Juneteenth

 

Celebration of Emancipation Day in Richmond, Virginia, 1905.

Juneteenth, June 19^th is now a federal holiday in the U.S.. In fact, it has been celebrated, especially in Texas, to commemorate the original announcement there, two and a half years late, of The Emancipation Proclamation of 1863. Although the holiday name is new to some, it has long been viewed as a major celebration, especially for and by black Americans. Interestingly, I noticed on the Merriam-Webster website [an impeccable source!] evidence of considerable and consistent use of the word since the late 19^th century.

“Last Wednesday the citizens of this city and vicinity, native Texans, assembled in the fair grounds to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of the liberation of the bonded Afro-American of Texas.

...Closely following the speakers an animated game of baseball was witnessed, when this happy throng repaired to their homes expressing themselves as highly pleased with their first Juneteenth celebration.”

Parson’s Weekly. [Parsons KY] 22 June 1895.

Sherman people celebrated the Juneteenth at the beautiful Fred Douglas school grounds and the handsome Wood Lake park pavilion, midway between Sherman and Denison, on the electric railway.

Freeman [Indianapolis IN] 27 June 1908.

June 19^th, or, as it is humorously referred to, ‘Juneteenth’ is the day the news of the emancipation proclamation reached Texas, so annually the day is celebrated much as we do the Fourth of July.

Chicago Defender, 3 July 1915.

Tennessee has just banned Critical Race Theory from its schools.

My only surprise at the above quotations is that Texas has never seemed the most non-racist, diversity-encouraging, liberal state! And indeed, it wasn't; the formal Emancipation announcement was imposed on Texas by the Army. I am beginning to write this on Juneteenth, a celebratory date of which I had not heard until perhaps two or three years ago. What recently drew my attention to it was reading that Republicans are setting out to ban Critical Race Theory from school syllabi. I think that Critical Race Theory [CRT] is an academic theory that underlines the critical effect of race on identity and on law-making in America. I would guess that there is a much more extended and sophisticated academic explication of CRT but that is the basis. And that basic truth seems undeniable in any country but overwhelmingly so in America.

That all said, I had a mind, this Juneteenth, to explore Bristol, in England, where a statue of Edward

Edward Colston now housed in
Bristol Museum.

Colston, a prominent slave trader and municipal benefactor, was toppled from its plinth and thrown into the harbour during a Black Lives Matter demonstration in 2020. I am humbled, and aghast, at my discovery of a whole library of slavery information about Bristol and its eminent men of wealth during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Slaves became an increasingly important commodity during the 17^th

Aboard a slaving ship.

century as the British colonisation of the Caribbean and the Americas progressed rapidly; cheap labour was urgently needed for various colonies to work on sugar, rum, tobacco and cotton plantations. The Society of Merchant Venturers, an organisation of elite merchants in Bristol, wanted to participate in this lucrative commerce and eventually, in 1698, they managed, with help from business-men with similar commercial interests in Hull and Liverpool, to break the trade monopoly of the Royal African Company, a powerful London-based group which had controlled all trade between Britain and Africa between 1672 and 1698. As soon as the monopoly was broken, Bristol commenced its participation though there is some evidence for Bristolian illegal slave trade before that date. The first legitimate slave ship from Bristol was the Beginning, owned by Stephen Barker, which purchased and ferried a cargo of enslaved Africans and delivered it to the Caribbean in 1698. In her will of 1693, Jane Bridges bequeathed her share of £130 in this ship, to her grandson, Thomas Bridges and her will indicated that the ship then belonged to the city of Bristol. A full-rigged ship was the essential technology which enabled the transatlantic slave trade to flourish.

Selling slaves in a slave market.

