Books and Stories, Part 2: Edith Cavell.

Edith Cavell

One of the books I have currently unearthed is a slim volume on The Dutiful Edith Cavell. In fact, it was finding both books, the one on Bruges in World War One and this Cavell story, which made the connection in my mind. In fact, Edith Cavell was a name from my childhood when her story featured prominently in my beloved Girls' Book of Heroines. I was

thrilled and horrified as a little girl with Edith’s story, often re-told by my mother, born in 1902, and I went, in adulthood, to find her final grave outside the East end of Norwich Cathedral. She had been born nearby, in Swardeston, daughter of the rector there, on December 4, 1865 and fought hard to become a professional nurse, not then a socially acceptable job for a girl of her class. She began her training in 1895 as a probationer nurse at the London Hospital and worked in a number of London hospitals holding increasingly important jobs such as staff nurse, Night Superintendent, Assistant Superintendent, Acting Matron [Manchester] and gaining a reputation as a teacher of nursing.

Edith with students,

Before she began her nursing career, Edith had spent the years 1890-1895 in Brussels as a governess to a French family. In 1906, a leading Belgian doctor, M. Depage, decided to found a surgical and medical home in Brussels and he looked for a highly-trained English nurse, preferably French-speaking. He regarded the current English nursing practices and standards as the best available, far superior to those in Belgium where the Catholic Church had traditionally provided all nursing and hospitals but increasingly lacked knowledge of modern developments. Almost inevitably, he chose Edith for whom the post as Directrice of l’Ecole Belge d’Infirmieres Diplomees seemed created. Her confidence, efficiency and success eventually overcame the huge prejudices she encountered, the most potent of which was the social hostility to a woman of her class working professionally. A particular help in overcoming all this prejudice was given by the then Queen Elisabeth who turned to the Ecole for nursing when she broke her arm. Elisabeth became a vocal supporter of Edith and her Ecole, conferring a powerful respectability and approval on both woman and institution.

By 1914, Edith was Directrice of three hospitals, giving weekly lectures to doctors and nurses and

Princesse Marie de Croy

fast becoming an admired public figure in Brussels. At the outbreak of war, she turned the Berkendael Medical Institute into a Red Cross Hospital. In August 1915, following the Battle of Dinant after which the forts at Namur surrendered, there were thousands of French and Belgian soldiers hiding in the surrounding woods, then, after the defeat at Mons, hundreds of British soldiers on the run joined them, seeking protection and sustenance from local peasants. It was then that Prince Reginald de Croy and his sister, Princesse Marie, whose ancestral home, the Chateau de Bellignies, lay in the Mons area, responded to many requests for help from locals hiding soldiers on the run. The de Croy family instigated what became the Brussels H.Q. of an underground movement for the

organised escape to Holland, of foreign soldiers in hiding in occupied Belgium. Quite soon after its formation, one of those involved asked Edith Cavell if she could consider hiding two fugitive British soldiers and she immediately agreed, thus becoming an important link in the chain of escape. Eventually, one of the ostensible escapees, a German agent, betrayed her and several others and all were arrested, accused of treason. Had the escapees been civilians, the charge would have been less severe but helping soldiers escape [in her case, over 200 men] thus enabling them to fight again, could only be treason, with death as the only penalty. No written evidence against Edith was found but she admitted everything to her German captors after they told her, untruthfully, that others had all confessed and supplied details. Of the thirty five arrested, only five were executed.

Enlistment poster.

In spite of strenuous protests from the American and Spanish embassies, the executions were carried out quietly, early on October 21, 1915. Edith was made to watch one execution before her own; in her turn, she stood unbound with eyes uncovered and the soldiers in the firing party all shot over her head leaving the officer in charge to deliver the coup de grace. The shooting of a woman spy was greeted world-wide with denunciation and horror and Edith’s name became honoured and recognised everywhere. Her execution certainly strengthened the resolve of the Allies and greatly influenced the decision of America to join the war. Interestingly, her death penalty was for “conducting soldiers to the enemy”. This she did not actually do; she hid them to allow others to do the conduction. A few hours after her execution, the German Military Code was amended and the following added:

‘Whosoever knowingly aids, in any manner whatsoever, such a person,[a person who has wished to aid an enemy of Germany] in concealing his presence, whether by giving him lodging, by clothing him, or by giving him nourishment, is liable to the same punishment. [death]’

Though retrospective, this gave, from the German point of view, a semblance of justice and administrative tidiness. 

