Christobel

Christobel Part 15

Chapter 15: the journal

15th August, 1914

The invaders have made it perfectly clear that they're not simply passing through. They've settled in and are firmly in control of things. A Governor-General has arrived. Field Marshal Baron von der Goltz Pasha is his name. He's in charge of both Brussels and all of Belgium. I've seen him walking about, surrounded by his retinue: a large elderly man with a scarred face, wearing a blue uniform dripping with medals, a black helmet and sporting a huge sword. He cuts a terrifying figure.

It seems he is answerable only to the Kaiser himself, so his power over poor Belgium is absolute. He's posted his first proclamation on the city walls announcing that the German armies are advancing through France, and threatening severe punishment to anyone "working against the interests of Germany", as he puts it. With such terrible stories reaching us of the carnage since this terrible business began, his warnings against insurrection are not to be taken lightly. Our brave, defiant Burgomaster pasted up an affiche of his own, but it was quickly torn down and now Monsieur Max has disappeared to Heaven knows what fate.

The German military police, the Kommandantur, has established itself in two of those fine buildings on ru de la Loi. We see the police leaving there every morning, stepping out with all their swagger in their grey uniforms and polished jackboots, with bayonets fixed threateningly to their rifles. When they return in the late afternoon they are usually herding frightened citizens before them, people who presumably have been caught in some misdemeanour in their eyes. There is a rigidly-enforced curfew.

It's rumoured that there's a secret, hidden police too: plain clothed men who mingle with the public, covertly spying on and ensnaring people. Truly, these are frightening times. It's difficult to know whom one can trust.

22nd August, 1914

The post has become very unreliable, but I have written to Mother nevertheless. I don't know when it will reach her. I want to try to reassure her that I am in no real danger, as she must be very anxious about me. It's difficult though, as there's firm censorship in place. It's been decreed that envelopes not be sealed. If they are, they are certainly opened and the contents read, and it probably happens in many cases even if they're left open. So writing has to be very circumspect indeed. Information has to be related in very innocuous terms without any hint of subversion otherwise one can expect a knock on the door.

Mindful of the possibility of the letter falling into wrong hands, I've couched information about the situation here in very general, matter-of-fact terms so as not to cause antagonism: I've said that there are a few German wounded in St. Gilles although no Allied boys; that we are able to get food although it's more expensive than it was; that the weather is fine and dry. That Jacques is happy and healthy and growing apace; that she will notice a big difference in him when she sees him next. It seems a long time since last Christmas, when she saw him last. My, how things have changed in the last eight months. The world, Europe at least, has been turned completely upside down! But I have assured Mother that we will see her and Father and Bernard and my nephews and nieces before too long; that this situation cannot last forever.

If my letter doesn't bring a reply within a reasonable time – say a month – I'll just have to assume that it didn't get through. There is another possible route to the outside world though. Miss Cavell has begun sending letters to England via a friend of who lives in Holland. A trustworthy "postman" smuggles mail across the border. She sends her letters to her mother by that means (in fact she has a network of people willing to act as go-betweens in various places). Because that country is neutral and its ports are still open, the post stands a much greater chance of getting through to England.