Update plus a little excursion

 Yesterday's view of the terrace

Two weeks later and the situation is a little changed. Wednesday's weekly hospital Xray revealed that the jaw had moved and thus no healing had taken place. Urgent referral to Senior Opinion which was and is, a week's grace will be allowed, then if no change, the consultant will insert three screws in the jaw and tie the teeth together with wire thus keeping the mouth shut. Oh dear, I can already hear the jokes from the wider family about that! As I can get away with a local anaesthetic, not the dreaded full anaesthetic demanded by the bigger operation [exact details, unknown, but consultant and I are united in opposition to that, with the unspoken opinion of Too Old!] I am prepared for the operation some time after next Wednesday. The consultant was stern; you need isolation really so that is what I am now more vigorously embracing. I already didn't answer the phone and have stopped all my activities and refused all visits; now I don't even answer the door buzzer. No swimming either, the man said, just as I was about to resume my daily dip. So I savour what I have and can do; top of that list is my lovely flat and super terrace AND the sunny weather so far to enjoy both. The flat is filled with perpetual sunshine and the terrace is warm and inviting and a little Autumnal. Things could be worse.

 Ken Loach. I Daniel Blake won the Palme d'Or at the Cannes
Film Festival this year and was the only British film selected
to be shown at the New York Film Festival in October 2016

However I am thinking of a Silent Trip, with relevant slip of paper, to the Lumiere to see the newly-released latest Ken Loach film, 'I Daniel Blake'. Ken Loach, celebrated for Cathy Come Home and Kes among many, many other films chronicling the struggles of the poverty and despair of working class life, is my favourite left wing director. I read an interesting interview with him in last week's New Statesman and was delighted to read him dismiss the preponderance of upper-class stories in film and TV, as entertainment while regretting the pigeon-holing of working class narratives as mere social dramas. He finds the British film industry's obsession with the rich and the aristocracy as 'tedious beyond words. And indulgent. It diminishes our self-respect.' The fact that I could only ever stand the first half hour of Downton Abbey because of its predictable plot and stock characters, seemed suddenly right on, instead of my slightly apologetic reaction to the usual disbelief from besotted fans.

I Daniel Blake was splendid and splendidly depressing. My emotions felt deeply stirred as I walked despondently home. It is the story of an ordinary older working class man, a carpenter, honest, likeable, conscientious who loses his job after a severe heart attack. His doctor says he must not return to work yet, and the film chronicles his increasingly bewildered attempts to access the benefits system. Language, computers, systems processes are all used to mystify and obstruct would-be claimants so that, after countless visits, Daniel Blake is no nearer obtaining the temporary financial support he needs. He helps a young woman victim of the system and her two children, sells most of his furniture while desperately lying to people who want to help him like former work mates and his young neighbour. I had no idea of the punitive nature the benefits system; it is consciously cruel as Loach says. Interestingly, also yesterday, there is pious talk in Parliament of simplifying the system to help claimants; let us live in hope. As it presently stands, not only does it punish and obstruct would-be claimants, it puts exquisitely-targeted pressures on staff to conform.





 En route to Damme from Brugge

My teacher daughter, friend and grand-daughter were here for four or five days last week and the 'No speaking' rule was hard to follow. I have discovered how difficult it is to deny oneself this most human of activities. It is almost as essential and normal and spontaneous as breathing. I didn't go out with them at all except for their last day when daughter insisted they take me out somewhere briefly. Never has a short trip to Damme been so enjoyable! I do love that drive along the canal between the dappled trees in the canal-side avenue that seems to continue for miles. We only had time for a coffee, which was a treat indeed, but after we had parked, the girls saw a very inviting shop nearby, with gallery, and they dived in. I hesitated partly because of being tongue-tied and partly through post-Brexit poverty which has induced a wholly atypical reluctance to be tempted to buy anything very much. But the windows looked tempting indeed and eventually I went in to find a marvellous emporium full of signally different and amazing clothes and bags. Suffice it to say, we enjoyed ourselves hugely and I shall certainly go back when I am fully restored to proper speech and buy something to celebrate the return of that wonderful gift. Realistically, that may well be early January

in which case, the sales may well be on. Synchronicity indeed.