Edith's grave in Life's Green, Norwich Cathedral.

Her courage was undoubted but Edith Cavell’s somewhat humourless and dour personality hid considerable kindness, concern for others and selflessness to a high degree. Daughter of a Victorian rector father and brought up with evangelical strictness, the concept of duty ruled her life and provided the foundation for all her life choices including those leading to her death. She had achieved an enormous amount in Brussels before the war in establishing a series of high quality teaching hospitals; in elevating the professional standing and standards of nursing in Belgium; and in changing public perceptions of women working professionally. But perhaps her martyrdom was the most effective persuader for the enduring fame of her life’s work.

The German authorities refused to return her body to England and so she was buried near the prison at Saint Gilles in Brussels but after the war, her body was exhumed and returned to England for a huge service at St Paul’s in London attended both by Royalty and members of the Government. Crowds lined the route from Dover to St Paul’s and after the service, as the cortege journeyed to Norwich Cathedral, many thousands more paid their respects. Her burial, outside the East End of the Cathedral in the grass-covered Life’s Green, took place on May 15, 1919. Her family had chosen this burial site near the place of her birth, in preference to the honour of burial in Westminster Abbey, A
curiously fitting tribute to a woman who never sought glory. And it is worth remembering that Anna de Beir chiefly owed her life to the world-wide scandal caused by the execution of Edith Cavell.

London Memorial.

Books and Stories Part 1: Anna de Beir

There are photographs of Anna de Beir

and of her pension on Sint Annarei

in this book.

I have failed to find them on the Internet!

John Julius Norwich.

Winston Churchhill

I continue, most days, to take up each book from its place and check the signature, the date of acquisition and importantly, if possible, dip into it to refresh my memory at least. This enjoyable activity seems to be lasting as long as Lock-down and indeed is giving me real feelings of achievement and pleasure as I re-arrange; remove for a second reading; and in several cases, relay into labelled piles on the dining table for future family gifts. One volume which I kept out to re-read was John Julius Norwich’s Christmas Crackers, 1970-79, an annual anthology of quotes from many sources. And what a pleasure that has been. Imagine my delight when I happened across the following extract from Churchill’s book, Painting as a Pastime:

“If you cannot read all your books, at any rate handle, or as it were, fondle them, – peer into them, let them fall open where they will, read from the first sentence that arrests the eye, set them back on the shelves with your own hands, arrange them on your own plan so that if you do not know what is in them, you at least know where they are. Let them be your friends; let them at any rate be your acquaintances. If they cannot enter the circle of your life, do not deny them at least a nod of recognition.”

Churchill’s advice could not more delightfully describe my two months, [so far, and continuing], of book sampling, re-acquaintance, re-arrangement, re-direction, re-reading in selected cases and re-alignment. Thanks to the exigencies of Coronavirus, I have stumbled over a most rewarding book- based sorting of an important part of my life.

Brugge during World War One

One re-read book, Bastion: Occupied Bruges in the First World War, acquired in the Brugge Museum Shop in 2017, caused further memories. Though a recent acquisition, I had quite forgotten the splendid story of a woman spy in WW1 from Dunkirk; Anna De Beir was a young widow trying to raise three children on the proceeds of a newspaper stall she ran in Dunkirk station. In June 2015, the stationmaster asked her to work for the French military intelligence and she accepted. She garnered information through her elder daughter who worked for Anna’s sister who managed a hotel, Pension Forrier on Krom Genthof, used by the German military. Meanwhile Anna also garnered continuing intelligence on the submarine base in Brugge. She physically smuggled her reports from Bruges to the Netherlands via a circuitous route through Boekhoute, always travelling alone before returning to Dunkirk and later back to begin her circuit again in Brugge. This involved, especially for a solo spy, negotiating a considerable number of barriers, but Anna did in fact manage to re-instate an important coastal connection between France and Holland She bribed a certain German guard on each return trip and developed a little group of informers including her seamstress; a friend who ran a jewellery stall on the Grote Markt in Brugge and the man who supplied fresh produce to her sister’s pension in Krom Genthof. 

