The Meuse Valley.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXIX, Issue 100, 18 August 1914, Page 8

The Meuse Valley.

WHERE THE FIGHTING IS One bright summer aita.moon a fenyears ago, a tall, severo-lookii!f;,| broad-shouldered man walked along the line promenade at Ostend, says a writer in the Sydney “Daily Tele-' graph.” His long grey heard responded to every zephyr, and as he walked he drank in big draughts of invigor-j ating ozone, just as every other man at Ostend that afternoon did. Hej wore an ordinary bowler hat, carried' an ordinary stick, and but for thel commanding uprightness of his tall figure he would have passed without notice, as just one of the crowd. The late Leopold 11., King of the Belgians, for it was he, was walking amongst Ins people just as you or 1 walk down King Street, and ho was creating just as much notice there as we should here; Leopold was not a popular Monarch. Curious stories were told of him then, none particularly to his credit, but the industrious people of Belgium, whatever they did officially, treated Leopold personally with the same dull respect that they would have treated anybody else had ho been distinguished or not. The Belgians are a thrifty, hard-working people. They have not the vivacity of the French. They are not so square- ■ jawed as the English. They are a fine race of people, nevertheless, and they desire nothing so much as to bo permitted to mind their own business. Their country carries a population of over 500 persons per square mile, and most of them are happy and contented. THE COCKPIT OF EUROPE. Yet just as this fair land—for it is a fair land ! —was ploughed by the hool of the invader a century ago, so today it has become the cockpit of Europe, the focus of every man’s eye. The precise spot where Wellington thrashed Bonaparte is now a stretch of smiling green upon which cattle browse lazily. The villagers at Waterloo, pursuing the even tenor of their way, point out the relics of the event which made them famous, and wonder why they should have been singled out for such an honor. Like the people of Ostend, they wanted then,as they want now, nothing bettor than that they should be permitted to sow and to reap quietly without hindrance and without excitement.

Similarly those Belgians who are now being so rudely torn by the Kaiser’s ruthless army have done nothing to deserve that their land should be ruined by the smashing conflict of mighty gladiators. They arc the most peace-loving people on earth, they are among the most generous, and their country is of the brightest. The folk who live there possess kindliness and a hospitality which cannot be excelled even in the hinterland of New South Wales •, which has a deservedly rich reputation for the manner in which it will welcome a stranger. "NECTAR AND AMBROSIA."

Two of us, at peace to the world, trudged along for hour after hour, by thp sluggish waters of the clear blowing Mouse one summer afternoon not so very long ago. Unconscious of everything but the glorious country through which wo were passing/ we remembered the hour for food, when we discovered that we had none, and that we were several miles i from any hotel. But the smiling face of an elderly dame, and guid wife at a scrupulously clean farm-house, put us as our ease. Wo explained that we were foreign visitors, and that we were hungry. We should probably have called divine blessings upon her head if that had been necessary. But it wasn’t. In less than ten minutes we were enjoying a homely meal of bread, butter, new-laid eggs, and fresh milk, that were as nectar and ambrosia to hungry travellers, and as we puffed a peaceful pipe we gazed upon a countryside that seemed to exude peace and content.

Perhaps soldiers arc to-day sitting whore wo sat then, for wo wore in the heart of the land which is now being literally dragged up by the roots. Maybe ■ our homely farmstead has been destroyed by the explosion of a German shell. Maybe the kindly lady who so cheerfully helped us along is fleeing for refuge to other countrymen oi those “messieurs d’Angleterre,” as site described us, who once found her welcome so warm. BLOOD-WRITTEN HISTORIES! , But all along that Mouse valley there are places which oven in those peaceful days brought hack memories of the historical past, and conjured up possibilities of the future. The town of Liege, a miniature Brussels, which is in turn a miniature Paris, has been stormed at regular intervals since the early centuries. The people of Namur have a history winch might well be written in blood, and all along the riverside, at varying distances from the river itself, are strong fortresses, upon the existence of which Belgium’s immediate future seems largely to depend. Liege itself is defended by a number of fortresses, which, as the cables pointed out the other day, form a five-miles circle round the town, and down the river are dotted here and there fortresses, which will play theii part in the fight against Germany. Belgium, knowing what neglect might mean, has always kept them strong. What they are like inside, only those whose business it is to go inside know. Outside, .they are just huge battlements, generally built on the top of some rocky eminence, so as to command an immense area of country. ' MEUSE FORTRESSES. There is nothing particularly beau- 1 tiful or architectural about any of these fori a. They are put there to 1 withstand shot and sMI. If a Sydney,

