"A silver ribbon starred with the blue corn-flower, the supple textile baptised in its soft waters is transformed by the hand of man into cloudy lace, into snowy linen, into fabrics of filmy lightness for my lady's wear, La Lys, name significant and fraught with poetry for us—giving life to the germ of the flax which it conserves through all its life better than any art of the chemist in the secret chambers of his laboratory.
"Thanks to this gracious river, our lovely town excels in napery and is known throughout all the world. In harvest time the banks of the Lys are thronged with movement, the harvesters in quaint costumes, their bodies moving rhythmically to the words of the songs they sing, swinging the heavy bundles of flax from the banks to the level platforms, where it is allowed to sleep in the water, and later the heavy wagons are loaded to the cadence of other songs appropriate to the work. Large picturesque colored windmills wave their brown velvety hued sails against the piled up masses of cloud, and over all is intense color, life and movement.
"The river plays then a most important part in the life on the Flemish plains about Courtrai, giving their daily bread to the peasants, and lending poetry to their existence. So, O Lys, our beautiful benefactor, we love you."
At this writing (March, 1916) Courtrai is still occupied by the troops of the German Kaiser, and with the exception of the destruction of the Broël towers, the church of St. Martin, and the Old Belfry in the market place, the town is said to be "intact."
Whenever possible we traveled through the Flemish littoral on the small steam trams, "chemins-de-fer-vicinaux," as they are called in French, in the Flemish tongue "Stoomtram," passing through fertile green meadows dotted with fat, sleek, black and white cows, and embossed with shining silvery waterways connecting the towns and villages. We noticed Englishy cottages of white stucco and red tiled roofs, amid well kept fields and market gardens in which both men and women seemed to toil from dawn to dewy evening. Flanders before the war was simply covered with these light railways. The little trains of black carriages drawn by puffing covered motors, discharging heavy black clouds of evil-smelling smoke and oily soot, rushed over the country from morning until night, and the clanging of the motorman's bell seemed never ending.
The Broël Towers: Courtrai
To see the country thus was a privilege, and was most interesting, for one had to wait in the squares of the small towns, or at other central places until the corresponding motor arrived before the journey could proceed. Here there was a sort of exchange established where the farmers compared notes as to the rise or fall in commodities, or perchance the duty upon beets and potatoes.
Loud and vehement was the talk upon these matters; really, did one not know the language, one might have fancied that a riot was imminent.