Great Continental Railway Journeys (2012–…): Season 1, Episode 5 - Amsterdam to Northern France - full transcript

'I'm embarking
on a new railway adventure,

'that will take me
across the heart of Europe.'

I'll be using this,

my Bradshaw's Continental
Railway Guide, dated 1913,

which opened up
an exotic world of foreign travel

for the British tourist.

'It told travellers
where to go, what to see

'and how to navigate
the thousands of miles of tracks

'criss-crossing the Continent.

'Now, a century later,

'I'm using my copy to reveal
an era of great optimism and energy,



'where technology, industry, science
and the arts were flourishing.'

I want to rediscover that lost
Europe that, in 1913, couldn't know

that its way of life
would shortly be swept aside

by the advent of war.

'Steered by my 1913 railway guide,

'I've completed
four illuminating journeys

'through prosperous pre-war Europe.

'Today's final leg will take me

'to where that peaceful world
was to be swept away.

'I'll experience the dazzling cities
of the pre-war Low Countries.'

£200,000? For one of these?
Absolutely.

'Sampling the delicacies...'

Feels like you want to take
a bath in it, doesn't it?

Yes, you would like to take a bath.



'And meeting today's locals...'

It's like a bible.
It's like a railway bible.

'..before reaching the French sector
of the Western Front...'

WHISTLE BLOWS

'..where from 1914,

the trains carried a new cargo -
of artillery shells...'

That's amazing.
In two minutes, we laid five metres.

'..and the Edwardian tourists
were replaced by soldiers,

'facing the horrors
of the trenches.'

He was one of the 72,000 people
who never had a grave.

'This journey starts in Amsterdam,

'then takes me south,
via The Hague, to Belgium.

'I'll witness the decadence
of fin de siecle in Brussels,

'then visit Mons, where British
troops first fought in 1914.

'Then the French front line,

'finishing in Compiegne, where four
years of warfare came to an end.'

I'm travelling along
the first railway line ever built

in the Netherlands
and the view from my window is of

the characteristically flat
Dutch countryside,

although without the thousands of
windmills promised by my Bradshaw's.

But Bradshaw's does say that,

"Holland,
which was once an extended swamp,

"alternately covered by,
and abandoned by, the sea,

"presents the picture of a people

"owing not only their wealth
and high commercial position,

"but even the very land
to their own labour and enterprise."

These were industrious
and resourceful people,

the sort that we British
could admire.

'This nation's achievements were
showcased in Amsterdam, described

'in my 1913 guide as
"the commercial capital of Holland"

'"and one of the great
financial centres of Europe."

'Its vast Centraal Station was
the first advertisement to visitors

'of the city's enterprising spirit.'

Amsterdam Centraal Station
is clearly built on the grand scale.

With its enormous roof of glass
and cast iron, it reminds me of many

of the great termini
of the United Kingdom.

But what's different is,

that whilst I arrived on
a train from that direction,

I could leave on a train
in that direction.

'This is not a terminus,
but a through route.

'First opened in 1889, it linked
the two main railway lines

'running out of Amsterdam
to the east and the west.

'The site chosen for this new
transport hub was the busy harbour

'and, for the station's engineers,
that posed a massive challenge.

'Station worker
Willem van Heijningen

'knows how they overcame it.'

This station
is actually built over the sea?

Yes, we're actually standing
in the former harbour of Amsterdam.

So how do you build on the sea?

We had to make an island here.

Fortunately, also, the canal to
the sea was made, so a lot of sand

came here, we put it here,
but of course, that wasn't enough

for the foundations, so they
had to make piles into the ground,

like you see over there.

These are the piles
which are under the station.

There's more than 8,600 piles
of these under the station.

8,600 of these wooden piles
into the earth?

Yes. For the English,
it's normal to make railways.

You founded that.

For us, it is normal to make piles to
foundation for houses and buildings.

'It's extraordinary to think

'that this magnificent edifice
rested on simple wooden poles.

'Arriving here in 1913,

'British tourists could enjoy
the opulent facilities,

'including a luxurious restaurant
for first-class passengers.

'But I'm tearing myself away,
to look for traces of the Amsterdam

'that they would have seen.'

My Bradshaw's tells me that -
"The canals are very numerous,

"and of the greatest utility
in draining off the waters

"and in facilitating
the internal trade.

"They are lined with trees,

"which tend greatly
to improve the country.

"The traveller will find
the occasional trip on the canals

"an interesting experience."

And it's one
that I intend to enjoy, right now.

'Amsterdam's most famous canals
date back to

'the city's 17th-Century golden age,

'and with over 60 miles
of waterways to explore,

'I'm hitching a ride with
lifelong local, Franck Hakkert.'

Franck. Michael. Hello.
Nice meeting you.

Good to see you. Come aboard.
Take that, sir.

Come aboard. Very good.

'Towards the end
of the 19th century,

'new water routes
linking Amsterdam to the sea

'were constructed,
heralding a fresh boom for the city.

'In 1913, the grand canal-front
houses belonged to rich merchants,

'trading oil and other commodities
from the Dutch East Indies.

'A boat like Franck's,
which is 120 years old,

'would have been a familiar sight
in the thriving harbour.'

This sort of boat was used for what?

This boat was called
a parlevinker, in Dutch,

there's no translation
for that in English.

