HE traffic roars along this stretch of the Brussels main highway through an underpass and on to the Belgian capital.

At the bottom of the hill where the Rue de Nimy is parted by a crossroads and a traffic island, the noise and smell of exhaust fumes irritates the ears and noses of any wayfarers who linger for more than a few minutes.

The scene appears no different to thousands of traffic intersections the visitor might observe anywhere in Europe.

But 86 years ago - almost to the day - this unremarkable corner on the outskirts of an ordinary Belgian town rang to a different sound.

For it was on a hot, cloudless Sunday in August 1914 that the British Expeditionary Force collided with a numerically superior German Army, then sweeping its way across Belgium and France.

At this place the soldiers of the BEF entered the mouth of the furnace.

On that fateful day, there was an altogether different sound to be heard. Back then, the air was rent with the crackle of massed rifle fire, the boom and crash of artillery, the shouts of men, the cries of the dying and wounded.

And instead of the acrid smell of rush-hour vehicles it would have been the bitter stench of cordite and gunpowder that hung like a pall.

So at last, after three years of research, I'm in Mons. From Brussels Central we have travelled by train through Braine-Le-Compte, Soignies and then eventually to the fabled town of the Old Contemptibles.

Mons occupies a special place in the annals of the British Army. The two battles for this corner of south-east Belgium frame the catastrophe that was the First World War - the great retreat of the first weeks and the triumphant re-entry by the British and Canadians at the finish.

The significance does not end there. For it was here that the first and last soldiers of the British Empire lost their lives. Private J Parr was probably killed about 8 o'clock on the morning of August 23, 1914, and the last soldier to die in the First World War - Private George Price - met his end nearby, hours before the guns fell silent on November 11, 1918.

Both men lie at rest in Saint Symphorien Cemetery on the outskirts of Mons.

I'm sitting in the belfry gardens, which commands a splendid panorama over the town and also over the battlefield. Infuriatingly, there are builders' fences everywhere, interfering with the view. Renovations are taking place on the Gothic belfry tower.

This is the second disappointment of the day. The museum has also been shut for repair work.

But I am not too despondent. For I have in my rucksack great-uncle Ernest's Boer War Kruger shilling. This grimy coin, with a hole drilled in the top, is a typical soldier's talisman - well-worn but with the old Boer president's head still plainly visible.

This precious artifact has travelled with me to the Ypres Salient and sat in my hand near Shrewsbury Forest where its owner stopped a Mauser round during the great struggle of St Crispin's Eve, October 31, 1914. Nearby at Gheluvelt, the Worcesters would later save the BEF from destruction.

This same coin has been with me at Hellfire Corner, Messines, along the Menin Road and back behind the lines in the Toc H town of Poperinghe.

Yes, from the turn of the century until I discovered it again in a drawer just over three years ago, this shilling has covered quite a few miles.

I would guess that its first owner was a Boer who either fell or was captured at Belmont or Modder River in the Transvaal sometime between 1899 and 1901. With its second owner, this shilling was destined to travel the length and breadth of the British Empire.

Then came the events of that hot summer of 1914. And now - exactly 86 years later - this Kruger shilling has returned, with its third custodian, to Mons.

Two churches dominate Mons, Saint Waudru Collegiate and St Elizabeth. The town takes it name from the mount that dominates the surrounding area, a hill which rises abruptly out of the undulating farmland and forests that typify this area of Belgium.

It was on the outskirts of Mons on August 23, 1914, that the British and German forward units collided. The Second and First Divisions of the BEF immediately formed a defensive salient around the town.

This semi-circle ranged from the road bridge at Nimy and the drawbridge, over the Canal du Centre on the left, ranging across Bois la Haut and on to the high ground facing the main road to Beaumont.

The first German assaults were driven back. But at 11am they attacked in dense, grey columns of massed infantry. The British replied with rapid and accurate fire. The average soldier of the BEF was trained to fire 15 aimed shots a minute and certain marksmen were capable of up to 20 shots. This was called "the mad minute".

The Germans suffered heavy losses and brought up artillery, which achieved greater success. At Obourg railway station, an heroic British soldier, whose name is not known, sacrificed himself to cover the retreat of his comrades.

Remaining alone amidst the dead and dying, he climbed up on to the roof and with just a rifle, blazed away until his ammunition was spent. Then, overwhelmed by force of numbers, he was eventually killed.

On Rue de Nimy we pause to buy a beer from the supermarket set back to the left of the road. It was on this street that the Germans broke into the houses and seized hostages, who were driven in front of the attackers as human shields.

The British infantry were now running up this street towards the Grand Place, standing in doorways and crouching behind lamp posts, loosing off shots wherever possible. Soon, a firefight developed as the men of the BEF fell back, shooting as they went.

Just across the square is the town hall. A hundred feet from there, as I sit with a beer in the comfort of a pavement cafe, I can see the building from where the mayor was seized by the invaders and placed among the growing number of hostages.

On the site of the Segard Brewery - now the Bank Of The Credit Commercial de Mons - a number of thirsty, battle-weary soldiers were being given beer. Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant Fitzpatrick, seeing the crisis developing, took a platoon of 40 men and formed a firing line. He instructed them not to open up until the enemy was less than 200 yards away.

When the advance guards of the German 85th Infantry Regiment appeared they were greeted by a wall of leaden death...

I ask my wife to take a picture of me in the Grand Place with great-uncle Ernest's shilling. My hands have become moist - perhaps it is because of this sultry August day or maybe something else is causing me to perspire a little more than usual.

The shilling has become damp and I realise I've been gripping the little coin quite tightly for some time. This has caused Kruger's profile to be more sharply defined and I can easily make out the date, 1897.

Then the chronology occurs to me once more - it's 86 years since this object last came into contact with human sweat.

Yet there's a gap greater than the passage of the years. And that's the gulf that lies between my leisurely experience of this Belgian town and that of those men of the British Expeditionary Force who fought and died here on that blazing August day in 1914.

Next week: The Angels Of Mons.