the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

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the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by Admin on Sun Mar 16, 2014 10:43 pm

People who have not done it before, are asking about previous marches, what they were like, were they good, were they bad, etc., I don't think it's for me ( Jon Heyworth) to comment on an event I organised, but I am happy for others to do so, good and bad, you know I take no offence, for the benefit of new guys
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Re: the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by vjenkin1 on Mon Mar 17, 2014 6:47 am

Participating in the last march was one of the proudest things I've done in my life. Firstly, I can tell you absolutely that Jon does this for the love of doing it and he makes absolutely nothing on the deal. We discussed this about a year after the last march when I came across a similar trip organized by a company that went on a march to another destination but was essentially the same format and it was about 10 times the cost. Depending on the weather, and some days were warm, some days we had rain, you will experience what the retreat march was like for those men, except you won't be bombed, shot at or live in fear of your life 24 hours a day. Knowing Jon, if he could somehow recreate that, he would. The French people we met were wonderful to us, providing water at farmhouses and unstinting hospitality. If you are new, I warn you to BE IN SHAPE! I was the oldest man on the last march and I trained my arse off before going, and make no mistake, this is extremely physically demanding. Train in your boots as EVERYONE'S feet were damaged to a greater or lesser degree. Having Mick the piper along kept us all going many times, and he was a great morale booster. There is nothing like the sound of 30 men marching in hobnails and if you go on YouTube and look up "Dunkirk end march" you will see what I mean. Marching into Fort Bray des Dunes with all those people looking on to the sound of the pipes and out of the depot at Dover with sloped arms and bayonets fixed was something I'll never forget. Being able to visit my Grandfather's grave at the Dunkirk cemetery at the end of the march was beyond description. I guess the best endorsement I can give is that despite the pain which even after 4 years remains fresh in my mind I'm thinking about coming from the US to do it again and attempting to talk my brother into it too. I guarantee you an experience you won't forget.
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Re: the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by TubbyBinns on Thu Mar 20, 2014 3:19 am

I'll second that, Verne!

It's hot as hell through the day and if its not just hot, it's humid. You sweat buckets in your BDs... The chest respirator and small pack make matters worse...

So you're damp with sweat in the evenings and when the sun goes down, you get cold quick. Some lads started to switch off and would go to sleep immediately, making the mistake of not eating. Sleeping was fitful at best sleeping on cold, hard surfaces.

There could definitely be an argument for moving at night and sleeping through the day in the warmth... But there are disadvantages to moving at night... Safety in the road and the ability to ask the public to top up water bottles etc.

An excellent trip where you had to dig deep to keep going. Well done Jon Heyworth.
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Re: the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by reddevil1311 on Thu Mar 20, 2014 10:00 am

Here is something I wrote just after the last march:


Recreating the Dunkirk Evacuation - 2010

Thursday 27th May
11:30 - I arrived at the rvp at Dover and saw that a number of the other participants had already arrived and were in different stages of dress. While we waited for the other chaps to arrive some of us looked around the Victorian gun battery that we were parked next to on Western Heights, and jokes flew around about getting changed into our uniforms in a notorious local "dogging" spot!

When the others had arrived, including our transport which had picked up our American guests, we all drove down into Dover central where we would be leaving our cars. We put our large packs into the transport, and kitted-up for an inspection. Seeing 25 guys looking virtually identical in BEF uniform and kit looked impressive!

In a column of two we marched across to the seafront and along to the Yacht club where we were met by a press photographer. We looked good, and for the most part marched well together - not bad for a first attempt.

We were transported to the docks and waited for our ferry. Many of us had come along in little groups of friends, but some like me had come along alone. I knew some people so mixed a bit and caught up on mutual friends etc. After an uneventful crossing we headed straight for Bethune where we went to the canal just north of the town. This was the first "stop-line" where the BEF made a stand against the German advance, and was our starting point. We dismounted, and started to kit up. People were already helping each other with their kit (bloody gas capes are a nightmare to put on by yourself). After a short history lesson on the significance of the place we were now standing, we formed-up in a column of two, ready to move off along the canal towpath. It was now around 20:00hrs.