But it was used to supply
bigger sea boats with oil and grease.

They were selling to the bigger
boats. It was a shop on the water.

Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!
That's so pretty.

Franck,
Amsterdam is not designed for

tall people standing in boats,
is it?

These bridges are very low.

Actually, I have hit my head myself
once against the bridge.

I ended up in hospital.

Oh, my goodness.

This is very, very low.

Not much headroom there.

We're there.
Thank you very much indeed.

I had a nice trip.

'My boat ride has brought me
to the south of the city.

'When my 1913 railway guide
was written,

'this area was home to
a community of artisans,

'producing a luxury that bedazzled
Europe's glamorous elite.'

In this glittering city,
my Bradshaw's points out that -

"Among the arts or crafts
practiced here,

"that of diamond polishing
should be mentioned.

"The craft is mostly in the hands of
Jews, employing several thousands."

And the story of one particular gem
made an Amsterdam name

famous in Edwardian Britain.

'Jews in Amsterdam
had been cutting diamonds

'since the 16th century and,
in the 1900s, they were kept busy

'by a flood of jewels from mines
recently opened in South Africa.

'There, in 1905, a stone was found

'which was to make the Asscher
Diamond Company universally famous.'

Hello, Michael. Nice to see you.
Hello. How good to see you.

'Edward Asscher's family have run
the firm for five generations.

'A century ago, his grandfather
shone in the story of the legendary

'Cullinan diamond.'

The Cullinan is a very famous
diamond. Tell me about that.

It's the biggest rough diamond
ever found.

It was found in the premier mine
in South Africa,

and was given to the UK

as a token of reconciliation
after the Boer war.

This is a copy
of the original rough Cullinan.

How rare is a diamond
of this size and this quality?

Never in history has a bigger diamond
been found anywhere in the world.

Still today, it's the largest
rough diamond that we have known.

'The flamboyant British king,
Edward VII, was passionate

'about diamonds, so the 3,106-carat
Cullinan was the perfect gift.

'But a highly-skilled cutter
was needed

'to transform the rough stone
into jewels fit for royalty.'

We were invited by the King
to come to London

and study the diamond.

When the King
decided we could polish it,

they published in all
the British and Dutch newspapers

the story
that they would send a destroyer

with this,
the biggest diamond in the world.

But actually,
my grandfather put it in his pocket

and took the boat
from Harwich to the Hook of Holland.

'This was the Asschers'
biggest task yet.

'There was a tiny flaw
at the centre of the diamond

'and the first challenge
was to cut it in two.'

Here we have the tools
of the Cullinan.

You can see this is a footprint
of the real rough Cullinan

before the cleaving.

Sorry, you mean these tools were
actually used to cut the Cullinan?

These are historic tools.
Indeed, they are.

'A crowd gathered to watch Joseph
Asscher cut the priceless stone.'

My grandfather
tried to cleave it with this.

First, the blade broke in two pieces.

'Having failed first time,
Joseph sent away his audience,

'and gathered his strength
once again.'

And then, with this original one,
he held it like that,

used a hammer to hit the diamond,
then it was cleft in two pieces.

What a responsibility.

'Nine large and 96 smaller gems
were cut from the stone,

'and the two biggest now form
part of the British Crown Jewels,

'set in the Imperial sceptre
and the Imperial State Crown.'

Is this the Cullinan here, is it?

Yes, this a replica
of the Imperial State Crown,

in which the Cullinan
two mounted here.

All this is made
of gold and diamonds,

except, of course, this little stone.

'Amsterdam's diamond industry was
crushed during the Second World War,

'when the city's
Jewish diamond cutters

'were sent to
the concentration camps.

'Of Asscher's 500 workers,
only 15 survived.

'Among them
were Edward's father and uncle,

'who returned to Amsterdam and
rebuilt the business from scratch.'

Michael, here is a six-carat diamond.

This shape we call a "brilliant",
it's the most popular shape.

And this six-carat diamond
has a value of about £200,000.

£200,000 for one of these? Yes.

Absolutely. That's amazing.

What makes it SO valuable?

The cut, the colour,
the clarity and the weight -

what we call the four Cs - together
decides the value of a diamond.

'Today, the firm's skilled polishers
still use techniques

'that readers of my guidebook
would have seen,

'but some aspects of the business
have changed dramatically.'

Put the diamond in front of lens.

And then we close it,
so we can look at it on the computer.

This is modern technology.

If we would do this to the Cullinan,

it would also show
that we could improve on it.

Is it becoming more perfect?

No, I don't think so.
It is more efficient.

But if you look at old diamonds
that fetch a very high price,

it's the beauty of it, it is
the romance, it is the background

and not only the technology.

'I'm now leaving behind the bustling
commercial centre of Amsterdam

'to continue my journey in the
footsteps of Edwardian tourists.

'To while away the train trip,

'I'm sampling
a traditional Dutch delicacy.'

It's very important when travelling
abroad to immerse yourself

in the local culture.
I'm about to do that big time.

By eating raw herring.

In case it's not smelly enough, it
has then been dipped in raw onion.

And then the important thing is
to feed into your face this way.

Urgh. Oh!

Absolutely overpowering.

I'm hoping my next stop
will be rather more to my taste.

