Days 8 and 9 - Bonjour! Merci! Am I saying it right?

After an eventful set of days in Belgium the amazingly outspoken French/Australian travellers headed out for what we can say was an inextricably cold day in the eastern parts of France.  Our stops included the cemeteries of Pheasant Wood, the monuments of Vimy Ridge and the grave site of a three student's great great grandfathers and relatives.  Vimy Ridge holds a sacred place in the hearts of every Canadian and for this part of the visit I was overjoyed and humbled at the same time.  The students were fascinated by the shear size of it.  I'll spend a good amount of the blog explaining its importance but there was a more memorable event that holds an even greater importance in the history of All Souls.  Today was another day of extensive bonding and paying tribute to the many sacrifices of the cobbers.

Pheasant Wood was the final resting place for Juanita Allingham's distant relative.  It seems that every resting place we go to breeds new life into the appreciation of the sacrifices from those so young.  The students are showing their appreciation with respectful comments and genuine interest in the little details such as the closeness of graves to each other and the spotting of a 16 year old's grave.  With many Year 11s on the trip it is a somber message that drives the impact of the Great War home and in their hearts.  Helen and Alice Carter paid their respects to Ali's great great grandfather too.  We also made routine stops to take pictures of the snow melting near the banks of the French ridges.

"What's going on?  Oh, you're taking pictures of snow eh?"

Obviously they thought this was great.  I'm sure their reaction is the same to mine when I take pictures of everything in a coral reef.  The joys of being exotic are evident when we travel.

The bus has become the headquarters of singing practice and group bonding.  Kym, Gemma, Sydnee and many more make sure to record inside jokes and quotes throughout the trip.  Queen, ABBA and some good old country music have bombarded the ears of Marc and John while they videotape and laugh at the shenanigans of our youth.  Mr. Socks played air guitar while Mrs Kelly rang in with the lead vocals.  Sydnee made sure to take the reigns of "Fat Bottom Girls", not knowing it was a song about motorcycles.  The lessons we teach our young ones can sometimes be done through the art of music.

"Look out for zee German!"

We had the ability to head towards a cemetery where Charmaine Watkins located her great great grandfather.  An emotional moment was shared with the staff and students as we learned that she was the first of her family (extended and immediate) that was able to pay her respects.  Hugs and kind words were exchanged.  No songs were sung after this visit.  We merely enjoyed a quite and quaint coffee/soda at the banks of the River Somme.

There is a difference between a teacher and an educator.  A teacher can give a few phrases in French for students to practise.  An educator pushes them into a shoe store and keeps quiet while the kids painstakingly try and decipher how to say "Parle vous Englais?" At least they're friendly to the locals.  "Bonjour, merci, si vous plais" are shouted from the streets and are followed by the twangy Aussie accents of North Queensland.  Mal wanted to purchase some clothing and had trouble speaking to the old lady who also did not speak a lick of English.  He looked to me for guidance after I mustered up a few commands.  I wasn't much help at all.  We decided then and there that we will not speak anything else but French to the locals.  I fear we have overstepped our bounds and we may not last the rest of the week.

The French boys have caused a few bruises as well.  A simple "hello" and "how are you?" caused Charmaine to misstep her surroundings and walk into a street lamp.  Poor girl.  We love her though.  When we headed to the restaurant in town of Albert, we noticed the manager and servers spoke very little English.  Marc, our driver from Luxembourg, is fluent but he got lost and showed up later in the night.  I'm not a very decent French-speaking person, so when the kids ask me if they're saying something right I feel a bit scared that I am leading them astray.

"Yeah, that sounds right."

We walked back to the hostel and called it an early night.  We will commence with the sights of Paris in due time.  Until then I must say Au revoir and bon nuit!

Later days,
Mr Socks and Mr. Schneider
(aka Pierre and Lumiere)

"Don't forget me, Cobber!"