A Visit to Belgium (1919)

MANY TOWNS A MASS OF RUINS

The worthy Editor of "The Witness" has asked me to give some of my experiences of my recent visit to Belgium. I would advise those who meditate having a trip to Belgium to stop at home. There is little to describe. When you have seen one portion of it occupied by the Germans, all the rest is similar. Two of the quaintest old towns, Ypres and Dinant, are a mass of ruins. The former might be described as a scattered pile of bricks and mortar, and was in its time probably the most interesting town as regards architecture in Belgium. Passing in the trains from Courtrai, via Lille, Menin, Armentieres, and Bailleul towards Calais, for many miles it is one vast plain of desolation. You see ruined villages in all directions. Any houses still standing you can see every room in them, as if looking through a birdcage. The great bulk are destroyed by fire. Villages with the bare walls and gables standing up, all roofless. You see the many lines of trenches, all flooded, and the barbed wire defences. In many districts the shell holes are so numerous as almost to touch each other, and all filled with water. In many of these our guns disappeared and were lost. In Courtrai our buyer pointed out one shell hole which I measured, 45 yards in circumference. He stood at the bottom of it to give me an idea of its depth, and it was apparently fully 12 feet deep. One thing remarkable about it was, notwithstanding the great quantity blown out of it, you saw no trace of the earth on the surrounding grass. In Courtrai all the bridges have been blown up and all the houses in the proximity have been destroyed. Also in the country districts the bridges were all destroyed in the retreat by the Germans, and it is surprising how our Engineers have the trains again running on wooden bridges. The power of the bombs employed in destroying the railways is incredible. The ends of the rails are so curved up and standing in the air as if done by a machine. None of the rails appear broken, and the ends are four or five feet apart. Where the bomb lit between the rails, 50 to 60 yards are blown into the adjoining fields as if a new railway was going to be made. At the junction station of Denderleeuw, near Brussels, the havoc wrought there is inconceivable. Some days before the armistice was signed the Germans had the military trains collected there loaded with ammunition, apparently on the road to Germany. Seven of our machines flew over at night, and the destruction wrought could not he well described. You have six or seven acres of twisted iron, remains of engines, waggons, carriages, and rails, heaped up in different masses, and you have no trace of where the railway station stood. The adjoining village, about 400 yards off, all the houses facing the station are much damaged.

DIFFICULTIES OF TRAVELLERS.

