A Trip to the Rhine.

Waipawa Mail, Volume LI, Issue 38, 13 December 1929, Page 2 (Supplement)

A Trip to the Rhine.

COLOGNE’S GREAT CATHEDRAL

The Vine Growing Country.

(By E.N.A., in ‘‘The Weekly Scotsman.")

UAVING decided to go to the Rhine, they determined to jump right into its mouth from the North Sea, and to live with it day and night for a time. “It smells!”

The unromantic comment of the youngest of the party was born of deep conviction, she leaning her dark head out of the port-hole of a Dutch steamer at Rotterdam quay, and surveying the dirty water beneath her with disgust. “So did the Tyne as we left Newcastle!” said another of the Trio, and there followed a swift comparison of the dingy, dirty buildings that crowded those English banks with the colourful scene before their eyes. Barges are full of colour. It may be only the yellow shirts of the seamen or the Dutch lady’s washing hanging up to dry on deck, but it all goes to make a brighter Holland. Her own vivid dress and that of her children, playing fearlessly where one false step would mean immersion in the Maas—as the Rhine to them is known—add to the picture.

“It does smell,” reiterated the Youngest later, as the steamer glided gently up the wide expanse of water between low-lying banks, black and white cows grazing on the fabulously green fields, the flatness relieved here and there by an arresting church tower or windmill. Interminable rows of trees kept the river company and ran off at right angles across country. In such surroundings was Siegford born, hero of the Niebelungenlied at Xanten. Two aspects of German officialdom presented themselves at Emmerich. The Customs officer introduced the first when he appeared, politely bowing, at the cabin door. The Three were prepared to show their luggage and endure cross-questioning. “Guten Tag, meinc Damen. Das ist alles? Vielen Dank?” And he bowed himself away.

The glorious creature who shone upon the highway in the uniform of a policeman was less gracious. True, he inclined his noble head to listen to the halting inquiries for a Postamt that our gallant Youngest offered. The directions he gave, but feebly understood, were not followed to his liking. He became positively alarming, herded the Three sternly into a shop, poured over the surprised shopkeeper a torrent of German from which it emerged—to the Three—that their efforts in that language were “etwas schlccht,” but—with a shrug of those manly shoulders—“man muss man helfen!” Anyhow, they got their stamps.

Next morning the good ship Willem came to Dusseldorf, whence was gathered a confused impression of modern architecture and of mediaeval market scenes as full of colour as they were of people. Masses of vivid flowers and fruit spread out under big coloured umbrellas tempted the Three to part with unfamiliar coins.

It was strange how far a very little foreign tongue will go when there is a purchase in the wind. But the ways of the money-changer arc slow, and when at last the Dresdner Bank had been located and coaxed to disgorge marks for pounds sterling, there was no time left for shops and little enough to catch the boat. There will probably remain in Dusseldorf a legend of three wild Scotswomen racing madly through the streets towards the river long after the British occupation of the Rhine had been forgotten.

Cologne, Enough to say of Cologne that its famous cathedral, that monument of Gothic architecture, was duly visited, and that the awe-inspiring height of its great columns failed not of their effect. Though the British were no longer in occupation, they had left their mark. Even the marvels of the cathedral trea-sure-house-hones of the Magi and the rest—were described in English on cards the guide distributed. “English! Am I right?” was his greeting to the Three. The vanishing view of the city, with its giant lacework spires against the sky. was a sight to remember. The suburbs of Cologne, as seen from the river, are indeed among the most attractive stretches of the Rhine. Opulent villas of every known style of architecture, and most of them extremely handsome, lie along the left bank in luxurious gardens. Limes line the shores, and up and down the stream, in and out among the heavy, slowly floating barges, dart canoes. A bronzed youth, naked to the waist, paddles alone or with his lady-love, who takes her turn at paddling. Along the hanks are bathing places, for swimming comes to these people naturally. They belong to the river and the river to them.

Night fell again before the stout ship Willem came to Bonn, where the bridge, a graceful structure, spans the Rhine in mighty curves. A row of twinkling lights beyond it signalled welcome. Quiet dignity was in the atmosphere. “Let’s go for a walk in the dark! ’ There was a drooping acacia by the rivers edge that will mean Bonn to one of the Three for the rest of her days. “We shall know where to come back by that tree,” said they, and they set off, hoping against hope. There would be no time to see the sights in the morning, and there was the house where Beethoven was horn to find. Up narrow alleys, down sedate streets by still sedate,- shops, whose windows decently shrouded from the public gaze tantalised by what, they half revealed, past shadowy churches, across cobbled courts where groups of men still lingered over talk, they wandered The peace was broken now and then by dance music from a coffee house, when.-c a blaze of garish light half blinded tlio.se outside. The candle and the moth.' But these moths sought another candle. “The one thing I wanted to sec l ” “How can we even find it in the dark?” “If w, ask our way at midnight they will think us mad.” So they grumbled and stumbled iu

the sleepy town. “Look!” cried the Middle One, gripping the Eldest’s arm. “What?”

“Bonngas.se!” She pointed at the name of the street, which a chance light obligingly illuminated.

