Grandad WW2 cycle trip: planning and preparation
I remember the excitement in knowing Grandma and Grandad were visiting. I would peak out of the bay window just waiting to get the first glimpse of the boxy yellow Volvo estate pulling up. They were kindly and nice and were probably good enough to seem interested in me prattling about steam engines or Lego. When we visited them everything was comfortably familiar and as reliable and ordered as the old wind up clock which ticked away in the living room. Everything had it’s place, from the fruit ripening in a tray under the sideboard, the gentle ‘blup’ of bubbles rising through the airlock of the Elderflower wine brewing in the cloak room, the big Ferguson TV with buttons which pressed with a satisfying ‘thunk’. I liked how the table was always made in advance of meals, the walks in Knole Park, me and my brother running around the massive garden laid out with beds of colourful plants and shoots of rhubarb. I loved it.
Grandad was a quiet man. I remember him being good at maths puzzles and crosswords, which we would cut out of newspapers so we could take them down the next time we visited. He never spoke about the war, but then he never spoke about many things really. I suppose he only spoke when it was really necessary. I guess I must have found out he was involved in the war when I was growing up, but it was only after he died I really had a better picture of it. When we were clearing his house, we found an officers Sam Browne belt with cross strap and swagger stick. We also found the maps. There are thirteen maps in total, freshly printed in 1944, covering Northern Europe. And my Grandad, ever meticulous, had marked on the precise route he had taken – from the beach at Arromanches in Normandy – through Belgium and Holland, and into Germany. Just before he died, my Dad had managed to get him to commit his memory of the war to paper.
It was whilst poring over these maps and reading these memories I had the idea that we might be able to follow in his footsteps and cycle the route. Inevitably, life got in the way and it wasn’t until 5 years passed and Supreme Commander Lew (capable of organising things) kicked the plans into shape, that we actually did it.
During preparations, it became apparent though what took the Allied forces a year to do would probably still take us weeks and weeks to cover on 2 wheels. So we scaled back the idea just to follow a bit of Grandad’s route and spend a couple of days visiting the WW2 sites in Normandy. Lew came up with a comprehensive and meticulous plan (he’d have liked my Grandad).