Because I'm bound for the home
of Dutch politics, The Hague.

My Bradshaw's tells me
that The Hague -

"Is a town
of broad handsome thoroughfares,

"with stately public buildings
and houses.

"It's the political capital
of Holland,

"the residence of the queen
and the seat of government."

I can already feel
the pull of political power

attracting me like a magnet.

'The Hague is still where you'll
find the Dutch parliament, but

'internationally, it's better known
for its role in global politics.

'The city rejoices to be the home
of international peace and justice,

'and the iconic symbol
of that mission

'is this majestic structure,
which opened its doors in 1913.'

I'm at the Peace Palace,
towards whose cost my Bradshaw's

tells me -
"Mr Carnegie gave £300,000."

I'd like to know more about
this multi-millionaire, who devoted

his philanthropy, and his idealism,
to finding alternatives to war.

'Andrew Carnegie
would have been well-known

'to readers of my 1913 guidebook.

'A British-born steel magnate,
he began his career on the railways

'and rose to being one of
the richest men in the world.

'To learn about his connection
with this awe-inspiring building,

'I'm exploring the archives with

'General Director of the Carnegie
Foundation, Steven van Hoogstraten.'

Steven, this is absolutely vast.
What is in this great archive here?

This is the collection
of the Peace Palace library.

Basically,
this is 22km of shelves for books,

and we occupy something like 15
or 16. It's close to a million books.

'The palace and its library
were borne out of

'an international peace movement

'that flowered
at the end of the 19th century.

'In that age
of both fear and idealism,

'many hoped that the march
of civilisation could one day

'put a stop to war, with the rule
of global law replacing conflict.

'Peace campaigners
lobbied statesmen,

'and, later, philanthropists,

'to support their cause.'

Why did Carnegie think of giving
his money to a Peace Palace?

Andrew Carnegie was a large
steel producer, a very rich man,

who decided at the age of 60
that he wanted to become

a philanthropist
and give his money away.

And he was approached by people
who had participated

in a big peace conference
in The Hague in 1899.

'The conference
was an international meeting,

'attended by heads of state,
campaigners and journalists.'

Here is a cartoon
of all the nations

that participated
in the first conference.

And this, the American president,
a Turkish high representative,

they don't give all the names here,

but it is a rather funny
get-together.

And here I recognise,
I think, Queen Victoria,

because this was just before
her death. Yeah.

'At the conference,
it was decided to create an

'international court of arbitration
to resolve disputes between nations.

'Such an important institution
required a suitably imposing home,

'and Carnegie was rich enough
to fund it.'

This, Michael,
is a copy of the cheque

and it says that there is $1.5m

that he makes available
for the creation of the Peace Palace.

$1.5m. My guidebook
tells me £300,000,

so the exchange rate
was a great deal more favourable

to the pound in those days.

'Work began on the grand building
in 1907.

'It was completed six years later,

'but by then, the storm clouds
of war were gathering.'

That is very poignant, isn't it?

Less than one year before WWI,
the Peace Palace opened.

That was one of the great
disappointments of the people

who worked in the Peace Palace

and notably, Andrew Carnegie,
was very depressed about that.

'The Peace Palace is still home

'to the 1899
Permanent Court of Arbitration.

'With the International
Criminal Court based nearby,

'The Hague is uniquely
a centre for global justice.

'But touring
the Peace Palace gardens,

'with my 1913 guidebook in hand,

'it's poignant to recall
how its founders' hopes, expressed

'in this monumental architecture,
were soon to be dashed.

'A new day, and time to continue
my voyage through the Low Countries,

'guided by my railway handbook.

'For me, this next leg
carries a whiff of nostalgia.'

Do you remember
corridor trains like this?

Where would the writers of
romantic novels or murder mysteries

have been without corridor trains?

How I miss them.

'I'm settling in for a two hour ride

'which will take me across
an international frontier.'

This nice old-fashioned train
is carrying me into Belgium.

My Bradshaw's notes - "With
narrow limits, easily travelled,

"Belgium offers great attractions of

"a wonderful, modern,
industrial development.

"Railways - 2,915 miles open,
mostly belonging to the state."

Belgium followed Britain
in developing its railways,

but here, the state planned
the network, in sharp contrast

to Britain's topsy-turvy,
hell-for-leather,

free market railway mania.

'When Belgium opened
its first line in 1835,

'it was the pioneer
in continental Europe.

'With no local railway industry,
the locomotives were imported -

'built in Britain
at the Stephenson Works.

'As with us, the earliest lines
were built for industry

'but soon carried people, too.

'In 1913, a journey
on these tracks held the promise

'of chance encounters
and impromptu friendships,

'and the same is true today.'

Excuse me. The terrible thing
about these trains with compartments

is that the person next to you
thinks they can talk to you.

Have you noticed that?

A little bit.

THEY LAUGH

In Britain,
we no longer have these trains.

We used to have them,
but they make people more sociable.

You know,
when you've got the door and...

It's a bit cosy. A bit cosy, yeah.

People used to share food.
You haven't got any food, have you?

I have chewing gum,
if you'd like some. No, no.

THEY LAUGH

No, thank you. Thank you.

You have an interesting book.

Ah, this is my 1913 guidebook,

so this very nearly 100 years old.