The Three looked at each other. “How on earth did we hit it ?” To hit the house, so to speak, was a matter of moments after that. If the spirit of Beethoven was abroad that night and hovering near his birthplace, he saw three silent pilgrims across the road. There was nothing to say. Beethoven had been the beginning of all music to one at least of them. “I’m glad they keep flowers in the window,” said someone. To find the way back to f.rV* 1 Willem was not as simple as it seemed, but by dint of laboured inquyties of homing citizens they came again to the droning acacia «'.d the darkened ship. Silently they stole on board. In the dark they fumbled in their cabins, crept into their bunks, and slept the, sleep of sweet content. A Land of Legend. Untold groanings told the nassengers that Willem was leavmg Bonn behind. A ■"%. on.the cabin doors and the word “Siebengebirge l /’ It Ms to b»the day of days, no time to lie abed. By half-past five shivery mortals huddled in coats were peopling the lower deck, Myn Heeren, the Dutch sailors, were making a second river oveihead in their zeal for cleanliness, and whoso head-out unwarily was likely to get it soused with dirty water for his pains. ~ Dutch and English foregathered. They had not a Word of each other’s tongue, but expansive smiles were interchanged, and Gustv, the little German Kellner, ran about with his inevitable napkin under his arm, pouring voluble explanations over, anybody who would stay to listen. It was his river, you understand. He beamed at it through his strong glasses, murmuring “Prachtvoll, wunderschon,” shaking his head at it, breaking into song, and then, remembering his duties, hurrying off to them again. Breakfast found everybody ravenous, the Three included, but their efforts paled before those of a Dutch pair whose every meal -was hallowed by a lengthy grace before and after. “Digging their graves with their teeth,” said the eldest, watching them toy with sausage, cheese, boiled eggs, and bread and butter, the latter eaten with a knife and fork. One lady ate a pound of strawberries besides.

At Coblenz there was no time to land. The approach, dominated by the huge Kaiser Denkmal at the junction of the Rhine and Mosel, was balanced by the huge fortress of Ehfenbreitstbin on the other side. Parties of Wandervogel marched along the river bank, their knapsacks on their backs, and three came on board with their canoe. The girl had a handkerchief tied over her head, and the two boys wore white woollen sweaters, shorts, and peaked caps. They were distant and rather hostile—the only instance of the kind encountered on the trip. All through the vine growing country the Rhine is narrower. Countless castles tell of stirring days of old, when every man had to watch and fight to keep his own. To-day, the banks are scattered with watering places that seem to be all hotels. Braubach, with its narrow wooded gorge, old tower and shower of roses spilljnp themselves over the gardens that sloped to the watered edge; Ob/Srlahnstcin, with its chain of Roman remains; Lorch, a queer old town to which the Three vowed to return; Boppard, St Goarhausen, and the rest. There was the Pfalz, a stone fortress on a midstream rock; and the Loreli, famed in legend for its golden haired syren, who lured sailors to the whirlpool at her feet with the charm of her singing.

Everywhere in the vine country one was amazed at the industry and determination of a people who had skill and patience to work and climb among the steep terraces, often carrying up the scanty soil the wind had blown, and toiling in the noonday heat.

The river widens and changes at Bingen, guarded by the ancient Mauseturm, .where the. bad Bishop burnt up his poor people, and by Germania, thtPeolossal figure of a woman high on the hill, in memory of 1870. Several on deck took occasion to ask the Three if this monstrosity was not sehr schon. Politeness overcoming truth, they said it was. Perhaps they were forgiven.

Above Bingen, the Rhine flows through the peaceful verdant Rheingau, world famous for its noble vintages. Soft green meadows on either side turned to gold in the evening sunshine, and in the background rose the Tauuus mountains, not unlike parts of the Scottish Borders.

A snow white pleasure steamer passed with its freight of singing children, to return at dark like a fairy boat, empty of passengers and lighted up from end to end.

Past Wiesbaden-Bicbrieh, “Willem” took his way to Mainz, of which the first impression was one of wide streets, sweetsmelling- limes, and niue’miliArmcd French soldiery. One saw the Frenchmen everywhere, and they gave the city a martial appearance, beflaggecl as it was already for a church festival. The close ,y crowded streets in the oldest quarters of the city showed a wealth of quaint, designs in housebuilding, the stone mellowed to soft pinks, warm browns, and yellows, embellished with all manner of painted mediaeval saints, whose statuettes above the doors and windows looked down, grotesque and yet benignant, on the passer-by. Richer colour was added by the vivid blues the women love to wear, and by the gay flower and fruit stalls in the market place. The giant dome of the age-old Cathedral, a dignified mass of pink stone, stands in the heart of this old part. Inside the massive building there was an atmosphere that only comes from centuries of worship. The black-robed priest who went about with his keys eyed the Three curiously. It was the Eldest who loiiml courage to ask him, in her best German, what time Mass was to be said next day. Every hour, it seemed, in holloin' of the festival.

Shortly after eight next morning, the Trio left “Willem” mid the Rhine at Mannheim, the faithful Gustav carrying their traps ashore, and waving them a fond farewell. How they achieved tickets for Heidelberg and all the beauties of the Neekar valley, and set out upon a journey with the blessing (?) of a patriarchal ticket-puncher, would make another story.