 A plain exterior hiding an Aladdin's Cave





 

The Urban Trail and Other Pursuits


A whole week ago, off I jauntily set for one of my favourite weekly activities, coffee with the 'girls' in Hotel Martin's in Oude Burg. I had only really stepped outside before I tripped, really heavily, over a protruding cobblestone, in fact, over a little cluster of raised stones, in the square. I am not sure why, [the ageing slow reactions I suppose] but I managed for the full impact of a swift descent, to land on my chin. I won't go into details of the wonderful kindness of strangers [and I always thought that that was a cliche] nor the six hour longeur of the day in hospital. It is enough to say that my jaw is broken in two places; the stitches in the chin and the now week-old technicolour bruising to my neck, are as nought. The wretched kaak, as the Dutch call it, now demands an entirely liquid diet and no talking, no chewing, no laughing or yawning. In fact, a closed mouth as much as is humanly possible. So I rebuff offers to visit, which I would love; I ignore the phone and GSM; I have temporarily stopped swimming but make myself go out for a walk each day. The almost-worst thing is my loss of confidence outside the flat; I thought I was super-careful; Brugge's cobblestones and pavements are notoriously uneven and the object of much muttering among the inhabitants. My neighbour, the pharmacist, did a similar plunge a year ago and finished up with a broken leg in a wheelchair; I did a tumble in January and landed on my thickly-gloved hands with only minimal damage plus loss of dignity! But this time the after-effects are of positively post-battle proportions and I suppose could have been worse. But not that much. 

 Other lovely grandchildren sent consolatory emails
but 5 year old Genevieve was moved to Serious Art.

However, a new life skill has now been developed. Daughter in California sent me an immediate delivery of a Nutribullet; son came over with bags of nuts and honey and chai seeds to teach me how to do stuff. Et voila! I'm into this super-healthy smoothie-making like a young Metropolitan! It is all very chic and easy and instant though I secretly long for the gorgeous bread from Sint Paulus on Vlamingstraat and a hot chicken from Wednesday's markt. Only five more weeks to go; first check-up in the hospital yesterday revealed that the position of the jaw had not changed. Hallelujah! The important aim is to keep it static and thus avoid a nasty operation. I am hoping to be able to eat a Christmas dinner; SO important as its reassuring re-appearance brings one annual sign that Life Goes On Anyway.



 Happy 'Trailers' queue for breakfast in the Grote Markt.

During my son's stay, immediately following my lapse, [and when, paradoxically, I felt more interested in, and energetic for, doing things] we wandered off to watch some of the fourth Urban Trail taking place throughout the centre. Below my windows streamed what seemed to be a non-stop cavalcade of runners aiming for the ambulance entrance of the Zwarte Zusters, the hospital next-door to me. There were yellow-suited marshals and Genthof was temporarily sealed off with plastic tape. Much excited I quickly read bits of an item in Exit and discovered that 5,000 runners were taking part in Brugge alone and that it was part of a national effort.

 Sightseeing as well as jogging; 5000 people take a serious
look at the architecture of Brugge.

It offers joggers a unique 10 kilometre trail through inner Brugge in which they not only run through the streets and back alleys but also jog into and through buildings including some of the most beautiful and monumental. For the hundreds of spectators, the spectacle was inspiring with all age ranges, including families, jogging along with names and numbers on chests and mostly smiles on faces. Brugge Grote Markt was seriously busy with crowded tables at cafes to see the weary arrivals queue for breakfast parcels and afterwards chat proudly to other participants. A run of ten kilometres starting at 9.30 and on a Sunday, is no mean feat. Nor is the frequent threading in and out of old buildings entirely restful, even though interesting!

