Peeps at Many Lands: Belgium | Page 2

few
feet of the height to which it is intended to carry the digue. On the top
another solid bed of branches is laid down, and the whole is first
covered with concrete, and then with bricks or tiles, while the top 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,