Verdun, Luxembourg and the Three Frontiers

Moving right along from the magic of Metz we drove across the rolling Lorraine countryside, all wheat-fields, corn and sunflowers to the WW I battlefields of Verdun. In 1916 the longest battle of WW I raged in Verdun, the town’s name is synonymous with wartime slaughter. The town was never actually taken but it was nearly destroyed along with 9 villages that surround it. 

Close to a million soldiers alone died in the area.We chose to visit a couple of forts, the Ossuary and the war memorial of Verdun near the destroyed village of Fleury. We lined up the “Just Go’ with the other motorhomes in what looked like the bus park and passed a modern French army tank on our way to the entrance of the memorial.

Verdun war memorial - view from the top of the tank

The young soldiers in charge of the tank invited us to have a look and suggested I sit in the gunner’s seat. Initially I didn’t think I would be able to fit down the narrow entrance or get out again, it was very ‘enclosed’ and the only view was through some high-resolution periscopes. A similar seat for the driver is accessed on the other side of the tank, I couldn’t see where the third member of the team sat. I managed to get out with some dignity.

inside the tank

The war memorial is a modern three-storey building with re-creations of the battlefields and it holds a lot of personal items belonging to soldiers who fought in the war. I pulled open a display drawer to see a very large red, white and black kerchief which was issued as part of the French soldiers’ uniform. It performed a dual purpose of clothing and training manual. The kerchief could be used as necessary for a bandage/sling/scarf/towel …. but the other use was a training manual. There were 13 kerchief designs printed, the one I viewed showed among other things, how to dismantle the army-issue gun. As most of the French soldiers were recruited from rural areas the pictures helped those that could not read.

Destroyed village of Fleury -
white marker posts where houses used to be

After enough of the memorial we walked about 200 metres to the remains of the little village of Fleury. All around us were huge shell holes; after 100 years grass had smoothed their edges, the contours of the ground reminded me of a giant egg carton. An unusual silence hung around the trees that had been planted amongst the white wooden upright posts that denoted where the butcher/baker/school had been.

Ossuary and a French military cemetery

A short distance away was an ossuary where the bones of 130,000 unidentified French and German soldiers are kept. 

The ossuary rose like a giant white sword from the ground, standing 130 metres high. Each stone in the monument is engraved with the name of a missing soldier. Outside are row upon row of small perfect white crosses on the graves of French soldiers.

Let’s go to Luxembourg – it was my idea and seconded by Stuart who was tempted by the cheapest diesel prices in Europe. We didn’t see a lot of Luxembourg but immediately we crossed the border we were faced with lines of trucks, 2 abreast, stretching beyond my range of sight. They were blocking roundabouts and traffic was at a standstill. There was every brand of fuel on offer and the trucks were waiting their turn to fill up on the cheap stuff. We managed to get in and get a tankful as the trucks can’t use the smaller pumps.  

A rainy day in Luxembourg city

The following day we went by rail to Luxembourg city. It was the first day in weeks that it rained – more like drizzle really but still enough to dull the sights of the lovely little city. We both felt very scruffy compared with the young chic set that moved between the pale, clean classical buildings. 

Rainy day in Luxembourg city

The city is built on the sides of two gorges and there is a lift to move you between the high town and the picturesque low town.  After our fill of walking around the ramparts in the drizzle we (I) drifted into Zara and bought some clothes that are identical to ones I already have.




Enough already, we tightened the hatches and set off the short distance back to Thionville in France. The municipal camp was well placed with an easy walking distance to town and beside the Moselle river.  I have had some tussles with the commandants who man the reception at municipal camps and was daunted to see that this one was wearing khaki camo shirt and matching pants, sturdy boots completed the ensemble. She was certainly dressed for battle, but pas de probleme –  the nicest camp lady I have come across.

View from the campsite at Sierck-les-Bains.

Sierck-les-Bains was a top place for a spot of chillout beside the Moselle river. It is on the 'Three Frontiers' - we could smell the schnitzels cooking in Germany, wafts of cheap diesel were drifting in from Luxembourg and the aromas of fresh baguettes and Camembert completed the scene as technically we were still on French soil. 

The French lunch reigns as we found when we arrived 10 mins after the midday cut off time at the campsite. We cooled our heels for 3 hours until camp-mother let us approach the desk. Forms and documents were signed and we were given the code to approach the front gate. Only one person at a time is allowed to complete a form and it is forbidden to be on the camp without completed forms.

Sierck had a food festival one evening and we walked along the river to join in the fun and taste some wonderful food, but all good things roll into more good things and we are pressing on into Deutschland to follow the Moselle as it wends its way past picturesque villages.    

Vending machine dispensing hot baguettes