We Sent Them To Dig In This?

I'm just going to tell you about Belgium before I continue with East Africa, if you don't like it, use your telephone to call someone that fucking cares. Cos I certainly don't. The Belgian archaeologists of the Institute for the Archaeological Heritage of the Flemish Community (IAP) are working on various sites throughout Belgium in order to assess the preservation of the underground archaeology of the Western Front. The areas affected during the war are under scrutiny to be put on the World Heritage List by 2014. This being the one hundredth anniversary of the beginning of the Great War, you thick cunt. Do try to keep up. Marc Dewilde of the IAP asked Dr David Kenyon to assemble a highly professional team of some of the most experienced Great War archaeologists that Britain has to offer. He did, but they were busy, so instead he had to ask Danny Boy (Douche) and me to help him dig out rusty German beastliness. It mainly comes down to the fact that Douche and I have pissed away every opportunity for any kind of proper career and at any one time either of us are not working or are in such vocational circumstances that we can take time off at the drop of a hat. I got the call whilst languishing like a sweating sun burnt sow in Zanzibar and this is how I found myself on Friday night lost on the outskirts of Hitchen ringing Douche to find out where he lived.

You wanted the best, you got us instead...

We had the usual car swapping leap frogging journey to the ferry (I drive to Luton then Douche drives us both to Sevenoaks then Kaptain Kenyon drives us all to Belgium with Kenny Loggins, Survivor and Cher as a soundtrack) and ended up at the accommodation in Ypres. We really landed on our feet with the place where we were staying (It was called Le Chat Noir which we anglicised to the Black Shit) it was clean, comfortable, two seconds away from the main square in Ypres, had satellite TV, a barbecue, a fully working kitchen, swimming pool, ball room, aga, space rocket launch pad, discotheque, firing range and tank proving ground with a fully stocked garage of armoured fighting vehicles. OK, fair enough, it had every thing up to the kitchen, but it was a really good place. The only problem was we had to sleep Das Boot style in the same room but at least we didn't have to share beds.

The Black Shit, what a great place!

Douche was up to his usual tricks, he had forgotten to bring his toothpaste and tooth brush from home. Whilst on the ferry the fucking idiot could only afford to buy one or the other, so in his glorious ignorance he chose the paste. Rather than buying a brush and using someone else's toothpaste he ended up not cleaning his teeth for three days until we went to a Belgian supermarket where he could buy a brush. His forgetfulness didn't end there, on Monday at work he forgot his lunch, on Tuesday he forgot his coffee. He'd finally got it right by Wednesday. Not only did I have that to put up with, but Kaptain Kenyon continually droned on about his working as historical advisor on the new Steven Spielberg movie 'Warhorse'. He made it sound like he was rewriting the script as he went along. It was either luvvie talk about lunching with 'Steve' (as his friends call him) or he was wittering on about his ideas for a time travelling movie involving Roman Dodecahedrons. The idea is that a mad scientist in the future has sent an object back in time in order to prove time travel can exist, an object so ambiguous and puzzling its purpose cannot be fathomed by modern archaeologists, but would be known by the mad scientist to be from their time. The whole idea was a load of shit and didn't even involve a single Delorian.

Dr. Kenyon, archaeologist, film writer and wanna-be-time traveller

So I had to put up with this crap for a week, not only that but I had relentless abuse about my beard. I'd not had chance to trim it since getting back from Africa and admittedly it's got a little out of hand. I think there may be as of yet undiscovered rain forest tribes living in there and it's strong enough to hold a spoon in place, but there was no need for the continual torrent of psychological torment that I had to put up with. It was an abuse of KK's position of power and jealousy on both of their parts as they can only grow wispy bum fluff.

The beard is big, but the beard is pissed...

Apart from that, we had some great trenches, we were looking at mostly German front line systems. We worked on two sites, Palingbeek and later, Sanctuary Wood. As ever in Belgium, the wood preservation was excellent. Douche had a brilliant little slot across a communication trench with wooden planking on the base at Palingbeek. Also at Palingbeek we found in situ wooden hurdling (the Germans used a lot of wood in the trench wall constructions), something we've all seen in photographs but never in the ground.

I've got wood, BOOM BOOM!

Sanctuary Wood was also excellent from an archaeological point of view. There was a certain amount of difficulty in actually seeing the features in the ground, but we cleaned up and I located two trenches of sizable depth. Absolutely packed full with cartridges and a sock. Santuary Wood had a further touch. We were digging within spitting distance of the Canadian Memorial on Hill 62 and every so often we would hear, drifting through the woods, the sounds of bagpipes at various ceremonies being held on the memorial. There is something haunting about the thought of the violence that the place had witnessed compared to the tranquility that it currently holds.

Then...

...now

But as ever, as soon as it had started it was all over and before I knew it I was standing in the square in Ypres eating Belgian waffles waiting for Franky and his van so we could sign off the sites and return to the UK. I don't know when I'll be back in Belgium again and the time between jobs is never short enough.

