Agent of Peace

by Jennifer Hobhouse Balme

  Later we went to call on Captain Bruhn the singularly capable and genial chief of the department that works with and controls the Belgian ‘Comité National’ for feeding and clothing the people. He was so delighted to be visited by an English person desiring information and he entered into very full explanations of the American Relief Commission and the ‘Comité National’.

  It was evident that his relations with the Belgian ‘Comité’ were very good and sympathetic and he admired their organizing powers and their devotion. He was not so laudatory of the Americans who compose the Commission and it looked as if there had been friction. The tendency was to imply that they were businessmen pur et simple and were doing this work not only from philanthropy but from ulterior motives of eventually (even if they had not previously) establishing business connections. In this there may be some grains of truth, but undoubtedly it showed ignorance, real or feigned, of the great sacrifices and devotion of Mr Hoover and his colleagues. Especially Mr Hoover who I am told gave up a position bringing £50,000 a year to carry on the work of relief.

  Many of the facts issuing from this talk are recorded in the Aide Mémoire. Captain Bruhn struck me as a singularly fine man. He has a sister in London married to an Englishman. A man of feeling too – but of course his best qualities a bit handicapped by the singular and anomalous position he was filling. He promised me to arrange that I should see the people fed. The following day he sent me a magnificent bouquet of crimson roses.

  We returned to the hotel and lunched together still talking – my Baron told me much about the naval battle, which he evidently considered a Victory, but he said that when the first telegrams came he and von Moltke agreed not to believe it – it was incredible – too good. Then confirmation constantly followed and to their minds the greater tonnage destroyed on the British side decided the matter. Later on people disputed this and in England I find it also considered a victory. To my mind Death was the victor – Death and Destruction.

  Then I went to rest and he to do an hour’s work. My invalid ways and unusual hours for meals were an astonishment to him. At first I fancy he was a bit suspicious of them, wondering if they were excuses for getting rid of him, but after a couple of days he understood. And in reality I was glad enough of his company for there were no letters to write or answer, no single book in the hotel and of course, except my phrase book, I had none and only two Belgian papers to read which had little in them. Three or four out of the ten days of my stay these French papers did not appear, being all confiscated.

  Conditions: I had no paper to write upon except the notebook I had brought and that I was under orders to submit to the authorities before leaving Belgium. Often I wished to have a chat with the waiters or porters or chambermaid, but beyond the necessary exchange of words I never did, fearing they might be spies placed there to inform if I contravened the rules.

  It was cold, wet and very windy and I found it hard to walk against such odds – I could not have done so if it had not been for the relief of descent from the altitude of Berne. We walked again rather forlornly about Brussels and arranged to visit Antwerp the next day. I forgot to say that the Baron took me that afternoon to a smart restaurant for tea. I did not want to go, it being discordant to my feelings to be seen eating in a public place with a German officer and an unpleasant sense of being stared at by men who were evidently Americans made me determine not to go again. I suppose he noticed it as he never suggested it again. I only took a cup of chocolate which cost 1fr.

  Saturday, June 10th The morning promised better and we trammed to the station. A good deal of this Central Station is shut up and at the turnstiles passports and passes have to be shown as well as tickets. Soldiers standing sentry everywhere. As the Baron did everything for me I had of course no trouble, but I knew by old experience what a nuisance it must be to the population. Yet a goodly number of people always seemed to be travelling. I noticed that the Railway Stalls were covered with German papers and books. I won’t say to the exclusion of all other, but vastly preponderant. We agreed to my joy to take 2nd class for all our trips. I had not liked to ask fearing there might be some objection and I was relieved when he proposed it. This first journey was exciting. I wanted so much to see Malines [Mechelen] and bombarded Antwerp. There was not however very much to see en route. The tower of Malines, beautiful as ever, was the chief feature of our little trip and there was a bridge that had been blown up by the Belgians and rebuilt by the Germans and there was this tiny village of Duffel where some houses had been ruined and a certain amount of damage done to the Church. But the landscape as a whole was green, fruitful and smiling – there was little to make me think of a devastated country. I was very much astonished. There did not appear to be any systematic destruction though I have since heard there was at Visé and Tirlement.

  We ran into Antwerp, and looking hard to find them I saw a house here and there ruined in the outskirts of the town and a few with just windows broken. Outside the Main Station up the long street and to right and left there was not a sign of destruction of any kind. I determined to walk in order to search more at leisure for any signs of war and we went up the long street and past the Royal Palace finding everything in statu quo. The sun was bright but the clouds were magnificent and boded ill. It was extremely cold. Then we reached the Shoe-market and there found a small block of houses completely ruined. It is supposed they were aiming at some Municipal buildings which are nearby. The Groenplatz was untouched and we crossed it to gain the Cathedral and see how it had fared. It was unimpaired. We went outside and scrutinized the façade well having heard that there was one mark somewhere, but it was not visible to the lay naked eye. We walked about a good deal on all sides seeking the ruin one expects in a bombarded town, but we could find none other. Then alas! thunder began and a deluge of rain so we sought a restaurant for shelter and luncheon. There seemed to be only one which my Baron was willing to enter; he absolutely refused to go to all others though we passed several – it was evident to me that he feared to meet the population. The one we visited was quiet, good and not dear. Surprising how even in the midst of war, Continental restaurants manage to produce a better-cooked and more savory meal at a lower price than one can get in London.

