The German Fury in Belgium: Experiences of a Netherland Journalist during four months with the German Army in BelgiumMokveld, L. (Lambertus)
History
The German Fury in Belgium: Experiences of a Netherland Journalist during four months with the German Army in Belgium
Mokveld, L. (Lambertus)
Belgium -- History -- German occupation, 1914-1918; World War, 1914-1918 -- Atrocities
The other eleven miles of the road to Thourout were quite deserted, and
only in one place did I see a man working in the field. We only saw
now and again a small escort which overtook us. From afar a trooper
approached us; after having heard who we were, he told us that he had
been on the way already three days and three nights from the trench
lines, and how fierce the fighting was there. The German losses had
been immense; he pointed to the unoccupied horse by his side, and said:
"My chum, whose horse this was, fell also." He took a couple of strong
pulls at his pipe, and, spurring his mount, rode off with a: "Keep
well."
At Thourout all convents and large buildings had been turned into
hospitals, and the streets on both sides were full of big wagons.
Hundreds of soldiers went off, and large convoys of carts were
standing in the meadows and on the roads, where officers and men were
also practising riding. We were here in the rear, where there was a
continuous going and coming from the front. Most soldiers were in a
more or less excited mood; some did not hide their discontent, or sat
musing dejectedly, asking themselves how these terrible days would
end for them? Others again seemed to have got into a sort of frenzy
in consequence of the continuous fighting and were not able to think
logically at all. They told excited stories about the British whom they
had killed, and chased away from the 42 c.m. guns, who, according to
them, were also at work in the swampy soil near Nieuwpoort, and also
told about the shooting civilians, and those cursed Belgians, who cut
open the bellies of their poor wounded, or sliced off their noses,
hands, and ears. Of course pure fairy tales, but recited with much
power of conviction.
The question of lodgings brought also many difficulties, for nobody
wanted to, or could put us up. At last we succeeded at the Hôtel
l'Union, where we first ate two roasted pigeons which were intended for
a couple of officers, who would return in the evening from the front
line. The three of us subsequently occupied one room, after having
written on the door with chalk that Lieutenants So and So were staying
there. For the landlady had told us that she was willing to put us up,
but that the officers who returned every night from the front line were
sure to turn us out. Indeed in the evening we heard heavy steps before
our door, but after a voice had read out that Lieutenants So and So
were passing the night there, they all went away again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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