Montagne du Nord to Peronne
95 km
18 locks
30 hours
As it was now August, we fancied a trip to
the seaside. After consulting our map we set a course for Canal de la Somme and
the small seaside town of Saint Valerie sur Somme. But first we had to navigate
through the commercial canals before reaching our goal.
We thought we’d come up with a plan to
avoid a large section of these big buggers by pointing the boat in the
direction of the Scarpe Inferior. Our guide told us this was a quiet backwater
with locks too small for commercial traffic. Great, we thought as we turned the
corner and started chugging along on it.
The vegetation on the canal was overgrown
to the point of being out of control and we even had to manoeuver the boat in
such a way to avoid the water reeds, which were in danger of strangling our
prop. The banks of the canal were lined with fishermen, more than we had ever
seen before and each one looked more startled than the last as we cruised past.
Even my usual greeting of “bon peche,” didn’t change the open mouthed,
horrified look on their faces. At this point I remember saying to Tracy
“Something doesn’t feel right here” and this feeling was reinforced by the time
we reached the first lock. It was closed with no indication of how to get
moving through it.
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| The Scarpe Inferior - all but abandoned |
Tracy got to the bow so she could climb the
ladders to see if there was any life above the lock. I was just positioning the
boat when a VNF chap walked out of nowhere and over to us. “Where are you
going” he asked. “To Douai” we said hopefully. “That is not possible, passage
is limited to the port just 5km away. We have a broken lock after that” came
his reply “How long before it is fixed I asked”. He gave a non-committal shrug
and nodded when Tracy suggested “forever”.
After turning the boat around, we greeted
the same stunned looking fishermen for the second time and after a short while
re-emerged back out at our previous mooring at Montagne du Nord. We were now
heading back to the dreaded Escaut. We had travelled this same route last year
(see our blog ‘Tournai and leg it’) and it had been memorable for the amount of
stress we had both suffered. Looking at the map, I pointed to a mooring at
Fresnes. “That is where we had our ropes snapped, if there’s no-one else on the
pontoon and we can get fully on it this time, we should be alright” I said not
very reassuringly.
As we made our way past Montagne du Nord, I
felt something go on the prop. A quick blast in reverse is normally enough to
clear any reed or other debris and this seemed to work so we continued onwards.
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| Back to the joys of the Escaut and the commercial boats |
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| A quick change of flag now we are back in France |
Tracy took over on the helm and began to
steer us up the Escaut. After about 30 minutes she hollered, “Martin, I think
we’ve slowed down.” Our snail’s pace had become more like a slug wading through
glue.
We were now in the middle of a large
commercial ship canal with nowhere to stop in front, behind or either side. I
would have to get into the weed hatch on the hoof. It was Sod’s Law, as just at
that moment a flotilla of small cruisers came into view ahead and I began
hoping no big ships would follow once they had passed by.
Tracy stood on sentry duty whilst I stopped
the engine, rolled up my sleeves and stuck my arms elbow deep into the canal to
reach the propeller. Not only was the prop strangled almost to death by reeds
from the Scarpe, but we had also caught the first plastic bag of our journey.
During this operation, we didn’t see a
single boat and were incredibly lucky as there wouldn’t have been a lot we
could have done apart from bob, nervously.
With the lock in sight, we were both
slightly anxious about getting through it and on to the pontoon before anyone
else could beat us to it. We noticed, from a distance, that the lock light was on
green so we raced like a sailboat in a still breeze towards it. Looking behind,
a commercial boat and cruiser came in to view and began to bear down on us
rapidly. The commercial didn’t pose a threat and we moved over so it could overtake
and get into the lock first. Unfortunately, as the cruiser drew nearer, we just
couldn’t compete on speed and our hearts sank as it positioned itself before us
in the lock.
Luckily, VNF answered our prayers. As the
lock doors opened for us to go, they shouted to us and the cruiser “Do you have
a vignette for the French canals”? Tracy pointed to the licence in our window
but joy of joys the cruiser didn’t and they were asked to accompany VNF to the
office. We were all waves and smiles as we moved out of the lock and could see
the empty pontoon in front of us.