 Hans Memling looks down on the fateful
cobblestones while I frequently gaze down on
him and his lovely 19th century legs.
[Hendrik Pickery. 1871]

Life as a tributary



My life is a tributary, serene and chiefly separate  from the whirling of the greater river nearby, swirling along with the never-ending traffic and events driven by myriad influences and urgencies. Occasionally, as now, comes a Brexit tumult which threatens to swamp me, but I cling on grimly and wait for the optimistic calming of the choppy seas. Backwater financial calm hasn't yet arrived but I am learning to manage it and in the meantime, to keep enjoying my privileged life here in Brugge. This edition of my blog is late because it has been waiting for a week or more for images to be added but I am about to remedy that.


 Caldarium Musica

To finish the last week, I went to another concert, a free one this time [which suits my post-Brexit frugality] in the Munt, in de Orgelzaal of the Conservatorium. Een Podium voor de Passie  [A Stage for Passion] is the general title of these concerts on the first Saturday of September, October, November, January, February and March. Organised by Alexander Makay and Patrick Pieters they offer a wide variety of music. Last Saturday, we heard Caldarium Musica with viol, piano, flute, piccolo and clarinet, playing a marvellous selection from Arvo Part, [Spiegel im Spiegel], Claude Debussy's Sonata for viol and flute; Mozart's trio for piano, clarinet, and viol; Beethoven's Sonata for Piano No. 14 and Sjostakovitsj's Waltz for piccolo, clarinet and piano, plus the Adagio from his Sonata for viol and piano. A richly satisfying evening with the proceeds from the retiring collection going to Plan Belgie, a marvellous charity which does important work with children in Africa. I happen to be a contributor to Plan UK and send letters to Sandra, a fourteen year old in Zimbabwe. Plan does much excellent work in Africa and in Asia 

 The back entrance, across a little terrace, of
the Oud Huis Amsterdam across the square from me.

 

My usual week has sped past yet again; too much time trying to introduce myself to Dutch in pursuit of which, I have been to two Praatgroups where I stumble through the proceedings. Plus Anna Maria and her grammar and Bart Moyaert readings on Monday mornings. I do have several high spots in the week; my coffee with friends in a group of English-speaking women, in Hotel Martin's, where this Wednesday I saw my totally favourite Belgian waiter Martin, who speaks English with an Irish accent, learned working in an Irish Pub here. He says that everyone comments on his accent but the Irish claim not to recognise it! Another high spot is my Thursday evening group which meets to drink coffee, tea and beer and chat in English. Belgians all, indeed Bruggelingen all, their English is super and their company, delightful. They don't need my input really but I am grateful to meet up regularly with a lovely group of friends.



 Not an image of modern Bejing nor a realistic interpretation
of our weekly female sessions but it does suggest
the historical background of Mah Jong. And our
enjoyment is suggested and mirrored here.

  Fast becoming a bit of an obsession is Mah Jong on a Thursday morning where four or five of us meet up with Nancy, a Chinese girl, who adores Mah Jong and manages to teach us without any apparent condescension for our stuttering efforts. She is, in fact, charming but strict, which paradoxically, adds to the fun, but it will be aeons before we reach the speed of the frequent little groups of scruffy men playing Mah Jong with a rapid intensity, in the gutters of streets in Beijing. I admired them when I watched them; now I know how difficult it all is, the retrospective admiration is boundless!