During German occupation, Smedenpoort.

Anna was inevitably noticed and eventually picked up after only a few months, on the Maalse Steenweg in Sint Kruis on October 18, 2015. She was carrying only two letters from Belgian soldiers and questioned thoroughly, gave nothing away. Nor was any incriminating evidence against her ever found but she was, nonetheless, sentenced to death by the German authorities who could prove only that she smuggled letters from Belgian soldiers on the Yser. The only person empowered to decide on the capital condemnation of a female spy, following the Cavell execution earlier the same year which had caused an international storm of protest, was the Emperor and diplomats persuaded him to pardon Anna. In February 1916, after three months in Bruges prison, she was taken to Germany where she endured very harsh prison conditions in the notorious Belitz Prison, for the remainder of the war. She refused the offer of her release if she spied for Germany but survived and returned to Brugge in 1918 and on April 22 was awarded the French Iron Cross. Soon after the end of the war, Anna opened a hotel on Sint Annarei which became very popular with English guests and from where her guests could buy the memoir she had written.  

Given her history, in World War Two, Anna tried unsuccessfully to flee to Britain and eventually the Germans seized her hotel. In 1943 extraordinarily, she joined the Resistance near Ypres but was arrested on April 1st 1944 in Moorslede and sentenced to imprisonment in a German concentration camp. The train carrying her to Germany was ambushed by the British and she was released. Hearteningly, she lived until 1971 and died at 97 in Brugge. An extraordinary life by any measure.

German soldier inspecting papers.

The Kaiser in Brugge between 1914-18.

Coronablog

Bibliotek display.

I am continuing as the Lone Corona Wanderer and want, briefly, to record in words and pictures, some unexpected niceties of Brugge, unnoticed before. One is the slightly nauseating tendency of the Flemish to embellish their windows, both of houses and shops, with Soft Toys. Unbelievably sentimental and cloying but here, almost universal!! There has been a soft explosion of these displays during Covoid 19 lock-down so surely, there is a widespread assumption that there is a Comfort Value supposedly conferred. I feel rather like a witch ruining a christening, but these widespread Teddies and other cuddly animals are just so irritating and juvenile and sentimental. Phew, do feel better for having owned up to those feelings but perhaps better keep them hidden from Flemish friends.

Smedenpoort today.

Another, altogether more interesting sight about which I keep intending to discover more, is the skull on the Smedenpoort. It is bound to be a felon, or a traitor of some description …. Found some info. And indeed, the original owner of the skull was a traitor. The Blacksmith’s Gate, Smedenpoort, was built in 1297 though the present gate is a re-built example from 1367 after the destruction of the original. On June 25th 1691,

hostile French troops, dispatched North by Louis X1V, approached, expected and dreaded by the citizens of Brugge who were relatively defenceless. All City gates were strictly manned during the day by armed guards and locked overnight with guards on duty inside. 

This is cheating! Could not resist!

Francois van der Straeten by

Pieter Pourbus a century before our

Francois the traitor [1567]. BUT surely

a relative? A Schepen to boot!

One of the guards at the Smedenpoort, Francois van der Straeten, had sold his services secretly to the French, arranging to unlock the Smedenpoort to let in a small advance party of French soldiers hiding in the empty barracks near the Waterhouse, outside the city. They would overpower the guards inside the gate to permit entry to the main force hiding in the woods of Tillegem for an easy conquest of the city. The plan was foiled purely by chance. Jacob Wyndekens, a skipper, docked at the Bouveriepoort on the fateful night and walked towards the Waterhouse barracks for overnight shelter, something he had often done after a late arrival. He stumbled over the advance French party in hiding there, and quickly informed the guards at Bouveriepoort. Soon afterwards, Francois van der Straeten unlocked the Smedenpoort and almost immediately realised the situation before attempting to flee. He was captured, tortured, confessed and hanged the next day, June 26, on the Burg before being taken to the Gallowsfield [Galgenveld] on the road to Dixmuide, to be hung upside down from a gallows. His body was beheaded and the head placed on a spike above the Smedenpoort after being coated in bronze, as a warning to others.