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| Our mooring in Fresnes |
When we were last in Fresnes, an English
sailboat owner had taken up much of the jetty and refused to move up to allow
us on properly and thus was the cause of us getting our ropes snapped. He also stated
that there wasn’t a shop to be had anywhere in the vicinity. This time round we
took a short walk, and soon established that Fresnes was in fact a fairly large
town with lots of shops and a large supermarket only a stone’s throw away (the
nasty, lying sod).
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| The park in Fresnes |
The next day was a Sunday and an ideal time
to finish this canal as there are very few commercials moving. The one thing we
both commented on were the number of likely looking mooring spots and were
surprised that we hadn’t seen these when we took this route last year. I think
it’s just a case of us maturing as European boaters.
We finally made it to Bassin Rond, which
was still the beautiful oasis we remembered from our last trip. In the morning
we were awoken to the continuous beeping of a horn. The bread van had stopped
outside our boat and wanted to know if we needed anything. As we are always in
need of a loaf, we were grateful and had the bonus of fresh croissants with our
morning coffee.
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| Around Bassin Rond |
The next day was uncharted territory for us
as we turned on to the Canal de Nord. This canal is the main route to Paris and
we braced ourselves for an influx of commercial boats. We were completely
surprised by how quiet the canal actually was and only saw a handful of big
boats on the move.
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| The guillotine locks on the Canal du Nord |
Fuel was becoming a priority, as we had not
been near a garage for some time. Spotting one a few yards from the canal, we
made an attempt to get moored up as best we could next to the road. As we did, a
commercial came hurtling past us and we braced for impact from the wash but, as
we were nicely tucked in, there wasn’t too much bashing about. I got my bike
and gerrycan and cycled like a Tour de France champion to the garage making
half a dozen round trips. Then after a quick bite to eat we were off again.
The pontoon at Marquion was just in front
of the lock. A commercial boat exited and another overtook us to enter (as they
have the priority, all pleasure boats have to wait for the commercials before
the lock keeper will allow them in). Now, just behind the commercial was a
Belgium-flag waving cruiser who, if showing normal common courtesy, should form
an orderly queue behind us. But no they couldn’t wait for us and decided as the
huge commercial was heading straight at them to try an overtaking procedure.
Our hearts were literally in our mouths as we watched them over take and then
try to get back into the right hand lane to avoid being smashed into oblivion
by the oncoming ship. The commercial boat didn’t make any attempt to move out
of the way and their only concession was for Mrs ‘big bugger’ to stand on the
bow end waving and shrieking at the Belgiums.
Tracy placed her hand over her eyes and could
only look through a slight scissor action she kept making with her fingers as
we were convinced they were toast. Somehow they just managed to get clear.
There was relief all round although it was a silly and pointless manoeuver as
we had no intentions of going into the lock anyway. Ambling past them, we
moored up as they were hovering waiting for the lock keeper to reflect the
green light on to their red faces in order for them to enter.
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| Dangerous manoevers |
The next day was a day of locks galore and
a tunnel that stretched for nearly 5km. As is always the case with us, our
timings were skewiff and we managed to reach the tunnel just as the green light
turned red and had to sit and wait for a cruiser coming in the opposite
direction to exit before being allowed entry.
This meant we were in our usual race
against time to find a suitable mooring before lock closure and with lock
number nine within our sights the lock keeper turned the lights off ten minutes
early, got in her car and zoomed past us waving (and probably thinking, so long
suckers).
As it happened, this worked out fantastically
well and we had a lovely rural mooring all to ourselves.
Up with the lock opening, we managed the
final four locks and cruised past the turn for the Canal de la Somme as we
decided to spend a day or two in Peronne first as it was only a couple of miles
further along and boasted a First World War museum that we were intrigued to
see.
Arriving in Peronne, we headed at first for
the port situated down a short arm only to find it completely full. Just
outside of this was a high wall on the main channel where an English chap had
moored his peniche but finding him very stand offish and unfriendly and the
wall too high anyway, we about turned and moored at a factory we had past only
a short way back. This turned out to be a fantastic decision as the port was
charging €16 a night and they even wanted €6 for the high wall next to Mr Unfriendly.
