told me of her work and her life. She was practically blind now but she had such a sweet smile that it was a pleasure to listen to her telling her life story.
She had come to the
Béguinage
when she was eighteen in 1939, and giggled as she told me of the first veil she had to wear as a novice, which was so restricting that she was only able to look forwards. No glancing out of the corner of her eye. She told me proudly that her grandfather had been in the special French Unit of the Papal Guard, of how she had learned to play the guitar and harmonium to entertain the sick and how happily she had given her life to the service of God and his creatures. The
Béguinage
was now occupied by elderly ladies who had come to spend the rest of their days in a sheltered environment, and she left me to go and see that they were comfortable. This tiny, cheerful person had a profound effect on me and as I left and walked back to the
Leo
past the shops with the gold dinner services, I wondered at the state of our society today and how long it would be before some greedy property developer would put forward a proposal to turn the
Béguinage
into a block of offices with a hostel for old people beside it.
Puzzled by Kortrijk I left through the centre of the town along a beautifully built brick wall by the canalside. The bricks in Belgium seem to be smaller than the good old London stock brick. I hope this splendid piece of canal construction does not get swept away by the enlargements that the Belgian government is making to the waterways system. In the heat of the day, we came to a lock alongside which an enormous new lock was being built, big enough for ships of 1300 tons, and which would do away with four of the existing locks. Either the Belgians have found a cupboard full of Common Market money, or they must very sensibly believe that there is a future for cheap transport by water. The system these new locks use is worth recounting: the locks themselves are so vast that, when they are emptied, an enormous cubic metreage of water is lost, which causes serious problems for the reaches further up the canal or river. The modern systems have enormous electrical pumps which compensate for this by pumping the water out of the lock and into tanks nearby, or into the upper reach. When the lock is filled again the water is pumped back into the lock.
The portly lock-keeper who showed me round this marvel told me of a Czech friend of his who had recently taken his car to the USSR. Normally a sober person, this friend had returned with over ninety tickets for motoring offences. Apparently the Soviets had decided that he was a person worth keeping an eye on and had placed a bug on his car. The friend could not imagine why, in the middle of nowhere, a traffic policeman would invariably spring out at him and hand him a speeding ticket. Apparently he did not have to pay the fines, but it made him extremely cautious.
That night we had a setback. We arrived at Bossuit, anunmemorable place, and the lock-keeper asked me whether I should like to stop on the upper side of the lock or the lower. When I said that I was going to continue he told me that the lock at Espierres had been closed as a barge had run into one of the lock gates, and that there was nothing to do but wait whilst a new gate was installed, which would take at least two days. I unloaded the 2CV and went to have a look at the damage, which was quite impressive. A huge mobile crane had lifted the mangled gate out and laid it on the ground; a new gate was to be installed the following day. The force of a 1300-ton barge, even when it is creeping into the lock at a snailâs pace, can be quite enormous. If a checking rope slips or snaps, or a gear cable parts, there is nothing that can be done to stop it crashing into the gates. Nothing, that is, unless you are German: the Germans have a very efficient system for lowering a huge wire hawser across the lock, about two metres from the gates
She had come to the
Béguinage
when she was eighteen in 1939, and giggled as she told me of the first veil she had to wear as a novice, which was so restricting that she was only able to look forwards. No glancing out of the corner of her eye. She told me proudly that her grandfather had been in the special French Unit of the Papal Guard, of how she had learned to play the guitar and harmonium to entertain the sick and how happily she had given her life to the service of God and his creatures. The
Béguinage
was now occupied by elderly ladies who had come to spend the rest of their days in a sheltered environment, and she left me to go and see that they were comfortable. This tiny, cheerful person had a profound effect on me and as I left and walked back to the
Leo
past the shops with the gold dinner services, I wondered at the state of our society today and how long it would be before some greedy property developer would put forward a proposal to turn the
Béguinage
into a block of offices with a hostel for old people beside it.
Puzzled by Kortrijk I left through the centre of the town along a beautifully built brick wall by the canalside. The bricks in Belgium seem to be smaller than the good old London stock brick. I hope this splendid piece of canal construction does not get swept away by the enlargements that the Belgian government is making to the waterways system. In the heat of the day, we came to a lock alongside which an enormous new lock was being built, big enough for ships of 1300 tons, and which would do away with four of the existing locks. Either the Belgians have found a cupboard full of Common Market money, or they must very sensibly believe that there is a future for cheap transport by water. The system these new locks use is worth recounting: the locks themselves are so vast that, when they are emptied, an enormous cubic metreage of water is lost, which causes serious problems for the reaches further up the canal or river. The modern systems have enormous electrical pumps which compensate for this by pumping the water out of the lock and into tanks nearby, or into the upper reach. When the lock is filled again the water is pumped back into the lock.
The portly lock-keeper who showed me round this marvel told me of a Czech friend of his who had recently taken his car to the USSR. Normally a sober person, this friend had returned with over ninety tickets for motoring offences. Apparently the Soviets had decided that he was a person worth keeping an eye on and had placed a bug on his car. The friend could not imagine why, in the middle of nowhere, a traffic policeman would invariably spring out at him and hand him a speeding ticket. Apparently he did not have to pay the fines, but it made him extremely cautious.
That night we had a setback. We arrived at Bossuit, anunmemorable place, and the lock-keeper asked me whether I should like to stop on the upper side of the lock or the lower. When I said that I was going to continue he told me that the lock at Espierres had been closed as a barge had run into one of the lock gates, and that there was nothing to do but wait whilst a new gate was installed, which would take at least two days. I unloaded the 2CV and went to have a look at the damage, which was quite impressive. A huge mobile crane had lifted the mangled gate out and laid it on the ground; a new gate was to be installed the following day. The force of a 1300-ton barge, even when it is creeping into the lock at a snailâs pace, can be quite enormous. If a checking rope slips or snaps, or a gear cable parts, there is nothing that can be done to stop it crashing into the gates. Nothing, that is, unless you are German: the Germans have a very efficient system for lowering a huge wire hawser across the lock, about two metres from the gates
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