Very old!
You may hold it if you like.

It looks a bit like a bible,
like a railway bible.

That's exactly
what it is, it is a railway bible.

'And my railway bible has brought me
to Brussels, the Belgian capital.

'I'm surprised to find that the city

'gets a somewhat muted entry
in my 1913 guide.

'It says,
"Consequent upon improvements,

'"very little
of historic Brussels remains,

'"nor are the local industries
of great importance."

'But more recently,

'the city's position
and excellent transport links

'have helped place it at
the heart of European politics.'

Bradshaw's comments
that Brussels lacks a claim to fame,

but that was before
the European Union came to town.

When I was a minister, I used
to attend meetings in this building,

but I was always unpopular,
because I was the Eurosceptic.

So, after years
of isolation and ostracism,

it's good to visit Brussels today

and sample what the tourists enjoy.

'By 1913, like Britain,
Europe's industrialised nations

'had experienced an unprecedented
period of peace and prosperity.

'Belgium had grown rich on the
profits of its African colony,

'the Congo, and the Brussels
bourgeoisie enjoyed a privileged

'lifestyle, shopping for luxury
goods in the city's grand arcades.

'A century ago, in the glamorous
Galerie de la Reine,

'an enterprising businessman
created a new delicacy.'

Hello. This is the most
beautiful shop. Thank you.

The smell of chocolate
is amazing, isn't it? Yes.

Why are the Belgians
famous for chocolate?

Because we invented
the bite-sized filled chocolate.

The real first one was invented
in 1912, exactly in this very shop.

'Owner Jean Neuhaus
had created the very first praline -

'a hard chocolate shell,
with a soft creamy filling.

'And a few years later,
with his wife,

'he invented
the first special packaging.

'The modern box of chocolates
was born.'

So what are the most popular today?

The most popular
are the "les irresistible".

Les irresistible, as we say
in French. Those five here.

"The irresistibles".
Could I try one irresistible?

Of course! Which one?

I'll have a dark chocolate one.
Dark chocolate? Yes, please.

There you go.
Thank you very much, indeed.

Dear, oh, dear. Goodbye diet.

Fantastic.

So creamy and crunchy
at the same time.

And dark chocolate.
Wow. Irresistible indeed.

'Soon the railways
were helping to spread the fame

'of Belgian chocolates
across the world

'and today, the country produces
320,000 tonnes a year.

'It takes two years to qualify
as a chocolatier, but I'm taking

'a crash course, with the Brussels
chocolate museum's Helene Verbeyst.'

Hello, Helene. Hello, Michael.

So, what are we going to do today?

Well, I will try to teach you
a little bit about chocolate.

Splendid!

'Helene demonstrates
praline-making to tourists,

'so I have an audience
for my initiation.'

You feel the consistency
of the chocolate.

It feels lovely.

Feels like you want
to take a bath in it, doesn't it?

Yes, you would like to take a bath.

'The first step is to make
the crisp chocolate shells,

'by filling a mould
with melted chocolate...'

Voila! Voila!

'..Then knocking out any
air bubbles.'

You can make more noise if you want.

Thank you, Helene.

Helene, the bubbles are coming out.

'The perfect praline
has a glossy, delicate shell,

'and only the thinnest layer
of chocolate

'should be left in the mould.'

You have to have
a lot of trust for this. Here goes.

Whoa.

Voila. You need...

It's coming.
It's coming out. It's coming out.

Oh, you people of little faith.

'After filling the shells
with chocolate ganache,

'the pralines are closed off
with a final chocolate layer.'

And now scra-a-a-ape it off!
Very good.

And scra-a-a-ape it off.

They seem to have
some holes in them.

This is my signature.

This is how people will know
that it's a Portillo chocolate.

Voila! You did a very good job.

'Despite the flaws, I'm pretty proud
of my first attempt,

'but the proof of the praline
is in the eating.

'I've come to the Grand Place,
which my guidebook tells me is,

'"The great historic spot
of Brussels,

'"often described as the finest
medieval square in existence."

'In 1913, as today,
this was the tourist hotspot -

'the perfect place to find some
guinea pigs for my chocolates.'

I wonder if you would like
to try one of my chocolates.

HE LAUGHS

No, no. There's no catch.

You've got the Portillo
characteristic hole in the back.

You think that hole's going to make
a difference in the taste?

I hope not.

Very nice, yeah. Oh, good.

Something inside.

Mmm.

Nice. They're OK? Hazelnut.

Really?

HE LAUGHS

I don't think
that's what I put in it.

I didn't realise
there was stuffing inside.

Oh, yeah. It was good. Would I give
you a chocolate that wasn't stuffed?

Did you notice any difference
between that

and a professional chocolate?

Is there something wrong in it?

No! I...I'm not very good
at it, you see.

I don't believe you.

THEY LAUGH

You're a fine man.
Thank you so much, sir. Thank you.

'It's now time
to consult my guidebook,

'because I'm in need
of a hotel for the night.

'Edwardian readers could pick from
12 listed in my 1913 Bradshaw's,

'and I've found one
which is still going today.'

My Bradshaw's
is very helpful to the tourist.

It recommends the Metropole Hotel

because it has a lift
and electric light.

And an advertisement tells me that,

"the rooms have telephone
to foreign countries."