 

Belgium = Om Nom Nom

Arc Light (Sonar)

I finally got hold of the Finding the Fallen Series Two DVDs on Friday. I'd been pestering Dr DK for ages to send them up to me and he eventually relented and posted them. It's great to see the finished version that you spent so much time and effort working on. It brought back lots of good memories, drunken nights in France and Belgium, great archaeology and good company. I feature on one episode in particular where I had to go out to Germany for the filming. I ended up spending a few hours freezing my balls off in a swimming pool in Rastatt in the South West of Germany. I suffer for my art, I tell you.

Look! It's me! On the fucking Telly!!

Over this past weekend I went to see District 9 with Mark, Sarah, Lauren and Steve. Beforehand we went for a meal, it was quite an adult evening really. The waitress was taking her sweet ass time over clearing the table, however, and I got to wondering what would happen if I was to just sweep the entire table top onto the floor. If you had every intention of paying, could they throw you out? I mean, it's not like you would be causing trouble, just clearing your table. One quick sweep and it would all be over and in a way you'd be helping the waiting staff, especially during busy times. In the end I didn't do it anyway, we paid the bill and left meekly. Like good customers should. Even with Lauren's heel coming off her shoe.

Waiter! Bill Please!

District 9 is great, I won't tell you anymore about it, except go and see it. On Sunday I drove up to Bolsterstone to drop in on Tim and his excavation there. I had heard he was having a cake and arse party up there and everyone was invited. I wasn't disappointed, the first thing I saw was that his main trench was butted up against a house wall. Now, call me stupid, but the last thing I would want to do is undermine a house side. Luckily his other trench was in a better position, health and safety wise, but he had decided to excavate around the roots of a tree. Again, my reasoning would be: gauge the size of the tree roots by the size of it's crown and dig in an area where the roots were likely NOT to be... I suggested both of these points to Tim, but as usual my recommendations fell on deaf ears. I then pressed him on his record keeping and he started shuffling his feet like a scolded schoolboy. In all actuality I wasn't interested in the Bolsterstone's dig records or even the archaeology there. It was Sunday for Christ's sake and I wasn't at work. I really called up to see Tim and whoever else happened to be there that day. I gave Tim a lift back to his house and Yuki, his wife, gave me some Japanese Cakes, which were lovely. I also was given a tour of the lair of the beast, where Tim paints his toy soldiers. After Amelia had ripped my hoody to shreds I left for home.

Far more interesting than some crappy archaeology...

T.I.A. Baby!! Pt2

Welcome to Part Two of the South Africa blog, if you missed it the first part can be found HERE. This one concerns the second week's doings and our trip to the Drakensburg Mountains in the KwaZulu-Natal Province and the Battlefields of the Anglo-Zulu and Anglo-Boer Wars.

It was Granny (Joyce) and Fiona's joint birthdays on the Sunday after we finished in Kruger Park. Granny's birthday was the reason I was actually in South Africa anyway. It was her 90th and Craig had asked me if I wanted to go over with him as he was going anyway. Quickly finding cheap flights I said yes. Any chance to travel and I'm on it like a rat up a drainpipe... Granny had her celebration at the Piccadilly Deli in Barberton and this is were I met Archie, the playboy millionaire of Barberton. The man with his many fingers in many pies around Barberton. Flash with his cash, this man lives the dream. Of the rest of the guests, Mark, Craig, Fiona and I were the youngest by many decades. Barberton is famed for having the oldest rocks in the world, some 3.5 billion years old, to be semi-precise. That afternoon the Piccadilly Deli appeared to be full of people who were around at the time the Barberton rocks were forming. Needless to say, it turned into a drunken orgy of violence.

The oldest rocks in the world in Barberton, with the obligatory 'Asian Pose' Number 23 'Heart Shape'

The next morning we (Fiona, Mark, Craig, Lynne and I) set off for the Drakensberg Mountains. We stopped outside Dundee in KwaZulu-Natal and had lunch in the shadow of Talana Hill. In fact I had what was presented as 'London Fish and Chips'. Whether the fish and chips had been flown in from London especially for the occasion was unclear, but they were by no means as tasty as the Osbaldwick chippy's fish and chips in York which I covered in a previous entry. In other food related news, I tried no less than three different types of Chutney flavoured crisps on the way to Kwazulu-Natal. The Simba 'Mrs H.S. Ball's Chutney' flavoured ones were the best.

Simba Crisps, probably illegal in the EU due to dangerously high levels of flavourings and preservatives

Passing through Ladysmith, where a relative of mine died during the siege between 1899 and 1900, we continued the journey. Over the coming week we passed through Ladysmith several times and everytime we did I mentioned that I had a relative who had died there during the siege. There is nothing like spreading a bit of Sotheran family history. The place which we were staying at was Cayley Lodge thanks to Lynne's shady time share dealings. We were booked in by a rather pleasant Zulu, who told us all about the local services and entertainments rather than shoving an Assegai into our faces, thankfully.

The view from my window at Cayley Lodge. Jealous yet?