Bristol became one of the biggest centres of the transatlantic slave trade between 1725 and 1740 when up to an estimated 20% profits were made from slave-trading from the city. By the 1730s an average of 39 slave ships left Bristol annually and between 1739 and 1748, there were 245 slave voyages from Bristol, an estimated 37.6% of the whole British slave trade. In the later years of slave-trading, Bristol’s share decreased to 62 voyages while Liverpool’s share increased to 62% or 1,605 voyages. An estimated 2108 slaving traders departed from Bristol between 1698 and 1807 with the average number of slaves per ship believed to be around 250. Thus in a century plus, Bristol’s merchants trafficked more than 500,000 enslaved Africans to the Caribbean and North America. But, it must be added, that estimates suggest that up to half of each ship's slave cargo would perish en route, due to the harsh conditions aboard and the overcrowding. In any event, not a figure to be proud of!

The so-called triangular trade describes the route followed by English merchants from Bristol [or Liverpool or Hull] to north-west Africa, the Caribbean and America during the same period, i.e. 1698-1807. Bristol ships traded their goods for enslaved people from south-east Nigeria and Angola, exchanging goods like copper and brass as well as gunpowder which were typically offered by Bristolian merchants and manufacturers, as payment for shares in the slaving voyage. The ships then sailed to St. Kitts, Barbados and Virginia to supply English colonies requiring cheap or free labour, with the enslaved Africans to work on sugar, cotton and tobacco plantations. In addition to slaves, the British colonies were supplied with a wide range of goods for the plantation owners, such as guns, agricultural implements, soap, candles, ladies’ boots, and food stuffs plus ‘Negro cloth’ for the slaves. At the same time, the slaving ships imported goods produced in the colonies. Thus the British economy was inextricably linked to slave-produced Caribbean goods such as sugar, rum, indigo and cocoa. The imported goods were used in sugar refining, tobacco processing and chocolate manufacture, all important local industries in Bristol which employed thousands of working class people from Bristol and its surrounding areas. Thus the slave trade and its associated commerce was embedded in effect, in the British economy.

Various implements to secure and direct slaves.

Neck rings and chains with a gun in case ......

Cotton plantation.

What's An Idiom Between Friends?

 

An idiom is a phrase, saying or a group of words with a metaphorical [not a literal] meaning which has become accepted in common use. An idiom’s symbolic sense is quite different from the literal meaning or definition of the words used. It is estimated that there are around 25,000 idiomatic expressions in the English language.

Idioms, in fact, help to evolve a language, making it more intense, exciting and dynamic. They provide, or add, considerable illustration to ordinary speech, making everyday language more colourful and often, insightful. Native speakers usually use idiomatic phrases with which they are familiar, without consideration, rather like cliches. They are familiar but useful aids to express emotion or add

descriptive power. To the non-native speaker however, idioms can be bewildering because the intention of a particular idiom is symbolic and the surface language is often incomprehensible.

The reason for this sudden rush of blood to the head about idioms, is because I recently used
the phrase, ‘beyond the pale’ to a Flemish friend who didn’t understand it. While I had no trouble in explaining what the phrase signified I did not know the derivation of the idiom at all.. Now I do!! AND it is really interesting! The general use of ‘pale’ now is as an adjective meaning whitish/light in colour [cf Procol Harum’s Lighter Shade of Pale!] However, the noun, ‘a pale’ is [or was.] a stake or a pointed piece of wood though this use is obsolete now. A variant of it, ‘paling’ is still in use; we can say, ‘a paling fence’ and the verb ‘impale’ is also 

A paling fence.

current. For our present purpose, the paling fence is significant as the term, ‘pale’ came to mean the area enclosed by such a fence. Later that came to mean, figuratively, ‘ an area that is enclosed and safe.’ SO to be beyond the pale came to mean to be outside the area that was safe, that was accepted as home.

Catherine the Great created the Pale of Settlement in Russia in 1791. This title referred to the area of the western border region of the country in which Jews were allowed to live. Apparently, the motive behind the designation, Pale of Settlement, was to restrict trade between Jews and
native Russians. However, some favoured Jews were allowed to live, as a concession, ‘beyond the Pale,’ where, incidentally, they could be both economically more free but probably, existentially less safe. Pales were enforced in some other European countries for similar political/economic reasons, notably the Pale of Dublin [Ireland] and the Pale of Calais, created as early as 1360. [France]

The Pale of Settlement is the central, pale blue section.