What's more, my Bradshaw's
has a handy list of phrases

to help one out in hotels
and I'm going to try them out now.

'The palatial Metropole opened
in 1894 and, stepping inside,

'you can see why it was advertised
as "the leading hotel in Belgium".

'But while the fin de siecle
atmosphere has survived intact,

'travellers' needs have changed
somewhat since 1913 -

'so I'm not sure how Bradshaw's
travellers' vocabulary

'is going to go down.'

Bon soir, mademoiselle. Bon soir.

You weren't very surprised
that I asked you for a footbath?

I understood.

We don't give
this kind of service to the client,

but everything is possible.

We are trained to do our best
for the clients!

Thank you so much.
You've been very helpful.

I'm looking forward to staying here.
You're always welcome.

After a night of five-star comfort,

my 1913 Bradshaw's guide
is leading me back to the tracks.

Mons, please.

Nine euros, please.
Thank you very much indeed.

And your tickets, there you are.

I'm heading for a city with
a special place in British hearts.

Ever since I was a boy at school,
Mons has meant one thing -

the First World War battle where
the British were first engaged.

And it seems weird,
almost irreverent,

that I can buy a railway ticket
to such an epic place.

For followers of my 1913 guidebook,

Mons was famous
for a different reason.

They would have known it as
the country's economic powerhouse.

During the 19th century,
with the spread of its railways,

Belgium enjoyed
enormous industrial growth,

and my Bradshaw's notes that

Mons is the centre
of the Belgian coalfields,

but just the year
after my guidebook was written,

the town was to acquire a fame
and notoriety in world history

that has not left it since.

Bonjour, Monsieur. Merci.

'On the 4th of August 1914,
Germany invaded neutral Belgium

'and, the very same day,
Britain declared war.'

Within weeks,
British troops were sent to Mons

to try and help to hold back
the Germans.

The battle that ensued
saw the first British casualties,

and also the first acts of heroism.

Major Maurice French
is the nephew of the officer

who won the war's
first Victoria Cross.

Maurice. Morning, Michael.

Your uncle Lieutenant Dease
won his Victoria Cross

at this very spot on this bridge?

That is absolutely true, yes.

Lieutenant Maurice Dease was
just 24 when he was sent to fight.

His regiment, the Royal Fusiliers,

formed part
of the British Expeditionary Force -

100,000 regular soldiers

who travelled on chartered trains
and ships.

Tell me about his journey
out to Belgium.

They mobilised in the Isle of Wight,
and they came by sea, of course,

and then, they got in a train,

and then, they arrived here on
the evening of the 22nd of August,

having detrained
and then marched 20 miles.

The German strategy was to sweep
through Belgium at lightning speed,

then move through France
to capture Paris.

In a bid to stop them,
Lieutenant Dease and his comrades

were ordered to defend
the Mons-Conde Canal,

placing their two machine guns
on a railway bridge that crosses it.

So what did your uncle do?

My uncle Maurice was in a trench,

50 yards, maybe,
behind the two machine guns,

and then he saw
that one of the guns had stopped

and so, he got out of his trench
and he went forward,

and he was hit, then. I think
that was in the side or the shoulder.

Soon after, Lieutenant Dease
was called to the gun

and wounded a second time.

But, impressively,
his bravery sustained him.

As the battle continued
and casualties mounted,

Dease moved to control
one of the guns himself.

And I think he was about to do that
when he was hit a third time

and he, then, actually, died soon
afterwards, after the third wound,

but he had gone on for, maybe,
two or three hours, although wounded,

controlling his machine guns
and doing everything he could.

They believe that he died
at about eleven o'clock that morning.

Despite the courage
of Lieutenant Dease and his men,

the British were forced to withdraw.

But not before
the war's second Victoria Cross

had been won by Dease's comrade,
Private Godley,

who, at the end,
single-handedly defended the bridge.

Godley survived to tell the tale,
but Dease's family was left with

only the medal
to commemorate his sacrifice.

This is a replica which, in fact,
looks exactly like the original.

It's a wonderful thing,
how do you feel about your uncle?

Well, the family
feel tremendous pride,

and I've got six children
and 14 grandchildren.

Really very proud
to be part of the family

whose ancestor got a Victoria Cross.

The first of World War One.

The very first
of World War One, yeah.

Those first British soldiers
had no clue

how long the conflict would last
and how much it was to change.

Having followed
my 1913 guide through

the glamorous pre-war Low Countries,

I'm now continuing my journey

to chart the course
of that transformation.

First, I'll explore
the battlefields of the Somme,

before heading west to Amiens,

where the war turned
in the Allies' favour,

finishing at Compiegne,
where the armistice was signed.

Bonjour, monsieur. Bonjour, merci.

When do we reach France?

Quand est-ce qu'on arrive en France?
Tout de suite.

Midi six. Midi six.
C'est formidable, merci.

Merci. Merci, bon voyage.

We'll be in Lille in...12 minutes.

I've now crossed the border
into France,

and I'm changing trains in Lille.

My 1913 Bradshaw's
describes the city as,

"an important manufacturing centre,

"with a vast trade in linen,
woollens, cotton, machinery, etc."

Back then, this station was busy
with freight trains bound for Paris,

but they shared the line
with British travellers

exploring northern France.

