Jim.
The bike you mention was most likely a ‘Welbike’.
Designed to fit in a special parachute container and originally designed for use by SOE operatives, but never used by them.
It was called a Welbike because it was developed at ‘Station IX’ — the “Inter Services Research Bureau” — based at Welwyn, Hertfordshire–so, named after the place.
It was later issued to airborne units of the British Army.
I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that it was almost bl**dy useless.
Never seen one with a sidecar though.
There was a version which untilised the para-container as a trailer though.
Worth stupid money today. I saw a replica of one recently for £4,500.00
You could buy something half decent for that.

Andy

Kev.
You might say those women were the lucky ones–if they found a man–or love again.
The maiden aunt and the old spinster–often the butt of jokes (perhaps by those who should have known better) were more often the result of the loss of a sweetheart.
There were thousands of such women. More often than not, they buckled down and got on with life–often giving their love vacariously through nieces and nephews, who were substitutes to the children they never had.
In fact, the story goes that my Grandmother was equally sweet on both Syd and Percy Reynolds, but that choice was reduced by 50% in September 1918.

Thoughtful stuff.

And Rob.
Lovely pictures–as ever.
I really must get to Green Park to see the Bomber Command Memorial.

Andy

Kev.
It’s only a guess on my part but I reckon he had no intention of leaving his mates and a friendly/helpful officer or NCO obscured things just enough.

Thanks for posting.
Andy

Whilst not getting too far away from the subject, I would just like to say that being a Polish immigrant in Lincolnshire ain’t always a barrel of laughs either.

This week a considerable amount of resource has been utilised in unravelling a quite nasty racially motivated attack on a Polish family.

Elements of this included a lady getting her face repeatedly bashed against a kerb stone.

Makes me proud to be British……….

Hi.
Right, after a day of building a Honda V4 I’m back to read all your thoughts.
While not wanting to tie the thread down just to Rifleman Barnett, I will just say that in December 1914, the chances are that he would have been a member of the regular army. Hundreds, if not thousands of very young men rushed to join up in 1914 and 1915 but they wouldn’t have been out to France in 1914.
The regular army did have very young drummers and buglers.

Now to move on.
The day before I went to Plugstreet we went up to Diksmuide, which is north of Ypres.
In October 1914, the Germans attacked and a mixed force of Belgians, two battalions of French Marines and an assorted collection of Brits held the town for about two weeks. When it finally fell, both sides were reduced to a point of exhaustion.
Just outside Diksmuide is the Vladslo German war cemetery. Contained within is a sculpture (well two actually) called ‘The Parents’–sometimes ‘The Grieving Parents’ by Käthe Kollwitz.
Käthe Kollwitz lost her son Peter in the battles of October 1914 and his grave is immediately in front of the father figure.
I will say this, the silence of ‘The Parents’ is deafening and the silent eloquence of the pair says more to me about the absolute stupidity of war than anything else I’ve seen.
Käthe Kollwitz was banned under the NAZIS, but now her work is recognised both in her own country and internationally. So much so that the German authorities would quite like to have ‘The Parents’ back. In my honest, I think a quiet Belgium cemetery is by far a better place than a sterile art gallery somewhere.

Moving on to the Second World War again we took a day trip up to The Democratic People’s Republic Of Yorkshire.
Some of you who know me will also know that I’m quite interested in Bomber Command. My Father’s school friend Sgt Derek Bell was killed while serving with 76 Squadron at Holme On Spalding Moor.
There’s a window dedicated to 76 in the village church.

Again, those who know me on Planetalk will recognise my signature line. It’s taken from this window.

“I said to the man at the gate of the year, Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.
And he replied, Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than a light and safer than a known way!”

And finally, on that day, we went onto Elvington to view the Halifax.

Keep posting.
Andy

Perhaps I was just very fortunate to have family who were happy to immerse me in the past and to encourage me along the road to discover more.

Kev, yes I suspect you were lucky–as was I.
As we move further away from events, I reckon the responsibility will fall more on us who do know a bit to spread the word.
That’s why I keep suggesting that you get your work published–I don’t say it lightly but sincerely.

As you said the other day:-

The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Andy

One of the things I have troubled with is why I am so fascinated by it all. I have never served and am never likely to, so why is it so compelling?

Well I can’t speak for anyone else but in my case It’s a family thing.
The Jones family (Dad’s side) and the Reynolds (Mum’s) clan have been shedding blood on behalf of our funny little island for a long time.

I was having tea with my 89 year old Father yesterday and realised that much of my somewhat belligerent attitude to life comes from him. I guess the Jones men just don’t like being told what to do.

God help any do-gooding so & so who suggested to him that it was bad form to be without….

I actually stayed over there last night and this morning their equally elderly neighbour called to borrow some ‘Brasso’ so she could buff up her husband’s medals.
The old man grunted something or other–best left unrecorded.

I can’t quite say why, but I find this offensive.

Alan.
I would think the complete insincerity of much of it may be one of the causes of how you feel.