The End of an Age . . .

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In the news today on CNN's website there was a story about a very old, old man who passed away yesterday at the age of 110. Frank Buckles was the last remaining living American veteran from World War One. Born in February 1901, he enlisted at the age of 16, lying about his age to military recruiters. According to the internet, there are still two WWI veterans alive today, one in England, and the other in Australia, 109 and 110 respectively. Seems amazing that anyone can live that long, and even more amazing, the history they witnessed in their lifetime, practically the entire twentieth century. Rest in peace, Mr. Buckles.
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At the same WWI site we visited recently, reported on in the post just a couple back, about a walk in the woods, this headless stone angel was trying to break free from the block of rock which emprisoned her, to break free and fly, like the soul of an old veteran who has finally shrugged off his mortal coil.
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Here is another angle on the stone sphynx which graced that surprisingly poignant place.
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In the same quarried out chamber where the stone altar was, depicted in the earlier post, was a bas relief soldier who'd set down his pack and rifle.
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Just a few kilometers away from the sculpture garden quarry site deep in the woods, in the small Picardy village of Plessiers de Roye, there stand the ruins of a chateau which was destroyed in the Spring offensive of 1918, and was never razed nor rebuilt. Stones left standing in mute testament to the horrors of warfare.
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Every wall of that once lovely place was pockmarked with bullet and shell scars.
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In the town's cemetery a tombstone for a WWI victim bore a first name I'd never seen before anywhere . . . "Elisée". Like "les Champs Elysées".
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Just up the road from the ruined chateau, there is another stone quarry site, also used for a troop shelter in WWI, as the sign on the battered down heavy wood doors attests. This quarry goes much deeper and farther underground than the site where the sphynx was. Only a short way from the entrance one find's oneself in complete pitch black darkness. Best to bring good lights.
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Hundreds of yards up one of the underground quarry tunnels there is an altar carved into the stone wall, not unlike the one at the other site. There may be some war victims buried somewhere in the quarry galleries, as this plaque on the wall would seem to confirm. The fading writing says : "Here rests Eugene Blondet, Aspirant in the 162nd Infantery Regiment, Died for France on 10 June 1916, Age 19 years old.
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This is the altar deep in an underground cavern of the "Carrière Mallet", or Mallet Quarry.
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The rustic Christ on the altar's cross is rather fascinating, with large hands and hair in the breeze.
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One of the few sources of information (in French) I could find about the Carrière Mallet contained this postcard image from the war, when the quarry was used not only as a shelter but also as a field medical station.
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We visited the quarry that day with Peter (of Peter's Paris renown), while in the dark of the tunnels he shot this photo of me. Thanks Peter for your excellent company !
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Treat Yourself to the Best . . .

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A few posts back at the end of January, I had shared a detail of this barn facade with you, showing just two words, "the Best", asking if anyone could guess what the entire message was. Just in case anyone has been losing tremendous amounts of sleep over that unanswered question, here is the entire barn end, from central Pennsylvania, back in September.
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Was thinking about this again because I just finished re-reading Edward Abbey's marvellous book, "The Fool's Progress : An Honest Novel", in which he mentions one of these Mail Pouch barn advertising signs, which were prevalent long ago. Less so now that the risks of mouth and throat cancer associated with chewing tobacco are widely known. No wonder the signs are fading. A bygone era, when tobacco was made to sound romantic. Although, can you imagine wanting to kiss someone who has a mouthful of chewing tobacco ?
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Someone was a bit perplexed as to why I was hanging over the rail fence there taking pictures early that morning.
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Hang In There . . .

This speaks for itself . . .
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A Winter Walk In the Woods of the Past . . .

