Belco and I
Miss Edmee F. Bowles
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I was born in Antwerp, Belgium. My mother was Belgian and my father English and Scotch. World War I drove us from our home to England. After the armistice I stayed to complete my art studies. I was also interested in breeding and feeding experiments.
In 1932 I returned to Belgium, rejoining my mother who had bought a property in Schilde, about ten miles east of Antwerp on the main road to the German border. The area is known as Campine. It is a flat land with many pine woods.
The old farmhouse had been blown up during world War I. A new villa, Norman style, had been built on an elevation. It was of solid brick with huge chimneys. The house had two secret hiding places. Its builders had remembered the first World War when the Germans took all the valuables—silver, copper and even woolen blankets.
We had about five acres in the front of the house which we laid out with a vegetable garden and fruit trees. A long driveway, about 200 yards, led to the highway where the Belgian army had built a new blockhouse. The drive was bordered with an old copper beech hedge on one side and a wide border of flowers that bloomed from early spring until late fall on the other. Many a motorist would stop to admire the vista with the large meadows, dotted here and there with our prize goats and Westphalian geese.
We had a splendid view from our veranda. A large bell hung on the wall. Beyond were the wide rustic gates, the garage, buildings for stock, stables, a barn and the tenant farmer's house. Then there were more meadows and pine woods. Here our dogs ran freely to guard the property. There had been many robberies and trouble with poachers. Several gamekeepers had been injured and their dogs killed. Next to us was about 2,000 acres belonging to the Baroness of Schilde.
The Dutch Sheepdog we acquired with the house had been beaten almost to death. At first I had some Belgian Sheepdogs, German Shepherds and a couple of Bouvier des Flandres puppies, Dash, a female and Dombey, a male. There was also a terrier that was never home when he was needed.
My Bouviers grew into large, rustic dogs with rough coats, beards, mustaches and whiskers. I was impressed by the way these dogs of Flanders stayed home and by their effectiveness in herding cattle, even when working alone. Little by little the Bouviers superseded all the other breeds. They took over all the chores. The Bouvier is tough when necessary but he isn't mean or treacherous. His presence is a deterrent to wrongdoers. He commands respect with his dignified and determined demeanor.
In the village we formed a club, "Watch and Guard." I was manager. Various breeds came for training. First there were the usual obedience lessons: heel, forward, right and left by word or gesture. Then: jump, scale walls, find the man or object, defend, disarm, bring the man back and, of course, announce. Each dog had to be staunch to gunfire. I took my young Bouviers along and let them watch the older dogs working. They took to the training naturally.
When I acquired Belco he was just ten months old. No one foresaw his illustrious future. He had just recovered from distemper. He was a stoic, an observer and bystander. Other club members made fun saying: "That dog! He would not even say 'boo' to a goose." Dash had won the silver medal as the best working and attack dog. She saw to Belco's training.
Belco learned about the responsibilities of being a Bouvier one day when I drove to a nearby village. While in a shop I left my little niece in the car and the care of Dash and Belco. I was told later what happened. Some young hoodlums tried to get in the car. Dash knew she could handle the situation, but it seemed she thought Belco should face up to the situation. Belco wasn't making a move so she pushed, tugged and nipped until the light hit him. He lurched at the hoodlums with a roar!
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As the hoodlums ran off Dash sat back. Her body language seemed to say: "At last it has penetrated his thick skull." From then on Belco recognized his duties and took them seriously. Interestingly, he was thereafter the unquestioned leader but he always deferred to Dash.
One morning we found one of my prize turkeys dead on the roost showing little sign of violent struggle. There was only a small puncture in the skull. Our tenant farmer suggested a weasel. That night, shod in high riding boots and armed with a club and flashlight I, with my faithful followers, laid in wait for the killer. Making my rounds I saw a huge, solitary rat. He was standing on his hind legs, hissing and preferring a fight to flight. He defied the dogs. They hesitated and I gave the command: "Attack!" The rat curled himself around one dog's muzzle. It was over like lightning. Before the rat could bite the other dogs destroyed him. He was about the length of a Dachshund. Rats are cunning. I once saw one on his back cuddling an egg while another rat was dragging him by the tail.
The summer of 1939 brought portents and the fear of war. Hitler's defiance and his tank-rattling tested the will of Europe 's other powers. They let him retake the Saar which Germany had lost to France in a League of Nations plebiscite. German troops occupied the Sudetenland and annexed Austria. At Munich there was another yielding. Then—the invasion of Poland and the war was on.
France was foolishly dependent upon what it thought was the impregnable Maginot Line of fortifications. It mobilized but there was decay within its government.
In Belgium, also, there was general mobilization. Hitler had said he would never invade Belgium. Some, even in our army, believed him—probably more out of hope than logic. Most of us did not. The Nazis had planned and worked carefully. There was infiltration of both thought and people. Spies, collaborators and saboteurs were among us.
Because our house was the highest point in a flat land reaching toward the German border it was quickly commandeered as an artillery observation post. The guns were placed two miles further back. I quickly became involved. Riding my bicycle with my dogs accompanying me I did not attract attention as I gathered information from which military maps could be corrected for exact fixes of strategic points. Sometimes I would borrow the commander's horse for these expeditions but mostly I cycled. If Dash or Belco got too tired they would jump into a box on my carrier and ride with their front paws on my shoulders.