A Galgenveld, but not ours.

Indicates the bleakness and distance from town.

Also underlines the enormity of treachery in mediaeval eyes.

The skull disappeared during the French Revolution when Brugge was occupied by the French and was not discovered until 1876; the remains are now in the Archaeological Museum in Bruges. The present traitor’s skull is a replica in bronze. The story feels mediaeval but is relatively recent in historical terms; three hundred years ago only!

Smedenpoort in 1895.

Gives more a feeling of the poort as on the edge of town

through the ages.

Happiness Habits

Along the Langerei

From the Bonifacius bridge.

  I have eventually realised that, in this current lock-down, with its limited scope for everyday, taken-for-granted activities, I have intuitively divined a routine, I suppose one could so describe it; there is a small raft of activities from which I haul in a range of ordinary goodies, pretty well every day, to buoy up the emotional state and keep it bobbing around in a positively bracing sort of way. Oh dear, that all sounds rather hearty when my everyday state is simply calmly engrossed and entertained.

Fragile almost ethereal arbour

A pecking order has emerged; after breakfast the favoured routine now begins with an early morning walk; anything between 8.15 and 8.45 is Departure Time for what is intended to be an hour’s walk, more a wander, less a route march. I know that, without fail, wherever I go, every day, I will think how lucky I am to be locked down in Brugge. Every morning in what has admittedly been a prolonged sunny period gilding the gingerbread, I look around and wonder afresh at the beauty of the buildings and the canals. Every morning I cannot resist taking yet another photograph of a perfect reflection or of a tree tumbling into a bright Spring green foliage or of a vista so artfully pre-arranged for me.

According to Professor Laurie Santos, professor of psychology at Yale, (a recent acquaintance, as it were) gratitude consistently comes top of the list of what makes humans truly happy. She suggests that it is not circumstances which make us content, but, that provided basic needs of shelter, food and warmth are met, we can thrive in whatever situation we find ourselves in. I realise now that my reaction to being physically separate from others from necessity, has pushed me to devise a way of living which satisfies me enough to allow me to

Professor Laurie Santos's course, The Science of Well-Being

promotes the idea of post-traumatic growth.

welcome every day and every part of that day. So I savour the coffee I make when my wandering is over and currently enjoy the sun which permits me to sit and luxuriate on my terrace as I drink it and read my latest book.

Books by, on or about Jane Austen, awaiting a new owner.

A beacon in the Corona limbo

During each day, I love the other regular tasks/habits/routines I am choosing. Such brief fun from What’s App's silly family remarks, photos and videos; Facetime, often with family and Zoom with a group of girl friends who normally meet up each week for coffee; great videos online from friends, two of whom, in particular, are amazing in their abilities to find wonderful entertainment from somewhere; writing and receiving e-mails and then there is the Tidying of The Book Shelves. This last deserves amplification! I have a number of bookshelves and I thought, after five years of residence here, it might be time for a Spring clean. It is unbelievable how long it is taking me and how much pleasure I am deriving from what was supposed to be a boring and mundane job. I have to dust, then open each book, check the signature and date acquired, then a supposed quick rifle through the pages. I have located quite a number of volumes with strong personal connections attached to them, which I feel strongly I want to hand on to one or other of my children. So I am making small piles of volumes, carefully labelled and hope they can be collected post-Corona. In the general melee to clear my apartment after I go to The Great Classroom in The Sky, I can imagine my precious books, chiefly hurled into boxes destined for a charity shop; no one will have the time, or perhaps, inclination to look carefully through the piles. As part of this book drive I have also assembled a shelf and a half of books by, on or about Jane Austen which I want to pass on to some interested student and I have started a correspondence to bring that about. Looking hopeful!

Hilary Mantel, as pictured in the New Statesman

All of these little activities, plus pottering on my terrace and reading, as in Reading, feel psychologically nutritious, to use a Santos expression! I love The Times on a Saturday and The New York Times at the weekend; some stunning journalism there. And of course, the books. Have just finished the Blessed Hilary's The Mirror and The Light, a tome weighty enough to be a headstone but crammed with unbelievable flair and elegance of character, plot, expression. 