The next day, we headed into the town of
Peronne, which was about 3km away. This distance made the extortionate charge
by the port a complete rip off. We have been in the centre of many popular
towns and cities where moorings are provided for free (some with free water and
electricity) they are generally just glad to encourage tourists with money in
their pockets.
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| Our mooring in Peronne... |
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| ...Next to the factory |
We headed straight to the museum and found
a notice on the door, it was closed. Fortunately, for some reason, they were
having a mini-exhibit entitled ‘the Music of the War’ and so we poked our noses
in and had a shuftie round.
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| Peronne First World War museum |
There was a room that we could only presume
the title of this exhibition was based on. It had speakers on every wall giving
out a faint hum of what a battlefield would actually sound like. My goodness, turn
it up! If I’d wanted a back track for easy listening I’d have purchased an
album by Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen. If recreating the sounds from a war zone, surely
the most important factor to this would be the overwhelming and deafening noise?
Not turned so low that even a blind piano tuner would struggle to hear it. What
next, a Parker Knoll recliner and a pair of hush puppies to represent the
trenches? How ridiculous. It’s a war
zone it’s not meant to be relaxing. (A stretcher for this soldier please seargent,
he’s fallen asleep).
We debated on the walk back to the boat
whether to return in the morning to see the rest of this exhibition or continue
on our journey. Judging from what we had seen and barely heard, by the time we’d
made the long journey back to the boat we decided the sea-side was calling and so
the following day, off we went.
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| Peronne town centre |
I have included a war poem at the end of
the blog which I wrote and had published a couple of years back in memory of my
hero granddad Harry Haden. He was a wonderful man, I’m told, who sadly I never
met.
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Moorings in Fresnes
Cost: Free
Facilities: None
Location: Fresnes town centre is
approximately 10 minutes away
Moorings in Bassin Rond
Cost: Free
Facilities: None
Location: Bread van stops in the morning
but there is also a boulangerie 15 minutes away
Moorings in Marquion
Cost: Free
Facilities: Water available for free
Location: Small town with a limited
selection of shops. There is also a large supermarket about 15 minutes away
Moorings in Peronne
Cost: There is a charge for the port, we
moored outside a factory for free
Facilities: Electricity and water available
at the port for a charge. No facilities at the factory
Location: Peronne is approximately 3km away
and is a large town with all the usual shops
The Flag
On a deep dark distant battlefield, we fought for our last stand
As the enemy drew nearer, to part us from our land
We held back heavy ordnance, throughout that hellish night
The bombs that landed round us, our only source of light
I saw our soldiers falling, as we marched for higher ground
I scrambled over blood and guts, screams now, the only sound
The smoke was getting thinner as I trudged amongst the dead
“Push boy, let’s get higher”, to me one soldier said
I shouted in agreement to that of which I’d heard
But his head had left his shoulders, he hadn’t heard a word
I marched on even higher and saw a young boy gag
With his last breath he said to me, “Here soldier take our flag”
I took the flag with both my hands and soldiered on with pride
To stake that flag upon the top, for all the men who’d died
Though bullets flew around me, none did penetrate
With flag in hands for our last stand, I did not hesitate
I went on even further, and heard an enemy’s cries
He was clinging to a photograph, tears ran from bloody eyes
“I can’t see a thing”, he said “my children or my wife”
I didn’t have the heart to kill, and take this young boy’s life
At this point only feet away, from summit and my goal
I made the choice to tear the flag asunder from its pole
I made a bandage with our flag, and wrapped it round his head
Then I heard a rifle crack and this poor boy fell dead
Quickly I surrendered and turned to face my foe
The tension was unbearable, like an over tightened bow
Aware now of his error and crying out with grief
He sunk his knees into the mud and I took off like a thief
The battle shrieks began to fade to echoes in my ears
And thinking of the friends I’d lost my eyes were filled with tears
Now a distant memory, are the horrors of that fight
But the images still haunt me when I close my eyes at night
On a deep dark distant battlefield
Where soldiers once lay dead
Now for every soldier slain
A poppy grows, blood red