To our surprise, Jon Heyworth (one of our Sgt.s and the "evil mastermind" behind the whole trip), jumped the ditch that ran alongside the path and headed off across a field towards a small copse. We followed, slightly bemused, and Jon led on from the copse and headed left into the woods, where we started to follow a number of forest tracks, (some of which were better than others). We came across a small house, made of two 19th century railway carriages and some of the guys joked that it was the one in which the surrender was signed in 1940.

After climbing over a few locked gates we broke out into open countryside and a small village. After a while we made our way to Le Paradise, a site of a massacre of a number of Royal Norfolk troops by the SS Totenkopf Division. A short history of the action and the ensuing massacre, and we held a short remembrance service. After this we went to the local church yard where the victims are buried in the Commonwealth War Graves annexe.










We set off from Le Paradise and headed around the airfield at Merville. By now it was getting dark so we broke into single file and kept to the verge where possible. One thing that struck me was how the white tin mugs that we all have hanging from our small packs acted as great markers and really stood out - no wonder these were changed to brown enamel later in the war.




People were getting very tired by now, and we considered staying in one of the wartime airfield buildings, but decided to continue to the outskirts of Merville, and eventually stopped to rest on some abandoned railway tracks. Jon and Darren, our Sgt.s disappeared for a short while to look for a place to sleep. Around the corner they found an abandoned 1930s factory (which the railway led to). We split into smaller groups and all found places to bed-down. When our support vehicle found us we got our large packs and also got some hot food on the go. It was getting on for past 01:00 by the time we got to sleep.


Friday 28th May
After a night of uneasy sleep (mostly cold), we all got up at first light (some of us before this thanks to a damn cuckoo that took great delight in flying up and down past where we were trying to sleep - cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!) Jon and Darren had already got breakfast cooking (mmmmm - egg, beans and bacon fat).






We set off for Merville center, marching in step. I managed to slip on a cobblestone and went over on my ankle (this was one of my big fears for this trip as I have always had weak ankles), but continued on.



We stopped at the CWG cemetery on the other side of the town, and then headed north-east out into the countryside. The sun was high and it was a hot day. We stopped after a couple of miles at a farm to top up with drinking water, and carried on walking until we reached another CWG cemetery where we stopped for about 30 mins. By now the stop routine was well established - you took on water, took off your boots, checked your feet, or slept!






Our next direction of travel was straight across a marshy wooded area behind the cemetery, and through into a forest. Part of this area had recently been cut down, so there were lots of fallen trees and broken branches laying around to make progress even more difficult, and that is without the streams which crossed the area.




The forest started to thin out slightly as we made our way along a path to a clearing and a trackway. This was the site of another massacre by the SS Totenkopf division, and as we exited the forest at the end of the (long) path we stopped at the CWG cemetery where some of the victims are buried. It is thought that there are still a number of men buried somewhere in the forest, but so far they have not been found.

While we rested, a farmer came out to talk to us from the farm opposite the cemetery. It was his father who had found one of the unmarked graves while cutting down trees after the war. The farmer kindly refilled out water bottles, and when a couple of the guys went over to carry them they saw that there was a Bren Carrier wheel and front armour in the farmyard. Shame he did not have the rest of it!














Off we set along another very long, straight road towards Hazebrouck. We were aiming for a church steeple that never seemed to get any closer! At the end of this road, with my ankle now swollen and in a lot of pain, I dropped out together with two of our "honorary Tommies" from the sates. Jamie's heels and ankles were raw and he was in a lot of pain, and Peter's blood sugar level dropped to the point where he felt faint and nearly passed out. None of us wanted to be first to drop out, none of us wanted to stop, but we all reached a point where it was not possible to go on. I knew however that if I continued on my ankle now, I would not be able to walk the next day.

As we watched the rest of the column march on into the distance, it struck me that if we had stopped here in 1940 we might have been caught in the SS massacre - a sobering thought that really struck a chord.





The support vehicle picked us up and we met up with the rest of the platoon in Hazebrouck town square. Boots had been removed, feet were being tended to, tea was brewed and sandwiches made and eaten. Mick, one of our Americans, was playing his bagpipes (which he carried all the way) to an appreciative audience.









The distance traveled that day already, together with a multitude of foot injuries caused a number of the platoon to drop out in Hazebrouck, so we cheered on the rest as they left for Cassel. We took the support vehicle to look for a suitable place for us all to stop for the night. Two possibilities were found - a derelict house, and the "Gloucester's Bunker" just north of Cassel.