And, having re-read the above, I detect a certain regrettable smugness. I know I am lucky and can't bear the stories of increased domestic violence and in-family deaths as well as the huge difficulties faced by hungry and impoverished millions.  The worst thing I can imagine for my sisters and me, when children, is to have been locked down with my father. Professor Santos's theory might be a bit thin there, specifically, though definitely true in 99% of situations otherwise.

Lockdown; Covid Domestic Violence Increases.

Early one morning ....

……. just as the sun was rising, ….

I am writing soon after staggering home from a one and a half hour walk, down Smedenstraat and then right along the Buiten Smedenvest. That last stretch is fast becoming a favourite part of Brugge for me, a town which already has a surfeit of beauty but which, particularly now, has the relatively short walk between the Poort and the main E40 enhanced, be-floralled, Spring made visible, in its abundant blossom and, this morning, burnished even more by a wonderful concert from a lone persistent blackbird.

As I left Smedenpoort behind me walking beneath trees, through early morning shadows and looking down on the canal, I noticed another solitary, elderly woman ahead, doing her bit to keep healthy, separate and entertained. We are all doggedly conforming to the official advice! I read an interesting article by a virologist in the weekend New York Times, explaining that Covid19 has no warlike purpose to take over the world, no sinister intention to kill and harm, no aim to make war by other means. No. It is a virus with the sole purpose of replicating itself. And the chief purpose of humans is to prevent that as efficiently as possible. An objective met with varying degrees of skill and transparency by the world’s politicians over the last weeks.

                                                                                A blackbird is definitely visible in this

                                                                      photo on my Ipad!!

But back to my morning wandering. It was the unexpected sight of floral profusion that moved me today and then, beneath a burgeoning canopy of young green foliage above me, to hear a prolonged chorus from a blackbird, was heavenly. And as I stood listening, I ruminated on the unexpected positives of an enforced retreat from normal life. True, I am alone around 95% of the week at present and cannot do several things, activities which I enjoy normally. Presently, my only high-spots are an occasional visit to the supermarket; my daily walk; the weekly trip to the restaurant re-purposed as a super take-away and weekly visit to the newspaper shop. But this enforced physical isolation seems to be compensating me [and others] with a heightened ability to notice and enjoy these smaller facets of life, like sunshine and shadows, often previously overlooked, and now offering such pleasure.  We are appreciating beauty in the every-day background of life.

"And all the chestnut spires are out ...."

A post-script to my title which sprang, unbidden, to mind, no doubt, left there from repeated singing in the primary school! Early One Morning is an English folk-song with lyrics found in publications as early as 1787. A broadside ballad sheet in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, dated between 1828 and 1829 has the title, The Lamenting Maid and refers to the lover leaving to become a sailor. It was first printed by William Chappell in National English Airs, c 1855-9. Chappell wrote that the melody might be derived from an earlier song, The Forsaken Lover. He wrote in his later, Popular Music of Olden Time:

“If I were required to name three of the most popular songs among the servant-maids of the present generation, I should say, from my own experience, that they are Cupid's Garden, I sow'd the seeds of love, and Early one morning. I have heard Early one morning sung by servants who came from Leeds, from Hereford and from Devonshire, and by others from parts nearer to London. The tune... was, I believe first printed in my collection.... from one of the penny song-books collected by Ritson, and it is curious that scarcely any two copies agree beyond the second line, although the subject is always the same- a damsel's distress at losing her love."

Scullery maid. 19th. century,

Guiseppe Maria Crespi.

Scullery maid, 

Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin

1738.

Mediaeval Cranes

 Looks like a possible nest to the left!

I was doing what has become my daily hour’s wandering around the Egg, chiefly along the wonderful, ever-changing canals, when I spotted a couple of swans nearby, off the road and safely behind a fence. I wandered across to take a photograph, wondering about a possible nesting, and then noticed the familiar replica mediaeval crane at the side. [Towards the end of Wulpenstraat.] I have long idly intended to discover more about this crane and mediaeval cranes in general, et voila, here we are, nudged by the swans with time and opportunity afforded by the lock-down.

 Single, early mediaeval crane
working on a roof.

