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- Herausgeber: DigiCat
- Kategorie: Lebensstil
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
Peeps at Many Lands: Belgium by George W. T. Omond is an insightful and detailed exploration of the cultural, historical, and geographical aspects of Belgium. Written in a clear and engaging style, the book provides a vivid picture of the country, its people, and its customs, making it a valuable resource for those interested in learning more about Belgium. Omond's literary context as a travel writer shines through in his descriptive passages, painting a colorful and informative portrait of the country. The book's inclusion of illustrations further enhances the reading experience, allowing readers to visually immerse themselves in the beauty of Belgium. Through its detailed account of Belgium's past and present, Peeps at Many Lands: Belgium offers readers a well-rounded understanding of the country's rich tapestry of culture and heritage. George W. T. Omond's expertise as a travel writer is evident in his insightful and informative exploration of Belgium in Peeps at Many Lands: Belgium. His meticulous attention to detail and engaging storytelling make this book a must-read for anyone seeking to delve into the heart of Belgium's history and culture. Overall, Peeps at Many Lands: Belgium is a captivating and educational read that comes highly recommended for those with an interest in travel writing, history, and cultural studies.
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Peeps at Many Lands: Belgium
Table of Contents
BELGIUM
CHAPTER I
THE SANDS OPPOSITE ENGLAND
If you leave the mouth of the Thames, or the white chalk cliffs at Dover, and sail over the water just where the English Channel meets the North Sea, you will in about three or four hours see before you a long expanse of yellow sand, and rising behind it a low ridge of sandhills, which look in the distance like a range of baby mountains. These sandhills are called "dunes." Here and there at intervals you will see a number of little towns, each town standing by itself on the shore, and separated from its neighbour by a row of dunes and a stretch of sand.
This is your first view of the little country called Belgium, which is bounded on the east by Holland, and on the west by France. It is, from end to end, about half the size of Ireland.
There are no cliffs or rocks, no shingle or stones covered with seaweed. There are no trees. It is all bare sand, with moss and rushes on the higher ground above the beach. In winter the wind rages with terrific violence along the coast. The sand is blown in all directions, and the waves dash fiercely on the shore. It is cold and stormy, with mist and dark clouds, and sometimes violent showers of hail. But in summer all is changed. Often, week after week, the waves roll gently in, and break in ripples on the beach. The sky is blue, and the sands are warm. It is the best place in the world for digging and building castles. There are very few shells to gather; but there are no dangerous rocks or slippery places, and children can wade about and play in perfect safety. So many families—Belgians, English, Germans, and a few French—spend the summer holidays there.
Hundreds of years ago the storms of winter used to drive the waves ashore with such violence that the land was flooded, and whole villages were sometimes swept away. So the people made ramparts of earth to keep back the water, till by degrees many parts of the Belgian shore were thus protected. They still continue to build defences against the sea; but instead of earth they now use brick and stone. It looks as if in a few years the whole coast will be lined by these sea-fronts, which are called digues de mer.
A digue, no matter how thick, which rests on the sand alone will not last. A thick bed of green branches is first laid down as a foundation. This is strengthened by posts driven through it into the sand. Heavy timbers, resting on bundles of branches lashed together, are wedged into the foundations, and slope inwards and upwards to within a few feet of the height to which it is intended to carry the digue. On the top another solid bed of branches is laid down, and the whole is first covered with concrete, and then with bricks or tiles, while the top of the digue, at the edge of the seaward slope, is composed of heavy blocks of stone cemented together and bound by iron rivets.
The finest and longest digue is that which extends from Ostend for about nine miles. It is a good place for bicycle rides. No motor-cars are allowed on it.
Each of the little towns which you see dotted along the coast has a digue of its own, on which there is a row of villas and hotels facing the sea. Among the dunes behind the digue there are more villas. These are generally very picturesque, with verandas, red-tiled roofs, and brightly painted woodwork.
All day long in summer the digue of each town is crowded by people walking about in the sunshine, or sitting watching the bathers and the children playing on the sands. It is a very gay sight. There are prizes for those who build the best castles, and it is curious to see hundreds of little Belgian, English, French, and German flags flying on these small forts, and to hear the children shouting to each other in so many different languages. It makes one think of the Tower of Babel.