 Geert Bourgeois

This Thursday, I sped off at lunch time to a talk in ENGLISH at the College of Europe not far from here. Geert Bourgeois, Minister-President of the Flanders Government and Flemish Foreign Minister spoke to the title: 'I Want My E.U. Back'. He referred to the existential crisis in the EU and said that structural reform was necessary. The Union however could not proceed at the pace of the slowest and he underlined the way the EU complements national identities which are so important though nationalism could be destructive. He mentioned the wish of the EU to be sympathetic to possible requests to join, from small countries which might break away from a larger mass, like Scotland and Catalonia. Though in a question from the floor about Macedonia possibly joining, M. Bourgeois said that overall, the EU wished to allow no more new entrants at present but would rather concentrate on deepening the relationships, implying attempts would be made to reorganise some structures and procedures. Clearly the UK Brexit had been unexpected and disagree able and he hoped that a soft Brexit would be possible. The deadlock in the refugee crisis must be resolved according to the principles of the Founding Fathers of Humanism, Human Rights and Solidarity, though he suggested no concrete remedies for resolving the impasse with Hungary and others apart from acknowledging the need for a humane return policy. M. Bourgeois summed up his view of the EU by emphasising that it is a global actor with a leading role in the search for conflict prevention. It inspires; it respects diversity; it unites and protects. He mentioned that a European Defence Force is a goal and I smiled inwardly as I remembered the horror with which that idea has been greeted in the UK. As political speeches go, I found this one impressive, delivered faultlessly in what is probably Meneer Bourgeois's third language! It was so pleasant to listen to an hour of a positive attitude to Europe compared to the relentless rubbishing in Britain. I asked a question and introduced myself as a post-Brexit refugee and afterwards a lovely girl student came up to me and said she was another such. We had a good chat and, at her suggestion, a coffee a few days later. She was so Keen on Europe it made my heart sing!! 
 

 DO hope that this is not Politically Incorrect!

As I have walked around the centre this weekend, I have noticed with pleasure that there are still many tourists visiting. Instead of last year's irritation at the slowness of gait, the barriers to ordinary walking as groups stop and gaze, or stop and point, this Autumn I am grateful that tourist numbers have increased again in August and September, following the disastrous emptiness after the Brussels airport explosions. However I think I detect very few Japanese and American tourists still; those twin pillars of tourism in Europe. From their distant perspective, one imagines Brussels seems too close to Brugge for insouciance.

Gardens of delight

 Verdriet van Moeders

My sister has been here for a week and, apart from talking, we do seem to have done quite a lot despite some low energy levels and variable walking stamina! We loved the concert Friday week, Verdriet van Moeders; Requiem for Mothers, which focussed on the grief of the 'earth mother', Kathe Kollwitz, mentioned before in this blog. It used her words as the epitome of maternal distress in WW1, and extracts from her writings were read during the concert by actress, Chris Lomme. The music of Vaughan Williams, Sibelius and Ravel, played by the Flanders Symphony Orchestra, wove director Petra Vermotes' creation around Kathe Kollwitz's words and was enhanced by stylish, on-screen images by Klaas Verpoest. The evening was part of the cultural commemoration of WW1 in West Flanders, Gone West, and was profoundly moving, the more so when one thinks of the contemporary indiscriminate slaughter in, for example, Aleppo. And then of how little humanity seems to have learned.

Among other visits in Bruges, was a trip, courtesy of friend Luc, to a marvellous garden in Sint Kruis belonging to a member of his wife's family. It is enormous and the history involved gives a shining example of the family continuity still possible her among ordinary families. The present garden had been the family farm belonging to Paul's

 One small end of Paul's garden

grandparents and his mother had been born there; the little school she attended was still visible just beyond the perimeter of the land. Paul had inherited part of the little estate and, I think, bought out his siblings to gain full ownership so that his passion for gardening could have full rein. Over the years, there has been a gradual and almost organic development; the animals he once kept there,   sheep and rabbits, have gone and there is simply an extraordinary garden now, with quite a large house and other buildings, one a reclaimed cow shed. Outside the latter is a huge stone table on sturdy concrete supports; it is made from four majestic stone tablets each of which used to mark the boundary of the space in which each milking cow stood. It is the most extraordinary garden I have seen, especially one which somehow captures some of the history of the place while being aesthetically beautiful. The house remains renovated and extended but empty waiting for Paul's retirement next year. In the meantime, he and his wife focus on their labour of love, to maintain and gradually modify this historical and magical place. 