The "Gloucester's Bunker" was a French anti-tank bunker that was being built to defend the D916, the main road towards the coast. By the time the German advance reached Cassel, the bunker was still being constructed, and none of the armoured doors and window shields had been installed, and the French had left the area. Men of the Gloucestershire Regt. turned the unfinished bunker into a strongpoint, blocking the holes with sandbags and defending it with rifles and Bren guns for 36 hours. The bunker held out against everything that the Germans threw at it and it still bears a number of scars, and even some projectiles still embedded into the walls. Eventually a German pioneer team managed to get up on top of the bunker, and poured petrol into the unfinished ventilation system and threw hand grenades in. The men inside managed to put out the fire with water from the sump and by peeing on it, but three men were killed and a number wounded. For the next seven hours they held out while wearing their gas masks to counter the fumes.



















The group took shovels and cleared the dirt on the floor into the corners so that we would have a clear space to sleep. While doing this some of the guys found 1927 dated .303 ammunition that had exploded in fire. There was also charred wood sheeting was still in place on the ceiling and next to the unfinished ventilation system. These were from the fire in 1940 - a direct link to history and one of the key moments of the trip for me. Exactly 70 years ago, to the day, in that spot, men wearing the same uniforms and equipment as us were taking turns to lay down in the same places we were. In fact, right next to where I slept was a grenade blast on the floor.

We had an indication of when the rest of the platoon would arrive, so I started to prepare dinner for everyone so that it would be ready for them. As they neared the road that led towards the bunker, Mick went down to meet them and piped them up to the bunker and a round of applause from the rest of us who had dropped out earlier.

Most of us got some sleep that night as it was warmer in the bunker than the factory, (we had sandbagged the windows etc to stop the wind getting in, and there were tea lights in the alcoves to provide light). One of the group unfortunately had a snoring attack and kept some of the others awake though. (can't think who that was............. )



Saturday
I got up early after a good night's sleep (strangely some of the others hadn't and were still tired?), so went to set-up and cook breakfast for everyone. A cooked breakfast really does set you up for the day. When we were all fed we and packed we stopped for a group photo in front of the bunker and then off we went, across the field and jump the ditch. Most of us made this ok (even me), but a couple of guys got rather wet feet!
















We continued along the D916, a very, very long straight road. The sun was already high above us and it was starting to get hot. We were all running short of water (we had even been told not to shave that morning as we only had what was in our bottles and needed to conserve what we had left for drinking). We continued along this typically French country road, lined with trees, mostly in single file. Apart from the modern cars passing us it was all very evocative of the 1940 retreat. A small group of us stopped at a house on the side of the road where yet another kind French person happily gave us all drinking water on our route. A bit further along the platoon stopped for a brief rest as our support vehicle had found a supply of water for everyone. (cue usual stop routine - boots, feet, sleep, water)








We continued on, and on, and on that road until we finally reached Wormhout where we stopped to rest in the bandstand in the center of the village. The local bar suddenly became very busy! After a short rest we all took the transport to the site of the infamous massacre, and to the CWG cemetery that the victims are buried in.




Back at Wormhout we split once again into those who could not continue walking and those who could. Thankfully resting my ankle the previous afternoon had done the trick and I carried on walking. Unfortunately we managed to miss a turning, and ended up walking for well over an hour towards Belgium instead of the coast. (bugger) The group in the transport had gone in search of a place for us all to stay that night, had called to say that they had found a barn for us. At the same time that we realized we were not where we thought we were, they called to say that the barn had fallen through and they were looking for somewhere else. As you can imagine, we were feeling pretty low by now.








We continued on to the next village (Herzeele) where we stopped outside a bar to drink some water. Vern started talking to one of the locals who had asked who we were and what we were doing, and before we knew it tables, chairs and hot tea were thrust towards us - a great pick-up for us.



A couple of photos with the locals later and we were off again, this time in the right direction. We received another call to say that they had found another barn, opposite a restaurant whose owner was going to provide a hot meal for us all that night - Great! This all cheered us up immensely as we now had a fixed end-target in sight for the evening. Off to Warhem we set, on another long stage of the route. It wasn't too bad as we stopped a couple of times along the way to rest our feet, and the scenery was interesting.













