Records of War and Other Battles

Such an interesting experience on Monday. After having found the Archaeological Museum, I then discovered that it was not the right place to find more about the history of this building where I live. The go-to place was the Archives and these are in the Burg, centre of all things important in Brugge. I had read somewhere that No 9 Woensdagmarkt was once called the Oud Hof van Smyrna but after some time in the Archives with the experienced help of Jan Dhont, one of the archivists who specialises in house histories, no mention of that name was seen. The town records for houses in Brugge began only in 1580 and the van Smyrna name was probably much earlier than that. That being so, we also found no record of the actual age of the building, although it was referred to as one of the earliest brick-built houses in Brugge and is therefore an important building.

However, Jan found in the Land Registry 1580-1800, and printed off for me, the records since 1580 of transactions with the names involved, concerning 'my' house which was consistently referred to as Het Oorloge Mansschip. Jan could not explain the name; oorloge, occasionally spelled 'Oirloge; Orloige; Horlogie', could be from 'oorlog', war, or horloge, watch; mansschip might be a corruption of the German for a team of men. But 'schip' is a ship and there is a superb, large weather vane on top of the tall tower on the building and seems appropriate as a symbol for merchants whose trade probably came via ships. 

The building is referred to, after 1623, as two houses, a north and a south; reference is made to 'het noordelijk deel', the northern part sold separately from 'het zuidelijk deel'. One entry states that 'een minder huis', a small house, perhaps an apartment or a couple of rooms within, is to be rented out. Also, the building is described as 'het groot huis', the big house, and 'het hoekhuis', the corner house. The address was given as Woensdagmarkt with the 'oude straattnaam' given as Oosterlynghe Platse. The old name refers to the house being in the area of Brugge colonised by German merchants, the largest and most influential group of foreign merchants living and working in medieval Brugge. Although, the archivist said that it is possible that other nationalities like Russian or Turkish, might also have been living within that area.

On the first of January 1580, the building belonged to Jan Telleboom but by July 1581 his widow had sold the house to Jan Breijdele and Joris Michiels. There is a mention in this entry of Sint Donaas with some benefit of the sale of the house going to the cathedral. The building was for sale by decree, probably to pay debts, and was bought by Wouter de Clercq for Sint Walberga Church and mystifyingly, with ground rent paid to the children of Pieter Lapostole.

The details of the vagaries of ownership and the multiplicity of owners continue till March 3^rd 1784 in the records I was given. It is an enticing glimpse of the partial history of one house during a two hundred year period of Bruggean merchant life. There are records of forced sales, debts, creditors, promissory notes, rentals, inheritance tax, legal decrees and of different people acting on behalf of the two churches mentioned and also of Sint Janshospitaal. A number of times, the court has ordered the seizure of the house and all its contents. There seem to be a number of widows and 'sons of …' plus 'bankiers uit Parijs' [bankers from Paris], guarantors, several different 'koopman', merchants or businessmen, and of one man, 'Pieter Gilliodts machtig over Jan Casson uit Alicante'; Pieter literally 'had power over' Jan. That probably indicates that Pieter had the power to act on behalf of Jan from Alicante.

One interesting long entry tells of a bailiff acting on behalf of the King to forbid Jaecques van Altere from taxing, selling or giving away this property associated with the German nation. And then, there is a story to be written about Guillaume Pollet, businessman, first mentioned in November 1759 and with a narrative which eventually includes Guillaume Pollet de jonger, which finished in March 1784 only with the end of the records. Guillaume Pollet de oudere seems to have had a hair-raising life, sometimes in debt with a forced sale of the house imminent, sometimes mysteriously assigned as guarantor for some other buyer. Guillaume, in June 1780 recklessly borrowed 8000 guilders at 4% and was repeatedly not managing to pay back very much with predictable results regarding his house. By October 1781 he still owed 3435 livres. The last entry for March 1784 has the Burgemeester, the Mayor, acting on behalf of Guillaume's creditors. What a story there. Intriguing and I must improve my Dutch though rather more than a step or three up from Level 1!! My neighbour, Michele, inadvertently caught up in solving this ancient mystery, then discovered, that dear Guillaume about whom I worried, was in fact a member of the Guild of Brokers so perhaps less sinned against than sinning!

An unexpected treat on Wednesday evening. Ode Aan de Last Post, a celebration of the 30,000^th rendition of the Last Post at the Menenpoort, took place in the Burg.

