Autoloze Zondag

 Game small child tackling skills training course
on the Burg.

Too much rain in the past week yet Autoloze Zondag dawned cool but sunny. As I walked to the Crowne Plaza hotel this morning at around 6.45, stalls were being erected on the Burg ready for activities from 10.00 and, no doubt, other sites were in similar early preparation. The idea of lots of fun and games, and interesting things to see and do during a day when cars are forbidden in the streets of the Egg, is somehow really joyful and different. It marks the whole day as very particular, as the Italians would say; distinctive, significant, exceptional. And in the case of Brugge, great fun!

 Marec, acknowledging the honour in slightly
insouciant style!

And so it has proved. Hundreds if not thousands, thronging the streets of Brugge and a holiday atmosphere everywhere. I went first to the Feestelijke Opening in the entrance courtyard to the Biekorf Theatrezaal, the Library Theatre. It was crowded partly because citizens are interested in what is happening in their town and also because, after the ceremony there was free beer, soft drinks and coffee! I do like the notion of designating a space, like this courtyard, with a different honorary name associated with culture, each year. Until today, it had been Jacqueline Compernolleplein then, from around 11.00 this morning, it has been christened Marec-plein in honour of a Bruggean cartoonist whose shop is nearby in Sint Jakobstraat. There were speeches, to set the context, to thank Jacqueline and present her with a gift and to confer the honour on Marec whose good humour amused everyone throughout! There were families there with babies and toddlers and lots of older townspeople, all interested, greeting each other with much kissing and hand shaking. It was yet another example of the community spirit engendered here through a variety of activities and events during the year.

I was determined to scour the Rommelmarket which seemed to run the length of Langestraat, to try to find a friend, absent from our Wednesday coffee mornings for ages, whose husband has been summarily dispatched to work in Sydney! She and a friend normally have a stall on any Rommelmarkt going in Brugge. I found her and her well-stocked tables and we caught up. He is already there, their house is sold and they finally leave Brugge in early January; she, meantime, is trying to be positive about an unwanted three year move from Europe to the Antipodes and is planning to initiate or join antique/bric-a-brac/Rommelmarkt activities somewhere in Sydney after they find a house to buy.

Future Ringo Starrs?

En route to and from her stall I soaked up the happy atmosphere and watched children trying to play drums in Sint Jakobstraat, master a bicycle course for toddlers in the Burg, having a jolly go on art through ‘cycling’ on a stall where the adult in charge tipped paints into a sort of wheel and the cycle attached, when powered by a small person, mixed, and produced, glorious effects. The whole of Sint Jakobsstraat was given over to stalls on ‘culture’ covering chiefly art and music. The Markt was full of tourists and townspeople  , walking through, sitting at cafe tables in the sun, watching a performance on the usual makeshift stage which one so often sees here, appearing, mushroom-like overnight for a performance the next day. I didn’t understand what the chat show on the stage was really about but it involved dedicated cyclists and a noisy question master in a back-facing baseball cap!! The atmosphere was upbeat. I have to add that this year's was a particularly impressive programme. I failed to make it to the Concertgebouw which was open for tours, musical performances and family workshops. I missed the 5km run through the historic centre; the wheelchair obstacle course, the mussels festival and concert on the Vismarkt and tango in Simon Stevinplein. In fact I walked past the Vismarkt at around 19.00 and the mussels were just finishing but a robust women-only act on the stage was in full swing to the crowded arena.

 Ecstatic cycling artist can be seen, in pink bow.

 A higher tone set in the entrance to
the Conservatoire.

 En route at 19.00 to Minderbroedersstraat next to Astridpark,
 I chanced upon this very relaxed plastic cow outside
a super cheese shop!

Open Monumentdag

 Failed fantasy.

First, a little coda to the last blog. My optimistic impression of what was happening in St Jansplein, vis-a-vis the possible replacement of tarmac with cobblestones was way out. See the photograph to the left. SO disappointing to have my romantic fantasy rejected!

