14 
LAND & WATER 
November 29, 1917 
Searchlights, possibly as far distant as Antwerp, Hashed across 
the sky, and there wiis a fitful play of summer liglitniug. But 
Ihc air was fresh and mobile, without the sullen gloom thai 
precedes a storm. Nature was asleep and breathing softly. 
On waking next mcirning we foimd ourselves under way. 
heeling over to a brisk wind and scudding through small 
snappmg waves. \Vc were in a narrow j>assage, steering 
parallel to a neat shore with treeless pasture oxcrtopping a 
rocky seawall. There was a sandbank on the other beam, 
where gulls stnitted. It was dry and even, an ideal place to 
baithc from, or for children to dig castl&s. In one place a 
few buried planks and ribs scarred its smoothness and be- 
trayed its menace. The land fell away and on either side 
there was open sea, and ahead a long island, set meekly on the 
horizon as though it felt that its very life depended on the 
pleasure of the cai>ricious waves. Clouds were spreading over 
the sky and soon they had hidden the sun. The sea was 
grey and choppy ; dirty rather than stormy weather. 
It was \\alcheren that lay ahead : a name sinister in English 
history. One thinks of it as a bleak island, with sand dunes, 
and fever-stricken marshes, and isolated forts, and liaH- 
savage population. Actually it is wooded, and fertile, and 
peaceful as Kent or Surrey. There are two unforgettable 
land-marks that rise clear from the flat st)il of the island. In the 
forefront stands the huge church of Were, and far behind, 
faint and slim, is the distant spire of J'iddelburg. 
A Dead City 
Vecrc is a dead city. The great church, weary and alone, 
like the arch of Ctesiphon, bears sorrowful witnessto thepast. 
The cottage roofs seen through tlic foliage of surrounding 
trees are weak and insignificant, like the muddy Arab towns 
built upon the dust and rubbish of Bayblon. 
X'eerc stands at the mouth of the Walcheren canal, which 
bisects the island, passing througii J'iddelburg and on to 
1-lushing. But the traffic goes by regardless of the scattered 
village that was once a busy port. We awaited the opening 
of the iron gates in the granite locks and then made fast 
alongside a plank landing-stage in company with a fleet of 
barges. The wind had dropped so wc stayed there till the 
evening. The weather had become dark and forbidding ; 
clouds surcharged with rain massed in from the cpen sea and 
spread over the island- Downpours, straight and arenching as 
tropical showers, are common in Holland. The clouds break 
and empty themselves like reservoirs suddenly overturned, 
and an inch of rain falls in half an hour. 
At close quarters the church seems larger arid more pitiful 
than in the distance — more than ever like some prehistoric 
monster, aged, and impotent against a host of midget foes. 
There was some scaffolding round one end and planking had 
been erected where the tall railings had been destroyed 
The walls were a dingy colour, like khaki, and coarse flowers 
grew in cre\'ices and on the solid buttfesses. Opce the 
e.xterior had been decked with carved figures, saints and 
gargoyles and ornamental sculpture. Ornateness would have 
relieved its cTull proportions, but the work of the Nether- 
lands iconoclasts was thorough, and not even in the highest 
niche had a statue been' left to offend the stern Calvinist eye. 
The long windows were filled with pale green glass, a common 
practice in Holland, and the walls within were a desert of 
whitewash. The whole fabric was chipped and battered, 
but its solidity seemed unimpaired. ' 
Some of the larger houses in the cobbled streets may have 
been old, and they were certainly roofed with mellowed scarlet 
tiles. But they were small and unimpressive ; one-storied 
dwellings built perhaps from the pillage of ruins. Along the 
quay of the little harbour, where a few barges lay on the mud, 
we found traces of past days. .The guildhall of the painters, 
with its elaborate facade, is now a museum and temporarily 
a barrack. In one of the shops, behind a ])ile of merchandise, 
wc had a glimpse of carven arms above a fiUed-in fireplace, 
and, facing the sea, a rambling inn has grown upon the remains 
of an older building. The C.othic stadhiiis. with its delicate 
lower of stone and copper, its pointed roof, and stiff carven 
ligurcs, remains untarnished. The small muni(-ij)al business 
is still transacted here, and amongst its antiquities is a golden 
cup given to Veerc in 1551 by .^■^aXimilian of Burgundy. 
Veere is still unspoilt by sentimental and commercial 
endeavours to revive its ancient glories— or rather to build 
upon those fragments a modern villadom. A few painters 
stay there and tourists come from J'iddelburg if they have 
an afternoon to spare. The inhabitants are an old-fashioned 
race, clean and simple and industrious. The women arc 
sturdy and beauty is measured by the redness of thick anns 
which the mediaeval dress leaves bare above the elbow. 