Sir John Harington 1560-16!".

The phrase itself came much later than 1360! The first printed reference was seen in 1657 in John Harington’s lyric poem, ‘The History of Polindor and Flostella’. The character, Orthens, takes his love to a country lodge for ‘quiet calm and ease’ but they later dare to go out and ‘Both Dove-like roved forth beyond the pale to planted Myrtle-walk.’ Alas, the lovers are attacked outside and the message from the poem is clear: ‘ If there IS a pale, good people stay inside it to be safe.’ The poem was published only in 1657 though Harington had died in 1612 so the phrase must have been in use by 1612 if it was his original phrase, or earlier if not. There is no written evidence of earlier usage, i.e. before 1612..

There are no doubt innumerable examples of this phrase in modern use. Obama, in The Audacity of Hope, described certain capital crimes as ‘beyond the pale’ as did Senator Paul Ryan in 2016, when he condemned racist comments by Trump. Now that I write that, I realise that Trump himself is beyond the pale in every respect. This modern usage means ' to be outside the limits of acceptable behaviour' and it is currently a very strong, adverse condemnation of some event, character or opinion.

Catherine the Great who created 
The Pale of Settlement in 1791.

Moving Forward.

One glorious view from our seats in the 
Oud Huis Amsterdam last Thursday.

Mah Jong on the terrace.

 I have had quite a week with a game of Petanque for three, on Tuesday; coffee with around ten of the ‘girls’ on Wednesday on the terrace of Kaffee Kamiel; Mah Jong for seven on Thursday on my terrace; six of the old group in the garden together at Oud Huis Amsterdam in Genthof; and lunch with my neighbour on the terrace of Bistro de Schilder on Jan Van Eyckplein on Saturday. Truly, my cup runneth over with this sudden restoration of old habits. And the terrace is looking good to add icing to the cake; Danny Boy, my lovely Portuguese friend came by this morning to help with the transplanting of a huge gerbera I bought a week ago. In other words, to do the deed himself! I stood back, as advised, while Daniel did the deed. Maddeningly, the newly-acquired extra age frailty meant that I just couldn’t manage it alone. He was great; gerbera re-homed effortlessly and a gorgeous fuschia swapped out of too much sun with a Solanum in too much shade. To add lustre, Daniel then swept up the mess. I have pondered as to WHY I find it so difficult to ask for help. Think it is because that entails a whole change of self-image; from One Who Helps to One Who Seeks Help. Honestly, the little extra unseen, unexpected, unsought but undeniable aspects of climbing the upper slopes of ageing, can be quite hard to recognise and accept. BUT I am en route!!

Gerberas present but not flamboyantly so, in this photo!
Statue boy dances on, regardless.

I have also wondered if I should consider returning home, i.e. to the UK, at some point, perhaps after my 90^th. The trouble is the huge pleasure I have in living where I now live! My apartment, large and spacious and sunny, suits me perfectly, especially when family and friends can visit again. The last time that happened was January 2020! Since then I have lived here, chiefly in a Lockdown hermitage, a not unpleasant state in principal and in practice, decidedly benign. My terrace remains a joy, a focus of effort it is true, but also of leisure reading and writing, plus an enveloping aesthetic delight. Can I contemplate giving up all of this to go back to an England I have always loved?! It is not, in essence, a Big Ask! Actually, whatever I decide to do, I know I will always achieve without regret! In that I am lucky. But I suddenly remember the right to euthanasia, a very useful tool to have in the back pocket, in case of emergency or necessity. Oh dear, so much to consider!!

This photo is nothing to do with this blog 
BUT a glorious Flemish eccentricity is at work
in my local bakery. It never fails to amuse me
that in addition to what is effectively an
excellent delicatessen counter, a choice of 
three gins is now for sale.

