FUGITIVES OF FEAR

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XLVIII, Issue XLVIII, 18 February 1915, Page 8

FUGITIVES OF FEAR

THE DESOLATION' OF BELGIUM,

"A picture of the desolation of Belgium is drawn by Mr Philip Gibbs, the "Doily Chronicle's" war correspondent, in a letter from op-Zoom, dated Dec. 11.

Since this war began I have seen many tragedies, and have walked in fielaa of" death, and along highways of intolerable agony. I saw the first wild rush of Belgian refugees across the French frontier rising into a spate of fugitive people which swept down all barriers dividing/the decent things of civilised life from the first jungles of primitive man. I have walked in towns where the dark streets were crowded with the shadow figures of homeless people sleeping on the pavements. Worse still, I have seen little towns, rich in old buildings, and made beautiful by the pride of the poorest peasants in their home life, smashed, and smashed again, into dust and rubbish heaps bv the artillery of an invading enemy. I thought I had seen all that war has to show in misery—and yet, to-day and yesterday, I have seen things more miserable than those in the midst of flaming war. I have seen in Amsterdam. and Rosendaal, and Bergen-op-Zoom, in the marshes between the dykes, and in the sheds of railways the exiles of Belgium in Holland, "who have settled down into an everyday Toutine of de spair, as the most pitiful victims of war's senseless cruelty. The Dutch people have tried to do their best for these fugitives of fear. But this thing has been too much for theml How could they cope with it? What could all their committees do in the way.of organisation when t v ey were submerged under such a tidal wave .of'misery? We have our own.problem of Belgian refugees in England. It is big enough, God knows. But imaine thus little country of Holland, with a population of soomething like seven millions, invaded, suddenly and almost without warning, by nearly a million of _"her next-door neighbours ! I am told that this is the number of fugitives from Belgium, wno have passed through' Holland since the beginning of the war, and mainly since the fall of Antwerp. Not less than £OO,OOO remained for several weeks, and now, when England has received her thousands, thousands, greatly daring, have ."gone back to Antwrep and Brussels, there still remain in. Holland, demanding sanctuary, at least 300,000 Belgian: people.

A C&MP OP DESPAIR. "They belong to the poorest classes and are "utterly, destitute. They look to the Dutch,people for shelter. for clothes, and for~=fooH —to these Dutch people -who haft no spare honses to,let. even in the shape of'houseboats or windmills ; to these-people who have. I am told, many uneniployed even in their own great cito "this little nation'which is ricS osly in the thriftiness of its peasant ■v'Sfc it is that the problem of Belgian fug Skives in Holland is frightful in its intensity and demands the attention and the. aid of England, as far as it can he eivenSrwithout. hurting the pride of the Dutch?people or touching the honour of a-', neuijral cbun try. Tbafr such help is needed I saw torlav in~the refugee camp at Eergen-op Zoom.Sit was here that I saw a trage-d-y greater than that of a battle-field strewn afcrith dead or of a shell-wr«o'vei town, In th|£ one camp, which is typical of others, £Bere are 3,500 men. women, and children?: The Dutch Government and people hive done their best for them. When th«E great rush came after the tall of "Antwelp they set up a large number of tents, shey collected blankets, they laid and committees were organised Ho supply bread and soup. They could: do no more when confronts! by an invigsion, not o- thousands, but of hundred* of thousands.

IS ENGLAND SATISFIED

* But -whecFthat is said, justly and honourably, -one must look into the life of these people in those tents and ask the question?! Is England's honour satisfied by such* a state of things, or do "we not owe something more than this to people who suffered because of our pledge to save, them? Ought we to a.low Holland tp bear so great a burdec. I looked into the life of those tenv* to-day, and went away sick at heart. . Even at a little distance the. seen* outside Bergen-6n-Zoom seemed to iaei pitifuL In thecstreets of the old Dutcx town the shop Windowsi were filled w«u Christina, gifts and the good - things of life, /but here, away on the flat fields little mist was rising, there was no cheerfulness, nut long rows of - grey tents MO of them, i should say—as sad and desolate-looking as a Kaffir kraafc when the sun gu« ''* o <K" the -outskirts of this canvas town come carpenters were at work putting np' a street of wooden sheds, in wtart life would be more endurable m tne cold, damp weather of a Dutch -vinte. or during the longr frost which *ome-tane-comes. Thetap-tap of the Hammer, like' the knocking of coffin-lids, was the orilv sound whjch came to my ears. There" was no singing voice m tins camp of exiles. LI heard no cneeriui voice in friendly 'argument, as I useu to hear in Belgian^viiiages—beiore the war. ' The 3,000 people housed m tnese huts were a silent multitude. Crowds o: them were lounging about, aimlessiv, with their hands in- their pockets— j strong, hulking , men, "«*°se hanas oujrhfc to have been Busy at some 30b or life : Weary-eyed" women and young eirls, with babies in.their arras, stared It one through the,jgaping doorways ot j the huts; where they::crowded over cnar-coal-fires in iron pails. % . A Dutch officer gave me permission to confound the camp—'.'but not into that place/' he said, pointing to a square black fent > n tn e centre of the lines. J. was curious to know-why that was a forbidden horse, until he added a few explanatory words. "There is fever inside. The scarlatina, you understand. MONOTONY OF DOTNG NOTHING. ' We spoke in English.'and as I left the "officer, a man who had been listening followed me, and said, "Beg pardon sir-." It was a- Belgian seaman 1 who had worked on English ships until he was trapped in Antwerp under bombardment, from which he escaped afterwards to this'field of captivity. As we walked down the line of tent s togethe-, he spoke