man will imagine walls a couple of yards thick—as beautiful and as high

as those at the rear of Darlinghurst Gaol—built around Middle Head, or, better still, all around North Head, and extending around from North Head itself to Manly, he will.see something that resembles one of these Belgian fortresses, which, in many instances, cover the land, as this imaginative fortress would cover the sea. ’They are huge buildings, capable of accommodating several hundred men, perhaps several thousand. Compared with a Meuse fortress, Fort Denison is as a pea to a football, and though modern guns are capable of breaking down anything made of bricks and niortar, the impression left by such inspection of one of these fortresses as was possible to a curious civilian, was that they would not easily be stormed. “A GRIM SENTINEL.”

The strongest fortress of them all, and perhaps the largest, is at Namur, which is likely to become the second line of the Belgian defence, should it happen that Liege is unable to keep back the full force of the German battalions. Namur is built on both sides of the River Meuse, though it may not bo surprising news that the residential portion is on the Belgian side of the river, with the fortress on the German side —its thick walls towering over the township like a giant sentinel, grim and silent, awaiting only the order to be transformed into a hive of death-dealing vitality. Namur itself is a characteristically sleepy old town, typically Belgian; its streets narrow and “cobbled” rather than paved, and the residents are fond of promenading along the well-shaded bank of their chief waterway-, in the cool of the summer evening. Foundries here can produce very excellent steel, and there are a number of presentable shops, but the pulse of the town beats slowly, and the residents enjoy the favorite open-air cafes, of which there are several in the town, some possessing a military history of plans made and campaigns schemed, that even to-day permeate the atmosphere and give relish to the Rhenish wine that is so popular in the vicinity. “YEARS AGO.”

All along the Meuse Valley the country is undulating and pleasant. Occasionally the river flows by the side of precipitous rocks that break away as suddenly as do some of the cliffs overlooking the Jameson Valley, av Katoomba. On most of these headlands forts are either in existence or in ruins, for the neighbourhood has been the scene of any a sanguinary struggle, and Namur itself, even more than Liege, has been taken, and lost, and re-taken more times than any but a historical expert can think about. Years ago, the people of Namur had the reputation of being a fierce, hardy, fighting race, and though in, times of peace they are as quiet and unassuming as their confreres elsewhere, the value of a great tradition will to-day be calculated to help them forward in the huge defensive task that has been set before them.

THE TOWN OF LIEGE. Liege is a fine big city, thriving and prosperous, with a population of about 200,000. It has many important manufactories, it is the see of a bishop, has a University, a cathedral, flue botanic gardens, and its steets are well laid out. Namur, on the other hand, is but a small township of some 30,000 people,* and though it had at one time many i fine buildings, these have all ■gone before the hail of one enemy or another, and the place now is little more than a stronghold at the confluence of the Meuse and Sambre, along whose valleys are the main linos of communication north and south. So that if Liege has fallen, or if the Gormans get beyond the forts, Namur will put up a strong fight, and the fortresses high up the stream, notably that at Dinant, 20 miles away, will be brought well into the fray. AN ATMOSPHERE OF MEMORIES. None of these border towns can he compared with anything Australian. They are all more or less mediaeval in style, and exude,aii atmosphere that calls forth memories rather than anticipations, but right along from Dinaut to Liege, on to sleepy old Bruges—the most peaceful city on earth—and thence to Antwerp, Belgium is well protected, and her invasion will only ho brought about by the overpowering hordes of the German soldiery. ON HOLIDAY. But everywhere her people are the same. Quiet and hardworking, following their natural desire to work hard when they work, and take their pleasures sanely when they.are on holiday bent. The Continental Sunday is supposed to be a very shocking sorb cf thing, but the sight of a happy Belgian paterfamilias taking Ins family into the parks of Brussels, or Antwerp, cr Liege, on a Sunday morning just as the Parisian father delights to he with his children in the Bois de Boulogne, is something in favor of the Continental morning. There are many tilings in the Belgian cities which would scarcely stand examination under a microscope, but these do not affect the soundness of the nation’s life.

Says yesterday’s Wellington “Times” : Crowds flocked to the wharves yesterday to view the uncommon spectacle presented by workmen, both painters and carpenters, working on a Sunday preparing the transports for sea. Some of the vessels have already been transformed from spick and span-looking liners to drablooking Admiralty transports. Owing to fbe big demand for labor there was some difficulty' in getting sulficicnt men to work even at the .special rale offering.