Caissons Go Rolling Along: A Memoir of America in Post-World War I Germany

Chapter 11: Belgium: Brussels—“Ouf! Ils Sont Partis!”—Louvain Victim of Frightfulness— Liège—Ludendorff’s Own Story

CHAPTER 11Belgium Brussels—“Ouf! Ils Sont Partis!”—Louvain Victim of Frightfulness—Liège—Ludendorff’s Own Story. February 21st As Washington advised us to keep out of foreign entanglements, it would seem that February 22nd was an appropriate day upon which to start an expedition to see just how much we had entangled ourselves by trying to rescue the Fairy Princess from the Dragon’s Cave—in other words, to save the Belgians from the Boche.1 I have already indicated that I had no prewar knowledge of Germans—but I had at least seen a German and was very fond of German Fried (now known as American Fried) Potatoes. But the nearest thing I had ever known to a Belgian was a Belgian hare, and I had preferred the old fashioned rabbit.2 When I arrived in France (I was a tenderfoot and believed anything anybody told me), I was informed by a French officer that the Belgians did not like to fight, and that while the French were in the Belgian trenches, the Belgians themselves roamed around the back areas like Y.M.C.A. men selling cigarettes and chocolate to soldiers. On top of all this, my idea of Europe was a lot of different colored splotches on a map, and as one of these splotches had apparently been erased by the Germans, I had put Belgium in the class of ancient Greece. It did not occur to me that Belgium could stage a come-back. With these conflicting emotions, Colonel Horowitz, Lieutenant Colonel Peyton, and I left Trèves at 5:30 p.m. on a Friday evening to spend Washington ’s birthday in Brussels. One thing I wanted to see was that famous fountain up there.3 We started out for Bastogne, but lost our way in trying to get to Wasserbillig , so we went to Luxemburg instead and spent the night there at the Hôtel Staar. We saw no sign of female spies and found everything pretty much the same as when we had been there before, except that there was no longer any 88 Caissons Go Rolling Along scarcity of food. The Luxemburgers had substituted a mark of their own for the German mark and gave it the value of the French franc.4 The next morning at 7:30 a.m., we left Luxemburg and soon came into the area occupied by the British. We ran into a number of Scotch.5 I can never get over my surprise at seeing men, presumably intelligent men, wearing kilts with bare legs. While we were fighting to make the world adopt a democratic form of government, I don’t see why we did not include a provision requiring the Scotch to adopt a democratic style of dress, and the English to adopt a democratic form of speech. Up to a certain point, these things are funny, but after that they get on your nerves. Think of a man in South Carolina running for public office, with bare legs and an English accent! I can remember the time when a man could not run for office without whiskers. How can the world be Safe for Democracy if people are not in sympathy with democratic institutions?6 At the little town of Marche, I bought a brass kettle as a souvenir.7 Pretty soon it began to rain, but [it] cleared up by the time we reached Namur where we got lunch at the British Y.M.C.A.—good food, but how can a man eat when the people talk that way! Namur is one of the old permanent fortifications, which was overrun by the Boche in their first advance through Belgium. The town and citadel were interesting, but there was no evidence of destruction as we now understand it. We saw a great many British troops, and the people in the shops refused to take our Boche money.8 February 22nd Here we are in Brussels, at the Grand Central Hôtel, right opposite the Bourse.9 It is the gayest place I have seen since Paris. In fact, Brussels has been called Little Paris. The streets are full of people—window shoppers and push cart men, venders of fruit, chocolate, candles, matches, many things that have ready sale, just because there has been none of it for so long. Oranges! Some of the younger children...