in a long, slow monologue, in which there was -a kind of passion now and then, as though a fire burned in his soul undeT the white ash of despair. "It's the idleness that's the worst," he said. "Day after day, with nothing to do. And I'm a strong man. .1 was proud of my strength. 'But the weeks pass, and there's nothing to do but sit still until the soup comes round, and then sit still again thinking of all tho months to come. If I could get to-Eng-lan<l. and find a bit- of work there. . ." I looked inside the tents. Women and young girls, babies, and brawny young "men were bedded on 6traw, sprawling in a drowsy laziness although it was the early afternoon. "Some huts have single families,"' said the seaman. "All ages and sizes together. In other tents two families share up the floor space. For young men and women it's not quite—good. I have two daughters, you see. and think of things. . . But "we don't grumble. Shipwrecked people are glad of a plank on a rough sea." No, they don't grumble, these people, on the whole. Thev Tealise, in a dumb, inarticulate way, that they owed their life to the Dutch people, who provided this shelter and the food which kept them alive.

THE DIET. They would like a little more food, however. Coffee and bread in the morning, a bowl of eoup at mid-day, coffee and bread in the evening, is, after all, but thin fare for young men who are still growinsr, for women with babies to feed, and for study labourers with great shoulders, which," in the old days of peace, have borne great loads lightly. "It is just enough for life." said one man in French. "We do not complain. It is more than we have a right to demand ; but it is less than we ehould like. You understand 1 Just enough is a good deal less than too much." One tent was just like another. In each there seemed to be an old woman, who sat crooning there with a nodding head and watery eyes, and two or three young women with new-born babes, and a fretful child or two, and a couple of lads squatting on a straw bed with a blanket covering playing cards with a pig-tailed girl, and in the opening of the tent the father of the family, or perhaps the grandfather, poking the fire in the pail with a charred stick. Each tent represented a Belgian family exiled from some little dwelling in Antwerp or Brussels, or from some village which is now in ruin. Each tent held the tragedy of Belgium. . . .

ALL EYES ON ENGLAND. The word went round that an Englishman wa s in the camp, and before long I was surrounded by groups of men. who jostled each other to speak to me. Each man wanted to go to England. Each man wanted me to find him work in England. In each man's eyes there •was the burning faith that in England he might be a free man again, and use his strength as a man should. The Belgian seaman kept close to me. "It's the same with all of them, and with me," he said. "We look to England to save us from this—this do-noth-ing life in tents.""' He stared Tound the camp, and his voice was husky. "The Dutch people are kind, but, after all, it's a dog's life here. To play cards all day, to lie in the straw, to eat a little soup and wish for more, to feel one's strength go, day by day. Strength of mind, sir, as well as strength of body. . . . And it's unclean. We don't change our clothes. We're vermin-eaten, to tell God's truth. They can't find enough clothes for all of 'us, How can they ? There -are too many of us."

Yes, there are too many of these Belgian refugees in Holland. I saw a thousands of them in one house at Rbsendaal. It was the Java sugar factory, emptied of sugar to make room for the bitterness of a human storehouse. Below, in a long, low -shed, with just a little grey light filtering into the gloom, a crowd of men, -women, and children were seated on benches before farstretching tables which lost themselves m the mirk of the room. The younger men and -women -were playing cards.

"They play cards all day long," said my guide. "They've nothing else to do."

, With regard to the physical conditions of these fugitives, there is, as far as I have seen, no reproach to be made against, the Dutch. They are doing their ■best to provide shelter and food and clothes for all these people, who have put an intolerable strain upon the resources of a little nation. "The Dutch Government, has -refused, quite rightly, in view of its neutrality, to receive financial aid from bur own "Government. But, somehow or other, we in England must find a way to send money and clothes—especially clothes—to the local committees in Holland, who are at their wits' end to provide for all those exiled families. In other articles I shall show the need of English "help > which must be given, unless we forfeit our honour in letting Holland have too great a burden, belonging, most of all, to ite.