But romantic fantasies re-surfaced with the annual Monumentdag which actually refers to the weekend. Saturday I visited 16 and17 Spinolarei, nearby, where huge renovations have been taking place for at least a year or more. It does seem more fun to visit renovations sites rather than perfectly formed, restored, lavishly accoutred ‘Big Houses’ though these have their place. A serious drawback for me is that I cannot understand the official guide book which is an impressive publication, full of information on the history of each property. This wonderful guide makes me want, more than anything else, to understand written Dutch.

Another drawback is, of course, my lack of understanding of spoken Dutch. Nonetheless, in No 16 Spinolarei, I picked up a few points and the kind guide added occasional English remarks to help. I just loved No 16, a building from 1280 when it had a wooden front construction with brick at the back. It fronts the canal and the whole house [as well as No 17] will be rather posh apartments in 2018. One, on the first floor will be magnificent for there are mediaeval flourishes evident and above that first
floor, the beams and mediaeval construction still remains, patched by liberal amounts of modern wood replacement. There are Flemish
equivalents to the beautiful Crown Posts on the top floor

 The tiny faces at the base of each arch, are modern replacements
 the originals having been stolen long ago, as were
the fireplaces.

of my former house in Kent and my interest in early mediaeval construction stirred..

Number 17 enthralled much less; although only slightly younger than No. 16, the evidence felt
eighteenth century and indeed, both houses had been 'joined' into one big house in the eighteenth century apparently. The crowning glory was the communal cellars, with arches, mediaeval bricks and walls and space enough for a huge amount of merchandise in earlier times. Around 750 years after the original construction, it seems stunning that modern apartments can be carved and polished from these grand decaying monuments.

Sunday, to find the atelier of Pol Standaerts on Witteleertouwerstraat. An impressive 17^th century building, relatively undistinguished from the outside but interesting within. I found it difficult, without Dutch, to pick up much information about the building and beautiful garden area itself, but of the resident firm of Pol Standaerts, there was much to see and learn. Founded in the mid seventeenth century in its present premises, Pol Standaerts produces a bewildering and highly decorative variety of plaster casts, statuettes, stylised embellishments for high ceilings, like the work it has done over the centuries for the Grand Hotel Casselburgh.  Alfred Gilbert, designer of Eros in Piccadilly Circus, took his design for the winged messenger, to Brugge, to Standaerts, to have it realised. I was particularly interested just to discover a plasterwork atelier in Brugge like that of the Atelier Lorenzi in Paris from where I recently bought my much-loved L’Inconnue de la Seine, now smiling serenely down from my study wall.

 Atelier Pol Standaerts

My second Sunday visit was to Kraanplein 4, a building I often pass and had noticed under extensive renovation for perhaps the last year. This Huis de Cluuse was built around 1270-90, a fact only fairly recently established after dendrochronology had been done on the wealth of beams. Hitherto, a fifteenth century date for building had been assumed. In fact, in comparison to some of the buildings on offer during this Open Monumentdag, it is relatively small and modest but its wealth of old brick and ancient wood make it special. There is a spiral wooden staircase which I had assumed must be contemporary but which is in fact, nineteenth century. I loved it that the guide was able to show us three paintings, one by Memling, [1430-1495] one by Pourbus [1523-1584] and one other, which shows Kraanplein 4 in the miniature view of the background. The present owner intends to live there and start a small coffee house/bistro there within an unbelievable three weeks! Further contemporary investigation is obviously warranted! 

Sunday afternoon to Hoogstraat 28, the only upmarket property which I chose, the other four being all houses in the process of renovation. I had often seen a gorgeous little pagoda above the Groenerei and wished I could go inside it and that was the reason for choosing this particular house on Hoogstraat. It is beautiful, neo-classical with a perfect symmetry in design, large mirrors, ancestral portraits, ornate and gilded plasterwork, a beautifully-balanced staircase, large pillars with gilded collars and views over the classical garden to die for. It was built between 1821 and 1826 in the Empire style, though, mysteriously to me, the windows and doors date from 1910. The garden itself was a joy with miniature hedges of box clipped with military precision, more curves and again, more symmetry with the focus on the afore-mentioned gem of a canal-side pagoda. Heaven. I did not enjoy the visit however beyond the considerable aesthetic pleasure as the guide was interminable, none of the resident family was present, only three ground-floor salons and the garden were open. Of course, if one spoke Dutch, it would have been more bearable but there was a distinct feeling of ‘de haut en bas’ and the complete lack of private possessions and ornaments suggested a slight nervousness about what the sans-culottes might get up to! But the pagoda was perfect

 Love the discreet, tasselled rope.
BUT a perfect staircase

 

Time to stand and stare.

