by Emma Williams, 1st Menai Bridge
In the summer of 2016, my Explorer Unit went on the trip of a lifetime, and I was fortunate enough to be able to join them. During the months prior to the trip, we had been conducting vast amounts of research into the men of the local area who gave their lives in the Great War, some of whom were involved in Scouting themselves. We planned to do as much research as possible before 2018, the centenary of the end of the First World War, so that the names of the local men buried overseas would not be forgotten when it came to remembrance ceremonies and services. Our trip would consist of a few days in Belgium, staying in Ypres, to visit the ‘In Flanders’ Fields’ museum and Menin Gate, and visit the surrounding war cemeteries on the hunt for the headstones of local men. We would then travel to Italy to hike in the Dolomites, one of the major and most dangerous battlegrounds of the war, to get a glimpse of just what it was like for our men.
Our initial research in the UK led to us further researching the name of one man: John Edwards. He was from Menai Bridge; his name is mentioned on the cenotaph on Church Island, which also notes that he was a gunner. With help from Menai Heritage, a group of people who actively research into similar things, we found out that he used to live on Water Street in Menai Bridge, and that it was actually his family who gave the Scout Association the land to build the Scout Hut on back in the 1900s. He was found to be buried in Dozinghem cemetery in Belgium, so that’s where we went.
The first few days of the trip was spent in Ypres, Belgium, a small city that suffered catastrophic bombing during First World War: we stayed in a wonderful little youth hostel that caters specifically for groups of young people intending to research into the fallen soldiers of the two world wars. On the first day in Ypres we visited the ‘In Flanders’ Fields’ museum, located in the city’s cathedral. In here was a computer listing the name, rank, burial location, and date of death for each soldier that fell in the First World War.
We also found information on a man called John Fox Russell. He was from Holyhead, and was a member of the Scout group there. He was awarded the Victoria Cross for services to his country, and it was actually his family who help to fund the build of the Menai Bridge Scout hut.
The museum contained many more artefacts of the era, including uniforms, artillery, vehicles, and much more:
The other half of the day was spent looking at the battlefronts located around the outskirts of the city: Hill 60 and the Yorkshire Trenches. In Hill 60, there was a boardwalk from the entrance, winding through the trees, and it stopped where the front line was. It then resumed at the enemy line, which was only a mere 15 metres away. It was shocking to see how close they were; it wasn’t the vast area of sparse, muddy land that’s usually depicted in films. The shell of a very large bomb lay nearby – large enough for an entire Explorer to sit in. As we walked further through the forest, a clearing revealed an astonishingly large crater full of water – created from the impact of an exploding shell. As we stepped out of the clearing, we were greeted by the sight of a large, concrete turret, surrounded by poppy wreaths. You could just about get inside it, after slithering past the thick metal bars protruding from the walls; being inside was pretty awful on a warm July day in a peaceful location, it was hard to imagine how terrible it would’ve been for the soldiers in such a cramped and dingy hole, in the middle of a war.
The visit to the Yorkshire Trenches was relatively brief, partly due to the smell: an industrial estate had been built around the area, and the trenches happened to be right next to a sewage treatment centre. This, however, made the experience all the more real – the soldiers would’ve liked had to put up with similar sorts of stenches, it wasn’t like they could leave the trenches to do their business. The trenches were extremely claustrophobic, but also not as deep as I’d initially expected: my head was poking out over the top around most of the trenches. There were quite a few helpful information boards around the small area; the Yorkshire Trenches got their name from the soldiers who dug it out – men from Yorkshire.
During the evening of the first day, we made our way down to the Menin Gate, to pay our respects during the daily remembrance service. I really can’t explain with words just how moving the experience was, I had tears in my eyes the entire time. A minute’s silence was held, and as the Exhortation was read, I felt a chill run through my entire body. Looking around, the scale of devastation that occurred really started to sink in; the Menin Gate is a vast structure, but there wasn’t an inch of its walls that wasn’t covered by the name of a fallen soldier. Knowing that some of these people would’ve been the same age as me, having lied on their enlistment forms, and yet still gone on to sacrifice themselves really hit close to home. An Explorer and a leader laid a wreath in their honour, to end a very solemn evening.
The next day was spent searching through the many vast military cemeteries, on the hunt for the headstones of local men and boys. Our first port of call was Dozinghem Military Cemetery, as we knew for sure that this was the resting place of John Edwards. Dozinghem seemed like a comparatively small cemetery, but in actuality there were around 1000 men buried there, which really gave us a sense of the scale of the devastation, of just how many men died. We had a look through the cemetery register, hidden in the gatepost of the cemetery, for Edwards, to find the location of his headstone. Whilst searching for his name, we came across the names of a man from Benllech in the book, Owen Williams, and I also came across a woman of the same full name of myself, which was a bit scary.