Slightly distant view of the unfinished
Bruges Diptych on Goudenhandrei
reflecting on its fate.
Jan Van Eyck lived near this spot.

Looking further afield, the Bruges Diptych on Goudenhandrei Number Three on the Triennale list, is STILL not completely built with no clue as to why. It is, so far, a compact house silhouette in wood, with planks of virgin wood awaiting incorporation into the finished edifice. It does occur to the casual wanderer, that a family of refugees could make a great home there once a roof was installed. In the meantime, I hear that litter pickers-up are actively sought by Dirk de fauw, the burgemeister, to embellish the efforts of the usual municipal crew. My neighbour has enlisted and has an esoteric collection of bags, gloves, labels to aid her worthy efforts. This is a super effort at community involvement in a necessary, low level endeavour which can only burnish brighter the image of Brugge.
.

Not A Game, It's A Religion

 

 I am not sure to whom to give the credit for the  title but he is almost certainly French. Boules games have a long, long history, allegedly dating back through the Middle Ages to ancient Rome and quite probably before that to ancient Greek and Egypt. ,But the form of boules known as the jeu provencal or boule lyonnaise, became incredibly popular during the second half of the 19^th

Ernest Pitiot, a resourceful friend

1910.

Le Joueur de Boules. Gavarni. 1858.

century in France. In this popular form of the game, players rolled their boules, or ran three steps before throwing the boule. Petanque proper, as we might label it, developed as an offshoot or variant of jeu provencal in 1910, in what is now known as the Jules Lenoir Boulodrome in the town of La Ciotat, near Marseilles. A former jeu provencal player named Jules Lenoir was afflicted by rheumatism so badly that he could no longer run before throwing a boule. In fact, he could barely stand. A good friend, Ernest Pitiot, a local cafe owner, wanted to accommodate his friend Lenoir, and he developed a variant of the game in which the length of the field or pitch, was reduced by approximately half, and the player, instead of running to throw a boule, stood stationary within a marked circle. They called this new version, pieds tanques, feet planted [on the ground], a name that eventually evolved into the game’s current name, Petanque. In the same year, Ernest Pitiot and his brother, Joseph, organised the first Petanque tournament in La Ciotat; it was a great success and subsequently the newly-adapted game spread quickly and soon became the most popular form of boules in France.

Petanque, France 1950s perhaps.

Before the mid 1880s, European boules games were played with a solid wooden ball, usually made from boxwood root, a particularly hard wood. The late 1880s saw the introduction of the production of cheap, mass-produced nails and gradually it became the fashion to cover the wooden boules balls with nails, called boules cloutees. After WW1, the adaptation of technology for producing cannon-balls, allowed the production of hollow, all metal balls and from the mid 1920s, les boules integrales were introduced by Paul Courtieu. The integrale was cast in a single piece from a bronze-aluminium alloy and this was further modified by Jean Blanc who invented the process of manufacturing steel balls by stamping two steel blanks into hemispheres and then welding the two halves together to create a boule. With this technological advance, hollow all-metal boules rapidly became the norm we know and love today!

Contemporary women's game

Thus, during the last one hundred years since the all-metal ball has become established, the global spread of the game has accelerated; first from Provence to the rest of France; then to most of Europe and onward to Francophone colonies and countries. In South-East Asia, for instance, countries with French colonial influence such as Laos, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia are strong supporters of Petanque with many countries worldwide having established national governing bodies similar to the world’s oldest governing body, in France, La Federation Francaise de Petanque et du Jeu Provencal.

And today three of us happily re-started our girls’ Petanque sessions at Minnewater, adjacent to the sun-dappled water and beneath a green forested canopy nearby. The birdsong-filled peace echoing with faint lapping from the lake was soon broken with shouts and whoops from the triumphant and the dejected. Been wondering if Petanque shouldn’t be on the prescription list for various emotional/psychological illnesse

 Rear view of Woman of the Match.

s. 

