By Sst. Jack Phillips

® a previous article I wrote,
(ia Paris and Berlin’’—and in more than

= \ie

Ge described our feelings on the subject of
y that the end of the war against Germany is in sight,
@ie seems very much closer, and even more desirable.

Baus, we like to be on the

‘} and thoughts EnDE bring

3 e all the time — forward,

‘forward. The more we
2 in the right direction, the
ker the war will end—and
: easier to escape from bore-

a

Sess and pain.

times when
a village®*or

jut there are
hate to leave

a, after spending a few

2

s there—and when we do
te, OUT Belgian friends are
+ as sorry aS we are. Af-
meeting them in their
ies, in the cafes, in chureh
on the streets. we begin
ifeel like members of the
munity. Parting is not
ays a formal affair, be-
Hse soldiers often leave on
rt notice, with no time to
goodbye or au revoir.

é

st night, as I sat_in the
> of my Belgian friends,
mr and Maria, a young
ed couple, I was genuine-

orry that I was probably

“§ ¢ them for the last time.

‘g2al peasant home.

}

ere were eight of us in the
en-livinge room of their
Four
dian soldiers, Arthur, Ma-
ind Maria’s parents.

shur speaks fair French,

his in-laws very little.
2 speaks no language but
lish. Of the four soldiers,
speaks fluent French, an-
~halting French (me), an-
* elementary German and
Sfourth, English only.

: we sat there and chatted,

dine Ganadian cigarettes

# drinking mild Belgian beer
which the mother, who
it, refused more than cost

W3) there was peace and
+ in the room that seemed
ist alien to my friends and
te could almost forget there
2 war, or ever had been.

it every now and then we'd
the muffled roar of Allied
—hbig guns smashing away
ine Germans. The windows
@d rattle and the family
id look up with subdued ex-
ations. Outside, a starlit
was made brighter by the
i flashes from cannon, and
@very earth trembled at
“The Allied big chiefs
»making big war talk with
er.” To us in uniform this
fa calm and peaceful night
Buse there was nothing com-
Hback our way-

Wr more than an hour, the
§2en was like a school room.

aed

“The shortest way home is
one article [

getting back.

In one corner, Arthur was ex-
changing a Flemish lesson for

a lesson in English by a Gana- ‘

dian sergeant. On the opposite
side of the room, Maria was
painfully reading English les-
sons from a Flemish-English
reader, aided by two sergeants
and a corporal. If it was pain-
ful for Maria, it was equally
painful for the soldiers when
she became their teacher in
Flemish.

The old folks sat in their
chairs with friendly smiles, in
between the two groups and
completing a rough half circle.
On more than one occasion, one

or the other, or both interpola-—

ted, in order to assist in the
pEonunciation of a Flemish
word—or to master an English
jaw-breaker. The entire family
maintained that Flemish is a
more phonetic language,
that there are too many arbi-
trary pronunciations in Eng-
lish. Between you and I, I am
inclined to agree.

Sometimes, we’d all be talk-
ing at once, in one, two or three
languages, and sometimes a
faux pas in one of the lang-
uages would cause a gale of
laughter.

(pets family knows only too
well, the true meaning of
German militarism and Ger-
man occupation. The mother
and father still nurse bitter
memories of the last war. He
was a soldier in the Belgian
Army for four years, during
which time he served in that
corner of Belgium where he
had been born and raised, and,
which was for more than four
years. the scene of much bitter
fighting and destruction. The
mother was a domestic servant
in Ghent for the entire period
of German occupation.

For the second time in their
lives, they witnessed German
invasion and suffered German
occupation, with all its comple-
ment of death, suppression and
hunger.

Arthur was ‘a reservist when
the Germans crashed into Bel-
gium in 1940, and was imme-

diately called up—at the age

of 21. Before he was taken
prisoner by the Germans he
spent 18 days and 18 nights on
the run, marching with full
equipment weighing about 75
pounds, fighting desperately at
times, but rarely eating or
sleeping. The Germans pursued
them with planes, tanks, arm-

and.