All our airmen escaped, but I think the transaction hastened the armistice. The object of my journey was Courtrai. I took sufficient luggage for a two months' stay. Arrived at Boulogne all right. Asked ticket for Bruges at the railway station. Lady clerk told me she could book only to Ghifeld, which all right, although I had not the remotest idea where it was. Arrived at Dunkerque about 9 o'clock p.m. Hotels were all closing. A porter piloted me into the town. There were no lights, and after several applications I found a room in the "Le Chapeau Rouge," which I can recommend. Next day being Christmas Day, having some old friends about 15 miles out in the country, I resolved to go and pay them a visit. I tried to get some sort of a conveyance, trains there were none; ordinary vehicles and motor cars refused. I got into the good graces of two American soldiers, motormen, who were running out provisions to the American contingent located in the village I wished to go to. The man who drove the motor was from "out West," evidently a half-cast Indian. He had a fine, determined, cool sort of expression about the lower jaw. His hobby was, apparently, just to "shave" the vehicles he passed, whether horse-waggons or motor-cars, by just a few inches, and to impress every one with the rate he could make that machine travel. So I could form in idea why "carriages for hire" preferred, remaining in the city. I spent a pleasant day in the American camp, and the hostess who put me up gave an officer and me a Christmas dinner I will long remember with pleasure. In the morning the camp did their best to have me sent back safely in one of their motor forage waggons. From all the officers and men, whether English, American, Australian, or Canadian, I experienced the greatest kindness and attention. I examined all the luggage lying on the platforms at Dunkerque, all apparently waiting for owners to turn up; but no trace of mine. I got a train to Bruges in the afternoon, arriving at Ghifeld Station, the French frontier station, about 9 p.m. There was no platform where the train stopped, and no lights. So I climbed down on to the ground, and there being no lights in the train I tied my pocket handkerchief to the handle of the door of the carriage to enable me to find my seat again. Walking round the front of the train, I got to the station, and found a soldier working the telegraph. I produced my ticket for the luggage. He told me there was no one there to open the depot, and to come in daylight. I explained that this was impossible. He then suggested it had gone on to Adinkerk, the Belgian frontier station. There was nothing to be done. After a wait of an hour, none of the Customs officers turned up, and the train proceeded to the Belgian station. There were no lights here either, and I found a soldier again working the telegraph. With out stopping the instrument, he said "Luggage would be sent on to whatever address was on it." The train waited an hour, and no Customs officers turned up, we proceeded, and arrived in Bruges at 6 am. The engine was much overloaded, and we had to stop often to get up pressure. Bruges station was much wrecked. There were no porters, and all the passengers had to look after themselves. Those who wished got hot coffee free in the third class waiting room. Accommodation in hotels in Bruges was very limited. The town generally is little damaged, except the bridges over the canals, which have been destroyed. There were no trains running to Courtrai; but, through the favour of our banker there, I got a seat on a Government motor lorry. Arrived at Courtrai, the driver asked where he would drop me. I suggested the hotel in the Grand Place. I found the gateway open, so went in, and found no one in it but a few English soldiers just arrived. And they knew nothing about it. I then went to the Town Hall, and I was directed to a house where I could put up. It was partially wrecked by shell fire. A shell had passed through my bedroom, and exploded on the other side of the wall. The windows were all boarded up. The houses on the opposite side of the street were a complete wreck, only portions of the walls standing. The next day a Good Samaritan, a leading surgeon, very kindly offered me accommodation in his house while I remained, for which I felt thankful. I refer to these little trifles to show how disagreeable travelling could be in Belgium at present. I found our stores a complete wreck. They were situated about 100 yards from a bridge the Germans blew up before leaving Courtrai; the roof was much damaged, and the doors and windows blown in. I found a family of refugees living in my house, which was very dirty, and anything of value had disappeared. I told them to be in no hurry out, as I was not likely to be able to occupy it till it was repaired. All the bridges are destroyed in and about Courtrai. The only communication between the two sides of the river is a narrow floating platform, about four feet wide. On the down stream side there is a hand rail to keep you from falling off and being carried off by the stream. If you fall on the "up-steam" side, the platform preserves you from that danger. Occasionally this floating platform or bridge gets overloaded and when the water commences to rise over your boots you hear some very impolite language from the front and rear. The Lye was much flooded; in fact, the whole country is in a bad state from the weighty rains.

Brussels is little changed. No damage done, and business goes on as usual. If you can pay, you can get all you want. Boots cost from £8-£12 per pair. Clothing is dear; I hear £20-£30 for a suit of clothes. Restaurants table d'hote dinners, 30-50frs.; wine, 20-70 frs. per bottle; quarter beefsteak with chipped potatoes, 7frs. All eatable in proportion.

INDUSTRIES PARALYSED.

When business gets settled again, Belgium will speedily revive. Belgians are both economical and hard workers, and their new style of Government and franchise will speedily tell on the welfare and prosperity of the country. Some families have been very heavily hit. Families with fixed incomes and those formerly holding good commercial positions are now rendered destitute, not to speak of the horrible barbarities enacted in many Belgian and French towns and villages, with their intense sufferings. At present the outlook in Belgium is very serious. All the factories are more or less injured. None of them are working, and a considerable time must elapse before there is a possibility of much employment. In the building and kindred trades there will be much to be done if the capital is forthcoming to do it. Where it will come from is not decided. The refugee population is now crowding back in thousands, and with the "chaos" that exists, it is difficult to conceive of prospects in the near future. Food is still distributed to those without means; but the finances generally must be at a very low ebb. What concerns us most is, perhaps, flax supplies. As to quantities, there is much "guesswork." There is still considerable flax in the country. Much has been bought up on speculation when the Germans left, and held at speculation prices. The Belgian Government have at present prohibited its export. The Ghent mills are little damaged, and will probably be resuming work at an early date. The French mills have suffered severely. Of sowing flax seed I understand there is a fair supply for their home-sowing, which is understood going to be large.

