Innocents Abroad

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 269, 12 November 1937, Page 17

Innocents Abroad

SHORT STORY

WHEN the idea of a week-end on the Belgian coast was first mooted. Robert's exuberance knew no bounds and his conversation no English. It was bad enough to listen to his execrable French on the telephone when arrangements were being made for tli" trip, but when this became interspersed with Flemish (tinged, I suspected, with Luxembourg patois) I began to despair. Robert is ft frustrated being; a great romantic whom blondes pass by; a wouldbe Toscanini who is always being relegated to the triangle. I mention this because, as soon as we got off the boat at Ostend, Robert knew in a trice there would be no further use either for hi* French or Flemish. He was frustrated again.

The English abroad are a curious lot. I speak of them in this detached way because Robert and I feel ourselves a cut above the average tourist. I mean apart from a fortnight in the Moselle Valley and a week in Guernsey. I have <spent two or three long week-ends jr. Paris; end as for Robert, he worked for two months in Luxembourg once and was in Brussels only last Easter. I mean we both feel—what shall I way?—cosmopolitan—as soon as we set, feet on the deck of a cross-Channel boat. We feel we know the ropes. That is why T speak of the English abrofld in this detached way. As soon «s the boat approached the pier a t Ostend and we saw the English lined up waiting for us to heave to, I mean

we dissociated ourselves from the boat and from the Anglo-Saxon race there and then. There they were in Belgium for a holiday, and so strong was their nostalgia for Balham or Claphnm or Birmingham. or whatever town had spewed them forth that all they could do with their time was to hang around waiting to see a lot of lovely English faces appear over vet another deck rail. Heavy at heart, we passed through tho Customs, and out forlornly inio the street, clutching our luggage. "Robert," I said firmly. "I can't take it." And Robert, who also goes to thr pictures, said: "I can't, either—but can they dish it out. or can they?" "Xever mind." I tried to console him. "It'll be better at Middclkirke. Especithe season hadn't started yet." "Deux a Middelkirke, s'il vous plait," Robert sai.d to the "tram conductor in his very best French accent. "Ah. messieurs go Middelkirke. yes ? n said the conductor with a friendly smiie. "Not yet saison starting, but sand very nice. * You like svim, yes? Good to svim a Middelkirke!" "Kow how." thought I—and T "could see the same problem wrinkling Robert's brow—"did this fellow know we were English? Why couldn't we have been Germans? Or Italians? Or Americans? Or even Russians, come to that? What was this 'made in England' stamp that nothing could erase?" But he was certainly right about the season not yet starting m Middelkirke. Robert and I sighed with relief as we walked along the front. We were, heaven be praised, on the Continent at last. There was not an Englishman in sight and visibility was good for miles. *At the same time it had its disadvantages, this absence of the English: there "was not a. Belgian in sight either —presumably because of that. " e thought we "spotted one in the distance and ran like mad to have a to. but he sheered off like a frightened fawn. , Presumablv an Englishman seen ouof season is'like an oyster eaten when there's no '"R ' in the month. Robert and T Jind by then arrived a. a tacit understanding that Ostend waBrighton without Brighton's Regency houses or Lord Alfred Douglas. >ow we decided that Middelkirke was Seaford, without Sea ford's spontaneous caietv. A hotel proprietor made matters worse by promising us. as a (special inducement to stay at his hotel, a bunch of English visitor? trho were expected bv him on the following day. "Allons a Ostende," I suggested to Robert, still keeping up the illusion of being on the Continent by speaking French among our two selves, anyway. "\llons a Ostende," echoed Robert. • • • • Like two lost souls in search of a cloud to perch on. we retraced our steps to Ostend. Possibly, we deluded ourselves, our first impression was too hastily formed. Besides, we were getting hungry, and Ostend at least offered a wider choice of restaurants. But there again the Belguim we sought evaded us for quite a while, iWe passed English bookshops, English i visitors; notices outside restaurants inj formed us the price of roast beef and j two veg. J "After all," I said, putting a brave face on it, "you can't expect England with its great history and its great Empire not to leave some trace of itself on the Continent." 1"Xo, that's true." Robert agreed, "but after all the Walloons also had their

By DANIEL TEAGO.

little slice. It isn't asking too much that they should leave a trace of it in their own country, is it? Or i« it?" Musing thus, we suddenly came upon the natives; yes, we found the Belgians real, solid and at last —and a whole collection of them. It was outside a cafe that had attracted our attention from the other side of the large square in which it was situated. The bright lights, tha blaring music and the dissonant singing drew us towards it inquiringly. An all-English orchestra was playing allEnglish tunes; and all-English clientele joined lustily in the choruses, "Down At the Old Bull and Bush" . . . "Mademoiselle from Armentieres" . . . "Love's Old Sweet Song'' . . . out came all the old favourites filling the square with hideous sound. Suddenly, Robert gripped my arm and pointed into the darkness of the square. His eyes nearly popped out of his head with the excitement of bis discovery. There in the shadows they stood in silence —the Belgians. A whole crowd of them had assembled quietly to watch the English invasion of their town. Their faces were heavy, stolid, indifferent. They reacted not at all to the rousing songs that reached th<?m from the cafe. Or was it our imagination, or was there indeed that barely perceptible CJJfI of the lip, that silent but eloquent scorn? Robert and I looked at ea«h other, the guilt of a nation heavy upon us. Simultaneously—we blushed. "Vou see," I pointed out, "it's something you can't fight against."

Robert nodded. "We've got to fall in line," he said, "there's nothing else to do. We can't lot the old country down.. We can't disown it just like that; it isn't so simple." • • • • I could see that liie mind was working along the same lines as mine; nevertheless I advanced the suggestion with caution. "We'll show 'em," I said. "Let's make a pact from now on that we speak nothing but English, eat nothing but English food—and in the most Englisn hotel." It took us a few minutes to find it. but not very long. We did not expect it to take long. It was called '"The Lord Gladstone," and on either side of the name board a Union Jack fluttered. To cap it all, on either side of the doorway stood a splendid plaster cast of a bulldog. ".Meredith!" Robert quoted, "we're in." -And in a trice we were. '"Lancashire hot pot, please," Robert said. ".Steak, kid. and mush, pie, for me," I added. "Pardon. Messieurs?" "And j t?w- potatoes," Robert added enthusiastically. ' ('hii»s for me," I cut in. The waiter looked at us appealinglv. "S il vous plait, Messieurs," he Mid sadly. "Excuses-moi, Messieurs; ie ne pa lie pas l'Anglais."