By now, two standing jokes had been established amongst the platoon - Everyone had started taking the mickey out of Sgt Darren Berry and his "only 2km further", and this had by now become the standard response to all distance questions. The second standing joke was about the church steeple that we were always heading for in the distance, but never managed to get to. (it seemed as if it was the same one, and someone commented that it was a cardboard cut-out that was being moved about in the support vehicle!) In our exhaustion, that age old English humour was on top form, and between the bad jokes and the ever-so-slightly naughty marching songs, the last 6-8 miles seemed to fly by.










































Unfortunately it now started to drizzle quite heavily, and by the time we got to Warhem we were damp-wet both inside and out, and all smelt of "wet shaggy dog". We rounded the corner as we left Warhem and saw the gate to the restaurant and barn where we were going to stay. We were all suffering now in many ways, but when we were met by the piper who played us into the complex, we "smartened-up" and marched in perfect step, came to a smart halt and fell-out to a round of applause and a round of beers. It was great to into the dry barn and get wet battledress tunics and webbing off. While we set out our kit for the night, the first group were fed, with us taking the second sitting.



Sabine, the owner of the restaurant had really put herself out earlier that day, tracking-down the owner of the barn to get permission for us to use it. Also, despite the fact that her restaurant was fully booked for two sittings that night, she opened her spare room to accommodate us with one of the nicest steak and chips I have had for a very long while. Mick enjoyed himself playing his bagpipes for the restaurant's customers, who all enjoyed having us bedraggled, smelly, knackered-looking British Tommies in their midst.


Sunday
As we only had 6-8 miles to go to the coast, and a whole day to do it in if necessary, we had an easier start to the day, and eventually set off at about 09:00-09:30. Sabine had very kindly supplied fresh water and milk, and fresh out-of-the-oven bread rolls and croissants(!) - What a treat! We kitted up, took group photos with Sabine and the restaurant, and marched off. We were all in pain in one way or another, but gradually this fell away and we got back into the swing of it (accompanied by a chorus of expletives in time to the marching that could not possibly be written here!).





By the time we reached the Dunkirk outer perimeter canal defence line, Jamie was in a lot of pain once again from his heel injuries. We called up the support vehicle and left him at the bridge. Someone joked that if we had a Bren gun, we would have left it with him, and shouted out "here's all the spare ammo - hold 'em off as long as you can!". As we marched off I turned to see him sitting against the bridge wall and once again felt a small shiver of realism. In 1940 the slowest, the weakest, the injured were sometimes left behind to defend the main body of the retreat - would any of us have dropped out so close to the coast in 1940? Who knows?








As we carried on the jokes about church steeples and "2ks" were bounced back and forth. Mick piped us through every village that we marched through. His playing really did make a difference to us, and we all picked up the pace and got into step when played (thanks once again mate!). At one point we were passed by about 30 cyclists all wearing the same cycling team outfit. One of the guys commented "look at that - how sad are they - all dressing up in the same uniforms and spending their Sunday morning out with the lads getting all worn out. You wouldn’t catch me doing anything like that!" - Great British humour strikes again!




We continued on, making a couple of short stops to take on water and give our feet a rest from the constant pounding they were getting. One of these short stops was in Leffrinkoucke Village (nicknamed laughin’cock village by some of us!) We continued on until we got to the outskirts of Bray Dunes. We were all together - a whole platoon of 25 men, but we looked very different to the 25 men who set off at Bethune on Thursday evening. Gone were the smart creases in our battledress uniforms, our immaculate blancoed webbing, polished boots, and fit energetic looking faces. These were now replaced with the 1000 yard stare. Our battledress uniforms were dirty, crumpled, and in many cases falling apart as stitching gave way. (part of the morning / evening routine was sewing buttons back on!)






On the outskirts of Bray Dunes, close to the Fort Des Dunes, we reformed our column, placing those who had walked every single step of the route at the front. There was no shame for the rest of us who had missed one section or another, no "them and us" - it was just that they had earnt the right to be first onto the beach. We had all made this incredible journey together as a group, but these guys had walked every step.

We marched off with the piper at the head of the column, across the bridge and the main road with Sgt. Berry stopping traffic etc. We marched towards and past the entrance to the Fort Des Dunes where a large living history display event was being held. We were all perfectly in step, with our chests out and heads held high, and many of the participants hearing the pipes rushed out to see us march past. Some of the event officials tried to direct us into the fort, and they were told politely, but firmly, that we had an appointment at the beach that we had to keep, and that we would come back a bit later if there were no boats available.