Volume 1,

No. 2, November 11, 1944

Home by Way of Ber

The greatest commodity i in the world is freedom. It can be had for
taking but never for the buying. Let one man lose or sell his share
of freedom and all other men are in danger of losing theirs.

ored cars, and lorry-borne in-
fantry, they who carried no
more than their weapons and

ammunition, and fought in
their shirt sleeves.
The women, mother and

daughter, know what it means
to live under the Germans.
They have worked themselves
to the bone, and worried them-
selves sick, trying tosmake ends
meet and maintain an air of
respectability. During the last
occupation, they were constant-
ly at war with the dark forces
of hunger, nakedness and sick-
ness.

Necessities like fats, butter,
sugar and milk became very
searce on the market and were
sold for fabulous prices on the
black market. .Clothes, shoes
and workboots were difficult to
obtain for coupons, and were of
a very inferior sort. A pair of
work boots that sold for 175
franes before the invasion sold
for 2000 franes on the black
market.

The boots on display in the
stores were made of ersatz
leather and ersatz rubber. No
doubt, many a Belgian peasant,
in his wooden shoes, must have
eursed a German in his high
leather boots, because as likely
as not, the German was wear-
ing the leather that should have
provided him, the Belgian, and
his family, with footwear.

Ghocolate disappeared from
the market; and thousands of
Belgians of all ages, ate choco-
late for the first time in more
than four years when the Allies
marched in. Jam was difficult
to buy, and could be bought
only as an alternative to candy.

The cafe, the worker’s and

farmer’s cabaret, was also
caught in the German spiral of
inflation. The glass of beer

that once sold for one france 50
centimes, rose in price to five
franes, and dropped in potency.
The bottle of cognac that could
be bought in a cafe, grocery
store, tailor shop, hardware

store or barber shop, rose in-

price from 35 frances. to 250
franes, and suffered in quality
also. Cigarettes, cigars and
tobacco,
in any quantity, were doled out
in minute monthly lots. None
were allowed for women, and
the black market price was five
and six times the store price.
Twenty-five cigarettes of an
inferior quality fetched as
much as 39 francs in this devil’s
market. Before the war, you
could buy 25 good cigarettes
for two frances, 25 centimes.

Thus, in addition to all their
miseries, the Belgians had to
pay exorbitantly for their two
main relaxations, drinking in
the cafe, and smoking.

During all these hard years,
wages and salaries paid to or-
dinary workers, employee and
peasants remained almost sta-
tionary. As they, struggled to
keep the wolf from the door, it
must have been gall in their
mouths to see the Germans
draining all the real “wealth
from the country. German sol-
diers, Gestapo agents and func-
tionaries of every sort were
well paid in money fresh off
the press, and what wasn’t re-
quired for Germany, (that was
of any value) they tried their
best to get hold of. In return,
the Germans flooded the coun-

“try with cheap, surplus Iuxu-

ries, such as cigarette lighters,

previously obtainable

fountain pens, automatic pen-
ceils, trick flash lights, etc.
Many of these articles must
have been meant for the Amer-
ican and British Empire mar-
kets, because everywhere in
Belgium you come across little
gadgets with the following in-
scription: “Made in Germany.”

Such economics are the eco-
nomics of Al Capone, and pay
big dividends to the gang
bosses and their assistants, but
even Al Capone is an amateur
compared to ‘these big time
crooks.

OWEVER bitter it was in
those dark days, life assert-
ed itself, and many of these
sturdy Flemish men and women
grew into maturity, fell in love,
married and even managed to

_be reasonably happy. Perhaps

there is some truth in the old
saying that “misery loves com-
pany.”

In 1942, Arthur told us, he
was working in a German
garage, in the city, as a me-
chanie (but not as a collabora-
tor he assured us!) As a single
man earning eight frances 75
centimes an hour, he was al=
ways at his wits end to earn
enough to pay his bills. One
time he paid a week’s wages
for a pair of coveralls on the
black market.

On a day he will never forget,
he went to a cafe and asked the~
barmaid if she knew where he
could buy some potatoes for his
sister who he was living with.
The girl was Maria and she in-
vited him to call for some pota-
toes at her house in the coun-
try, on Sunday. On Sunday Ar-

—Continued on Page 4