Blogger in action

View from the Petanque court of the 
Poertoren, now temporarily changed from mediaeval
monument into a Triennale exhibit,
'And The World Keeps Turning.'
by Nnenna Okore.

A Little Normality Returns ....Gilded by the Sun.

 

Awaiting our arrival.
The offending table was within the conservatory on the left.

 I can now boast of TWO social engagements since early March 2020! First was lunch in the rain and the cold, on the newly-opened terrace of Bistro de Schilder on Jan Van Eyckplein two or three weeks ago when friends Joachim and Michael were over briefly from Cologne. In spite of numb legs from the cold, it was a delightful two hours plus, protected somewhat under a large umbrella, and really loving the chance for face to face engagement. Then, this last week, to the home of one of the couples involved in the highly entertaining but often difficult Friday evening quiz. Maurice is a barbecue enthusiast with rather important-looking equipment and the expertise to match. SO all eight of the quizzers went plus another couple who might well have been involved in the quiz had be not been too busy with a constant stream of judicial work from London. So, the ten of us arrived and in time-honoured British fashion, the men gathered at one end of the lawn while the women were seated at the long table to sip champagne. The sun was high, the garden, gorgeous, and the group more than ready to savour real, in-person

togetherness! Subsequently, food arrived to a grateful and appreciative assembly and all was well. In fact, much more than well; the past fifteen months faded away somewhat, and the chance to behave normally, even if in superlative surroundings, sunlit to boot, enthused us all. Quite literally, we basked, in heat and sun; in green and shadow, in pauses and laughter; in silence occasionally and in a frequent babble of sound. Our friendships felt like summer.

As we all relaxed in the unaccustomed company, our host ran up the steps into a small conservatory on the side of the house and we heard him fall. He had caught his leg on a low table as he hurried past and somehow, managed to cut his leg. BUT it was an extraordinarily neat slice down several inches of skin covering the shin bone. How that happened from a kind little table with rounded edges, no one knew, though a square of plate glass, edged with metal, covered the top of the table and presumably must have improbably been involved. Eventually, he was dispatched, with a volunteer chauffeuse, to the family huisart who had offered to staple up the slash for healing to begin. And, as if on cue, the leave-taking began. Apart from the obvious accident, it had been a marvellous event, appreciated even more than normal because of the socialising desert before. I have to say that the warm, sunny glow, apres the barbecue, lit up life for ages.

Masquerading as Croc Dundee

And this morning, to the flower markt on ‘t Zand for small plants for three or four small pots. Alas, I tend to get carried away when I stumble upon floral extravagance which is exactly what happened when I saw a giant pot of bright coral gerberas. Heavenly, though the damned pot was too large for my old-lady-bag-on-wheels, my only carrier now that I have no car. Koen, the lovely plant seller fixed me up so that the bag part drooped at the back while the roped-in gerbera rode majestically on the front part. Alas, as I walked, pulling my prize, the actual bag dragged one corner on the ground and would undoubtedly have holed in one on the homeward journey. SO to New Senses nearby, on the corner of ‘t Zand and Smedenstraat owned by Marco and with his sister Anna i/c waiting on! I explained the problem and it turned out that in Portugal, Marco had been an engineer! Every family needs an engineer, frankly, and Marco put everything in working order while I had a coffee and a wonderful Pasta del Nata tartlet. I was quite soon on my way pulling my floral cargo proudly and securely. The fact that I am quite unable to restore the bag in its original position is presently being ignored!

In actualite, the  Gerbera is even more
impressive!

Serious discussion under the awning.

Along the Coupure this morning. June 6th,

Early this morning, in Astridpark, all fountain and sun.