My home-coming had its little adventures. In Belgium the railways are very short of rolling stock — few engines, carriages, or waggons. The military trains are mostly open waggons, with an odd passenger carriage supposed to be for the officers, without glass in the windows. When travelling, you find out when there is a military train going your way. You climb up as best you can and where you can. Arrived at your destination, you get out the same way. No booking office, nor tickets to check. Riding in an open waggon is less draughty, generally, than the carriage. After much telegraphing, in which I was assisted much by our officers in Courtrai, I found my luggage had been sent to Thielt, with which there is at present no rail communication from Courtrai. I recovered it, however, and took the precaution to leave it behind till my return to Courtrai. I got a military train to Calais at four o'clock a.m. Travelled first to Menin — to secure a good seat. Then by way of Lille, Armentiers, Belluil, to Calais. Discovered the train did not go into Calais, but stopped about three miles out. I had some difficulty getting into town and finding a room. Next morning I found although several steamers going to Dover, they were for military only. So there was no other way except going by Boulogne. Happily I met a military motor car going to headquarters, and passing through Boulogne, about 50 miles off. The chauffeur gave me a lift. I will long remember that ride. Some of the holes in the road looked to be about two feet deep, and I felt if the agent of the Ocean Accidental Life Insurance Company knew I was on that car he would have spent a most uphappy three hours. When I reached London, after visiting several hotels, I spent the night on rather a short couch in a drawing-room of a pension I never visited before, and was very glad to have it. To those meditating a "joy-ride" to Belgium, my advice is — Don't!!

F. M. WALKER.

From The Witness, 21 February 1919.
Photo: The Town Square, Arras, France. February, 1919.

The Stolen Sheep

Our readers are all familiar with Sir Walter Scott's "Heart of Mid Lothian," and will recollect the truly touching scene where Jeanie Deans cannot and will not utter what she knows to be false, to save the life of a sister whom she loves as her own soul. It is one of the most masterly of the descriptions of the great "magician of the north," and if a single individual can read it without having every sympathy of his heart aroused, he must be dull if not dead to the finer sensibilities of the soul. But at the same time, we think the "Stolen Sheep," which appeared in the annual for last year called "Friendship's Offering," not unworthy of being placed side by side with the scene in the "Heart of Mid Lothian." There is not an Irishman, at least, who will not feel a strong desire to give the preference to this story, of which we here present an abstract.

Michaul Carroll was a poor and honest peasant, whose family were visited with famine and typhus fever at a time when the wide-spread misery of the country rendered assistance from the neighbours nearly hopeless. His wife and a young child died — he himself was attacked by the disease, and on recovering, his weak state and sallow look totally prevented even the possibility of him getting employment. His old father and infant son are starving at home, in their wretched cabin — Michaul, desperate, and broken down, steals a sheep, which he kills, and conceals in an out house. It was discovered — Michaul was arrested — and his poor old father was taken as a witness against his son!

The assizes soon came on. Michaul was arraigned; and, during his plea of "not guilty," his father appeared, unseen by him, in the gaoler's custody, at the back of the dock, or rather in an inner dock. The trial excited a keen and painful interest in the court, the bar, the jury-box, and the crowd of spectators. It was universally known that a son had stolen a sheep, partly to feed a starving father; and that out of the mouth of that father it was now sought to condemn him. "What will the old man do?" was the general question which ran through the assembly; and while few of the lower orders could contemplate the possibility of his swearing to the truth, many of their betters scarce hesitated to make for him a case of actual necessity to swear falsely.

The trial began. The first witness, the herdsman, proved the loss of the sheep, and the finding the dismembered carcass in the old barn. The policemen and steward followed to the same effect, and the latter added the allusions which he had heard the father make to the son, upon the morning of the arrest of the latter. The steward went down from the table, There was a pause, and complete silence, which the attorney for the prosecution broke by saying to the crier, deliberately, "Call Peery Carroll."

"Here, sir," immediately answered Peery, as the gaoler led him by a side-door, out of the back dock to the table. The prisoner started round; but the new witness against him had passed for an instant into the crowd.

The next instant, old Peery was seen ascending the table, assisted by the gaoler, and by many other commiserating hands, near him. Every glance was fixed on his face. The barristers looked wistfully up from their seats round the table; the judge put a glass to his eye, and seemed to study his features attentively. Among the audience, there ran a low but expressive murmur of pity and interest.

Though much emaciated by confinement, anguish, and suspense, Peery's cheeks had a flush, and his weak blue eyes glittered. The half-gaping expression of his parched and haggard lips was miserable to see. And yet, he did not tremble much, nor appear so confounded as upon the day of his visit to the magistrate.

The moment he stood upright on the table he turned himself fully to the judge, without a glance towards the dock.

"Sit down, sit down, poor man," said the judge,

"Thanks to you, my lord, I will," answered Peery, "only, first, I'd ax you to let me kneel, for a little start;" and he accordingly did kneel, and after bowing his head, and forming the sign of the cross on his forehead, he looked up and said — "My Judge in heaven above, 'tis you I pray to keep me in my duty, afore my earthly judge, this day; — amen:" — and then repeating the sign of the cross, he seated himself.

The examination of the witness commenced, and humanely proceeded as follows — (the council for the prosecution taking no notice of the superfluity of Peery's answers.)

