PILGRIMAGE OF A LONE RIDER. Published in the ARNHEM VETERAN'S GAZETTE, ISSUE No 1, 1981

By W. Chandler. (ex 1^st Para [Airborne] Recce Squadron)

In the course of 1974 I had been feeling the need of a change of pace, so when September came around, I mounted my bike and pedalled off to Sheerness in order to catch the night boat to Vlissingen, and to ride from there across Holland to Arnhem. I thought “Why not?!”

The boat landed around 5 a.m. and I was on my way with another 120 km to go.

The sky was grey, and soon the rain came pelting down. I found my bike ride a pleasurable suffering, well, not really, I ENJOYED IT! The rain, the long roads, the tall tees, the dykes, the kilometres going by.

However, sometime during the day Antwerp came in sight and by then I was a wet, dirty, bedraggled, OLD man of 52, and I had but one thought: “TRAIN”, for the rest of the way.

I asked the first Dutch (or Belgian) lady I saw, in my best Dutch for the railway station, “Mevrouw, Waar is het Spoorweg Station Alstublieft?” She ran away! I must have looked a real sight.

Finally I got on to a train and, still muddy and soaking wet, sank into the soft seat, where the warmth sent me to sleep.

I awoke after an hour or so, and looked up into the eyes of a little girl sitting opposite with her father. She sat watching me intently without blinking, [just] staring. Dopily I grunted off again, once more to awake and find those two boring eyes still fixed unblinkingly upon my person. Only when, in order to break the uncanny spell, I started speaking to her father did she soften up a little. She must have been working out if I belonged to the human race at all.

The Airborne Cemetery had been my whole thought of going over. Such a beautiful, restful, well-cared for place, and how sad, oh, how terribly moving to any hardened soul.

Let everything drop, let it go, forget all your little troubles. I know we all have our big ones as well, but at least WE are alive.

Life is so sweet.

There are the names I knew, SO MANY NAMES – SO MANY FRIENDS.

Can’t we still hear their voices?

I know I can, and will never forget.