  The rain had been a deluge and while my Baron looked for the restaurant I had to shelter in shops. It was extraordinarily tempting at such moments to talk to the people and learn their points of view but I felt my parole would not permit of that. After lunch it cleared, though a terrific and icy north wind prevailed, nevertheless we went to see the old buildings in that wonderful Square near the docks, not a stone was touched – everything safe – and on to the docks which more than anything else showed the effects of war in Antwerp – I had last seen them full of shipping, active and busy, now the docks were a deserted wilderness – only the grass growing thick over the rusty truck rails.

  When too cold and exhausted to walk more I took the tram and thus saw more of the town – the trams in all the large towns are running and manned by Belgians as usual. We got some coffee to warm us at the station in a large barrack-like waiting room evidently given up to soldiers, and the sun coming out I got a little warmed by the time we reached Malines. Here we spent a long and interesting afternoon. It is only about 25 minutes from Antwerp. The glass roof of the station was riddled with holes and in the station square, two or three houses have their windows broken and are boarded up or covered with sacking. Taking the tram up the long main street to the Cathedral we could see that a number of the houses had broken windows and curiously enough none of them seemed repaired though many (not all) of them were still inhabited. This may have been scarcity of glass or of labour or absence of the owners or of money – or still more likely a desire which seemed evident in the towns to leave things as they were. Malines had been fought over by the two sides – and shewed signs of this. We visited the Cathedral at once; the Baron pointing out to me with considerable fairness which bombs must have come from the Belgian and which from
their guns. It seemed to me that the worst harm had been wrought by the concussion – which had shattered the priceless windows and bits of jewelled glass lay about the ground. The gable and buttress at the west end can be repaired, but the glass never can be restored. So sad to see and so wonderful to think it could have escaped with so little structural damage, little at least so far as the eye of the amateur could judge. The fine old tower shewed no injury. Service was held in part of the church (I believe this statement to be accurate but I must verify it from my notebook left in Berne). I stooped and picked up many bits of the coloured glass lying in the débris and some street children seeing me do this followed suit and soon began to follow me down the street bringing bits for sale. The officer looked askance at all this – not forbidding but not officially approving and indeed remarked that he ought not to allow it. However he let it pass and I brought away these treasures, wondering how the inhabitants had let them lie there so long. I fancy I started a new industry in Malines that afternoon.

  The Cathedral precincts seemed to me more marred than the Edifice itself – two or three rare old houses of a public character probably being destroyed all but the walls. Everywhere I marvelled why the flames which gutted such buildings failed to touch adjacent houses on either side, but it is a feature of the very limited nature of the destruction in Belgium that destroyed houses are often to be seen dotted here and there amongst others quite untouched. Not far from the Cathedral Square a block of houses was completely levelled and there, a few men were at work evidently with a view to begin reconstruction. The large Church where the Rubens formerly hung was untouched as far as one could see, only in this case also the lofty windows had suffered from concussion and the vacancies filled with plain glass. Services were going on and it was impossible to do more than ask the verger for news of the Rubens. He pointed to the Crimson Curtains behind which it had hung, and assured me it had been removed for safety. He was uncertain where, but believed it to be in London. As we wandered on we found streets adjacent to the main street which had suffered somewhat severely, while around the Station the houses with windows shattered, though numerous, were the exception rather than the rule. Altogether Malines has been marked with a mark that generations won’t obliterate, but to have been the scene of conflict between two such forces and have escaped so lightly in modern warfare is a marvel.

  There was a great crowd of civilians at the station for it was Whitsun Eve and the crowd of workmen and the gala appearance of the women suggested that they were going away for a week-end holiday. Outwardly, they were bright and happy. My Baron drew back and aside as much as possible in his habitual way. It was late when we got home, tho’ the endless daylight made me wholly forget the hours. The officer told me that the Belgians had greatly resented the change of time, as a German innovation – but it was enforced and those who stuck to their old time simply found that, for instance, school was well advanced before their children arrived.

  We agreed to visit Charleroi next day and he left me at the door of the hotel lift. We had supped in Malines at a little station restaurant.

