a bit sore and I started going numb in the tips of my fingers, which then turned to pins and needles when I tried to exercise them (in my fingers not my bum)! I had the sure knowledge that the fourth bridge was some distance off and in fact was the longest stretch. This time, not caring for the lifespan of the gastropod molluscs, I buttoned down to reaching the final marker before crossing and turning for home. After what seemed like ages, the Bailey bridge came into view. This bridge was laid down, presumably by British forces in World War Two at Rotselaar and has stood the test of time since. There are a number of such bridges in the country and the website at the last link is a bit of a spotter's guide.
Having crossed the river I now doubled back along essentially a dirt track. It is a good track with only one or two muddy puddles, but narrow due to the grass growing in the middle of two shallow furrows made by cars. Psychologically this was now easier as I was homeward bound, but the conditions were a bit more difficult due to the lack of smooth surface. By now my legs were getting tired but both the music and my recent reading of an exercise book gave me the motivation to keep going. I have recently read The First 20 Minutes - The surprising science of how we can Exercise Better, Train Smarter and Live Longer, I thoroughly recommend it to you.
As I got closer, there were more suicidal slugs and snails and even less room to avoid them, I had waypoints that signified that the ride was almost over. Passing each bridge on the return, going under the railway line, passing the school and the Knoet, getting to the bank and then finally drawing up to the house and quickly stopping the timer. Time to get my breath back, return Thunderbird 4 to it's 'hangar' and disrobe (not in the street I should add). I checked the watch and it indicated 1700 calories burnt over 22kms and the time of 1hr 2 mins. The last run I did I came in at 57 mins, so I am already improving. I will need to extend the distance as the good book tells me that to do endurance training you need to keep it up for more than an hour. The trick now is to keep the activity going and not let life or work get in the way of it! My last run was done after coming home from work before eating, it takes a bit of self discipline to do that.
The bicycle is a purpose built hybrid bike complete with not so trendy shopping panniers. I pump the tyres up to a good hard pressure, which does not quite seem adequate when I mount it. I should wear my helmet but my route does not take me along too many roads so I just put on my Gran Canaria cap, there is a story in itself behind that but it is much too off putting to write it in a blog. I make sure that I have paid a visit to the toilet before departure, there is nothing quite so annoying and uncomfortable as getting caught short whilst on the move.
Opening the garage door, as though preparing to launch Thunderbird 4, I may as well be playing the tune as well. I don't of course that would be a bit too much... I also have the pregnant pause of waiting for the GPS to register on my heart rate monitor before I begin. The GPS records, distance, time, elevation, speed, heart rate and calories burnt. It is really a bit of a motivation tool to help me compare my performance with future trips. Once the satellites have been picked up I have the odd timing event of starting the music and the timer to make sure I don't lose any time, not that it makes a vast amount of difference.
The weather had been rather wet and it was still coming down a bit every now and again, but not so heavy. I turned right out of our street and then left towards the bank. This first kilometre or so is all road/cycle path and, as this is Belgium, I have a status on the road akin to the Man of Steel (Superman, in terms of invincibility), cars, lorries, buses and any other motorised machine on the road trembles at my sight and had best not get in the way! To fellow (more serious) cyclists I am Mr Magoo and I need to keep my wits about me as I fight the herds of lycra clad wilder beast that stampede their way along the paths and roads.
The aim of the exercise is to keep going, burn calories and get fitter and so as my journey continues I make my way to the riverside path, this entails passing under the railway line and then running parallel for a while before I get to the River Demer, there is a decent cycle path that runs alongside and for some considerable distance. There are several interruptions to the path in the form of bridges and, when I have run the same route I have only ever got to the third bridge before crossing and returning. That run is approximately 10kms. This time however my aim to was to get to the fourth bridge, which was some considerable distance further along, almost level with Rotselaar. The distances get progressively further between the bridges with the first two fairly close together. I have to cross the road to get past the first and this is still in Aarschot, near the industrial estate. The second I can sweep beneath the bridge and it is one of the two fleeting climbs on an otherwise flat route.
The real work starts as I get on towards the third bridge. Mentally, both for the run and the cycling, this is an aiming point, a marker. I am constantly thinking of my muscles and how I will cope, whether I am going too fast, if I will get a cramp or, for comedy value, trying to concentrate on the unlikely event that I would fly off either side of the bank and end up swimming or in the trees and bushes on the other side. It is a sharp drop on either side and with the disdain that other cyclists show you, there is the possibility that you could be pushed off the path in some Last of the Summer Wine moment. My field of view is quite narrow as I focus on the hazards immediately ahead of the bike, it is not a leisurely ramble through the countryside, I have no time to view the sights as I go by.
It was whilst keeping my head down that I first noted the suicidal slugs and snails. The wet conditions had clearly given them the opportunity, perhaps more so than they could otherwise take, to cross from the non-river side of the path to the river side of the path, but with it came the hazard of cyclists and remember, they stop for no one and would not hesitate to hurl their fellow cyclists into the nettles. I on the other hand was swerving in a vain and fruitless attempt to allow them just a few more moments of life. As I came close I was oohing and aahing as I narrowly flashed by their antennae with the force of a high speed train, comparatively speaking of course. To be honest they may as well have been doing pyramids in front of me and been lining up end on end. Eventually I just did my best but no doubt some ended up a little bit flatter and wider than they had started. The birds were enjoying the mashed slugs and snails and at least they could get out of the way in time!
By the time I had made it to the third bridge my bottom was getting a bit sore and I started going numb in the tips of my fingers, which then turned to pins and needles when I tried to exercise them (in my fingers not my bum)! I had the sure knowledge that the fourth bridge was some distance off and in fact was the longest stretch. This time, not caring for the lifespan of the gastropod molluscs, I buttoned down to reaching the final marker before crossing and turning for home. After what seemed like ages, the Bailey bridge came into view. This bridge was laid down, presumably by British forces in World War Two at Rotselaar and has stood the test of time since. There are a number of such bridges in the country and the website at the last link is a bit of a spotter's guide.
Having crossed the river I now doubled back along essentially a dirt track. It is a good track with only one or two muddy puddles, but narrow due to the grass growing in the middle of two shallow furrows made by cars. Psychologically this was now easier as I was homeward bound, but the conditions were a bit more difficult due to the lack of smooth surface. By now my legs were getting tired but both the music and my recent reading of an exercise book gave me the motivation to keep going. I have recently read The First 20 Minutes - The surprising science of how we can Exercise Better, Train Smarter and Live Longer, I thoroughly recommend it to you.
As I got closer, there were more suicidal slugs and snails and even less room to avoid them, I had waypoints that signified that the ride was almost over. Passing each bridge on the return, going under the railway line, passing the school and the Knoet, getting to the bank and then finally drawing up to the house and quickly stopping the timer. Time to get my breath back, return Thunderbird 4 to it's 'hangar' and disrobe (not in the street I should add). I checked the watch and it indicated 1700 calories burnt over 22kms and the time of 1hr 2 mins. The last run I did I came in at 57 mins, so I am already improving. I will need to extend the distance as the good book tells me that to do endurance training you need to keep it up for more than an hour. The trick now is to keep the activity going and not let life or work get in the way of it! My last run was done after coming home from work before eating, it takes a bit of self discipline to do that.
Thursday, 14 August 2014
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