Later in the evening, when the clouds had dispersed, w^e 
were towed to ?-'iddelburg. The Walcheren canal is an 
artificial waterway with long stretches and geometricallv 
even banks. Old guns have been driven into the turf parapet 
at distances of about two hundred yards, guns that a hundred 
>-ears ago may have borne their part in repelling our ill-fated 
expedition. 
Middelburg, the capital of the province of Zeeland, is, as 
its name implies, in the centre of the diamond shaped island. 
It is quite a large town. The old historic streets spread over 
a big area and modern suburbs reach out in all directions. 
Not only in its buildings, but in all its life, Middelburg, in 
the tniest sense of the word, is an ancient city. The spirit 
of the Middle Ages lives on, a refined and idealised survival, 
with the dirt and brutality of old days discarded. Life is 
quiet and safe; and undisturbed in this changeless city. The 
fragments of past ages are frequently show places— dead 
things whose bodies are preserved— or else they are surrendered 
to poverty and squalor. But Middelburg has more than 
isolated relics. Business is discharged in the stadhuis built by 
Charles the Bold, and the citizens live in solid houses with 
long eaves and lattice windows. They appreciate and guard 
the charm of their city by reproducing in new buildings the 
form and spirit of the old. A few slums remain, but these are 
still as they were when first constructed, tiny dwellings for 
poor men. There are no palaces sunk to tenements or 
churches used for storing hay. 
[To be continued.) 
The Late Edward Thomas 
Fo the Editor Land & Water. 
Sir-— Your appreciative notices of my late son, in con- 
nection with his postlnmious works, A Literary Pilgrim. 
and his poems, lead me to think that your readers might be 
interested in some particulars as to the manner of his death 
which have not yet been published. Prior to the British 
offensive at Arras on Easter Mondav last, when he fell, 
Edward Thomas had borne his part in the great artillery duel.' 
His group of batteries had been singularly successful and made 
a big bulge in the German line, so much so that his Commander 
m notifying his death said that he had fallen in a moment oi 
victory—" a gallant death for a very true and gallant gentle- 
man. The strange fact is that Iris life was taken away by 
a shell that left his body unscathed and thus his comrades 
were able to bury him in a soldiers' cemetery at Agrv, carved 
out of a delightful little wood. It was his good foVtune, as 
a famous nature-lover to be laid to rest under the trees, with 
the birds that he knew so well carolliixq on the branches. 
As we stood by his grave," writes his Commander, " the sun 
came out and the guns around seemed to stop firing for a 
time. This typified to me what stood out most in his character, 
the spirit of quiet, sunny, unconccrning cheerfulness." 
One of his corporals, who came home to receive a commission, 
has told us that his men would have followed him any- 
where owing to the confidence he inspired. When the news 
of his death was brought back to the battery, the messenger 
cried out ! " Lads, we have lost our best officer " ; to which a 
chorus of voices responded :•" Not Mr. Thomas!" The 
wheelwright of the battery executed a special memorial for 
his grave. Six months later his commander finds himself 
again in the neighbourhood and pays a visit to the grave of 
the poet-soldier. He writes : " I felt very happy about him 
resting there, because I felt it to be just the Kind of place that 
would have appealed to him by its quiet beautv. The grave 
was well cared for, but looked rather bare, so to-morrow I 
am going there again with two men who knew and loved him 
• • -. ?,"d we arc going to returf it and plant a few shrubs 
round it. One hardly knows which to honour most, the brave 
soldier who feU, or the commander who can cherish such a 
pious memory for his dead subaltern. At least, one loves to 
think of It as characteristic of British chivah-y. 
As a man of the open air Edward Thomas had inured 
himselt to extremes of heat and cold and wet. He re-acted 
splendidly to the drill and training of the soldier, so that one 
ot his best friends, who knew a soldier when he saw him, 
could say of him : " This man was a born soldier. " Let me 
add that he volunteered for the army in the first months of 
the war and was determined from the beginning to get as soon 
as he could to the battle front. His Celtic dair^'oyance told 
lum his fate. Ihe poetry which he then began to write, 
under a greater intensity of spirit, is touched by a feeling of 
larcwell as also by a certain melancholy that was natural to 
mm. At the same time he had an iron courage that never 
looked back. In these days there are people who will say 
This man did not boast or brag, he must have been a 
nonentity Though his father, I venture to say that any 
who read his works can trace in every line the hand of the 
fnaTr ?y ^""'^1 ,f^'e facing his country's enemies and 
regulating the fire of his battery. 
Faithfully vom-s, 
Kusham Gale. BaUiam, S.W.ii." Vhiliv Thomas- 