The infantry soon followed the artillery. About 12,000 strong men took up positions on our grounds and surrounding properties. By then I had more Bouviers. All ran freely except four grown ones that were posted at strategic points.
Trenches were quickly dug, some without consideration of water levels despite my cautions. These were soon waist deep in water. Other units respected my knowledge of our grounds and their trenches were, by comparison, comfortable. The main network of trenches was only 25 yards from our house. A quarter mile further there was an antitank canal. Trees in the woods were cut two feet above the ground leaving another tank barrier.
The first floor of our house was reinforced with, first, a layer of tree trunks and then sand bags. Branches and thickets were employed as camouflage for machine gun emplacements and ammunition storage units. Infantrymen were billeted in civilian homes in the village. Two officers lived in our house.
Three men were on duty at each post on a 24 hour watch. The sentries all wanted the help of a dog or puppy, especially during the night watches. No one could come near a Bouvier on sentry duty without the warning of a low growl or nudge. Sleepy soldiers were alerted to the approach of the watch officer on his rounds.
The rolling kitchens, still drawn by horses, were used to feed the men. Each company had its mess call eagerly answered by our Bouviers. They would stand at attention waiting for their share of the chow.
We needed coal for heat and cooking but there were no more deliveries. We improvised a sled and harnessed my dogs to go to the village for supplies. Zulma, our white donkey, refused to move and just sat down!
On May 11,1940, everyone owning a car was requisitioned to evacuate the old and the sick. When I presented myself I was assigned to go with the secretary of the Town Hall and take the archives of the village to a secret vault in Antwerp. These were huge, leather bound books with brass fasteners. Luckily I had reinforced springs and heavy duty tires which, in peacetime had been used to absorb the weight of a trailer to bring grain from the docks. During scarcity, this stood in good stead when I had to drive in ploughed fields to avoid shell holes. All the chrome on the car had to be painted with a special blue paint. We also had to drive without lights during blackouts. On my return, when crossing the bridge in Wyneghem where I left the Secretary, I saw a plane in the canal. I proceeded home, alone with Belco.
It was three a.m. when I arrived home with Belco as bodyguard. There were many difficulties as the password to go through the lines had been changed. Several times I was challenged by a sentry pointing his rifle with fixed bayonet. It was a very uncomfortable feeling, especially when I could see a nervous, shaky hand on the trigger. After only two hours' rest I was ordered to leave for the coast as the bridge between was mined and scheduled for demolition.
My mother and I hastily loaded the car and trailer with mattresses and blankets. I also took my bicycle. Later it was my only means of transportation. We also included a good supply of eggs. We left another 2,000 eggs for the stationed army as their supplies were overdue.
I chose Belco to accompany us. Dash was getting older and the younger ones had not had as much training or experience.
When we arrived at my sister's house in Antwerp the cook told us the family had already gone to La Panne on the coast. Bombs were already falling. We left some of our silverware, preferring a good supply of eggs. We took a large supply of gasoline in cans which had been brought from the tanks for us. My brother-in-law was manager for the Atlantic Refining Company in most countries in Europe. He had ordered large supplies of sugar to be dumped in the tanks at the approach of the German army. This would not only make the gas useless for refueling their tanks but it would jam the motors of their vehicles.
The slow exodus to the coast took nearly two days for what was normally only about three hours' drive. The roads were blocked by army and civilian traffic. Refugees were in all conditions. They moved by car, bicycle, wheelbarrow and on foot, besides anything on wheels that would move. Ghent already had been bombed and there was no room anywhere. We drove through the iron gates of the chateau. We introduced ourselves and begged for a night's lodging. Belco and some eggs, a rare commodity then, were an "Open Sesame" as they were often to be on our long journey.
We rejoined some of the family at the coast. Then we were ordered to move to France. Our point of entry had been closed.
After some arrangements we joined the Bell Telephone Company convoy ordered to Paris with their special equipment. When crossing the border I ordered Belco to hide under the mattress to avoid further delay with customs. French troops on the crossroads separated us from the rest of the convoy so we about did a "tour" of France; Calais, Abbeville and Dunkirk were included. We had to keep taking shelter, whenever possible, from planes dive-bombing or machine-gunning the civilians. At one time going bumper to bumper along a lane bordered by trees on one side, open fields on the other, we jumped out of the car leaving Belco to guard it. We ran toward a cluster of trees and landed in a manure heap. Returning to our car we saw many people walking about in dazed condition. One young couple held their dead baby in their arms. They heard crying and stopped. There was another baby beside its dead parents. After some hesitation the couple exchanged babies.
We headed for Clermont-Ferrand where we had friends. Our car was impounded and we spent three weeks there. We hid our trailer, supply of gasoline and tools in the garage of our friends' summer cottage. During this period I kept busy. Depending upon my bicycle for transportation and Belco for protection I tried to help the refugees who were arriving in most pitiful conditions. The Germans came closer and closer until they were in Vichy, just three miles away. Luckily for us the Germans stopped there to enjoy the wines and champagne. That gave us a few hours to get away.
