But
first, A Spot of History: During my
1980s initial CRB research, I collected, read and took notes from more than 80
books. One of them was War Bread by
CRB delegate Edward Eyre Hunt (Henry Holt and Company, 1916). As one of the
first books published by a delegate, it gave Americans some of their first
glimpses into what it was like in German occupied Belgium. Here are just three
items I think might interest you:
1. German beer drinking was explained to Hunt by a German who stated: "The first drink should empty the mug down to the hasp on the handle; the second to the boss of the mug; and the third to the bottom.” Hunt felt it illustrated a German's sense of order and discipline.
2. A small,
very sad scene from the 1914 bombardment of Antwerp, as related by an old man,
who told Hunt:
“... in Les
Jardins Botaniques [the zoo] such sadness! There the keeper of the menagerie
shot down all the wild beats – all the animals of the jungle – for fear they
would escape and bite the poor people in the streets.
"Oh, it
was sad, so sad! When the bombshells began to fall on the Jardins, the keeper
took up his gun. One by one he shot them – boom, boom – the big lions, and the
wolves, and the foxes, and the panther, and the spotted leopard – they died,
screaming horribly.
"Then
the keeper came last to the cage of the brown bear. You remember the brown bear
in the menagerie, madame? – he was so kind, so gentle. A child could pet him.
And he had been taught to hold up his paws together, as the priest does in the
cathedral on a Sunday, praying.
"When
the keeper came with the loaded gun, this bear put up his paws, so, praying to
him not to shoot. And the keeper burst out with a great cry, and went up near
to the bear, and embraced him lovingly through the bars of the cage. And then
he took up the gun – and – boom! boom! – he shot him.”
3. A talk
with a German cavalry officer led the soldier to tell Hunt:
“'The
Belgians’ are the poorest of the lot, though. They do not understand war, and
they do not understand the rules of war.
"'I
remember once riding into a little town down here in the South of Belgium and
finding my four scouts lying dead in the streets. Civilians had butchered
horses and men – shot them from behind.
"'I
ordered my men to go into the houses and kill every one they found. Then I
ordered them to burn the town.
“He leaned over
the table and concluded quietly: 'There once was a nice little town in that
place. There is no such town now.'”
My post: Like
everyone else, my mother (who died in 2008) had a dual heart. It was a fact
that was known far and wide about Erica Sophie Lucy (Bunge Brown) Miller.
On one
hand, she was warm, welcoming, loving, nurturing, gave great hugs (especially
to little kids), and always took in strays (four-legged and otherwise). She'd
give you the coat off her back, then invite you home for dinner (of which her bad
cooking skills were legendary).
On the
other hand, she could be so practical it hurt -- two of her favorite
expressions were "Don't be ridiculous" and "It's an emotional
waste of time."
What
most people didn't know, however, was how good she was as an amateur historian
and book editor. I was lucky enough to find out.
When I
began to research WWI and the CRB it was very personal (as those who are
familiar with this blog know). My grandfather,
Milton M. Brown, was a CRB delegate who fell in love with a Belgian
girl, Erica Bunge.
After
marrying in 1919, their first child was my mother, Erica Sophie Lucy Brown. She
grew up in Belgium in a five-story chateau with a house full of servants and a stern,
hawk-faced maitre d' hotel named Isadore who would have given Mr. Carson of
Downton Abbey fame a run for his money.
After
coming to the States and doing four years of college in three years, my mother
walked away from her family's regal life to marry a self-made, self-educated
Jersey boy (my Dad). Mom rarely looked back on her previous life. If she did,
she did it with deep love and gratitude for having experienced such a grand
lifestyle.
When I
came to her with my CRB novel project, she was more than excited. Much of my
novel was going take place in the chateau, Oude Gracht, and include many people
that she later knew as a child and teenage girl.
Her
help was invaluable. She found the architectural plans for the chateau and went
over them with me, floor-by-floor, room-by-room, describing what they were
like, how they were used and what furniture was in them.
She
described everyone from the servants to the family members in loving detail,
giving me personal characteristics and historical details I would never have
discovered on my own.
And
when I began writing, she was a sensitive editor, offering suggestions and
advice about plot and characters in addition to correcting my errors in
grammar, punctuation and spelling.
