THE WELCOME OF A PEOPLE
There was no mistaking the enthusiastic welcome accorded to the Seventh
Division, as it moved south through the well cultivated country,
thriving villages, and prosperous towns of Belgium.
Already the deeds of German 'kultur' had reached the ears of the
inhabitants; indeed, many of those who had fled from the barbarous enemy
bore signs of the gross ill-treatment inflicted by the 'kultured' foe,
in furtherance of the advice of General Bernhardi and others to carry
'terror' into the hearts of the invaded people. And nearly all of them
had some dread story to relate, of wanton destruction to public and
private property, and of vile wrongs perpetrated upon an unoffending
people. Small wonder that they welcomed us; for Great Britain meant more
to them than the name of a powerful nation; it rather conveyed the idea
of the strong, active principles of liberty and justice, which they felt
were about to be set free in their unhappy country.
In contradistinction to the Germans, this people of a small country
seemed to unconsciously uphold the marked differentiation between the
laws of might and right, as exhibited by the two nationalities, Germany
and Belgium.
Germany, the former land of light and learning, has gradually slipped
downwards from her high ideals. A sure and sad process of religious and
moral declension has ensued; until, under the baneful influences of
Nietzsche, Treitschke, Bernhardi, and their like, the land of the
reformation has become the land of militarism, employing forces without
justice, discipline without pity, and annexation without consideration.
All this lies at the back of the mind of the best part of Europe to-day,
and more especially of Belgium.
Belgium is a Christian country. The religious houses have the words of
Scripture prominently inscribed upon them. On one house of a Religious
Order I saw painted, 'All for God.' On the cross roads there is
frequently found a life-size crucifix, which points its wondrous
teaching to many a weary soul.
A valued friend of mine,--an officer in a kilted regiment--writing home
a short time ago described his sensations, as, emerging from the bloody
ruck of his first engagement, he presently found himself, worn and
spent, gazing at the figure of the Crucified One. And as he very
beautifully said, 'Jesus came afresh into my heart.'
Again, one has not to travel far along any main road without
encountering a small shrine, open day and night, for those who desire
to draw aside from the ordinary pursuits of strenuous life, and enjoy
prayer to God; and that almost lost art, meditation.
Thus we see a striking contrast between the conquerors and the
conquered, exhibited in the ruthless invasion to which Belgium has been
subjected. Roman Catholics as they are, the Belgians whom I met--and I
conversed with many--seemed to realize that England, Protestant England,
is honestly striving to exhibit 'the righteousness that alone exalteth
the nation.'
It was in a state of the deepest gratitude, based upon such principles
as I have set forth, that the people flocked to receive us. True, at
times they revealed their feelings in very unorthodox fashion. For
example, I remember at a midday halt one day, while the men stood
preparatory to breaking off, an ecstatic Belgian girl rushed up to a
'Tommy,' and flinging her arms round his neck, kissed him warmly. I have
no doubt that on occasion the man could have returned the salute with
interest, but the suddenness and the publicity of the attack rendered
him both speechless and powerless. There he stood blushing like a school
girl; the while his comrades urged him to retaliate. He bore himself
like a martyr; but when a man immediately afterwards proceeded to kiss
him on both cheeks,--as foreigners often do--then 'Tommy' recovered his
mental equilibrium; and his language, well! it was more forcible than
elegant.
A far more pathetic welcome fell to my lot, as I walked across the
square at Ypres, in the early days of the British occupancy. While
talking to a brother officer, I suddenly felt my hand seized, kissed,
and then stroked; and looking down, I saw a sweet little blue-eyed maid
of some five years, not much above the level of the bottom of my tunic
in height, who said in the prettiest broken English, 'Brave Ingleese.'
The memory of a certain other blue-eyed kiddy, away in England, was too
much for me, and this time _I_ was the aggressor, for I took the little
maid up in my arms and kissed her, much to the amusement of the
passers-by I have no doubt.
Nothing seemed too good for the people to offer us. In our billets,
indeed, the very best the house could produce was set before us.
As we marched through one town--I think it was Wynghene, which was
evidently the centre of the tobacco industry, for tobacco is largely
grown in that part of Belgium--thousands of cigars were handed to the
column, and for days after the men would not look at the humble 'fag.'
In country districts, too, the people were not to be outdone, for
strapping farm wenches and men lined the road and literally showered
apples and pears upon us.
At the gates of one fine park, the owner, his wife and servants bestowed
cigarettes, matches and other acceptable gifts upon the men as they
marched past. Oh, yes! those were brave days, and made us feel
considerably pleased with ourselves, but do not grudge us such joys, for
just below the horizon of that time dark clouds were fast rising, which
soon darkened the skies of many and many a life. Anyhow, I will
undertake to say that none who were on that trek will ever forget the
enthusiasm of the people, as day by day we marched on to do battle for
them, and the great principles which surely have made our nation
great.
A CHAPTER OF INCIDENTS