Here the refugees can get their meals for nothing, or, if they can afford to pay for them, for a few coppers, and the depôts of foodstuffs specially reserved for them are so gigantic that they seem sufficient to keep the whole country going for a long time.
I have assisted at a dinner of refugees in a large schoolroom close to the Hof van Holland Hotel; hot steaming soup, vegetables, roast meat, cheese, and ham were freely given away by young girls in the picturesque costume of the country.
The food seems excellent. The convivial scene reminded me more of the dinner of country people than of a charity meal. A faint smile comes back to most of the refugees' faces as they eat.
This war, the simple and noble manner in which the Dutch have given all they could to the refugee Belgians, will certainly kill for ever the century-long jealousies which were still alive a few months ago.
CHAPTER XI ANTWERP—THE DEAD CITIES OF BRABANT
One must have known Belgium before the war, and have travelled through that rich and beautiful country in times of peace, to realise how great is the change. All that has been written up to now about what has happened there is in reality much less than the truth.
Every town, large and small, every country village, one might almost say every inch of Belgian soil, bears the heavy mark of the invaders. What nobody dared to touch they have destroyed; what was believed to be protected by religion and tradition they have profaned; what centuries had made sacred for any thinking being they have demolished.