The correct name apparently, is a tread-wheel crane [magna rota] defined as a wooden, human-powered hoisting and lowering device. Used in Roman times originally but after the demise of the Western Roman Empire, the technology fell into disuse only reappearing in France in about 1225, followed by an illuminated depiction in a manuscript, possibly of French origin, dating to 1240. The earliest documentation of cranes in use in navigation are those in Utrecht in 1244, Antwerp in 1263, Brugge in 1288 and Hamburg in 1291.The treadmill was first recorded in England considerably later in 1331.

Mediaeval windlass, still in situ
in roof of Salisbury Cathedral.

 Crane in Brugge
Miniature painting, 1510.
Simon Bening.

The exact process by which the tread-wheel crane was re-introduced in mediaeval times, is not recorded although its appearance on mediaeval building sites is almost certainly linked to the emergence and development of Gothic architecture. Generally, vertical transport was easier and cheaper by cranes than traditional manual methods and typical areas of use were in harbours, mines and, pivotally, in the construction of the towering Gothic cathedrals. However, the traditional tools such as ladders, hods and handbarrows continued alongside the cranes. The process of the re-introduction of the magna rota may have resulted from the technological development of the windlass which has a close structural and mechanical affinity to the crane. Similarly the early crane shared many structural similarities with waterwheels and their labour-saving qualities were probably translated to the idea of a huge crane to lift heavy goods.

Jan van Eyewerve 1551
Painted by Pourbus on occasion
of Eyewerve's marriage to

Jacquemyne Bunck

In Brugge, from the end of the 12th century, the centre of commercial activity was located around the Kraanplein and the Spiegelrei. A huge wooden crane was situated near the Kraanplein from 1290 before which it had been located on the Markt.when the construction of the Waterhalle necessitated its removal. Indeed, the name, Kraanplein, came from the installation of this enormous wooden equipment. It was mounted on a revolving post, like a windmill, and the crane's pulleys were worked by means of two large treadmills operated by children. One can only wonder, horrified at their grim existence. Unbelievably, this monumental crane, installed in 1290 was not dismantled until 1767. During these five hundred years, the Bruggean crane had impressed visitors and was taken as a sign of Brugge's incredible economic success. 

The Eyewerve house
overlooked the Kraanplein.
The crane, important to the
wealth of a merchant,
is pictured in his portrait. 

The Kraanrei grew increasingly crowded by 1787 and Sint Jansbrug was demolished to allow the development of Academieplaats, renamed Jan van Eyckplein in 1844. Between 1793 and 1795 the road up to the Kraanplein was arched and the Kraanbrug demolished, though part of it is preserved underground.

 One can easily see why the splendid
reconstruction was moved from Jan van Eyckplein!

 The replica mediaeval crane, made by students
of the Bruges' V.T.I. in 2002, originally placed in
Jan van Eyckplein and later moved to
Wulpenstraat near Sasplein.

Quiet Corners .....Empty Spaces.

Astridpark en fleur.

Seagulls practising social distancing.

A 'poached' photograph.

Deserted Groenerei,

early one morning ….

Solitary swan at breakfast along the Augustijnenrei.

A barge named for my sister, along the Coupure!

Almond Blossom by Van Gogh.

Ithink I will gather some of the photographs  taken during my daily hour-long walks to try to convey the slightly surreal reality that is the current Corona Brugge. I have come to prefer the really early morning wanderings during the past month, probably chiefly because of the eight o’clock morning sun and the even sparser numbers of dog walkers, joggers, cyclist and elderly health freaks like Yours Truly. But there are warnings of a drastic drop in temperature in two days’ time which will almost certainly defer my present attempts to find large pots, needed to transplant up little trees on my terrace, and a bag of compost or three in preparation for the Grande Liberation when the plant market on Wednesdays and Saturdays is again allowed to function. I frequently mutter to myself that there is virtually no difference in Risk between controlled supermarket shopping with the essential social distancing, and the same measures with plants and flowers in an open air market. The latter seems less risky indeed and if re-instated, could start to mitigate against the income-less plight of growers and the plant-less anxiety of terrace- and garden-holders.

Looking up to early shoots, near the Gentpoort.

SO reminiscent of Van Gogh's Almond Blossom.

From my window.

There is an aesthetic feast to be enjoyed, courtesy of this imposed lock-down. Social distancing and self-isolation have many compensations!