  Whit Sunday, June 11th This was a long day necessitating an early start. The day seemed drier. We took a tram to the station on the lower side of the town and just caught a less comfortable train, these being old Belgian rolling stock, ill-built and shaky. My Baron said the Belgians spent little on improving their railway carriages. We passed Waterloo and saw the pyramid marking the battlefield and surmounted quite safely by the metal lion, said to have been taken away by the ‘Huns’. The train crawled and we could see the whole field very clearly and the farm Houanmont etc. It was curiously under the cires to have the points explained to me by a countryman of Blucher – now an ‘Enemy’. Oh! the inconsistency and shifting policy of nations!

  There was absolutely no destruction – that I could see, though I looked diligently for it – on both sides the line, in any of the villages or little towns that we passed in that three hours’ trip. The country looked lovely, verdant and flowery and the country folk looked healthy and well-fed.

  At last we reached Charleroi and a very ugly place it is, a coalmining straggling town with no fine buildings and no picturesque streets. It was Whit Sunday, cold and occasional showers. No cabs to be got. I found about twenty ruined houses in the street leading uphill to the left as you leave the station. Then one came to a street cutting across that along which the trams ran. We took it and in the Boulevard Rodin (I think it is called) found 2 or 300 yards where houses had been more or less wrecked. But some hours spent walking and tramming about the town revealed no more. All seemed just as ordinary. Here, as universally in Europe, children were selling false flowers for Red Cross or prisoners. At the very top of the town near the Industrial School for boys there is a ‘Place’ from the surrounding wall of which one can see the town and the mines and almost the entire district. No ruin was visible. I was told but of course I could not verify that nearly 90 per cent of the normal output of coal was being produced, but whether this was or was not being used by the Germans for themselves or was going through ordinary business channels I cannot say.

  There was a great to-do in the big hall of the Industrial School for an Exhibition was being held of the hand-work they had done and it was being sold also I think for the Red Cross. Sorely against his will I made my Baron come in. It was very full and he evidently feared in his uniform some insult. However I noticed no discourtesy, only he was uneasy till he had dragged me out again. There was metal work, wood-carving, pottery and all the usual ugly and useless handicrafts. A girl made me buy two metal pin trays of beaten iron like ivy leaves – (and later on my arrival in London I gave one of these to Henri Lambert the glass manufacturer of Charleroi). There was a deal of refreshments and a band. The people looked very cheerful and gay. I noticed the things I bought together with all the others were tied up with Belgian colours – at least my Baron pointed it out to me, remarking that it was against rules and ought not to be allowed. Afterwards we walked through the park and wound by another road back to the Centre where, as it grew late, we got some supper and then walked about again until the train was due. At this time the people poured into the streets for their Sunday outing and they looked I must own happy and cheerful. Doubtless the other side was not to be seen. Obviously it is a well-to-do town. We searched along the banks of the River Sambre for rumoured destruction but were unable to find any.

  It was late when we reached Brussels – twilight – that is to say about 10.30 p.m. To me the day had been fairly interesting but my poor Baron was obviously bored to death. And if I had but been allowed to talk to the people how very interesting it would have been.

  We travelled with many officers – handsome and singularly serious looking men. I had expected the ‘Junker’, much abused man, to be very different and to be very repulsive to me personally – but on the contrary they were very calm cultivated serious dignified looking men, fully conscious of the awfulness of their destiny on the Western Front and of their work. I shall never forget one of them – a young dragoon, I called him Siegfried – and I have never certainly seen so perfect a human specimen. Naturally too, the grace and beauty of the dragoon’s uniform, with its long pale blue cloak helped to increase the splendour of his appearance. Tall, slender, well-built, very fair with deep blue serious eyes that looked only at far away things – and perfectly moulded features he riveted my attention and I could not take my eyes off him. All German officers when they come into each other’s company bow with dignity to each other when total strangers, and sometimes also introduce themselves by giving their surnames. Backwards and forwards officers were going daily from Berlin to Lille and Lille to Berlin, but mostly towards Lille. Four expresses every day were running from Lille to Berlin with restaurant cars and doing the journey in eighteen hours to the minute. The Germans are working breathlessly without pause or stay.

  Whit Monday, June 12th Baron von [der] Lancken had returned from Berlin and in the early morning I was taken to
see him (my notebook will shew, but I feel sure it was this Monday morning). He kindly came downstairs to see me and we talked in the beautiful Empire Reception room where earlier I had seen Count Harrach. He seemed tired and worried. I laid before him my great desire to go to Berlin and Ruhleben Camp, the more so that the unexpectedly strict character of the regulations binding me in Belgium had made my work of a very limited, almost useless character. He promised to do his best and to wire at once.

  It was not until later that I learnt from my Baron that the military authorities in Belgium were not aware of my presence and obviously the Political Department felt nervous lest it should be discovered and not approved. Nevertheless they constantly referred to General v. Bissing as a ‘very fine man’. Both in Belgium and Berlin I found wide divergence of opinion between the Military and Civil Departments. The ‘War Office’ always undoing the good and pacifying attempts of the Civil Departments. Baron von [der] Lancken was very pessimistic, he evidently felt very keenly the lying Campaign against Germany.