From six in the morning till six in the evening bathing-machines go to and from the water, and often there seem to be as many people in the sea as on the shore. There is a boat anchored a little way out, in which two men in red shirts, with ropes and lifebelts, sit watching to see that no one goes too far out, for the tide is often very strong. Sometimes these men, who are called sauveteurs, stand on the sand, and if they think anyone is swimming too far they blow a trumpet to call the swimmer back.
In the evening, when it is dark and the lamps are lighted, there is dancing on the digue to the music of a barrel-organ. The Belgians are very fond of this dancing, and often the English and other visitors join in it too.
All summer this holiday life goes on, with bathing, lawn-tennis, and in some places golf, till at last the time comes for going home. The hotels and villas close their doors. The windows are boarded up. The bathing-machines are pulled away from the beach, and put in some sheltered place among the dunes. The digue is left in solitude, to be covered with driven sand, and splashed with foam from the waves which beat against it, till the season of summer gaiety comes round again next year.
CHAPTER II
INLAND: THE FLEMISH PLAIN
Let us now leave the shore, and go inland.
If you climb to the top of some dune, you will see before you a wide plain stretching out as far as the eye can reach. This part of Belgium is called Flanders. It is all flat, with canals, and long, straight roads, paved with stones, running across it. There are rows of tall poplar-trees or willows, which are bent slightly towards the east, for the wind blows oftenest from the west, small patches of woodland, gardens, and many sluggish streams. The fields, which have no fences or hedges round them, are large and well tilled, some bearing fine crops of wheat, rye, or potatoes and turnips, while others are rich pasture-lands for sheep and cattle. The whole of this Flemish Plain, as it is called, is dotted with farm-houses and cottages. There are a great many villages, and in the distance rise the roof-tops and the towers and spires of famous old towns.
Some of the villages are worth visiting. There is one called Coxyde, which lies low among the sandhills, not far from the sea. The people of this village live by fishing, but in a very curious way, for they do it on horseback. They mount little horses, and ride out into the sea with baskets, and nets fastened to long poles. It is funny to see them riding about in the water, and catching fish and shrimps in this strange fashion.
There is another village, also only a short distance inland, where there is a church in which a number of toy ships are hung up. These are offerings made to an image of the Virgin Mary which stands there. If a crew of Flemish fishermen have escaped from some dangerous storm, they walk in silence to this church, and give thanks to the image, which is called Our Lady of Lombaerdzyde.
The farm-labourers in Flanders live very simply. Their food is chiefly black bread, potatoes, and salted pork or fish. There are lots of boys and girls who eat nothing all the year round but black bread and potatoes, and who look on pork or fish as quite a treat. Sometimes they spread lard on their slices of bread, and there are many who have never tasted butter in their lives. Yet they appear to be very strong and happy. They drink black coffee, or beer if their parents can afford it. The food of the older people is much the same.
Most of the people in the country districts of Flanders—men, women, boys, and girls—work in the fields. In summer they rise at four or five in the morning, and after eating a slice of bread go out into the fields. At half-past eleven or twelve they dine on bread and potatoes, with perhaps a slice of pork, and take a rest. Then they work again till about four in the afternoon, when they rest again, and after that they work on till it is dark. In the short days of winter they toil from sunrise till sunset. By this means they earn enough to live on. A boy or girl may get from 5d. to 7d. a day, a woman a little more, while a married man generally receives 1s. 8d. or 2s. Some farmers pay an unmarried labourer 10d. and his food.
This seems a dull and hard life, but the Flemings do not find it so. Like all Belgians, they are fond of amusement, and there is a great deal of dancing and singing, especially on holidays. Sunday is the chief holiday. They all go to church in the morning, and the rest of the day is given up to play. Unfortunately many of the older people drink too much. There are far too many public-houses. Any person who likes can open one on payment of a small sum of money to the Government. The result is that in many quite small villages, where very few people live, there are ten or twelve public-houses, where a large glass of beer is sold for less than a penny, and a glass of coarse spirits for about the same price. Most of the drinking is done on Sunday, and on Monday morning it is often difficult to get men to work. There are many, especially in the towns, who never work on Mondays. This is quite understood in Belgium, and people who know the country are pleased, and rather surprised, if an artisan who has promised to come and do something on a Monday morning keeps his word. Of course there are many sober work-people, and it is a rare thing to see a tipsy woman, much rarer than in England; but there is a great deal of drunkenness in Belgium.