Along the far bank of the Groenerei. Artist unknown
but a beautiful work of art together with the backdrop of
hortensias.

A little time to stand and stare after a busy period. So for a Goodbye drink with Edmond and Patrick; leisurely lunch with Michelle Sunday; a coffee date and another lunch-with-friends coming up later this week. Perfect. Starting Dutch next month as is my vague intention, will be a shock to the system, especially as I have not spoken one word of it since March! Brugge is not the ideal town in which to  feel highly motivated to speak Dutch when the Bruggelingen tumble effortlessly from one European language to another, without a pause. Even the lowliest road-sweeper can speak some English!

In my more leisurely wanderings, I saw for the first time after an early swim, two men with a wheelbarrow, an amount of wet cement and two shovels, in Jan Van Eyckplein, adjacent to the

famous statue of the artist, carefully lifting, cementing and replacing upstanding cobblestones of the variety which caused havoc to my jaw last October. I felt a warm gratitude. An employee in some official capacity told me earlier this year that one person is employed just to walk around Brugge spotting troublesome high cobblestones. Plus, apparently, at least two more to re-sit the offending upstarts. Brugge, I salute your wish to escape litigation from troublesome tourists as well as enhance its mediaeval beauty!

Taking advantage of my lack of time pressures, I paused to notice an interesting little phenomenon in St Jansplein at the corner between Chocostory and the Belgian Pigeon House. The tarmac and under-rubble have been stripped back to the earlier cobblestones, covered when Brugge was
perhaps less concerned about historical preservation. New cobblestones are being laid; perhaps the original or earlier stones are unfit for use now, or cannot be re-used decently or are too large? The newly-laid stones will look great when the job is finished; tourists will be impressed with the continuing authenticity of the streets and the sleight of hand, as it were, will be mainly undiscovered! More stage presentation than necessity perhaps and none the worse for that. I remain incredibly impressed with the huge effort and expense to which the city goes, to preserve and enhance its mediaeval beauty. I further noticed today [Tuesday 29] that large-scale work is going on further down the same St Jansstraat and the road is closed to all traffic with buses re-routed etc. Nothing done by halves here!

 Reflections above and to the left. The original
window image of the mediaeval house
is much better in the actuality than
in the adjacent photograph.

Other little charmers noted on my more sedate wanderings these precious few ‘winding down’ days are the reflection on my terrace window of the tower on the Zwarte Zusters [and the semi-permanent crane] opposite; an exquisite little image in coloured glass [one of several] in a window in a notable house on the Potterierei, and a lovely lithe and liquid statue recumbent before a little bank of hydrangeas [hortensia] on the far bank of the Groenerei.[see above] All aesthetic life-enhancers previously and frequently unnoticed or not noticed with any serious sense of gratitude! I shall display this panoply of images for the delectation of the reader!



Procession of the Gouden Boom

Wandering with my Festival guest a few days before he left, last week, we went into the Basilica of the Heilige Bloed. I had been only once before and loved the ornate Gothic decoration and the venerable building, erected between 1134 and 1145 but my distaste for relics and my initial disbelief that today there are still people who venerate them, probably blunted my normal enthusiasm. That said, this time, I stayed longer, appreciated more and actually explored the crypt-like area below ground. It was beautiful, simplicity writ large, and together with the more ornate Gothic decoration in the main basilica, makes a whole, small site of perfection. All this was apparently appreciated by the continuing throng of overawed tourists who shuffled through the basilica in stunned silence and, in some cases, reverence.

The Holy Relic, carried during the
Procession of the Holy Blood.