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As you may have realized by now, if you've been keeping up with these pages for any length of time, one of my areas of interest is the history of World War One, and especially the surviving artwork associated with that awful conflict. One branch of that domain is the poetry which emerged from those war years, particularly that of Robert William Service, a Scot turned Canadian who served as an ambulance driver during the war, and who wrote a volume of poetry titled Rhymes of a Red Cross Man, which in my humble opinion is nothing short of excellent. Good reading for long winter nights.
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Another branch on the tree of subjects related to WWI artwork is the sculpture and graffiti left behind by troops in various places, often on the walls of stone quarries which served as troop shelters. Quite some time ago, before anyone had even started visiting this obscure blog, I wrote a couple of posts about a gentleman named Jean Cartier who created two fabulous books about the remaining visible traces of WWI. Over a span of roughly 8 years and 30000 kilometres traveled, he visited and photographed hundreds of sites in Belgium and France where traces of WWI are still visible. You can see some of Jean Cartier's work on his website.
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It was largely thanks to Jean Cartier's books that la Grenouille and I set out yesterday to find one of the sites documented in those volumes. The location of his photographs was not divulged in the book; it took quite a bit of research, some questioning of local residents, and some hiking in the woods before a leafy path curving up a hill finally led us to the place we were looking for.
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On arriving at the quarry site, one is greeted by a large stone sphynx's face. We wondered if the nose had been broken off in order to echo the famous sphynx at Gizeh which also lost it's nose at some point in history. This sphynx was carved in the rock by a sculptor named Cadars in 1915. Despite the disfiguration of missing nose, and some idiot's initials or name carved in the face, it still stands enigmatic, powerful, mysterious in the forest, inspiring considerable awe.
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Venturing further into the old quarry, from a distance there is a work which almost resembles a bear, in the ancient tradition of cave decorations done by pre-historic man.
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Drawing closer, it is in fact a mounted military rider, the part that looked like a bear from a distance is the rock that had to be removed to give relief to the sculpture. I'm wondering if the bear image was just a coincidental result. The horse is wading through last autumn's leaves.
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Another horseman, sadly with broken legs, graces a surface. Apparently (according to one site) this is a depiction of Marechal Joffre, who commanded the French forces from 1914 to 1917.
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Rounding another corner one comes face to face with a large sculpture representing Joan of Arc, also missing her nose. A powerful figure nevertheless. As we visited the site our exclamations of astonishment rang out frequently, it is simply one surprise after another; simply amazing that a site overflowing with such wonderful art is far out in the woods, abandoned to the ravages of weather and vandals. This work deserves to be protected for posterity. IMHO a temple of sorts should be built around and over it to protect it. With guardians.
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Troops during the war lived in dreadful conditions, and probably thought often and longingly of women. This pair of parisian ladies are similar to what might have been seen in fashion magazines of the period. They compose one of the loveliest bas relief sculptures I've ever seen anywhere.
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Under the daintily pointed foot the inscription says, "Zut, voilà qu'il pleut"... "Drat, it's starting to rain !"
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Another lovely goddess has bunches of grapes in her hair ; symbolizing a longing for wine, women, and song ? The inscription by her bared breast says 1916. I couldn't help falling a little in love with her.
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In one of the quarry caverns an altar for religious services was carved in the wall, flanked by memorials to people who may have perished there or nearby. Such quarries were often used for medical posts. In the woods above the quarry there is a cemetery. Some of the people named here may be buried there. Unfortunately tombstones from the cemetery have been stolen by unscrupulous thieves. This simple place of worship was quite sobering and humbling.
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The author of the sphynx also sculpted this "Croix de Guerre", a French military decoration for bravery.
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The below sign was hanging near the Joan of Arc sculpture, stating that anyone removing anything from the site or causing any damage could be subject to being imprisoned.
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I wondered if the act of dragging and abandoning an automobile in such a place would qualify the guilty party for a few months or years in jail ? What do you think ?
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A Little Slippery Fun in London . . .

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Before anything else today, it is of critical importance to gastropods everywhere to take note of the existence of a bar in London, discovered quite by chance on Mr. Toad's recent travels there, named The Slug and Lettuce ! ! ! Why, you might well ask, is this of importance ? Well, it is purely due to a blog connection, and once you have clicked, run, slid, flew, hopped, or waddled over to The Adventures of Mr. Slug and Friends, perhaps the most charming blog ever produced by a mollusk, you will quickly understand why I had to share this. Yes, do pay Mrs. Slug a visit over there, she is wonderfully slippery company !
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And in case any skeptical person out there could have thought I might have photoshopped the above sign for pure amusement, here is another view, and they even have a website here.
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Now, having fed the slugs in the audience a nice juicy lettuce sandwich, some readers had requested something a little more fun, even cuter, than the last post about skulls and graveyards, and one reader also hypothesized that I would not have photographed Westminster Abbey nor the Tower of London while there last week. On the contrary, I did indeed photograph Westminster Abbey, the exterior anyway, (sadly photography is not allowed inside the abbey, as there are a large quantity of beautiful tombs inside), so here is a shot of the outside.
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I didn't get over to London's east end to see the Tower on this trip. Can a shot of Big Ben serve as a reasonable substitute ?
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The ubiquitous postcard stands, on which you can see the Tower if you look carefully. Another one depicts William and Kate !
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Yes, William and Kate are the subject of the season, shops are already full of merchandise for souvenirs of the impending marriage.
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As for royal weddings and other royal family goings on, the question one must ask oneself was on a billboard spotted here.
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Near Buckingham Palace, in Saint James Park, I came across another interesting signpost. Sorry the image is so dark, but the weather was dismal, as is often the case in London. Note that the Cabinet War Room and the Playground are in opposite directions. Also note that the Cabinet and the Lavatories are not the same thing. However, Buckingham Palace and the Playground may be one and the same, the sign seems to say so.
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The obligatory tourist photo of Buckingham Palace, just to prove once and for all that I am capable of taking photos of other subjects besides rusting cars, abandoned buildings, and cemeteries. But on the other hand, probably about five million people a year take photos just like this one, while only a handful will stop to photograph an abandoned house.
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If you see anyone in garish exotic clothes, you will know they are not police . . .
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On the front gates of Buckingham Palace, gilded horsemen were also operating, keeping an eye on the tourists.
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I couldn't help but notice that one of the horsemen had lost his head. "Off with his head", shouted the queen ! A headless horseman. (Are you re-assured now, that even while in tourist mode, I'm still looking for the odd detail that makes life interesting ?)(And no I did not knock the head off the horseman in the previous photo ! How could you even think it ?)
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From Buckingham Palace I headed to south of the Thames to see the Elephant and Castle tube stop, and sure enough, there was an elephant and a castle. If you type "elephant castle london" into Google, you can find any number of stories about how the place got its name, I won't trouble you with all that detail here.
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There is another blog I'd like to give a little nod to here, which I couldn't help but think of when a magpie crossed my path in the same graveyard as featured in the post below this one, which is named appropriately "A Tidings of Magpies". There is an old nursery rhyme about magpies which came to mind also which goes :
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One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret, never to be told
Eight for a wish
Nine for a kiss
Ten for a bird you must not miss"
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And perhaps this could also count for an entry into World Bird Wednesday...
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Finally, I intentionally did not post this last one on Valentines Day, a red heart hanging from a tree in London near the Thames embankment, as I think every day should be Valentines Day, and not just one day set aside for yet another vast commercial marketing operation. So here is a little love to all of you.
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Life In the Big City . . .