As we crossed the railway into the dunes the platoon split, with the energetic ones making a mad dash to be first on the beach. Me, Vern, Stephen, and Mike slowed down (sand is hard going at the best of times!) and lost the rest of the platoon. Vern and Mike were both starting to suffer from exhaustion and we slowed pace and stopped to make sure they drank some water and had a dextrose tablet. At one point Vern said that we should leave him there and get to the beach. He was told in no uncertain terms to "stop talking nonsense" as we were sticking together until we all reached the beach as a group. Vern had walked every step and we were going to make sure that he finished it! Mike and I climbed one of the dues to see where we were, and where the others were. We also did not know whether we were heading towards the sea, or alongside it!










The rest of the platoon had made it to the bluff overlooking the beach. Sgt. Berry got Mick to climb on top of one of the bunkers to play his pipes to give us a target to head for. The four of us got to the emplacement where everyone had stopped, and people were already brewing-up and opening tins of bully and Spam. Little groups of us went down onto the beach and out to the water's edge to get as far as possible - we had finished our retreat to the channel. Photos were taken and we stood around for a while deep in our own thoughts. I for one felt quite emotional at this point, and also quite bewildered - "what happens now?" was something that kept bouncing around my mind. We had been aiming for the channel for the last four days - this was our main objective - now we were here there wasn't anything else to aim for. This, coupled with the fact the there were no boats, and no activity at all on the beach apart from us made it all feel a bit out of place. I quickly dug out my phone, switched it on and called my parents in London and my wife in Sweden to tell them that we had done it and were on the beach. I know they were all worried about me managing to do the march, and they were so happy and proud that we had finished it all.







When we all got back to the top of the bluff we put our kit back on and formed up to hold a service and two minutes silence for all of the BEF who did this journey for real in 1940, and for all of them who did not make it. This simple service was very poignant for us all, ad Mick played "amazing grace" on the pipes. We fell out and made our way back across the dunes towards the Fort De Dunes. (Bloody sand dunes -I will be happy if I never walk across dry sand in ammo boots again!)




Back at the railway we formed a column two-abreast and marched towards the fort with Mick leading the way with his pipes. A smart left wheel and up to the entrance of the fort. The two French infantrymen on gate guard (reenactors) saluted us by presenting their arms as we marched past them, over the bridge and into the entrance tunnel. 25 pairs of hobnailed boots marching on cobblestones in perfect time, accompanied by bagpipes, through a tunnel, is an incredible sound! A right wheel into the courtyard, halt, left turn, stand to attention. The French Officers in charge of the fort and the event were overjoyed that we had come to their event (they had heard about us doing the march, but nobody knew where to find us! - apparently even BBC Radio 4 had a radio car out looking for us at one point!). The French liaison Officer translated the CO's speech. They presented their battle flag to us in honor of what we had done, and presented our arms to them in return. (Sgt Berry pointed-out that their battle flag had a picture of a chicken on it. As you would expect this caused a few smirks and stifled giggles - until someone else commented "that's not a chicken it's bloody great cock" at which point it became very hard not to laugh! Once again, British humour!)




The French reenactors really made us feel welcome. They invited us into their fort to rest, and then fed us a three course meal from their field kitchen! (good authentic French food) Wine, beer, cider and water was produced and given to us all as well, and we all ate, drank and collapsed against a nice sunny embankment to rest. A very nice ending to our journey. While at the fort we were visited by a contingent from IMPS military vehicle club who had brought along some very nice pre-1940 British military vehicles (including my old Austin 8 staff car which was a nice surprise) I spent some time with some good friends of mine and gave them a brief recount of our exploits.











Later that afternoon a small group of us went into Dunkirk to the main CWG cemetery and memorial. Vern's granddad was buried somewhere here and this had been his motivation for doing the march. For a while we feared that he was not there, as the grave/row number that Vern had was wrong, and he was not entered into the register in the memorial, but thankfully Vern found him. Vern had reproduced a couple of photos of his granddad and placed these at the grave. This had us all with a lump in our throats and watery eyes. Vern then pulled out a photo of his mum at 16, taken in 1940 and said "look granddad, I brought mum to see you". That was it - tears all around at this point! This really brought home the personal loss of the whole bloody war, and added a much deeper meaning to our whole journey.











