Belgian colony afford a very good welcome

My reception at the Belgian Colony in Laytown the other evening was so warm and cordial; the people themselves so kindly and amicably disposed, the atmosphere so home like, that I feel no excuse is necessary when confessing that now and again I had the utmost difficulty in imagining that those who spoke to me of the terrible war were people vitally and personally interested in it and not mere onlookers rehearsing a second hand story.

The first to greet me on my arrival was a little girl of about ten years. She spoke only her native Flemish, but easily solved the conversational difficulty by calling for “Pa.” “Pa,” of whom more later, appeared from somewhere in the garden regions a typical Belgium, bronzed and dark. Like the majority of his race, he spoke French, and having learned my business he kindly volunteered to pass me on to an English speaker, explaining at the same time in answer to a query of mine that he also spoke a little English, but it was not much use to him. The house to which he conducted me was occupied by a late saloon keeper on the South Quay Antwerp, who styled himself Le Cheminant, his wife, her father, and a servant girl, but it was noteworthy that all referred to this young lady as “ma fille”what we would term “one of ourselves.”

This family was very comfortably ensconsed before a fine fire. Grandda Van Duyse, who was over 76 years of age, though of course rather frail, seemed to have stood his journey rather well. He spoke only Flemish, but one should notice how quickly he caught the names of towns either in English or French, it seemed to remind him of home: and there was a world of pathos in the nod of his head when bis daughter explained—”He left before us, he was so old he could not run quick,—Oh! no he does not like leaving Belgium, bui he said it was better to come than to be shot.” Just imagine an old man of seventy-six, food for a German bullet!

Then there was Madam Cheminant, her vocal ability in a trio of languages was wonderful. With most praisworthy earnestness, she swept grammer and all its rules straight out of her path. Her husband is already known as the “English man.” He is a native of Guernsey in the Channel Islands and so speaks perfect English as well as Flemish and French.

Le Cheminant told me how, before the war broke out, he and his wife kept a saloon on the South Qaay in Antwerp. On Tuesday night, the Germans opened fire on the City; shells and bombs dropped here and there amongst the people,