Peeps at Many Lands: Belgium | Page 2

of the digue, at the edge of the seaward slope, is composed of heavy blocks of stone cemented together and bound by iron rivets.
The finest and longest digue is that which extends from Ostend for about nine miles. It is a good place for bicycle rides. No motor-cars are allowed on it.
Each of the little towns which you see dotted along the coast has a digue of its own, on which there is a row of villas and hotels facing the sea. Among the dunes behind the digue there are more villas. These are generally very picturesque, with verandas, red-tiled roofs, and brightly painted woodwork.
All day long in summer the digue of each town is crowded by people walking about in the sunshine, or sitting watching the bathers and the children playing on the sands. It is a very gay sight. There are prizes for those who build the best castles, and it is curious to see hundreds of little Belgian, English, French, and German flags flying on these small forts, and to hear the children shouting to each other in so many different languages. It makes one think of the Tower of Babel.
From six in the morning till six in the evening bathing-machines go to and from the water, and often there seem to be as many people in the sea as on the shore. There is a boat anchored a little way out, in which two men in red shirts, with ropes and lifebelts, sit watching to see that no one goes too far out, for the tide is often very strong. Sometimes these men, who are called sauveteurs, stand on the sand, and if they think anyone is swimming too far they blow a trumpet to call the swimmer back.
In the evening, when it is dark and the lamps are lighted, there is dancing on the digue to the music of a barrel-organ. The Belgians are very fond of this dancing, and often the English and other visitors join in it too.
All summer this holiday life goes on, with bathing, lawn-tennis, and in some places golf, till at last the time comes for going home. The hotels and villas close their doors. The windows are boarded up. The bathing-machines are pulled away from the beach, and put in some sheltered place among the dunes. The digue is left in solitude, to be covered with driven sand, and splashed with foam from the waves which beat against it, till the season of summer gaiety comes round again next year.
CHAPTER II
INLAND: THE FLEMISH PLAIN
Let us now leave the shore, and go inland.
If you climb to the top of some dune, you will see before you a wide plain stretching out as far as the eye can reach. This part of Belgium is called Flanders. It is all flat, with canals, and long, straight roads, paved with stones, running across it. There are rows of tall poplar-trees or willows, which are bent slightly towards the east, for the wind blows oftenest from the west, small patches of woodland, gardens, and many sluggish streams. The fields, which have no fences or hedges round them, are large and well tilled, some bearing fine crops of wheat, rye, or potatoes and turnips, while others are rich pasture-lands for sheep and cattle. The whole of this Flemish Plain, as it is called, is dotted with farm-houses and cottages. There are a great many villages, and in the distance rise the roof-tops and the towers and spires of famous old towns.
Some of the villages are worth visiting. There is one called Coxyde, which lies low among the sandhills, not far from the sea. The people of this village live by fishing, but in a very curious way, for they do it on horseback. They mount little horses, and ride out into the sea with baskets, and nets fastened to long poles. It is funny to see them riding about in the water, and catching fish and shrimps in this strange fashion.
There is another village, also only a short distance inland, where there is a church in which a number of toy ships are hung up. These are offerings made to an image of the Virgin Mary which stands there. If a crew of Flemish fishermen have escaped from some dangerous storm, they walk in silence to this church, and give thanks to the image, which is called Our Lady of Lombaerdzyde.
The farm-labourers in Flanders live very simply. Their food is chiefly black bread, potatoes, and salted pork or fish. There are lots of boys and girls who eat nothing all the year round but black bread and potatoes, and who look on pork or fish as quite a treat. Sometimes they spread lard on their slices of bread, and there are many who have never