When I
was struggling with the critical decision on whether or not my two main
characters -- as young people in love
who have to say goodbye not knowing if they'll ever see each other again -- should
make love, my mother helped me think through the dilemma. (For those who want
to know which way it went, you have to read my book! :)
In
fact, Mom was so dedicated to my novel that she's one of only a few people who
actually read my entire 850-page novel (others included my brother Eric and my
cousin Evie).
So,
for all of the above, I'm sad that Mom's not around to get involved again with
this great story. A story that, this time, won't be focused so much on her
family (Milt Brown and Erica Bunge), but is still the story of their lives.
Which
leads me to how the project is going now.
Well, for any who are keeping track of my self-imposed deadlines, the next one up was Feb. 14 to "Review/Refile all old stuff."
Technically,
I missed it by two days, but I still feel good about getting it done close to
the official deadline.
What
it involved was pulling all the old boxes of 1980s research files up from the
basement and cramming them into my tiny (8' X 12') office. I then pulled out
every file, skimmed the contents, then decided if the material was relevant to
my new CRB history book, or only applied to my old CRB novel.
If it
worked for my new book, it was refiled into my office filing cabinet (two
drawers of which I had emptied a few weeks ago in preparation for my new
research).
If the
material only applied to my old novel, then it went back into a box and was
relegated to the basement again.
While
I knew the process would be a fascinating trip back in time -- a kind of historian's
dream Christmas -- I had not reckoned on the sheer physical joy of touching
some items that came from 1916.
With
the excitement of opening an Egyptian tomb for the first time, I unfolded my
grandfather's 1916 passport -- a single piece of paper that unfolds to 12"
X 17". One side has his photo, a giant red seal and statements such as:
"Nose: Medium Prominent" "Face: Oval" and "Chin:
Medium." The other side is covered in national stamps from numerous
countries.
It
struck me that I was touching and unfolding a document that my grandfather had touched
and unfolded a thousand times before. In German occupied Belgium, he would have
probably clung to it during dark times because it was one of his few symbolic
lifelines back to his old life.
Then I
came across his CRB ID document, that had been folded and unfolded so many
times it's nearly in pieces. I could see him -- nearly feel him -- on the first
day he received it (no doubt in London) and how proud he was that it bore his
name. He probably pulled it out of his jacket pocket a hundred times that day,
just to reconfirm he was now part of such a grand humanitarian effort. He
couldn't wait to help, to make a difference...
Later,
much later, on gray winter Belgian days and nights, I could imagine him weary
to the bone at having to pull it out one more time for another petty
stop-and-search by some bureaucratic German sentry. When it was finally,
begrudgingly, given back to him, he would take it and fold it forcefully,
trying hard to convey without words his frustration and anger.
And
finally, I could see him in my mind's eye when he was old and tired and his
eyes could hardly focus, that he would stumble across it while going through
files in his study and suddenly he would feel young and vibrant and alive
again. He would struggle to his feet and wander into the living room where his Belgian
wife of 50 years was sitting at her writing desk, and he would come up behind
her and simply put his hand on her shoulder. She would stop, look up with a
slight smile, pat his hand, then go back to what she was doing.
He would
stand there for a moment more, simply remembering, then he would turn and
wander back to his study, to gingerly fold up the faded paper and tuck it back
into its place.
Touching.
It's such a primeval thing...and important, I believe, in historical research.
And yet, now that I've started dipping my toes into new CRB research, I've
found touching has been removed from much of 21th Century research.
Back
in the 1980s, when I did my initial CRB work, I traveled to libraries and
historical institutions and sat for days opening musty files, unfolding faded
letters, and prying apart brittle pages of journals and diaries.
That
is so different from the impersonal Internet screen viewing of such items.
Yes,
I'm eternally grateful that the Internet has increased the reach and efficiency
of everyone's research. But I'm also saddened by what it's removed from the
process -- most notably the tactile experience of holding objects that were
held by those who you're studying. That connection to a subject has now been
largely lost.
Oh,
well...I wonder if I'd trade the ease and completeness of Internet research for
the ability to touch more historical items....probably not....
But,
of course, as my mother would say, "Jeffrey, don't be ridiculous!
Lamenting the past is just an emotional waste of time!" Thanks, Mom!
Wow! I
can't believe I've made this post so long. Sorry! I also have not kept my
promise to do two posts a week. I think I need to work on doing shorter, more
frequent posts. I'll try that and see if it makes me feel any better.
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