The oldest document concerning the relic of the Holy Blood dates from 1256, a century after the arrival on April 7th 1150 in Brugge of Count Thierry of Alsace who had reputedly received the holy relic from his brother-in-law, Baldwin 111, the King of Jerusalem in 1150. This considerable gap might mean that the relic arrived in Brugge later than the accepted date. In 1203, Constantinople fell into the hands of the crusaders and the imperial city was sacked in 1204. Baldwin 1X, Count of Flanders, was chosen as the new emperor and it is likely that he sent looted relics back to Flanders, and particularly to Brugge, where his daughters, Johanna and Margaretha, ruled in his absence. This probably accounts for the presence of the holy relic in Brugge while  the design of the rock crystal flask containing the relic, indicates an origin in Constantinople. It is astonishing to this Johnny-Come-Lately that this degree of historical information, nay accuracy, is available today and I am indebted to the Brugge Guide and Historian Cum Laude, Eric Van Keirsbilck, for these details!

After which, another busy week; on Saturday morning I repeated the quite arduous climb up the 366 steps of the Belfort, with Frank Deleu, the Stadsbeiaardier, to watch him play the carillon and  

 The Brugge carillon

send the so-familiar cadences to the crowds in the Markt below. I was with a Very Musical Friend who was staying for a few days and who really appreciated the opportunity to see a master at play! I love to go above the eyrie where the carillon is housed and see the array of large bells above. And, more than anything, to scan the Bruggean panorama on all sides; it is a delight and a puzzle and an aesthetic fulfilment. Were it not for the wind, one could surely luxuriate in the magical views for hours. I was also pleased to meet the Tower Guard, a very comfortable-looking, totally non-aggressive man who remains aloft for the whole day.

Every five years the Procession of the Golden Tree parades through the streets of Bruges and so it occurred on Saturday and Sunday afternoons [19 & 20th. August] My guest and I found a perfect spot at the side of the Stadtheater off Vlamingstraat and my only mistake was not to take a chair from the terrace; standing for nearly two hours on an arthritic foot is not to be recommended! The procession itself provided an enthralling spectacle, with giants, floats involving ships, dragons, thrones, treasure houses, gallows plus a veritable menagerie of animals and 1700 colourful characters all celebrating the city’s existence, affirming its identity and commemorating its history. The first section of the pageant takes you through an evocation of scenes from Flemish history. The second part recreates the legendary festival of the Gouden Boom. This grandiose cavalcade originally wound

Charles the Bold

 Margaret of York

its stately way through Brugge in 1468 to celebrate the wedding of Charles the Bold and Margaret of York. The contemporary tribute creates a special atmosphere; there are crowds of residents and tourists alike, all anxious to soak up the ambience, richness, diversity, unexpected little mishaps and little vignettes inches away from their eager lenses! Clearly the people of Brugge are rightly proud of their impressive Parade of the Gouden Boom.

I was less surprised than formerly to see a little flock of sheep; a dromedary with a baby; a

 I am unsure as to the historical accuracy of this orderly but
lively line of daschunds

considerable number of large horses which remind me of the English shire horses which used to pull beer-carts, though these horses are of several different breeds. Reassuringly, there were the mediaeval peasants with primitive besoms clearing up the droppings from various animal participants! There was the Brugge bear represented plus a finale of towering stilt-walkers of formidable dexterity.



 One charming sight among hundreds.
This Gouden Boom procession occurs every five years
and the trouble to create authentic reproductions with
the attendant expense and wide participation of
Brugge residents is hugely impressive.

Nothing demonstrates the continuity of the history
of Brugge more than the list of Beiaardiers
kept in the Belfort tower.
[Despite efforts, this photo refuses to fill its
allotted space above! SO, independence
as well as continuity.]

L'Inconnue est arrivee

 Le Concert Etranger

Coming to the end of the busiest and best of times; the MA Festival and many friends here from Cologne and Holland; one staying chez moi but the meetings, lunches, brunches etc somehow fitted in to the normal week, can be challenging but fun. The energy runs out more quickly these days but the spirit remains high.