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While in London for a few days during this past week, I was out looking around, sometimes at random, sometimes with a planned destination, but always easily sidetracked. Although it is not Halloween, and I'm not a fundamentally morbid sort of person, for some reason I kept stumbling on some scenes or stories related to mortality, that terminal end to the human condition.
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This first photo is from a churchyard which although just a few minutes walk from some of the biggest tourist attractions in London, is probably one of the least visited sites in that city. I thought the story was rather fascinating. One could perhaps even say, with no pun intended, that is a rather shocking story. What do you think ?
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I would fear, in the case of good gentleman Bacon above, that there may have been, as is often the case in such situations, some jokes which may have circulated at the time, despite the tragic nature of the event. Some wag would likely have asked, "Did you hear about Bacon ? He got grilled last night". I also thought, when seeing this memorial stone, of a line from a song which I've mentioned previously in these pages, The Wheel, by the Grateful Dead, which goes :
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"The wheel is turning and you can't slow down
You can't let go and you can't hold on
You can't go back and you can't stand still
If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will"
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Another more recent case, which just happened last week, will also, I fear, become the butt of any number of jokes in poor taste, despite the tragedy involved. Walking by the entrance to Waterloo Station, I couldn't help but notice the headlines placarded there about a woman being killed by a buttock implant operation. To learn more I picked up one of the free newspapers there. (since when are newspapers free ?) I was appalled to learn that a 20 year old British woman had flown to Philadelphia, my home town in the states, to have silicone injected into her posterior, presumably to increase the volume and roundness of it, in an illegal procedure performed in a hotel room. Shortly after having the injections of silicone, she died of an apparent heart attack.
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What sad and deranged times we live in, when a young woman, who in all probability had a perfectly fine and functional (for sitting on) posterior, felt she had to spend a small fortune in plane fare and the scandalous cost of doing so, to get a foreign substance pumped into her body to, supposedly, enhance her appearance to members of the opposite sex. We live in a world getting sicker by the minute, I'm afraid to say. The perpetrator of the procedure apparently disappeared, with the money of course, shortly after the young lady fell ill.
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It used to be that grisly headlines sold newspapers. Now they give them away, but they must need to keep their circulation numbers up in order to sell advertising space in their free paper.
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While out strolling in London I came across a number of skulls in various places, not that I was particularly looking for them, they just sort of appeared. So, along the lines of works of art which incorporated skulls into them centuries ago, illustrating the Vanitas theme, or the biblical quote, "Vanitas vanitatum, omnius vanitas", I offer you the following images to contemplate. This first was right on the banks of the Thames, at the entrance to some sort of horror show. (I didn't go in...)
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These next four were inside the British Museum, where we stopped to have a peek at the Elgin marbles, the Assyrian bas reliefs from Nineveh, and some Egyptian mummies, among other marvels. This first one was supposedly from an Aztec treasure trove, but was determined to be a fake. (Lynne, It might look great in sunglasses, no ?)
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This next mask was created on a real skull . . .
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Am not sure what this was all about . . .

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Ancient Egyptian skulls . . .

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This last was from the same graveyard where William Bacon's memorial stone was. Vanitas.
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