The citation for my Grandfather’s Military Medal reads "For conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty on August 15th, 1917. Although on reaching the objective, he had only three survivors of his section, he bombed three dugouts, killing nine of the enemy and taking 18 prisoners, whom he kept in the trench until he had organized them into stretcher-bearers for taking out wounded men. Through the remainder of the action he showed the greatest courage and set a splendid example to his men." It seems strange to think of my grandfather as someone who had killed nine men (and there were others in other engagements), although it shouldn’t be. He was, after all, a soldier in one of the bloodiest conflicts known to man. That was what he was there for. It, the killing not the service, is just hard to reconcile with the man I knew.
I didn’t know what I would find at Hill 70. I knew that parts of the battlefield remained. From Google Earth you can still see machine gun emplacements, and the outline of shell holes there. What I did find was a chance to walk where my Grandfather earned this medal, and a surprising remnant of the battlefield, perhaps the very place he showed that conspicuous bravery.
Bois Rase would have been a woods only on paper in August of 1917. Years of battles, and shelling would have reduced it to the same churned up ground as the rest of Hill 70. But today it exists, tucked in behind a crematorium (following the signs for the crematorium is the best way to locate this unmarked battlefield), and it’s midline marks the left flank of my grandfather’s regiments advance. I know that his company was on the left flank of the regiment, and that his platoon was also on the left edge.
We pulled into the parking lot of the crematorium and looked out to the west towards the town of Loos. Halfway between the road and Loos was where the Canadian lines were. Two machine gun emplacements that would have stood between the Canadian Scottish and their first objective still stood in a field of Canola. 
I wanted to check them out further but did not want to trample through the crop, so I turned to another that stood in a pasture on the East side of the road, where the 10th Battalion would have advanced to the "crest" of Hill 70. 
We walked to that crest and planted a small Canadian flag there.
As I looked to the Bois Rase I thought that if I crossed through to the midline of the trees I would have at least crossed my Grandfather’s path, so I turned and crossed the pasture and entered the woods. Hare scattered ahead of me as birdsong filled the air. Almost immediately I realized that directly in front of me were the old German trenches, still visible after all these 90 years. 
As I walked along the top of the, now shallow, trenches zig-zagging across the woods I recognized that these trenches would have been the Blue line, the first objectives for the Canadian Corp that morning. My grandfather fought his way through these trenches, and although there would be more dugouts further along, this was quite possibly where the dugouts were that he bombed, where he showed that conspicuous bravery (and I wondered just what would make one man’s bravery conspicuous amongst all brave men, fighting, and dying on this battlefield).
I do know that his Sergeant and some others didn’t show that same level of bravery, as my grandfather wrote of them losing their nerve and hiding in a dugout throughout the battle. It was something that he accepted could happen to anyone, as he wrote that he was a fine Sergeant at all other times and that he was killed a year later.
As I walked back and forth along the trench, crossing again my grandfather’s path, I once again realized how much I missed him, and how grateful I was that he was in my life, a towering figure in my life. I was once again overcome by emotion, thankful that he made it through those terrible days, and that his "conspicuous bravery" didn’t cost him his life.
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The old trenches don’t really go away if they are left alone. I am glad that you were able to find the spots where your grandfather fought.
Quite a story Clare.
I read your Hill 70 accounts. And could feel the emotions there. Thank you for having taken the time to write and share. WWII men have not had their stories told really. I mean individualy. They came back from the war, and they kept pretty much silent. PTSD was neither a syndrome nor an acronym. And most of them had to deal with it from mild to severe. Having been in combat cannot not change a man deeply and forever. Behind his exploits, that’s what I was thinking about your grandfather. And was thinking of an uncle of mine who was made prisonner, torture, being part of the inteligence. He didn’t speak a word of his ordeals until his death bed, when, delirious, he was right back into WWII and reliving it. Chiling. These men were noble in every sense of the word.
bonjour
voici un lien où on peut trouver des photos de la cote 70, terrible bataille en aout 1917, bravo pour la ceremonie de vimy