                                                                                    

Hundreds of spectators enjoyed the one and a half hour programme of period music from Belgium, France, Germany, the Commonwealth, played by the band of Koninklijke Scoutsharmonie Sint-Leo with a local tenor, Georges Bullynck, Tracey McRory from Ireland on the violin, Guido Smeyers a Belgian playing the bagpipes expertly in Scottish traditional costume; Frank Deleu, Stadsbeiaardier, the important musician who plays the carillon on the top of the Beffroi, Marc Mosar both introducing, commenting AND reading Wilfred Owen's Dulce et Decorum Est. Plus two buglers from the Household Division as it is now known, playing the mournful, spine-chilling Last Post, flanked by two torchbearers. [The Household Division was made up from the amalgamation of the Foot Guards, the Grenadier Guards, the Coldstream Guards, the Scots Guards, the Irish and the Welsh Guards]. The lone majestic piper in full Highland rig appeared twice, flanked by drummers, and turned out to be a Belgian, one Guido Smeyers.

Guido Smeyers, bagpiper resplendent.

In spite of a huge prolonged shower in the middle of the ceremony, spirits were high as were voices for the well-remembered marching songs of WW1; Mademoiselle from Armentieres, It's a Long, Long Way to Tipperary, Pack up Your Troubles, and so on. Jerusalem and the Londonderry Air were also greeted warmly by the crowd of spectators. It was a moving ceremonial remembering the war with music, words and images on the large screen; the violin solo as background to the reading of the Dutch version of Dulce et Decorum Est, was particularly moving, with the Last Post bugle call inducing haunting and melancholic feelings. I considered, as I walked home, if that ceremony might not have caused the anti-European sentiment in the UK to stop and marvel at the improbable length of the peace in Europe since 1945, improbable given the violence and atrocities committed in Europe between 1914 and 1945. And to wonder if the union of much of Europe had not contributed hugely to this blessed state.

What a week! On Friday with two friends to Waterloo. More war with that Battle still ranked as perhaps the bloodiest, most costly in terms of lives squandered, in modern history. My interest had been particularly aroused because of the recent two hundred year celebrations but I hadn't expected to feel so involved in the pity of it all. The various exhibitions and memorials are excellent. We first saw the extensive Wellington Museum in the village of Waterloo itself, housed in the building, opposite the church, where Wellington established his HQ and where he lived. Somehow, it seemed improbable that the great man had actually lived in a house in the main street of the village, Waterloo, and planned his army's manoeuvres there in this domestic setting.

 A bus ride away, was the purpose-built Panorama, quite an elderly building, still beautiful to see outside with the spectacular panorama within, still with the power to call up the tremendous human wave upon wave of soldiers involved and killed, and the immensity of the battlefield.

The Lion's Mound with its 226 steps surveying the vista of the battlefield as a memorial to peace and the famous Allied victory, is reputed to be built upon the fathomless remnants of war, the spent ammunition and discarded rifles, bayonets and cannons remaining after June 17^th/18^th 1815.This may be apocryphal but certainly earth from various parts of the enormous battlefield were incorporated.

 But the one memorial that a visitor could particularly relate to was le Chateau d'Hougoumont, often referred to as the farm. It is at the bottom of an escarpment at Braine-l'Alleud, near Waterloo and was where Wellingon and his allies faced the Napoleonic Army in what was effectively the Battle of Waterloo. Perhaps it is the intimacy of the farm area, quite a rustic self-contained settlement before Waterloo but transformed during the battle to the strategically important pivot about which, Wellington, when asked what he wanted done if he was killed during the fighting, replied, 'Keep Hougoumont'. The fighting there raged over the two days, with ferocious hand-to-hand combat and thousands of deaths and mutilations, and both commanders desperate to retain or gain it. Now it is a tranquil, sanitised area restored over the bones of countless thousands of bodies below the soil. In one small barn there is a beautiful exhibition on Time, the vitally important ingredient of the battle; would Blucher manage to arrive in time to aid Wellington? But perhaps the most stunning is a media presentation [it is more than a film] in the great mediaeval barn; it is on three screens using close-ups, shadows, silent, snarling actors in uniform, weaponry and buildings on fire. It is difficult to describe but incredibly moving to watch in the very barn where so many died. 

 

Interesting to note that Hougoumont had been very dilapidated but was completely restored for the recent 200th anniversary celebrations and only opened, in fact, on June 18th 2015.

  

Le Nozze di Figaro and Taptoe

On my walk to school one morning recently, I noticed a small brass plaque on the street wall of an old building. It caught my eye because it contained a name of one of my historical heroes.

Translated it reads: Thomas More, Sainted patron of our association – visitor to these premises several times in the 16^th century. In fact, heilige means holy or sacred but can also mean Saint. It probably refers to Thomas after 1935 when he was canonised and it is therefore, presumably, a mid-to-late twentieth century plaque.

I was thrilled. Of course, it made some sense when one considers More's history. Amusingly, as I cannot at this minute locate my biography of More to check what I think I know, I found the following in an article of Aug 12^th 2009 in the unlikely place of Vremya Novostei, The News Time, a Moscow newspaper! 