I'm joining historian Heather Jones

on board a local service
to find out more.

Hello, Heather. Hi, Michael.

Good to see you. I've been looking
at my Bradshaw's guide and it says,

"A special interest attaches
to those parts nearest to England."

"There's no wonderful scenery, but
a country very like Kent or Surrey,

"with constant suggestions
of a common history."

Were British travellers
through northern France

quite common already by 1913?

Yes, they were. There'd been
a massive increase in travel,

so there were around
700,000 passengers,

travelling either
from Paris to London

or from London to Paris by 1913.

So, a huge volume
of trade and tourism.

What sort of comfort
were they travelling in?

It depended what class
you were travelling in.

For example, they had heated
carriages, so it was quite warm,

there was good suspension.

However, the Baedeker guides
warned passengers

from the upper and middle classes

not to travel third class
on local French trains,

as there were no cushions
in the third-class carriages.

Edwardian tourists
came for Picardy's beaches,

peaceful countryside
and historic towns,

but soon the world
they fell in love with

would be rendered unrecognisable.

Edith Wharton travelled
through this region before the war
and wrote very movingly

of the beautiful medieval villages
that had been there for centuries,

the old farmhouses that had
been there for centuries.
All of that's destroyed

and, in fact, many of the First World
War maps describe locations

as 'such and such a farm'
because that's what was there,

and had been there for centuries,
and it's obliterated by shellfire.

By the end of 1914,

the railway line itself
had become a casualty of conflict.

When the war came, it obviously
destroyed this particular line that

we're travelling on,
which was the main line from Paris

up through Arras and going on either
to the French coast or to Lille,

and, in fact, the old Western Front
went right across this line and many

of the areas of this line were
shelled and badly damaged in the war.

After the Battle of Mons,

British and French troops were
forced to retreat 200 miles south,

but they soon fought back,

and the battle lines gradually
moved north towards the Channel.

Soon, the two sides faced
each other across no-man's-land

in a line of trenches
that stretched 400 miles,

from the Flanders coast
to the Swiss border.

Bye-bye, Heather. It's great to
meet you. Thank you so much. Bye-bye.

I'm leaving the train at Albert,

a small town which found itself on
the Allied side of the front line.

When we think of the Western Front,

of this landscape
transformed by war,

we think of barbed wire and trenches
and mud and annihilation.

But another novelty in the landscape
was railways, the tracks of war.

The First World War saw railways

play a bigger role in battle
than ever before.

Millions of troops
were moved by train

and temporary lines were built,
to supply the trenches.

The fields around Albert
were criss-crossed with

miles of narrow gauge tracks and,
remarkably, one line has survived.

This is the
P'tit train de la Haute Somme,

which is now run
as a heritage service,

complete with an authentic
1916 steam locomotive.

I'm taking a ride
with curator David Blondin.

David, who was it
who built this railway?

So this railway was built
by the French and British army,

just before the Battle of the Somme.

Were there a lot
of these railways built?

Yes. In this area,
just between February and June 1916,

they built about 300km of line.
That's a lot of railway.

They were obviously building
very, very quickly.

Along the Western Front,

light railways like this were used
extensively, by both sides.

With bad roads and a shortage
of motor vehicles,

they were an essential connection

between the permanent railway
network and the front line.

Was the purpose of the railway
to carry munitions or men?

It was to carry munitions.

On this line, they carried up to
1,500 tonnes of ammunition in a day,

so they need all the trains to carry
ammunition and not to carry troops.

They go by foot.

Once the war was over,
most of the tracks were removed,

but one line was kept in use
by a local sugar factory.

In the 1970s, the factory
switched to road transport,

but a short stretch was saved
by local enthusiasts.

Do you feel sad that of all the
hundreds of kilometres that there

used to be, only a couple
of kilometres are preserved?

No. I can say I'm happy.

Of course, it's not a lot,
if you compare it to several hundred

that were built during the war.

We wish to preserve two kilometres
and we need to keep it.

Well, congratulations, because
it is a very historic railway.

The advantage of the lightweight
60cm gauge

used for the trench trains was the
phenomenal speed at which new lines

could be built, thanks to the simple
system of pre-fabricated tracks.

So, David, these are
the sorts of instant railway

that they used
in the First World War, are they?

Yes. They used this piece of track
to build railways during the war.

And how quickly could they build
railways with these instant kits?

So, before the Battle of the Somme,

they can built about one kilometre
per day with a team.

That's pretty good progress,
isn't it? Shall we have a go?

Yes. OK.

Well, that's amazing.

In, what, about two minutes,
we laid five metres.

Shall we see
if we can be quicker next time?

Yes, we can try.

Allez!

So doing this for five minutes,
with four strong friends,

on a pleasant summer's afternoon
has been tough enough,

but just imagine doing this
hour after hour in all weathers,

as the soldiers did in 1916,

and then preparing
for going over the top, for battle.

The soldiers who built these tracks

were preparing for one of the war's
most famous battles.

Launched in 1916,
the Somme offensive was a bid

to break the stalemate
of trench warfare.

And in these fields,
hundreds of thousands of troops

confronted death
on an industrial scale.

Just up the road from Albert
stands a towering testament

to the magnitude of that loss.

Nothing prepares you for the size
of the Thiepval monument.