 La Sollazzo Ensemble

The title of this year's Early Music Festival has been La Divina Commedia: Tussen Hemel en Hel and the music has perforce echoed that virtual journey through the afterlife. Dante's masterpiece has him travelling through Hell [Purgatorio] and Paradise [Paradiso], accompanied by the immortal Beatrice and includes the distressing metaphor of war as an inferno. Great scope here for many splendid concerts then! And there have been. My own two favourites were Conversations Avec Dieu by Le Concert Etranger with the incomparable alto, Lucile Richardot,  on Monday evening and on Friday morning, the Sollazzo Ensemble in Dante's Troubadors. These two were the closest possible to perfection.,

Strolling with my house guest vaguely en route home one afternoon, we crossed the lovely Sint Bonifacius bridge, so beloved of the tourists with its mediaeval shape and colour [actually a replacement built in 1911] and the early mediaeval house at one end of the bridge was open for an exhibition. I have often longed to see the architecture inside so we took the opportunity presented. The art display was absolutely not to my taste, but the house belonged to the artist, and that WAS so deliciously perfect in its mediaeval

 A mediaeval view to die for!
Onze Lieve Vrouw in the background

charms. The bottle glass everywhere with a tiny roundel of a coloured glass portrait in two windows; the window shutters and the lower half of a cupboard, all ancient linen-fold; the old wooden arch leading to a small garden with a background of the stately Onze Lieve Vrouw church beyond. Just perfection, as was the old studded wooden door used as a table laid on modern legs. To live there means daily hours of noisy tourist traffic virtually touching the building as it flows over Sint Bonifacius and beyond, a modern unwanted counterpoint to the mediaeval simplicity and beauty of the little house.

A quiet smoke in a rain-sodden garden

One day the German boys gave a super lunch, intended for the garden, but rain, rare in Brugge for months, chose to make a vigorous intervention so we dined inside by candle light. My brunch later in the week, suffered a similar fate, so somehow we seated thirteen at tables inside my flat, while I, mainly unseated, did valiant service as waitress. Both events were such fun and a real expression of friendship. A parcel arrived during my brunch which I had collected and hastily stowed away for later. Then, much later, after the great clearing up, I opened the box, excited to see the contents. I had read a most touching article in the New York Times in July about 'the most famous person to have died in the River Seine who has no identity at all." In the late 19th century, the body of a young girl was pulled from the Seine, without blemishes and presumed, therefore, to have committed suicide. The pathologist at the morgue was so struck by her beauty that he spontaneously called in a mouleur, a moulder, to preserve the image of  her face in a death mask.


 L'Inconnue de la Seine.

In the following decades the mask was mass-produced for sale and became a muse for poets, artists, writers like Picasso, Man Ray, Rilke, Nabokov. Albert Camus had her mask in his studio and he called her 'the drowned Mona Lisa'. Today it continues to be reproduced and sold by L'Atelier Lorenzi  in the southern Paris suburb of Arcueil. Founded in 1871, by the Tuscan great-grandfather of the present owner, l'Atelier Lorenzi has a nineteenth century mold of the face; it may be the original; no one knows but no other atelier makes the mask. I found the Lorenzi email address online et, eventually, voila, the box I received contained my plaster cast of L'Inconnue.  A coup de foudre followed the unveiling!  She really IS stunning; round cheeks, smooth skin, eyes closed with eye lashes still apparently wet, hair parted in the middle and drawn towards the nape of the neck in a typical nineteenth century style. There is the suggestion of a half-smile on her face as she lies there, half sleeping.

Her identity was never discovered and she has been imagined as a victim; an orphan who drowned herself in the Seine after an English aristocrat seduced, then abandoned, her. Other stories have her as a witch who destroyed a young poet, and as a seductress who witnesses a robbery and a murder in a clockmaker's shop. With no surviving documents in the police archives, we have just this extraordinary glimpse of a tragically short life which has nevertheless, brought beauty and a poignant narrative to countless subsequent lives.