Refugees were ordered to remain where they were but I was afraid to encounter the Germans and I had better reason to fear them than I knew then. I found out much later that our tenant farmer had betrayed me and that there was a price for my capture.
The leaving was difficult and dangerous. From our cache I took two heavy cans of gasoline and strapped them onto my bicycle. Belco helped me push the load up the hill and I brazenly "liberated" our car.
I hurried back to the chalet where I made inquiries how best to get out of town. It was important that we discipline ourselves against panic. We waited until dark before loading up. I had become a familiar sight with my bike and my dog but this was a different matter. Every detail had to be anticipated. The policeman on duty that night was paid to look the other way. We had to cross the mountains by moonlight. The route over Mount Dore, 6,000 feet up, was by a narrow, winding road.
Traveling without lights we headed for Perigueus on the way to Bordeaux. At that port on the southwestern coast of France we hoped to rejoin my sister, her husband and daughter. Cars were abandoned everywhere along our route. Some were wrecked. Many had become totally useless when they had consumed their last drop of gasoline.
We hoped to be in time to board the Manhattan for the last trip from France to the United States. But en route we were told the Germans had surrounded Bordeaux. We selected Bayonne as our best alternative. It is the next furthermost town on the Bay of Biscay. We again went east for a visa to Cahors, an ancient Roman town. There we found more confusion, people shouting and pushing. Officials at the headquarters pushed everyone out of the building.
I went to the back of the building and crawled in through a window. Then I stood calmly at the desk. Because I was so calm it was assumed I belonged. When the post commander arrived I was able to depart quickly.
I had left my mother in the car with Belco. Even during what must have been a time of great stress for him a man felt he had to stop for a moment. He said: "Oh, a Bouvier. I owe my life to a Bouvier in World War I. I was left for dead in the trenches. The medics, accompanied by a Bouvier passed me over. They found no sign of life but the Bouvier insisted. On the chance the dog was right they took me into the medical station. That was twenty years ago."
After many more adventures and urged by the peril of our situation we reached Bayonne. As usual there were no accommodations available. The French had signed an armistice. That seemed only to create more confusion, if such was possible. We had to sleep in the car, my mother on the front seat, Belco and I on the back seat. I was awakened from an uneasy sleep by Belco on the attack. He lept to the front seat and grabbed a man pointing a revolver at my mother. There was another man on the other side of the car. I never saw two men run so fast! We would not have been the first casualties of plunderers in those lawless days.
We had to remain in the Pyrenees for 18 months. Food was extremely short and we had to exist on 900 calories a day. It was during this period that Belco again saved my life. While cycling on a mountain road an oncoming truck, loaded with overhanging bags, swerved onto my side of the road leaving me barely a foot between it and a drop over the edge. I laid flat on the handlebars. Belco was leashed at my right. By pulling as hard as he could he kept me from falling under the wheels of the truck. The truck went on, leaving me in a heap on the road. Belco helped me home.
Finally, after three months in Portugal, we were able to embark for America. We arrived safely in May of 1942.
Belco and I gave training exhibitions for Dogs for Defense. We helped to train trainers for the Coast Guard's K-9 Corps. The Coast Guard had obtained the fine female, Ch. Lisa. From her Belco sired puppies for Dogs for Defense. Further, he and Lisa helped to raise funds for the program by pulling carts with collection boxes.
Belco died when he was 12 years old, brave and loyal to the end. I had him embalmed and brought him here to Collegeville, Pa.
We were never reimbursed for the military occupation and damage to our home in Belgium. What was not demolished by V-bombs was stolen. I had had a price on my head but thanks to Belco we were always a step ahead of the advancing German army. They searched for me to the end. I lost everything I owned except Belco. He lives on through his descendents, never forgotten.
Notes by Jim Engel:
Miss Bowles was born in Antwerp, Belgium on June 22nd of 1899.
Her Mother and Father were seperated, possibly during the war. This was never spoken of.
Comments by Kathy Engel:
I would add several comments from conversations with Miss Bowles. Belco was not her best dog (as in best conformation or best temperament) but he was best trained and that was why she kept him. At some later time Miss Bowles went back to Europe and while there tried to find some of her lost dogs. Some had been eaten as the people were starving - she understood. She said she also found several related dogs with farmers but did not elaborate much on it.
When the people were on 900 calorie restrictions she had a challenge finding food for Belco. She went to the slaughterhouses and got blood for him to consume. It gave him diarrhea, but kept him alive. When there was extra food she shared with him.
She told many other stories particularly of training adventures training perimeter guard dogs - distraction proofing them her solution to a local flasher (use your imagination) her injuries when a house she was in collapsed with her in it.
She was a fascinating women; had studied architecture while in London (as I remember) with many of her sketches on the walls of her home in Pennsylvania. She had antique furniture, tapestries, silver and beautiful wool rugs. I never asked if they were remnants of what they had in Europe or were acquired later.
Her mother stayed with her at Belco Farm for a time and was noted for chasing people off of the property, waving her cane. That was before our time. Though I find the image very appealing.