And yet, its enormity
is not in any way triumphalist.

It is, in a strange way, humble.

Its scale is entirely to do with

the massive sacrifice
that was made here.

Thiepval is the biggest of all
the First World War memorials

on the Western Front.

Designed by British architect
Sir Edwin Lutyens,

it commemorates the names
of over 72,000 men,

whose bodies were never recovered.

Ever since it opened in 1932,

families have come here
to remember their dead.

I'm meeting David Locker,

whose uncle's name
is engraved on its walls.

David, hello.
Michael, good morning to you.

So, it's your uncle who was killed
at the Battle of the Somme.

What was his name?

It is, indeed.
It's my uncle, Bernard Locker.

There's no-one in the family knew
much about Uncle Bernard, at all.

I knew very little until,
perhaps, 12 years ago.

David's grandmother shared little
of the pain of losing her son.

It wasn't until David
was clearing out his aunt's home

that he discovered the story.

At the back of the garage
was an old Victorian sideboard.

Knowing that the Victorians used to
put things in, like, secret drawers,

we managed to get the whole front
of the sideboard open,

which turned out
to be a huge drawer.

Inside it was a large, brown
paper parcel and a box.

We didn't know at first whether
we'd come across the crown jewels

or what we'd come across!

But it turned out to be a whole pile
of information on Uncle Bernard.

Uncle Bernard's entire life
had been kept in a secret drawer?

It was Grandma's
own little memory box.

What do you know about Bernard now?

Well, Bernard was 19. He actually
joined the army when he was 18.

He was a bandsman and he was put
into the battalion band.

And, eventually, of course,
they were brought to the front line.

He was actually in France
for a period of three weeks.

Eleven days of that,
he actually spent at the front.

Bernard had arrived
just as the Battle of the Somme

was drawing to a close.

His personal letters
document the experience shared by

many novice soldiers, of reaching
the front and preparing to fight.

Letters from his training camp.

That's the letter
that he wrote on the train

travelling from Blythe
down to Folkestone.

This is a letter
once he got into France

and was then travelling down
by train from the French coast,

down to his base camp here.

This is his last letter
prior to going down to the line.

Just a week before the battle ended,

Bernard was sent out to occupy
a German trench.

Battalion records reveal that,

whilst the mission
was initially successful,

the Germans soon returned.

Bernard was never seen again.

Do you know how your grandmother
took the death?

She, quite honestly,
didn't believe it.

He'd, literally,
just been reported as missing.

No-one knew whether he'd been taken
prisoner or whether he was dead.

She eventually received notification
from the British Red Cross.

Bernard was one of over 400,000
British casualties of the Somme -

some 60,000 having been killed,
injured or taken prisoner

on the first day alone.

Bernard's mother never saw his name
on this extraordinary memorial,

but for his family, it remains an
important connection with the past.

Bernard Locker,
under the East Yorkshire Regiment.

Yep. Halfway down.

Killed in the High Wood area,

which was round about
five miles due east of here.

He was one of the...

..72,000 people
who never had a grave.

"I now conclude
with sending my love to all.

"Don't worry, I'm all right,
and now I'll tell you all goodnight.

"Your loving son, Bernard."

And he signs off with 22 kisses.

The last letter. The last letter.

It's now time for me to explore
further this region's past.

My next stop is Amiens,

whose cathedral,
my Bradshaw's tells me,

"is one of the magnificent
gothic monuments of France,

"the facade
being especially admired,"

and it attracted British soldiers
on recreational breaks,

perhaps wanting
to feast their eyes on beauty

and to renew their spirits,

before returning to the mud and gore
of the trenches.

My 1913 guidebook describes Amiens
as the chief town of the departmente

de la Somme,
the ancient capital of Picardy,

and for Edwardian tourists,
its rich history was a huge draw.

Item one on their itinerary
was the 800-year-old cathedral,

whose lofty spire
still dominates the skyline.

I'm taking a tour with Xavier Bailly
from the local heritage service.

Xavier, lovely to see you.
Glad to meet you.

Xavier, this is the most
spectacular cathedral.

My guidebook tells me
that it's one of the great

Gothic monuments of France.
Is that so?

That's true. We are in
the largest Gothic cathedral

built during the medieval ages,
built during the 13th century.

And the guidebook also talks about
the loftiness, that is to say

the height of the nave,
that's very remarkable here.

Yes. Yes, we have
the vault at 42 metres high.

The nave is the highest in the world.

But with the advent of war,
Amiens became a target.

It was a key railway junction,

of vital strategic importance
to the Allied forces,

and its citizens went to extreme
lengths to defend their cathedral.

We protected, outside and inside,
the treasures with sandbags,

something like 22,000 sandbags -

16,000 outside, and the rest inside.

Who was putting out these sandbags?

Local companies
worked to protect the cathedral,

but it was a general enterprise
for everybody,

probably the local inhabitants,

and probably British soldiers
included in that works.

Amiens faced its greatest test
in the summer of 1918.

German forces
had launched a big offensive,

bringing the front line
right to the city's edge

and, in August of that year,

Britain joined France
in a major counterattack.

At the end of World War One,
there's a big battle for Amiens

as the Allies begin their advance
towards Germany.

The cathedral survives that,
as well?