And I must mention the so-called Zandfeest on August 6th; always the first Sunday of the MA Festival. A rommelmarkt of large proportions, stretching from t'Zand, down side streets, behind the Concertgebouw almost to the station. An event not to be missed by even people like me who have no need of any more objects in their lives! This did not stop me bargaining for, and buying, two African masks and six wine glasses. My guest accompanied me and obviously could not understand how SO many people could be excited about sifting through piles of less-than-necessary, less-than-beautiful, objects.

A Time for Reminiscences

Damse Vaart



 Café/restaurant at Fort Van Beieren

A small and delightful discovery, courtesy of a friend born in Brugge. Went for a lovely rural walk in the Fort Van Beieren area, outside the centre and near the Damse Vaart, the Napoleonic canal built to replace the Oud Zwin watercourse which had silted up. I don’t notice that I have missed the regular rural walks around Wye where I used to live, in Kent, but it was certainly recuperative and restorative to wander beneath tall trees and stumble over a grassy patch dotted with large, fresh mushrooms. Quite reminded me of childhood when picking blackberries and finding mushrooms were seasonal forced tasks, partially resented because they tended to occur very early Sunday mornings and were closely supervised by a finely-observant father [eating blackberries while picking were not allowed], but partially enjoyed because of the eventual fruits of the forest to be enjoyed at home. My mother’s blackberry and apple pies were to die for!

 Tyne Cot
The Northumberland Fusiliers saw resemblances between
German pillboxes on site in WW1 and
typical Tyneside workers' cottages.
Area liberated by Belgian forces in September 1918.

A notable occurrence in Flanders this last Sunday and Monday of July, was the BBC-orchestrated memorial services at Tyne Cot and Ypres. I didn’t go; difficult without a car but the events, shown on TV, were moving and poignant. As observed before, the memories of the First World War seem more deeply held, more locally plaintive here, no doubt because Flanders was the hideously war-torn theatre of war and many families have ancestors, civilians and servicemen who died, often tragically young, and in large numbers. Normal life ceased in places like Ypres for four long years and family narratives are long-lasting, influential and heartfelt. I did reflect, after this heartfelt weekend that a golden opportunity had been missed to include in an important and equal way, German representatives too. This ideal is inherent in the concept of the European Union.

I read a poignant little story about a memorial to a lost Welsh poet, Hedd Wyn, who won a poetry competition in a National Eisteddfod with his The Hero. He was not there to collect the honour as he had died in Flanders’ fields a few weeks before; the ceremonial bard’s chair was accordingly draped in black cloth.
Ellis Humphrey Evans  had taken the bardic name, Hedd Wyn, Blessed Peace, after he achieved some poetic success. He was a Christian pacifist and a shepherd/farmer before World War One. 


Hedd Wyn's grave

Every first Monday of the month up to 100 locals gather in the Sportsman bar, just off the main road from Ypres to Langemark, West Flanders to hold a simple ceremony in memory of Hedd Wyn who died across the road on the first day of the Battle of Passchendaele which began at 3.50 on the morning of July 31st, 1917. Marc Decaestecker, the owner of the bar, has created a little shrine in one corner. A charming story of a continuing tribute to one man, a pacifist and poet, and a tiny link between Flanders and Wales, two small nations, part of bigger countries, still trying hard to preserve their individual cultures.

Friday August 4^th is the start of the MA Festival, the very reason which brought Eric originally to Brugge about forty years ago and which, in turn, brought me here for the first time in 1989. MA Festival is a feast of early music [Musica Antiqua] and we always went to every concert in the mornings and the 20.00 slot plus afternoon rehearsals for the competitions. Late night concerts, starting around 22.00, we attended sometimes if not too weary with all the music and extra enjoyment of Brugge. Now I avoid the Late Night ones which I regret missing but cannot guarantee full attention for, and I find the Full Monty otherwise is quite challenging. I don’t want to miss other activities I enjoy normally, in Brugge, so there is a judgment to be made and I now miss a concert to play the much-loved weekly Mah Jong, for instance. Every year a group of friends from Germany, the Cologne Mafia as we say, give a lunch for all of a little circle of concert friends from Germany, Holland and Belgium. They rent an apartment with a lovely little garden which lends itself to a splendid sort of picnic. My own lunches have now transmogrified into Brunch which is not only fashionable but also Much Easier to prepare. And, given a spot of sunshine and a following wind, there is the terrace to luxuriate in!

