THE Ramparts Cemetery near the Lille Gate in the Belgian town of Ypres has been a holy place for me ever since I first chanced upon it when taking a trip to the First World War battlefields, nearly 40 years ago.

The old front lines from the war are liberally dotted with cemeteries, most British (which are often small), some French (which are much bigger), and very occasionally German. It doesn’t pay in war to be on the losing side, least of all in honouring the fallen.

The Ramparts Cemetery was started in 1914 as a burial ground for French soldiers who were then defending the medieval cloth city. When, early in 1915, their forces moved south, and the British replaced them, it became an Allied burial ground until after the Armistice, when the French bodies were disinterred to be reburied further to the south. Reginald Blomfield designed the current cemetery for 198 fallen soldiers from Britain and the Commonwealth. Close by is the Menin Gate, which he also designed, displaying the names of nearly 55,000 soldiers who have no known grave.

Dawn and sunset are my favourite times to visit. Time stops, and my heart slows as reflections of the sun and the rampart walls dance on the canal, into which the cemetery’s grass bleeds. The First World War was not like the Battle of Waterloo — in one defined physical location, and over in one day. It took place on soil, water, and air, over the whole world. No one place can capture it all. But this place does. This is where the beating hearts of six young men from the furthest place on earth — New Zealand — beat their last, a single shell killing them all. Today, their gravestones are still to be found side by side, without the customary space between them, signifying their comradeship in death as in life.

WHEN bringing groups to the battlefields, I try to plan the visit before breakfast or after the Last Post ceremony that takes place at the Menin Gate each night. I am always struck by the awe that this place stirs in the hearts of the visitors. They fall silent as they walk through the creaking gate. They wander off to look at the gravestones, wanting to be alone. When we gather by the Cross of Sacrifice (found in all British cemeteries with more than 40 burials), some read poetry, others offer their thoughts or prayers. We always have a period of silence.

It was here that I conceived the idea of the Western Front Way, a walking path along the line of the Western Front from the North Sea to Switzerland. The idea was inspired by a young soldier who wrote home about creating a path of peace, along which those of all nationalities could walk to find out what they shared in common rather than what divided humanity. Shortly after writing it, he met his end on the other side of the distant ridge you can see from the cemetery.

I believe in God. I found it hard to understand how he could have allowed so much suffering in this war and in others. At times, I still find it hard to understand. But, in the transcendent peace I find in the cemetery, I know he exists.

Anthony Seldon is the author of The Path of Peace: Walking the Western Front Way (Atlantic Books, 2022).