Yes, because everything was made
to protect Amiens, especially with

the help of the British troops
and the British commonwealth armies.

The tide had finally turned
in the Allies' favour.

After four years of conflict,

the end was in sight
for the thousands of soldiers

who'd sought solace
in this magnificent cathedral.

I have to show you the weeping angel.

It's a symbol of the pain
of the war for British soldiers.

They used to come here and see this?

Yes. Postcards were produced
during the war

and, especially,
this one with the weeping angel,

and soldiers
sent home all over the world

these postcards
showing a crying baby.

Symbolising the suffering
of the war?

Yes. So much pain.

The role that British Empire troops
played in protecting Amiens

is commemorated in the cathedral
and tourists come here

to contemplate the suffering
of their forebears.

Excuse me. I noticed
you admiring the weeping angel.

What does it do for you?

I think the face is very sad.

Of course, if you go and look at
all the things in the Somme,

it's quite an amazing place
to visit,

but it's also quite sad,
very traumatic.

This is an amazing cathedral.

It is beautiful.
Absolutely beautiful.

I'll leave you
to your contemplation.

Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you. Bye-bye.

Merci, madame. Merci.

40 centimes, s'il vous plait.

Voila. Merci. Merci.

I'm taking my own souvenir
of the weeping angel with me

as I say goodbye to Amiens.

With my 1913 Bradshaw's in hand,

I'm embarking on the last leg
of my extensive European journey.

Bonjour. Compiegne, deuxieme classe,
aller simple, s'il vous plait.

Pour le prochain depart, monsieur?
Le prochain depart, oui.

Je vous remercie. Merci.

Voila, monsieur. Au revoir.
Bonne journee, au revoir.

The battle of Amiens,

from which the cathedral
was so mercifully spared,

came shortly before the end
of the First World War.

I'm now bound for the place

where the conflict
was officially terminated.

I'm attracted by the fact
that the armistice had

a bizarre railway connection,

one that my Bradshaw's
could not have foreseen,

when it pointed travellers
towards the forest of Compiegne.

In 1913,
Compiegne was known as a spa town,

surrounded by peaceful woodland.

But five years later,
it was to make history.

By November 1918,
the Allied offensive

had delivered a series of blows
to the German forces.

The Allies had held secret talks
to decide the terms of an armistice.

All that remained was to get
the Germans to sign.

The venue chosen for that fateful
meeting was a train carriage,

in a remote glade
in the Compiegne forest.

Battlefield tour guide
Robert Gallagher knows the story.

Robert, hello.
Good afternoon, Michael.

Robert, how did it come to be

that the armistice
at the end of World War One

was signed in a railway carriage
at this very spot?

Well, the railway carriage was mobile
headquarters that belonged to the

Allied Commander in Chief,
the French general, Marshal Foch.

And was this wagon part of a train?

Yes. The carriage was actually
a dining car-come-office,

but there were sleeping
arrangements - sleeping cars -

and other offices for the vast staff
that a general would be entitled to,

so I believe there were about
seven cars, in total.

Far from prying eyes

and with easy railway access, thanks
to lines built to supply the front,

the Compiegne forest was the
perfect place for the rendezvous.

On the 8th of November 1918,
the German delegation

was invited into the carriage
to discuss the terms.

So eventually,
the Germans had to sign?

Yes. At ten past five on the
morning of the 11th of November,

they signed the armistice,
which was to last for 36 days.

And it came into effect?
It came into effect six hours later,

at eleven o'clock
on the 11th day of the 11th month.

Although few expected it at the
time, that temporary ceasefire held

and the armistice wagon was,
in 1927,

returned to the forest
as a permanent memorial.

But that wasn't the end
of its role in world history.

On the 22nd of June 1940,

Adolf Hitler personally arrived
in this very place,

and he had his troops
drag the carriage out of the halt

to the same spot where the armistice
had taken place in 1918,

and there, he took the surrender
of the French army.

He then had his army cut down all the
trees, rip up all the landscaping,

and he left the statue
of Foch still standing,

to oversee a scene of desolation.

And the railway carriage, then?

The railway carriage
was taken back to Berlin

where it was put on exhibition

and, then, in 1945, it was destroyed,

either during a bombing raid
or deliberately, by the SS.

The stories differ.

Today, this clearing
is a place of pilgrimage,

where people come to commemorate the
seismic events that culminated here.

What had happened
by the armistice of 1918

to the Europe
of my Bradshaw's guide of 1913?

Well, all the kingdoms,
all the Tsardoms,

all the empires, had disappeared.

The Austrian-Hungarian had signed
an armistice the month before.

Now, we have the Kaiser,
the German emperor, Wilhelm,

who had abdicated the day before
the signing of the armistice

and had fled to the Netherlands.

All gone? All gone.

My 1913 Bradshaw's
has shown me the Continent

through the eyes
of the Edwardian traveller,

gliding through the glamorous
cities of Paris, Berlin or Vienna,

or drinking up the natural beauties

of the Swiss mountains
or the French Riviera.

The readers of my guidebook
inhabited a charmed universe,

whose progress and comforts
seemed unassailable.

Yet, just a year later, Bradshaw's
Europe was derailed by war.

That conflict was brought
to an end in a railway carriage,

for whether, in peace or war,

railways shaped the destiny
of the world.

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