Six Days In The Ypres Salient

Part Two: Toc H And 'Pop'

Talbot House in Poperinghe Talbot House in Poperinghe (a few miles to the rear of Ypres) was our special surprise visit on the last night. This was named after Gilbert Talbot, one of these will-go-far officers killed early in the war. It was a place of rest and relaxation, without hierarchy of rank; indeed it was often the officers who had to sleep on the landing, while the other ranks got the bedrooms. It was a place where singsongs were sung and where services were conducted in the attic chapel by the Rev. Tubby Clayton (whom one of the older tourists knew well, being a Toc H official himself).

Singing The Old Songs For Frank

Back to our narrative: we came down to dinner at our hotel unsuspectingly, but one of our tourists had sneaked off with his folding bicycle, and hidden himself, dressed in an old Royal Naval Division uniform. On a signal he cycled up to us as a messenger and informed us we had been invited to Talbot House at Poperinghe for the evening.

Belgian Toc H staff, the Buglers from the Ypres Fire Brigade and various other Brits and Belgians were also invited. Beer flowed. A singsong developed (anticipated by the handing out of prepared song sheets). "Tipperary", "When this Rotten War Is Over", "Keep The Home Fires Burning", "Good-bye-ee" were some of them.

You think of these songs as quintessentially British so it was a surprise to hear "Roses Of Picardy" being lustily sung by the person standing beside me in a strong Belgian accent.

"Tipperary" was then sung for the nth time, but in honour of Frank the veteran. Tears welled in all our eyes. He'd never actually been in 'Pop', although he used to say when a heavy shell passed over Ypres, "There's another one for 'Pop'".

A great deal of fuss was made of Frank during the tour, to general approval; everyone loved him. The local Belgian paper took photographs of him in the garden. This was where the Ypres firemen (who had secretly brought along their bugles) gave us renditions in his honour of the 'normal' (infantry version) and the less well-known cavalry version of the Last Post.

While the songs were being sung there were some (mainly ex-RAF types you'll be glad to know) who sang the crude versions (well, excising the odd word). There was one chap from 99 & 101 Squadrons, another from 87 (South African based). Old Bill, an immaculate Englishman who never went anywhere (and this included the trenches) without his rolled up umbrella, turned out to have been a Chindit - some said a Colonel, although he was of the old school which "respected a person's privacy" above all - and thus never talked about it.

We visited - one of the first visits in fact - the Tyne Cot British Cemetery near Passchendaele. This is the biggest British cemetery on the Western Front and with the roses in full bloom, must have been at its most piquant, with row after row of graves with their bittersweet inscriptions (12,000 of them, plus a large number, possibly 50,000 of 'no known grave'). After looking at a few inscriptions they seem to leap out at you, giving you the impression that you can determine the particular sort of anguish the person who paid for these extra words was going through.

I stopped here because I was going to rewrite the story, but having left it a week I suspect I will take forever and it might be no better, so here it is.

All best wishes Geoff

Response From Father "I have reread your most enjoyable account of your trip. Steeped as you are in the Western Front all these places with your imagination come to life I've no doubt. As you may have read, I've been reading "Goughie" and your accounts of your trips made much of his story and the background to it all vivid & clear. What a travesty of justice though! Reminds me of two chaps whom I thought were ill treated in my war: Dowding of Fighter Command and 'Butch' Harris."

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