ornate gold casket for a few steps before passing it on to one of their colleagues. Somehow the parade organizers were able to cope with this stopping and starting and kept the parade moving forward. As the relic came through the main square under the carillon, Aimé Lambaert had his bi-annual treat and pealed the victory bell (what Belgian victory was commemorated by this bell was not explained).
The
Leo
was now beginning to work as she should: the oil and water gauges had been fixed by Willi, and I had bought a new outboard engine with a little more power for the dinghy. Ray was still in London when I set off on a sparkling spring day for the south. As I glided past the fortress towers of old Bruges, I watched a family of tiny moorhens being shepherded by their mother as they bobbed about in the
Leoâ
s wash. The time I had spent in Bruges had been full of interest, but the joy of being on board the
Leo
again and under way on such a day had me singing tunelessly, songsof my youth. The excitement of adventure and not being certain where or how the day would end still caught me by surprise.
Chapter Three
Bruges to Agimont
Soon after midday, an incident occurred that raised the adrenalin to almost unacceptable limits. A pusher barge with a large tow was coming towards me and from behind a Dutch barge was hurrying down the canal. The Dutchman decided to overtake just as the other barge was passing. There wasnât really enough room but in spite of a lot of horn blowing on my part, the Dutchman pushed past; as he did so the turbulence sucked the
Leo
on to him and even though I slowed down, I was stuck to him and drawn alongside in some horrible marine embrace until we had passed the other barge. We parted, shaking fists at each other. Just like motorists, I thought. The trouble with dreams of vengeance on canals is that you inevitably meet the offending barge at the next lock, when you have to be ready with the customary cheery wave: I couldnât pointedly shut the wheelhouse door to show ill humour, since I had to steer from the deck.
That night I stopped at Kortrijk, where Ray rejoined me. We moored next to a barge with swaying palm trees painted on the hull, which announced itself as the
Waikiki Disco
. I had a quick look to see whether I would be awake all night with the rhythm of the South Seas but clearly the proprietors had either fallen on hard times or it was too early in the season for grass skirts. Next to the bridge ahead of us was a mobile
frites
shop. It was clearly very well thought of as streams of expensive motorcars drove up for their portions of
frites
cooked in rendered horse fat. Wandering round this prosperous town and gazing into several shop windows, which were devoted to silver golf balls turned into lightersand other icons of our consumer society, I found myself quite suddenly in the quiet courtyard of a
Béguinage
. The Beguines were an order founded in England in the middle ages, for girls of families who could not afford to pay the dowries that the nunneries required to shelter their daughters. The girls who went to a
Béguinage
were subjected to a regime very similar to a nunâs except that every day they went out to work, always in pairs, in the local community.
As I walked round these calm and beautiful courtyards, I realized I was being watched furtively by a pair of black beady eyes concealed in the shadowy doorway of the chapel. I approached, but as I did so I heard the faintest scuffle, and their owner had disappeared by the time I reached the door. Intrigued now, I went to have a look in all the doorways, until I found one that had the sounds of an harmonium coming from it. I knocked and a tiny Beguine opened the door. She told me that she and the pair of eyes I had seen were the last two Beguines in Kortrijk, in this establishment which had been here for at least four hundred years. She was very frail and so asked me into her tiny cell so she could sit down while she
The
Leo
was now beginning to work as she should: the oil and water gauges had been fixed by Willi, and I had bought a new outboard engine with a little more power for the dinghy. Ray was still in London when I set off on a sparkling spring day for the south. As I glided past the fortress towers of old Bruges, I watched a family of tiny moorhens being shepherded by their mother as they bobbed about in the
Leoâ
s wash. The time I had spent in Bruges had been full of interest, but the joy of being on board the
Leo
again and under way on such a day had me singing tunelessly, songsof my youth. The excitement of adventure and not being certain where or how the day would end still caught me by surprise.
Chapter Three
Bruges to Agimont
Soon after midday, an incident occurred that raised the adrenalin to almost unacceptable limits. A pusher barge with a large tow was coming towards me and from behind a Dutch barge was hurrying down the canal. The Dutchman decided to overtake just as the other barge was passing. There wasnât really enough room but in spite of a lot of horn blowing on my part, the Dutchman pushed past; as he did so the turbulence sucked the
Leo
on to him and even though I slowed down, I was stuck to him and drawn alongside in some horrible marine embrace until we had passed the other barge. We parted, shaking fists at each other. Just like motorists, I thought. The trouble with dreams of vengeance on canals is that you inevitably meet the offending barge at the next lock, when you have to be ready with the customary cheery wave: I couldnât pointedly shut the wheelhouse door to show ill humour, since I had to steer from the deck.
That night I stopped at Kortrijk, where Ray rejoined me. We moored next to a barge with swaying palm trees painted on the hull, which announced itself as the
Waikiki Disco
. I had a quick look to see whether I would be awake all night with the rhythm of the South Seas but clearly the proprietors had either fallen on hard times or it was too early in the season for grass skirts. Next to the bridge ahead of us was a mobile
frites
shop. It was clearly very well thought of as streams of expensive motorcars drove up for their portions of
frites
cooked in rendered horse fat. Wandering round this prosperous town and gazing into several shop windows, which were devoted to silver golf balls turned into lightersand other icons of our consumer society, I found myself quite suddenly in the quiet courtyard of a
Béguinage
. The Beguines were an order founded in England in the middle ages, for girls of families who could not afford to pay the dowries that the nunneries required to shelter their daughters. The girls who went to a
Béguinage
were subjected to a regime very similar to a nunâs except that every day they went out to work, always in pairs, in the local community.
As I walked round these calm and beautiful courtyards, I realized I was being watched furtively by a pair of black beady eyes concealed in the shadowy doorway of the chapel. I approached, but as I did so I heard the faintest scuffle, and their owner had disappeared by the time I reached the door. Intrigued now, I went to have a look in all the doorways, until I found one that had the sounds of an harmonium coming from it. I knocked and a tiny Beguine opened the door. She told me that she and the pair of eyes I had seen were the last two Beguines in Kortrijk, in this establishment which had been here for at least four hundred years. She was very frail and so asked me into her tiny cell so she could sit down while she
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