View from the garden of one room adorned with
heraldic columns painted by Paul's daughter.

Paul is an admirer of English gardens including Sissinghurst and Great Dixter, with Christopher Lloyd's marvellous sense of colour judged masterful. Paul loves Sissinghurst but judges it as a 'beginning garden' because the concept of 'rooms' with one colour [the White Garden] seems to him too simplistic. I love Vita Sackville-West's sophisticated notion of a garden divided into rooms through which one may wander, with seasonal variations in colour and form to delight the senses. However, I was unable to justify it to Paul's satisfaction! He does have firm ideas for his own kingdom, absolutely necessary to achieve the on-going transformation so far, particularly as he employs no help beyond that of his equally energetic wife!


 Luc Vanlaere

A
much enjoyed visit we later made was to the Oud Sint Jan site to see and to hear Luc Vanlaere give one of his popular, free concerts. He is a superb harpist but has added to his collection of harps, other musical instruments like Chinese singing bowls, and many-stringed instruments based on Indian and Japanese music which he has built himself. Luc writes his own material too, including a few haunting songs, and sells his CDs after the free concert. It is difficult to describe the music which appeals on several levels; it is atmospheric, soothing, musical in the best sense, and spiritually nourishing in the same way. I am always surprised when I go, to see how very many tourists are in the audience, that is until I have just been online and discovered that Trip Advisor ranks him as the No 1 attraction in Bruges! Other splendid works of art like the Memlings near to his little concert room, might take exception at that billing, but Luc is undoubtedly and deservedly, both talented and popular.


The White Garden, Sissinghurst



 

The Orchard Garden, Great Dixter

 



 

Autoloze Zondag

1572 Map of Brugge by Braun & Hogenberg clearly shows

the Egg shape still intact today. Autoloze Zondag took place

chiefly within this Egg.

Car-free Sunday. I think that this started only last year when 42 cities and towns participated and I decided this year to wander round Bruges, sampling the various delights on offer. It is a marvellous idea; no cars within the Egg that is old Brugge, between 10.00 and 18.00 and instead, pedestrians, cyclists and 'events' occupy the streets and squares. A host of activities had been provided and the sun obligingly shone on happy crowds in search of the free, outdoor entertainment.

There was far too much for any one person to visit all and in any case, not all was static. True, in the Vismarkt, there was a queue for mussels and another for oysters plus the usual wait for a beer, while the large central area of the Fish Market was filled with tables and chairs for sitting, eating and drinking while a small group of musicians played. In the Burg nearby, there were lots of stalls publicising conservation, electric cycles, and ordinary bikes, plus the work of various public bodies while in the Markt, a short walk away, were many tables and chairs, all occupied, in answer to the open invitation of the Burgemeester to tourists, to picnic there. Despite the grumbling about this from restaurant and cafe owners, all the bars and bistros were full, with diners [and passing pedestrians] listening to the live music from a small stage in the middle of the Markt while the attraction of a young woman singer dressed in an impossibly long skirt, drew crowds of toddlers to sit on the huge circle of her train.

All these attractions were relatively fixed, but in addition, there were penny farthings rolling majestically up Vlamingstraat, a six piece Scottish bagpipe group, no doubt all Belgians, [there being a local Scottish Society here of men who dress authentically and enthusiastically in the kilt and sporran etc]. There was another uniformed marching band, and music could be heard from Sint Jakobstraat where a Cultuurmarkt was in progress in several different locations in the one street. I happened upon Egyptian belly dancers in authentic costume in Jan Van Eyckplein nearby while there was dancing for older people in front of the Stadtheater in Vlamingstraat; Argentine tango in Simon Stevinplein; Salsa in Guido Gezelleplein; fencing in Kruispoort; lace-making in Jerusalemkerk; street parties in several different neighbourhoods; cycle rides from 't Zand; a nature ramble in Baliestraat. In twelve different parks and open spaces, there were children's activities like swings, go-karting, picnicking, interactive workshops while around the Cafe Vlissinghe [500 years old and still open!] were opportunities to play old-fashioned games like wooden skittles etc. In a crowded Hoogstraat and Langestraat, was a long, long line of stalls in a Rommelmarkt [a flea market, always popular!] with music blaring and

much good-tempered haggling in process. I watched a young South Korean man tentatively pricing several 1940's items for sale with his eye clearly on the 1950/60s telephone but without quite enough courage to barter!