 Desolation at Passchendaele 1917
This is one important reason for the support of my
generation for membership of the E.U.

Numerous Penitents and Three Birthdays

One of the birthday girls celebrating
her 80th last year.

What a lovely week I have had, even without the much-lamented Fitbit! On the evening before my Friday birthday, the lovely Thursday group came over here for food, courtesy of Trium, and drink. The Trium food was excellent, provided with maximum kindness [even to the extent of home delivery] and minimum fuss. And the excuse to have a dozen friends round for a lively social and sociable evening was happily taken. Couldn’t have been more fun and I do hope someone sends me a photograph of me wearing the tiara provided by Kristin, which I had to make myself take off to go to bed! Added to which, against stern admonishment of No presents, they gave me a Raaklijn book token. More pleasure ahead!

Emily Dickinson; born Amherst, Massachusets 1830;
died Amherst, 1866. Lived an ascetic, prudent
separate life. Her poetry recognised only
in the twentieth century.

I celebrated with my family on Facetime mainly, and that means my extended family as both my younger sisters have their birthdays on what I always refer to as MY birthday. I had two additional treats; one friend gave me a marvellous little Emily Dickinson with bilingual poems AND took me to a coffee house unknown to me, for a delicate little Merveilleux concoction of meringue, cream, raspberries and coulis. And on Saturday evening went with another friend for mussels to a new-to-me bistro which I shall visit again. A splendidly extended anniversary though a friend of similar octogenarian age wrote idly wondering why, at our age, we continue to celebrate. Habit? Great excuse for a party? Gratitude that the only alternative to ageing, has not yet claimed us?

Today, Sunday July 30^th, by train to Veurne which I visited recently and loved, particularly the Grote Markt with the Flemish gables and other venerable architecture surrounding it. The last Sunday in July is the Boetprocessie, the Procession of the Penitents which started in 1646. It is all inspired by incidents from both the Old and New Testaments and various carts carry centuries-old sculpture groups representing scenes from the passion of Christ. It also features an extended group of hooded, barefoot penitents carrying heavy wooden crosses. The girl in the tourist office oOh it's traditional'. I reminded myself that in earlier days, there would have been stalls and a mediaeval market of sorts with merriment abounding after the procession in the Grote Markt but somehow the plastic tawdriness and deafening racket, didn’t quite capture the mediaeval spirit of joy.

n my first visit had insisted that the penitents were genuinely atoning for past crimes, which I found incredibly difficult to believe. I realise that these processions are still an important part of Flemish life and its cultural heritage, and from the hundreds of people processing plus other unseen organisers and contributors, one can easily see the extent and importance of community involvement. One does wonder if the religious significance is still as it was, centuries ago or indeed, if there is any relic of the earlier religiosity expressed. I think it is unlikely; certainly the crowds of onlookers were entertained and impressed but not overawed with any religious message or example. What DID jar was the transformation of the wonderful Grote Markt into a fairground which had the grace to stay silent during the long procession but swung immediately afterwards, into blaring action. The man in the tourist office, when I commented adversely, merely said, airily, ‘





         

 Sonorous start to the Boetprocessie

Though I did, by chance, bump into a lovely Dutch friend, in Brugge for the forthcoming MA Festival next week, and he too felt the inappropriateness of the modern plastic whirligigs and torturous-looking carousels with the stunning blast of sound enveloping the aural landscape. Judging from the happy throng, we were the only critics there! When I was professionally active, working with teenagers, I always thought that I would never

be, or feel, out of step with modern life. But there are times now when …   In fact, many times when bewilderment sets in, as when young people sit together in twos or small groups, and stay on their phones all the time. A sort of companionable separateness seems to be the order of the day!



One of the penitents, struggling with his load.

Two waiting for the Off and a helpful boy
selling chair space for two euros

                                                                        

One blissful participant regretting nothing.