Erasmus, the philosopher, lawyer and great friend of Thomas More, wrote his famous 'In Praise of Folly' [which he dedicated to Thomas] in one week while staying at Thomas's home in London. Each night they discussed matters philosophical in Latin, their common tongue, trying to understand and suggest improvements for, European religious, academic and political institutions. In the foreword to his famous book, Erasmus extolled the virtues of Thomas's wit, erudition and integrity and this [the Folly ran to almost 40 editions] amplified abroad the reputation of this wise and subtle man. Thomas eventually reached the highest position in the land, below the monarch , by becoming Lord Chancellor of England and a leading politician in Europe. In 1515 he certainly spent time in Brugge and also in Antwerp, Brussels and Mechelen and may well have visited again when he subsequently led several diplomatic missions in Europe.

Interestingly, a friend mentioned that Sister Mary More, a descendant of Thomas, had been Prioress at the English Convent here in Brugge, on Carmerstraat, and I dismissed the idea! I now find that indeed she was the ninth and last lineal descendant of Thomas and had been sent to Brugge to be educated at the Convent of Nazareth [as it was then known], was there made a Canoness in 1753 and elected in 1766 to be the seventh Prioress of the Convent. In 1791 Brugge was over-run by French Revolutionary forces and though the community, with Mother Mary as its leader, remained at the Convent for a time, it eventually fled to England in 1794. They were offered sanctuary by Sir Thomas Gage, a recusant, at Hengrave Hall near Bury St Edmunds where they stayed until 1802 when they returned to Brugge. Mother Mary More died in 1807 and is buried in Brugge.

At some point Mary More presented what is described as a portrait of Sir Thomas More, painted by Hans Holbein the Younger and which she had inherited, to the English Convent. There are two Holbein portraits of her illustrious ancestor, one is in New York and one in Zagreb so the Brugge version may well be a contemporaneous copy. It is presently undergoing restoration and one of the sisters has promised to let me know when it is in situ once more when I shall go to see both it and the inside of, the Convent. She referred to it as 'the Holbein portrait'.

The Holbein Portrait

  

On Tuesday evening I had a surprise treat from a friend, and not only a friend, but a friend with tickets and a car! He had two tickets for Le Nozze di Figaro at Gent Opera one of which his wife couldn't use so an early birthday treat was offered and rapidly accepted. It was an inspiring production which we eventually saw but first we strolled in a small area near to the Opera House and one could quickly get the feel of Gent. Much more urban, more sophisticated, more relaxed really than in Brugge; hadn't suspected the difference was there, but it immediately hit me. Interesting indeed.

The Royal Opera House itself was stunning; gilded mirrors, extravagant spaces, and, despite its relatively older age, with a fin de siecle feel to the whole place including the entrance we used which was a huge covered, cobbled area originally used for coach and horse arrivals and departures. The Opera House was built in the first half of the nineteenth century by rich Gent industrialists who sought status, wealth and power through the erection of this prestigious cultural totem. It is still extraordinarily impressive as a venue but also for its existence in a relatively modest-sized [though beautiful] city. 

The production itself was superb in every way; range and quality of voices, costumes, scenery, the entire communal effort with a superb orchestra and a feeling of verve and involvement on stage, which enveloped the large audience. At the end, there were repeated standing ovations and one could fancy the huge regret as the company of players prepared to disperse after the final curtain, following many many weeks of working so productively together. I noticed next day from the programme of book-length proportions, that the Musical Director was Paul McCreesh, famous in the UK for his extensive Early Music knowledge and activities. Impressive;  

I had no idea that he was also involved importantly in opera. The image above is from the Paul McCreesh online archive taken during a recording session. It was impossible to take any shot on the evening as he worked away, in a dark suit in an even darker, deeper orchestra pit.

Both my companion and I were also most intrigued by the way in which the area on the stage was manipulated. The audience's first sight of the stage showed a normal space where Figaro and Susanna are preparing the new apartment with the new bed presented by the Count. Later however, the space looked of almost hangar-like proportions. The perspective was shaped skilfully by both scenery and props, with the only slightly odd dimension being the fact that people, as they moved upstage, became comparatively bigger, huge in fact! I have occasionally been aware of this jeu des yeux in other plays but it was used to stunning effect onstage in Gent Opera House!

The image below is of the one of the numerous ecstatic curtain calls.

And here we have a theatre-goer [not sure if the phrase, 'opera-goer' exists] enjoying an innocent glass of water before finishing her wine.