In a similar vein, James had found a 10" crucifix in England that had writing on the back. It stated that it was found in France and carried throughout the retreat to Dunkirk and the evacuation to England. James carried this the whole distance during the event, and this really felt like an important thing to do, with a deeper meaning.

We headed back to Dunkirk center to see the little ships and met up with most of the platoon. That night we slept in a sports hall adjacent to the Fort Des Dunes (kindly arranged by the French group who had organized the living history event). We were going to sleep in the dunes, but the weather was atrocious that night so thought better of it. The historian and curator of the Army Logistics Corps Museum Andy Robertshaw was staying nearby and had been present at the fort over the weekend. He had seen us march past earlier in the day and had brought us a quantity of beer and wine as a "well done" gift! Thanks Andy!


Monday
With our retreat to the channel over, we loaded up all of our kit, and ourselves into the support vehicles and headed off to Calais. While waiting at the dock we became the center of attention for a large number of German teenagers! On to the boat and up to the bar for a mixture of coffees and beers (our sense of time was completely out of the window - even though it was only 08:30 French time, it felt like lunchtime to us!) On this ferry crossing we were one big unit - a group - a platoon. Unlike the crossing on Thursday, we were a whole unit, not a bunch of smaller groups. We spent our time talking about our experiences, and cracking jokes at each other's expense.

Back home in blighty we realized that we were an hour early for our engagement with the Mayor of Dover so felt it would be appropriate to visit Dover Castle who were hosting an Operation Dynamo event. We got to the castle gates, dismounted and kitted-up and formed up, only to be told flatly that as we were not booked-in on their list of "performers" we could not go in. No negotiation possible. Oh well, their loss. A smart left wheel and we marched all the way down the hill, through central Dover and up to the seafront with Mick leading the way with his pipes.







On the seafront a few of the IMPS vehicles were waiting for us together with a pipe bad from the local ATC. The parade marched off along the seafront, past the saluting base to the roundabout and back to the yacht club. While the band were great, they were playing and marching too slow for us so we stopped and let get ahead a bit. Darren called Mick to the front saying something along the lines of "get up here, this is your moment". When we got back to the saluting base the Mayor congratulated us on our effort and gave a short speech. Darren and Jon also gave a short speech, we fell out and were given a tea reception.

As a bonus surprise a bus had been organized to take us all to the old Dover railway terminus. This was where a large number of the evacuated BEF boarded trains once they got back to the UK. At the war memorial in the terminus (which is now a cruise terminal), we held a remembrance service with some local dignitaries and a local vicar. Mick and one of the ATC pipers did a duet which was superb. With the service finished, we formed up into a section four abreast, with bayonets fixed. With Mick piping, we marched the length of the station concourse and around the outside to the memorial to the unknown soldier who was brought ashore here in 1920 on his way to interred at Westminster Abbey. A great video clip of this part of the march can be seen at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKtIoCj7gcU There are also three other clips from the march in France on you tube.











Back onto the bus and back to our cars. Kit was dropped and goodbyes were said, and we parted and went our separate ways. The fresh studs on my boots have worn through, and my battledress needs re-sewing, and everyone had blisters (except me strangely!) This was the most significant living history experience that I have taken part in. The experiences and emotions cannot be equaled at any "normal" or "regular" reenactment event. Friendships were made, and a group was made out of individuals in just four days.

To Jon and Darren I would like to say thank you for all of your hard work. To Jon's parents, I would like to say thank you for driving the support vehicles and encouraging us along our route. To my pals from the march - I thank you all for such a rewarding experience.

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Re: the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by Bazooka_Joe on Thu Mar 20, 2014 10:55 pm

Fantastic write up!

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Re: the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by Admin on Fri Mar 21, 2014 4:21 am

Glad you put that on Ash, sums it up really, and jogs the memory
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Re: the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by TubbyBinns on Fri Mar 21, 2014 7:25 am

What Jon said!
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Re: the previous Marches, comments on and descriptions of

Post by reddevil1311 on Fri Mar 21, 2014 9:55 am

I'll tell you what would also jog the memory - picture I saw of people's feet when they got home........ Wink

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