The illustrated publicity booklet [delivered to each letter box in the centre of the city] described four different guided cycle rides, from 25 to 75 kilometres and six guided walks from 6 to 25 kms so reasonably healthy people plus keen sporty types were all catered for. It was a remarkable example of enlightened thinking behind the project and extraordinary imagination and planning in the realisation of the day's activities. I was impressed, though exhausted, despite the modest scope of my sampling. I subsequently discovered that on September 22^nd, World Car-Free Day was happening so I suppose Autoloze Zondag here was an early part of that.
 

 Egyptian belly dancers in Jan Van Eyckplein

The Delights of Open Monumentdag

As last week's blog was colonised by Charles 11 and the Grenadier Guards, I forbore then to mention the chief delight of that weekend which was the Open Monumentdag which gives the ordinary residents the chance of seeing behind the scenes in various properties and places normally not open to the public.

View of the servants' chapel from Onze Lieve Vrouw

I chose a follow-up visit to the renovations in the Onze Lieve Vrouw, the leading church of the city as I had visited them last year. This second phase was perhaps less dramatic but, as our guide pointed out several times, it was exclusive! Particularly impressive for me was a huge false wall behind which the current renovations were taking place. Even down to the lovely bank of seating, it was all cosmetic and designed to offer safety and comfort, in style, to the stream of tourists thronging to see the fabled Michelangelo Madonna and Child. The other impressive feature at OLV which delighted, was the tiny secret chapel, originally for the servants of the family from the Gruuthuse. There was a door and a flight of steps leading down to this chapel from above where the family itself prayed. The servants' chapel, with one door situated at least a metre above ground level, had been hidden for centuries behind a wall. A little treasure.



 Lodewijk van Gruuthuse 1422-92

 View from the kapel into OLV
 

The following day, I went to see the final phase of renovations in the neighbouring Gruuthuse which is scheduled to reopen next year after five years' closure. Again, the effects were beautiful but less dramatic than last year and I was disappointed not to see the gorgeous, partially restored tiled pavement, depicted in online publicity. I shall see it next year no doubt! The most exciting for me, this year, was the bidkapel, unrestored and unloved. This is the focus for a new crowd-funding project just beginning and was the private chapel of the Gruuthuse family whose servants descended the rough stone stairs to the little hidden chapel in OLV. The large end window in the bidkapel, looks down and over, into Onze Lieve Vrouw adjoining; thus the family need not venture into the cold or among the common herd each Sunday in order to pray.

Plus est en vous

The Lords of the Gruuthuse were Van Brugghe van de Aa, with Lodewijk, diplomat, courtier and art lover, the most famous member. The family name, Gruut, came from gruut, [barley; wheat] an essential element in beer-making before the introduction of hops in the fourteenth century. The fortunate Gruuthuse family held the monopoly for beer-making  in Flanders and the Gruuthuse Hof is testament to their wealth. The motto of Lodewijk, Plus est en Vous [there is more in you] is emblazoned prominently within the house. Among the many honours and titles conferred on Lodewijk during his distinguished career, were Knight of the Order of the Golden Fleece and also the hereditary title of Earl of Winchelsea, an exceptional honour for a non-English person.