It is now Sunday and I have just returned from a most enjoyable morning at 't Zand at the first of the season's three outdoor, open-air Flea Markets. As usual, crowds attending and what seems like acres of stalls selling... everything almost. As experiences go, it is addictive especially so on a warm and sunny morning, so I had admonished myself as I arrived, Not To Buy. I wandered for a short time then met two friends, by chance, from the Wednesday morning coffee club, and joined up with them for a time, until, John, a member of the Thursday English-speaking group, spoke to me and I stopped to chat which marked the last time I saw the first two friends! Shortly afterwards, I found the stall manned by Debbie and Ellie who do Brocantes and similar as a hobby; their double stall was great but I couldn't buy because I no longer need such decorations!  Off I wandered enjoying the crowd, the sunshine, and viewing what Eric would have called, the rubbish on view.

I investigated a lovely stall with brass and copper and various interesting objects including a lovely steamer trunk which I thought might well serve as a coffee table much needed for the large empty space in the living room. I have been searching for something but dithered over the trunk, so the price dropped. But it wasn't the price which was significant but the suitability and the subsequent transport, were I to buy. I wandered off to consider and over a coffee decided to buy and made a number of phone calls to taxi firms, eventually settling on one willing to do the job of transporting me and trunk and arranging a meeting point. Neither negotiation was easy but settled it was and the eventual deal done. The seller helped enormously by finding a porter from a nearby stall inclined to carry the trunk to the bus station quite nearby and even tipping the man to do the job. The burly porter impressed me no end by carrying the trunk on his head! I was too slow to get a photo! After a quarter of an hour in the bus area, and two taxi sightings on the wrong side of the wide road where the buses drop off and pick up, I contacted the taxi firm again to discover that the driver hadn't seen me and had picked up another fare. The phone manager suggested I cross the wide, wide road and go to the entrance of the Concertgebouw; not a big distance but I had two other bags and couldn't possibly move the trunk anyway.  Suffice it to say, that eventually a woman driver arrived, saw me because she was looking out for me, stopped and shouted that she wasn't allowed on that side of the road anyway. In the end, about forty minutes after the whole transport exercise had begun, I had cornered a young man to assist, crossed the wide road with the luggage and gained custody of the taxi. The girl driver was wonderful and I sent up a silent vote of thanks that I had been spared a male driver; she was SO sympatica and we had a lovely chat and giggle about the whole thing before she helped me carry it to the lift here. Trunk now in situ and I am still not sure.

  

                   

Last evening my friend from this building and I went to the Burg for the enchantingly-named Taptoe. I had thought it was Tattoo from the pronunciation but not so. There was seating for many in the Burg but we went to Tom Pouce for a meal on the terrace there which forms one side, virtually, of the space. Disappointment and irritation, shared by restaurant and other diners, to discover that the whole view had been obscured by black sheeting, the sole purpose of which seemed to be to stop people viewing from outside the arena's expensive seating. Outrage at the pettifogging meanness of spirit, but little to be done; for us, salvation; the waiter allowed us upstairs and so we had a super over-view of the whole proceedings. The Taptoe consisted entirely of marching bands, chiefly, though not exclusively, brass bands, from Belgium and Holland. I had assumed they were village or town bands but the level of professionalism was so high that we decided that they were entirely non-amateur. The standard of musicianship was superb but the particular joy in watching was to see the intricate choreography of the marching movements. Plus, of course, the splendid uniforms. I don't think they were military bands but they were certainly militaristic in their precision and commands. 

The music covered a variety of areas adapted for the instruments [lots and lots of drums as well as a vast range of brass] and marching rhythms. It was a delight to watch and hear; one group was quite different from the rest. Most dress was military style but based on ornate frock coats, traditional military jackets or folk costume adaptations but one Belgian group had cleverly adapted soldiers' khaki to echo their theme of Flanders' Fields and World War One. They rolled out a huge plastic cloth emblazoned with a single red poppy and their marching routines on the poppy ground, were staccato, echoing the theme of warfare, underlined by insistent drumming to suggest gunfire, with drumsticks used to evoke rifles. Magnificent and moving.

Below is an image of the temporary seating inside the Burg which the organisers seemed so keen to protect. In the event, more seats than this were taken but at least one third of the seats remained unoccupied. SO sad. Perhaps the 35 euro seat price was too high for some; the entire event would have been enhanced by the removal of the black curtain, mostly off camera along the front edge where lots of spectators, many unaware that Taptoe was happening until they had stumbled on the event or were lured by the music, were perforce kept offstage and unable to view what is a public space. Meanwhile the restaurant had a relatively disastrous evening; diners really didn't want to be blacked out! The organisation of the whole evening was superb [blackout notwithstanding] with one band marching out of one exit as the next was alert and ready at another entrance. For me, an evening with a difference and as thrilling in its way as the Gent Opera earlier in the week.