Before I left the UK, I had insisted to Craig that I would have to visit Rorke's Drift if I was to go to South Africa, so this was one of the reasons we had gone to the Drakensburg as it was close to the old battlefields. Tied in with this was the battlefield at Isandlwana, scene of the massive British defeat at the hands (literally) of the Zulu army. We followed almost the precise route of Chelmsford's army when they advanced into Zululand that fateful January in 1879. Down a dirt road where it appeared to be grass burning day inKwaZulu-Natal as everyone and his dog was at it.

One starts it and everyone else joins in. Bloody typical.

We rounded the Shiyane Hill and the missionary station stood before us. It was actually amazing to see the place, which until then had only been visualised in my mind by the film Zulu. Although all the original buildings were either destroyed or pulled down after the battle, the ones that stand there now are pretty much on the originals footprints, so one can get a real sense of the tiny compound and how much balls it took to stand and fight in the face of an oncoming Zulu army.

'Zulus Sir! Thousands of them!'

'Where?'

Craig and I climbed up Shiyane Hill and looked down on the complex from the point of view of the Zulu sharpshooters. In fact we were pretending to be Zulu sharpshooters when a jogger turned up and spoiled our fun.

'Now there's a bitter pill. Our own damned rifles!'

Rorke's drift was definitely one of the highlights of the trip and somewhere I never thought I would see. People kept saying 'there's nothing at Rorke's Drift', but without knowledge of the ground and the turn of events battlefields are just fields. When you have an understanding of what went on at a particular time and place, then they come alive and you can almost see the fighting men. At Rorke's Drift this was how I felt. You could picture the men helping the wounded across the open courtyard under constant rifle fire from the surrounding hills. You could feel the desperation of the Zulu attacks against the hospital veranda. You could almost summon the gallantry and fear of the defenders as they pulled back into the tiny final mealie bagged position. It must have felt as though all hope had gone, the last position of fighting with no fall backs. But after hours of fighting off repeated attacks the British still stood. Both sides showed enormous gallantry that day and night of January 22/23 and Rorke's drift stands as a testament to it.

The British Monument at Rorke's Drift

The Zulu Monument at Rorke's Drift

Continuing the Battlefield theme we continued on to Isandlwana, over the bridge where the original Pontoon bridge stood in 1879. Despite being told by an elderly Zulu that the place was closed, we saw the gates were open and a party of Welsh Rugby supporters were already there. We had made it just too late to get a proper look at the Battlefield and I would have liked a couple of more hours to get the feel of the place. Still, the poignancy of the cairns which scattered the area, marking where the British dead were found, lent an air of sadness to what would otherwise is a beautiful spot. The hill of Isandlwana towered above the battlefield and one could easily imagine the Zulu army streaming down the surrounding hills and up the valley towards the British camp.

One of the many Memorials at Isandlwana with the famous hill behind

Whilst staying at Cayley Lodge there was an organised hike, so Mark, Fiona, Craig and I signed up. The guide showed us some Bushmen paintings in a small cave overlooking a waterfall. It's strange how people always want to make their surroundings better no matter where and in what time they lived.

It's DIY for the first millenium

As we hiked through a small Zulu village, Craig overheard one of the fat tourists that made up most of our party spouting shit. The dumb cunt said 'why has that shack got corrugated tin on the roof? Why couldn't they have used thatch like some of the the others? Corrugated tin ruins the ambiance.' It just exemplified the difference in South Africa (and other parts of the world) between rich and poor. There we were heading back to our safe, fenced off multi-million Rand holiday complex, back to our cars, computers and TVs, whilst some kids were playing with a broken plastic bottle in a stream because they had nothing else in the world.

These kids had literally NOTHING in the world, do you think they cared whether their tin roof ruined the ambiance?

Spion Kop was the next battlefield on the list and we visited it a couple of days after Isandlwana. Well, there was other people in our party who weren't interested in military history so we had to do some thing else in the intervening day. Unbelievable I know, but there it is. The most memorable part of this None-War day was seeing a newspaper headline which read 'Giraffe Horror Crash' I wanted to know what the Hell a giraffe was doing in a car anyway, is it just me or do we need tighter controls on allowing animals to drive around like they own the road?

Stop the Madness!!

After being saluted through the gate at Spion Kop, we made our way up the hill to follow the self guided tour the guard gave us. Again, the importance of visiting battlefields to understanding military history was clearly shown. The hill overlooks all the surrounding areas and controls access to Ladysmith. It was a very important position for reconnaissance. This is something that a lot of people don't understand. A South African family we bumped into got chatting to Craig and I, and one of them asked why were the Boers and the British fighting over what they thought was just a hill? He was making the point that the guns wouldn't be able to hit people in the valleys below. I pointed out it was more important to SEE the enemy than kill them from this vantage point. The mass graves and the pre-CWGC battlefield monuments were testament to the fighting men there that lost their lives.

At the setting of the sun...

The Spion Kop trip wrapped up the visit to the Drakensburg Mountains, a beautiful part of the world, even if it was cold. We all headed back to Barberton the following day, saying goodbye to Mark and Fiona who were on their way back home to Sydney. Craig and I were destined to stay in Barberton the following week, but more about that in the next episode of T.I.A. Baby!!

The Dramatic Drakensberg