We eventually found Edwards’ headstone, and Williams’ too:
We then started to make our way to Tyne Cot, one of the largest and more famous military cemeteries in the world. On the way there, we stopped at the Welsh Memorial Park dedicated to Welsh soldiers who gave their lives during the world wars – decorative slate adorned with a beautiful dragon sculpture.
I wasn’t really prepared for the scale of Tyne Cot. It was massive; it was really quite upsetting knowing that so many people had to die. There were also quite a few local men buried here, or commemorated on a wall; men from Beaumaris, Felinheli, Caernarfon, Llangefni and Bangor, some of whom may have been involved in Scouting. The cemetery, as with most cemeteries of the same type, exclusively commemorate fallen Allies. There were a few plaques commemorating fallen Germans too, which I appreciated: at the end of the day, the German nation was under a dictatorship rule, so for the German men had the choice to either kill, or be killed by the autocratic powers. They were just as helpless as Ally soldiers, which is something that’s never really recognised.
With this in mind, we also took a trip to Langemarck, the German military cemetery of the area. This cemetery was vastly different to the other we’d visited: the soldiers were buried in mass graves, of about 20 men per plot, with one massive mass grave in the centre, containing around 400 men. Interestingly, there was also a museum at the entrance, containing weapons, uniforms, and documents written by the German soldiers, documenting their day-to-day life on the front. There was also a signpost on the path into the cemetery pointing to, and giving the distance to, locations where nuclear or chemical warfare has been used, along with the date – some of them were shockingly recent, especially now we know the true extent of the global dangers they pose.
We stayed another night in Belgium, then made our way down to Italy. From now on we were camping, and occasionally staying in the odd rifugio, mountain cabins where hikers and climbers can stay the night. From this point onwards, it was us who ran the camp; we had a camp rota, we were split into groups, one group would cook, one would to all of the washing, and the others, the ‘jankers’, would do anything else in between, such as tent maintenance, or first aid, or anything the leaders asked them to. Our walking route in the Dolomites, the mountains in northern Italy, was the Alta Via 1, a route highly traversed by the soldiers in the first world war – it was alongside the Italian frontline. There were two main days of interest, in regards to mountain warfare: the first main day of interest was on the 4th day of hiking, coming down from our 3rd rifugio, Lagazuoi. There were two ways down: cable car, or getting into climbing gear and traversing down a hand-carved carve, full of via ferrata. Of course, we went through the caves, which turned out to have been carved out entirely by soldiers, in an attempt to gain some form of protection, from both the harsh alpine climate and from enemy fire. There was the occasional room dug out from the side of the tunnel; these rooms provided everything from sleeping quarters, to offices, to kitchens. It was initially hard to visualise just how people managed to live in such cramped, dingy conditions, but remembering back to the trenches we visited made the mountain tunnels feel like a luxury. On the 6th day of hiking, my group walked up to rifugio Nuvolau, which means ‘in the clouds’: very apt for a tiny cottage perched right on a mountain peak. It was a straightforward walk up, so on the way down the next day, we took a bit of a detour, through the Cinque Torri open-air museum. This was an extremely interesting place, yet terrifying all the same. Up around the Cinque Torri peaks was a network of open mountain trenches, perfectly preserved, along with all the artefacts such as sheds, tables, beds and weapons. The thing that really scared me were the mannequins that had been dressed in uniform – they were straight out of the uncanny valley. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get any pictures of the open-air museum, as my phone had died on the way down; it was such a shame as, despite the horrifying reason for the museum, the location of it was absolutely stunning.
After long days of hiking along the routes the soldiers took, we finally reached the end of our trek and we made our way back to the UK (with a small detour to Venice on the way!). We got together all of the photos and videos that had been taken on the trip and created the ‘Alp Trek’ DVD, as a way to remember the amazing experience we had.
It was decided that I and another Explorer were to give a presentation on our research, findings and experience abroad, regarding the local soldiers, to the congregation of St Mary’s Church, on the following Remembrance Sunday. It was my task to present the information regarding the time spent in Belgium, and the other boy’s task was to present the information regarding everything Italian. To aid my presentation I made a PowerPoint of images from the trip, and we presented in uniform during the service, before heading up to the ceremony at the cenotaph.
All in all, the trip was amazing, to say the least. It was far more moving and emotional than I’d anticipated; I’d originally thought it’d just be a fun holiday abroad with friends. What really struck me over the course of the 3 weeks we were away was the fact that so many boys faked their age to fight – boys the same age as us – and that, had we been born 100 years earlier, it could’ve been us laying down our lives.