The outstanding visit however, was for me to the Huis Coudebrouc in Cordoeaniersstraat. One of the oldest houses remaining in Brugge, from the 13^th century, it lies in the heart of the mediaeval city, in front of the canal then connecting Jan Van Eyckplein and its harbour to the now departed Waterhalle in the Markt. Ships en route to the heart of Brugge would unload goods at the Huis Coudebrouc to be relayed through the enormous fan vaulted cellars to exit into Cordoeaniersstraat and eventual sale. The street itself is named after the leather workers from Cordoba who lived and worked there for centuries.

 Coudebrouc 16th century plaque

The name of the house is perhaps a derivation from Ic hou de Brouck and comes from a folk tale about the house when the daughters of the owner supposedly stole the trousers of a strange guest who was subsequently revealed to be the Devil. There is a 16^th century stone plaque on the facade of the house depicting the naughty sisters holding the trousers. However, that little fable may be a post hoc suggestion/ rationalisation/fantasy about the house already named Coudebrouc many years before.



 View of part of the huge mediaeval cellars

I loved the cathedral-like cellars, and the small niche on one wall the purpose of which was to mark the ownership of that wall and by implication, of the house. On the first floor there is a huge arch which announces a certain grandeur about the original building, obviously important in mediaeval times, and which will make a splendid feature in the subsequent transformation. The walls and cellars are thirteenth century but within the building, the renovations will tell the latest part of the long history of the Huis Coudebrouc.

 

 13th century arch in restoration in Huis Coudebrouc

Post Script

 

The advertised plans for Huis Coudebrouc include student rooms on the top floor and, as I  have noticed several times similar plans on other renovations on old houses in Brugge, I am wondering if the term, 'student rooms' is a necessary buzz word to help gain planning permission for the renovation to proceed. A cynical thought perhaps?

 



The Flemings are the most honest and true-hearted race of people ...

Things To Irritate, Part 1. The Grenadier Guards were here and the Life Guards, parading on two consecutive days, through the streets of Brugge, and I didn't know. Indeed, none of the English whom I know, was aware of this visit which is a pain as I would have loved to have seen them. One of my brothers was in the Grenadier Guards during WW2 and for a period, he was guarding Windsor Castle where he formed the opinion that Princess Margaret, a young girl at the time, was a bit of a madam! Ooh, this privileged information!

 

Queen Mathilde of Belgium and Queen Elizabeth of Britain. Charles, son of Charles 1, fled to Europe in 1646 and resided in France, Cologne and Holland before settling in Brugge from April 22^nd 1656 until 15^th March 1659 when he left for Brussels. The eventual Charles 11 and his court briefly resided at the Hof Van Watervliet in the Oude Burg, finally taking up residence at the Zeven Torens, which is now the Grand Hotel Casselbergh in Hoogstraat. During his stay here, Charles founded both the Grenadier Guards in 1656 and the Life Guards in 1659, as bodyguards.

The Grenadiers only assumed that name in 1815 after their glorious defeat of the Grenadiers of the French Imperial Guard at the Battle of Waterloo. Then the title The First or Grenadier Regiment of Foot Guards was granted together with the privilege  of wearing the Bearskin Cap.

While living in Bruges, the royal company was persuaded to enrol in selected areas of local society life, then centred around the Archers' Guilds, and Charles with his brothers James, Duke of York and Henry, Duke of Gloucester, with him in exile, became members of the Guilds of St Barbara, of Saint Georges and St Sebastiaan.  Over September 2^nd and 3^rd this year, a splendid sculptured stone plaque was unveiled by Princess Astrid of Belgium, on the facade of the Grand Hotel Casselbergh, Charles's pied a terre during his much-loved Bruges years. This commemorates the historic existence of the Guilds, the seventeenth century British royal connection with Bruges and includes the foundation of these two historic British regiments.


The commemorative plaque, newly unveiled, from which I learned
that Charles had written in 1662," The Flemings are the most honest and
true-hearted race of people I have ever met with."
I was also amused to read the building described as the Royal Palace of England
Scotland and Ireland when King Charles 11 held Court here from 1656 until 1659.