Views of Bruges

Early days in the construction of The Bruges Diptych on Goudenhandrei

 I really want to write about the latest Triennale, just officially opened. It is entitled TraumA and seeks to explore beneath the surface for the city’s hidden dimensions through monumental examples of public art and architecture. Nearest to my place, around the corner on Goudenhandrei, is a wondrous structure, not yet finished in fact. It is so ambitious in scope of construction and use of materials, that one does feel a small house could have been built at the same speed and cost! It is Number 3 on the leaflet which gives the architect as Jon Lott and the name of the edifice, The Bruges Diptych. It claims to be built near where Jan Van Eyck almost certainly lived, and the architectural diptych consists of Lott’s splendid construction built at the rear of the site of the original Van Eyck waterfront house. The Diptych is so-called because it tries to establish, a connection between what can be seen on the Goudenhandrei and what takes place behind the house facades, echoing the principal raison d’etre of TraumA. The entire Triennale is based on “architectural interventions”, seeking to take the visitor to experience the

View of The Strangler from Buiten Kruisvest
Nice composition with the Sint Janshuismolen.

oscillation between dream [the famed beauty of the mediaeval exterior of Brugge] and reality [real life as experienced beneath the stately surface.] The finished Diptych pavilion will also be the operating base for the public programme of the Brugge Triennale 2021 which includes children’s events in the calendar of exploration and experience through guided walks and group visits led by curatorial staff. Plus lectures, debates and film screenings.

The garden of Guido Gezellehuis is always tranquil, always green and secluded, separate from the bustle of normal life [pre-Covid] within the Egg. But at present, the magnificent pine tree standing sentinel over the garden is wrapped around with a luminous pink metal structure encasing both tree and an inviting silver stairway making its way to the high summit. Hector Zamora likens his structure to the Strangler trees in tropical forests which slowly encase and eventually, overcome, host trees. But in this creation, the scaffolding invites visitors to experience the trunk, the leaves, the branches, the summit of

View from on high over the St Sebastiaan Guild garden.

the tree in a completely different manner from the everyday, making the ascent easy, and rewarding the small effort with a totally different view of Brugge. Today, Friday 29 May, I climbed the silver stairway for what will be the first time. I chose today for its sun and lack of wind and rain of which plenty lately, to maximise the experience, and enjoyed it all enormously! Hector Zamora definitely has a splendid imagination, permitting anyone to have the adventure of climbing to the sky, as it were, in completely easy safety. Even those nervous of heights will have a fear-free experience! And the views are wonderful and panoramic. AND, unbelievably, my continuing love affair with the blackbird continued when I heard its song as I climbed! A lovely morning.

Rather better than my attempt, earlier in the week to talk to someone from the Tax Office, somewhere in Belgium. I cannot complete the Dutch tax forms in red any year, so, pre-Corvid, I simply typed up the details of my pensions, etc and took it to the Bruges tax office, queuing with other citizens for ages, to sit down opposite a tax person who never failed to be kind and charming as she/he copied my info on to the computer. Always trouble-free! This week, cautioned that ringing the help number provided on the envelope sent to me, was the best way forward, I rang and apologised for the English language and asked if the operative could speak English. He answered simply, “No.” Did he have an English-speaking colleague available? “No!” came the immediate reply, followed by, “Francais?” I explained in slow French that my Francais wasn’t good enough and to my astonishment, he said, “ Oh excuseer m’vrouw, Bye, bye.” and rang off. A Bruges-born friend then tried on my behalf but failed to find anyone English-speaking but was given a new number to ring. He hung on as the number provided, rang for seven fruitless minutes. I had been told that if I posted the form as I had intended, it depended on who opened it for fair treatment. Some tax employee could well log my info sheet as “Not registered,” For the first time in six years I felt excluded and am currently pondering on next steps while wondering if one of those ‘Independence for Flanders’ parties has seized control of the Belgian tax system.

The highest viewing platform of The Strangler.

BUT Bruges still beckons invitingly with its current TraumA!

Banisteria Caapi by Henrique Oliveira
Root structures crawling over the remains of 
the original mediaeval city wall.
Roots made of plywood collected in Sao Paulo
and Brugge.
Pottenmakersstraat 1.

Happy Coincidences by Amanda Brouwer on Vervesdijk
and on the facade of the College of Europe.
A colourful palette of shapes and surfaces in fabric created
with local volunteers.
There are three additional canvasses which will be found
located in three successive hidden spots in Brugge.

