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ImagesOfTheJourney > Smokin Friday The Thirteenth in Port Dover. Just one of about 40,000 motorcyclists.
ImagesOfTheJourney > Canadian Vimy Memorial Reconciliation - I thought of the memorials found in every French village, not for those fallen in this war but those who were "Mort pour la France" in the First World War. That and the Treaty of Versailles whose terms both humiliated and bankrupted the fledgling democracy of the German Wiemar republic thus paving the way for National Socialism, Hitler and World War II. I remembered my feelings earlier in this trip, as I had stood between the white limestone spires of the Vimy Ridge Memorial, honouring the sixty-six thousand Canadians who perished in the First World War... The memorial, reputed to be the most beautiful in all of France, rises from the crest Hill 145, the highest point of the Ridge.
ImagesOfTheJourney > Turning south from there I came to what seemed to me the saddest and most disturbing place of all. The German Cemetery at La Camba. In the centre, on top of a large grassy mound, surrounded by red roses stand two shrouded figures.
ImagesOfTheJourney > Now That's Funny, Odd, Weird.... or just the way it should be! photo
ImagesOfTheJourney > Beyond these are dark, tangled woods surrounded by yellow ropes strung between red signs "Danger Entre Interdit Munitions Non EclatÚe" (undetonated explosives). The sun was low and cast long shadows. I found myself left alone by the living. Yet behind the wind in the trees, faintly, I thought I could hear desperate cries and curses of men who had died for the promise of peace and found that the price they paid had brought only a lull. Millions more were to bleed and die. In the cemetery their stones stand Forever at attention Ridged in the setting sun. I wonder How is it that I can leave and they cannot? That night in the "Hotel du Golf" I was introduced to the French mosquito. There were no window screens or air conditioning (the norm in France). I passed the night waging war against these miniature foes dive bombing my ear. Another round in the eternal battle between "us" and "them!" My one satisfaction was adding to the already numerous record of Mosquito kills marked in blood on the walls. The next day I drove out to the coast, and travelled from World War I to II. I stopped at the towering chalk cliffs of Cape Gris, a mere 18 km from England. Their mirror image, the "white cliffs of Dover" were visible in the faint haze separating the light blue sky from the darker sea. Because of this, Cape Gris was an important observation post for the Nazis. Masters of reinforced concrete, they had built several observation bunkers on and into the cliff connected by a warren of tunnels that still survive. I realised I was hungry and lunch was in order. I sat on top of one of the bunkers, ate my jambon et fromage baguette and drank a glass of superb French wine. In the warmth of the sun, the sight of gulls hovering over the edge of the white cliffs, and the taste of good food, I was filled with the joie de vivre one expects from a holiday in France. After lunch I wandered over to one of the tunnel entrances. It was overgrown with brush, and smelled like a latrine (which is just what many tourists used them for). The tunnels beyond were impenetrably dark. The beam of my little key-chain flashlight seemed to be smothered, as if there was more to the darkness here than just the lack of light. My return from the tunnel into the sun dispelled most of my fear, but I was left with a sense that the evil I had felt was not dead, only biding its time.
ImagesOfTheJourney > View of Dieppe beach from the German gun positions. The truth is that Stalin was threatening to sue for peace with Hitler on the verge of taking Moscow, Stalingrad, and Leningrad. Not only that but Roosevelt did not like Churchill's plan to go to North Africa first. He wanted to take on Hitler in France right away. Churchill gave Mountbatten the job of mounting a mini invasion.... AND PROVE IT COULD NOT BE DONE YET. (source Gen. Denis Whitaker in his book Dieppe Tragedy to Triumph) So the bombing of the guns by Bomber Harris was called off at the last minute, no battle ship was sent to provide fire support and the Canadians were slaughtered.
ImagesOfTheJourney > Beyond these are, tangled woods surrounded by yellow ropes strung between red signs "Danger Entre Interdit Munitions Non EclatÚe" (undetonated explosives).
ImagesOfTheJourney > Now That's Funny, Odd, Weird.... or just the way it should be! photo
ImagesOfTheJourney > The Grange tunnel. Part of a vast maze of tunnels built to protect the soldiers from the "toxic" open fields. Eighty two years ago on this ridge, on Easter Monday, April 9, 1917 there was no peace, no leaves, no grass, no memorial, only ceaseless noise, unending mud (tilled by countless artillery shells) swallowing the bodies of thousands of nameless men. Four divisions -one hundred thousand Canadians- men and boys, many as young as sixteen, fought together for the first time as a distinct army corps. Here 20,000 soldiers, marching behind a "creeping artillery barrage" from 1079 guns rose out of their tunnels and trenches and launched into the north-west wind that swept the devastated countryside with sleet, snow and machine gun fire. Three days later they emerged, having accomplished what the French, with one hundred and fifty thousand casualties over three years had failed, to achieve. They had taken Vimy Ridge. Of the 10,602 casualties, 3,598 were young Canadians. They would never in the words of John McCrae, "feel dawn or see sunset glow" again. Many claim that this battle marked the end of our country's adolescence. This was the place where we earned the right to play at war with the bigger, older boys. In recognition, the French government gave the land to Canada and has recognised it as Canadian soil. When I read this I thought: so now we own a piece of French real estate, the price, only sixty six thousand Canadian lives, a bargain at the time. I put my hand on some of the names engraved on the monument, the ones whose bodies disappeared in the mud without a trace, and felt chagrin replace my earlier feelings of pride. Pride would have meant I had a right to glory in the suffering, pain, the fear and death of these Canadians who willingly or not, lost their lives defending their King and his British empire.
Smokin Friday The Thirteenth in Port Dover.

Just one of about 40,000 motorcyclists.
ImagesOfTheJourney > Smokin Friday The Thirteenth in Port Dover. Just one of about 40,000 motorcyclists.
Smokin Friday The Thirteenth in Port Dover.

Just one of about 40,000 motorcyclists.
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This site and my photography business have developed from a passion for wonder, for wandering and for story telling. In the past few years I have traveled to more than 700 cities and places in pursuit of wonders from which come my stories and photographs.(see below)

I primarily sell photographs for office, model suites, or home decor, Many images are serenely beautiful and will enhance the atmosphere of any room. Most of our sales are in the home decorating business and to people who want high quality photographs that capture the essence of exotic travel destinations. I also sell photo gifts (t-shirts, mugs, etc.). We are located about 20km (12mi) NW of the Toronto International Airport in the city of Brampton.
Travel journalism to promote tourist destinations as well as political or commercial events (no weddings), poker tournaments, parties etc. Images or stories on this site may not be used for personal or commercial use without written permission or purchase from this site.
NOTE Many charitable or non profit organizations (NGOs) will be eligible to use these photos, or my services for NO FEE (expenses only) Contact me at david@imagesofthejourney.com or 416-890-0740.

copyright 1996-2007 David Cale [Images Of The Journey Photography] All Rights Reserved