"Do you know Michaul, or Michael, Carroll, the prisoner, at the bar?"

"Afore that night, Sir, I believe I knew him well; every thought of his mind, every bit of the heart of his body: afore that night, no living cratur could throw a word at Michaul Carroll, or say he ever forgot his father's renown, or his love of his good God; — an' sure the people are after telling you by tins time how it came about that night — an' you, my lord, — an' ye gintlemen, — an' all good Christians that hear me; — here I am to help to hang him — my own boy, and my only one — but, for all that, gintlemen, ye ought to think of it: it was for the weenock aud the old father that he done it; indeed, an' deed we had'nt a pyratee in the place; an the sickness was amongst us, a start afore; it took the wife from him, and another babby; an' id had himself down a week or so beforehand; an' all that day he was looking for work but could'nt get a hand's turn to do; an' that's the way it was; not a mouthful for me an' little Peery; an', more betoken, he grew sorry for id, in the mornin', an' promised me not to touch a scrap of what was in the barn, — ay, long afore the steward an the peelers came on us, — but was willin' to go among the neighbours an' beg our breakfast, along wid myself, sooner than touch it.

"It is my painful duty," resumed the barrister, when Peery would at length cease, — "to ask you for further information. You saw Michael Carroll in the barn that night? —"

"Musha — The Lord pity him and me — I did, Sir."

"Doing what?" —

"The sheep between his hands," answered Peery, dropping his head, and speaking inaudibly.

"I must still give you pain, I fear; stand up; take the crier's rod; and if you see Michael Carroll in court, lay it on his head."

"Och, musha, musha, Sir, don't ax me to do that!" pleaded Peery, rising, wringing his hands, and, for the first time, weeping — "och, don't my lord, don't, and may your own judgment be favourable, the last day."

"I am sorry to command you to do it, witness, but you must take the rod," answered the judge, bending his head close to his own notes, to hide his own tears; and at the same time many a veteran barrister rested his forehead on the table. In the body of the court were heard sobs.

"Michael, avich, Michael, a corra-ma-chree!" exclaimed Peery, when at length he took the rod, and faced round to his son, — "is id your father they make to do it, ma-bouchal.

"My father does what is right," answered Michaul, in Irish. The judge immediately asked to have his words translated; and when he learned their import regarded the prisoner with satisfaction.

"We rest here," my lords, said the counsel, with the air of a man free from a painful task.

The judge instantly turned to the jury-box.

"Gentlemen of the jury. That the prisoner at the bar stole the sheep in question, there can be no shade of moral doubt. But you have a very peculiar case to consider. A son steals a sheep that his own famishing father, and his own famishing son may have food. His aged parent is compelled to give evidence against him here for the act. The old man virtuously tells the truth, and the whole truth, before you, and me. He sacrifices his natural feelings — and we have seen that they are lively — to his honesty, and to his religious sense of the sacred obligations of an oath. Gentlemen, I will pause to observe, that the old man's conduct is strikingly exemplary and even noble. It teaches all of us a lesson. Gentlemen it is not within the province of a judge to censure the rigour of the proceedings which have sent him before us. But I venture to anticipate your pleasure that, notwithstanding all the evidence given, you will be enabled to acquit that old man's son, the prisoner at the bar. I have said there cannot be the shade of a moral doubt that he has stolen the sheep, and I repeat the words. But, gentlemen, there is a legal doubt, to the full benefit of which he is entitled. The sheep has not been identified. The herdsman could not venture to identify it (and it would have been strange if he could) from the dismembered limbs found in the barn. To his mark on its skin, indeed, he might have positively spoken; but no skin has been discovered. Therefore, according to the evidence, and yon have sworn to decide by that alone, the prisoner is entitled to your acquittal. Possibly, now that the prosecutor sees the case in its full bearing, he may be pleased with the result."

While the jury, in evident satisfaction, prepared to return their verdict, Michael's landlord who had but a moment before returned home, entered the court, and becoming aware of the concluding words of the judge, expressed his sorrow aloud, that the prosecution had ever been undertaken; that circumstances had kept him uninformed of it, though it had gone on in his name; and he begged leave to assure his lordship that it would be his future effort to keep Michael Carroll in his former path of honesty, by finding him honest and ample employment, and as far as in him lay, to reward the virtue of the old father.

While Peery Carroll was laughing and crying in one breath in the arms of his delivered son, a subscription, commenced by the bar, was mounting into a considerable sum for his advantage.


From The Dublin Penny Journal, 11th August, 1832.