A final view of Brugge of a boat which has wintered on the Coupure. A poignant reminder for me of my sister Esme who died
in 2017.

Borrowed Landscape.

 

I have been looking again at one of my treasured books, as one does, and one, furthermore and to my shame, that I have never properly read, cover to cover, though originally I had thoroughly enjoyed the album of stunning photographs within and read some of the masterful texts. The book is Secret Gardens of East Anglia by Barbara Segall with photographs by Marcus Harpur. As the cover proclaims, it is a private tour of 22 gardens in East Anglia conducted by Barbara and subsequently, photographed by Marcus. It presents a riveting wander through some exquisite landscapes with a variety of creative and artistic gardens, often conjured from lesser beginnings, and I am at last taking 

Elton Hall, Cambridgeshire

time to savour all of it.

The reason I mention Barbara’s book here is because I am gripped by her first sentence in the first entry in her book, introducing the extraordinary Barnards Farm, West Horndon, Essex. It reads, “Most of us have borrowed landscape.” And then comes the explanation, “We are usually pleased and quite smug if this includes a church steeple, say, or a magnificent oak or copper beech within sight, but beyond, the perimeter of our garden.” It struck me that I had never thought within that ‘borrowed landscape'

concept of the wonderful views from this

Bruggean apartment. It is a perfect phrase for the cornucopia of roofs, chimneys, spires, towers, ridges, tiles, Flemish gables which grace my view every day. Plus, of course, the many, many buildings,

One view from my terrace, featuring the steeple
of the Poortersloge and the Belfort..

hotels, houses plus apartments visible below the skyline. But it is the roof-scape of which I write! The view is wholly urban but because it is Bruges, the urban is extraordinary in its timeless, mediaeval, continuing beauty. Far and near, my borrowed landscape presents a perfect narrative in its portrayal of the Bruges story from the early sixteenth century roof of what was the mediaeval convent of the Zwartezusters, now part of AZ Sint Jan, the local hospital, with one beautiful roof ridge marked with alternating groups of yellow and green tiles, totally unseen from the ground, but proclaiming its singular and unexpected comeliness modestly to the sky. From the Zwartezusters’ roof, to the several church spires; a distant solitary cross on a high roof, set against the clouds; the historic tower of the Belfort, central in importance to the townspeople for over 500 years; the 15^th century spire of the Pootersloge with the nearby late 20^th century elegant golden quill curving atop the roof of the house of the American calligrapher; those brick loops crowning some chimney pots; for what purpose? To modify wind direction perhaps? Who knows? Utility would certainly have been the purpose for their original creation though now, it is for their beauty that they are admired!

The beautiful little tower beyond what was the
convent of the Zwartezusters,.now part of AZ St Jan.

And below this much-loved roof-scape, central in Woensdagmarkt below, stands the nineteenth century statue of Hans Memling, artist of the Flemish Primitive School, who lived (1465-1494) and painted for most of his life in Brugge and is still saluted as the greatest in the Flemish Primitive tradition with its seamless link to the rise of the Renaissance. And this is my borrowed landscape seen from one large sitting room, presenting a vista both intimate and expansive and giving a structural yet historical recital of the Bruges narrative and a whisper of the soul of the city.

There are other borrowed landscapes seen from bedroom and terrace; from the guest room, for instance, the horizon boasts the statuesque Baroque church, Sint Walberga, presently crowned with a modern crane. Within the same view, in the foreground, are the gabled roof steps of the pharmacy opposite in the narrow chasm of Genthof, with the splendidly ornate tower finishing with an elongated onion flourish. All beyond my rented perimeter but adding interest, variety and beauty to my view and to my life. A borrowed landscape always before me though when I gaze, I tend to claim it for mine!

The beautiful Hans Memling statue.

I 

View over the Genthof pharmacy with Sint
Walberga on the horizon and the builders' crane beyond.