portions of a syrupy mixture which those who know say is the right
provender. On such occasions men are quite helpless. They can only
look on with a frog in the throat at pale, improperly nourished mothers
with bundles of potential manhood and womanhood in their arms. For
this was woman's work for woman. Belgian women of every class
joined in it: the competent wife of a workman, or the wife of a
millionaire who had to walk like everybody else now that her motor-
car was requisitioned by the army.

Pop-eyed children, ruddy-cheeked, aggressive children, pinched-
faced children, kept warm by sweaters that some American or
English children spared, happy in that they did not know what their
elders knew! Not the danger of physical starvation so much as the
actual presence of mental starvation was the thing that got on your
nerves in a land where the sun is seldom seen in winter and rainy
days are the rule. It was bad enough in the "zone of occupation," so
called, a line running from Antwerp past Brussels to Mons. One could
guess what it was like in the military zone to the westward, where only
an occasional American relief representative might go.

This is not saying that the Germans were stricter than necessary, if
we excuse the exasperation of their militarism, in order to prevent
information from passing out, when a multitude of Belgians would
have risked their lives gladly to help the Allies. One spy bringing
accurate information might cost the German army thousands of
casualties; perhaps decide the fate of a campaign. They saw the
Belgians as enemies. They were fighting to take the lives of their
enemies and save their own lives, which made it tough for them and
the French and the British--tough all round, but very particularly tough
for the Belgians.