Stille Tocht

Slowly they began to gather, coming together from the side streets, old, young, men, women, children.  There was no rifle or bayonet prodding the unwilling residents of Aarschot on this the 100th anniversary of the atrocity that saw 173 inhabitants killed at the hands of the German army as they swept through Belgium at the beginning of World War 1.  I cannot say whether the townsfolk on that evening of 19th August 1914 knew what was going to happen or not, I don't know if they struggled or just simply cooperated with the orders of the soldiers.  This time, there were no orders, we were shepherded into the main square by our memories of the relatives that were lost.

We waited, probably much the same as they did 100 years ago, not quite sure of who was in charge or when things were going to start.  We milled around, some of the people recognising each other.  Edie, my mother-in-law whose grandfather was killed, is my particular connection to this act of remembrance.  Her sister and brother were also present along with her sister's husband and my wife.

There was a big difference with our gathering, apart from the time and the circumstances of course, we knew where we were going and how things would end.  We also knew for certain that we would be in the protection of our homes in the warmth and shelter at the end of the evening.  Did the victims know that this would be their last evening?

Someone took charge of us, instructing us with gentle encouragement to file in rows of three abreast, we were getting ready to set our along the same route.  There was no wind or rain, it was a pleasant summer evening, quiet too.  For us there was no emotional goodbyes, no clinging onto loved ones, no tears, yet.  I don't know if the victims a hundered years before had any idea that they would not be returning and if there were scenes or struggles.  I do know that Edie's grandfather gave a purse to his son to keep hold of it, perhaps he knew or perhaps he was afraid of the Germans robbing him.  It was a significant and powerful act that had an enduring impact on the young boy who took it.

We started off, ironically, escorted by the police.  It was a somewhat solemn affair as we filed quietly on our way.  This time the women and children came with us, I say children, there were children as young as 14 who were victims of this atrocity.  Our column was maybe 100 metres long, as it wound it's way down the streets on out to towards the site of the first memorial.  I cannot speak for the others but I felt very much like it was a final walk, gazing up at the windows and taking in the route in the most minute detail, more so than at any other time when I have passed, busily and thoughtlessly through the same streets.

I noted the occasional shifting curtain and slightly open door as the curiosity of the residents got the better of them, they tried to discretely catch a glance at us as we made our way past.  I wondered whether the same had happened to the victims, indeed, did the women and children follow or were they kept away?  I doubted whether many people outside our group even knew of the event or were aware of the lasting impact.  The most powerful onlooker was a child looking through an upstairs window, no emotion in his face, just looking.  I thought of the last time I had hugged anyone and I was grateful that I would get the opportunity to do so again, it would mean a little more than it had before.

As we made our way, the limited traffic was brought to a halt and made to wait for us.  I wondered whether they knew what was going on or why.  Perhaps they were irritated or were happy to patiently wait.

It was not long before we arrived at the first memorial and gathering in this cramped residential street seemed to be several hundered people around an otherwise inconspicuous monument.  I was glad to see that someone had removed the broken rail and replaced it with some new posts that would protect the monument.  Presumably someone had carelessly reversed into the old one and simply left it there.  There was a short service and the names of the victims at this location were read out along with their ages.  Arthur's name was read out, this was where Edie's grandfather had fallen, one of 75 to do so.

We filed on towards the second monument, where a chapel had been built as well as the memorial.  Instead of standing outside we all filed into the church and a more lengthy service was held.  This was the location where a further 25 were killed, including the mayor.  At both services I paid particular attention to the details of my surroundings and observed the expressions of those present.  Most were solemn but not tearful, maybe hardened by the years that have passed.

Although the services were given in Dutch, I knew enough to understand the meaning and impact of the event and I recognised the continuing importance to remember them.

I am glad I was there and I was glad I could hold the hand of An as we walked comfort that could be provided where I could.