Free Silent in an Evil Time by Jack Batten Page A

Germans. He stayed with the army when it was driven into France, and Edith accepted the realization that if she was ever to see the doctor again, it would be only when the war ended.
    Dr. Depage's wife, Marie, was also gone from Brussels. She sailed to the United States in early 1915 to ask Belgian Americans for donations to help finance the new clinic. On her return trip at the beginning of May, Madame Depage left from New York for England on a majestic British liner named the
Lusitania
, which was carrying almost two thousand crew and passengers. As the
Lusitania
passed the southern tip of Ireland on May 7, a German submarine fired a single torpedo at the ship. The
Lusitania
sank in eighteen minutes, taking 1,198 passengers and crew to their deaths. In all, 761 men, women, and children survived. Marie Depage wasn't one of them.

    The clinic was packed with men waiting to set off for the Dutch border, and the British soldiers grew restless when the wait lasted more than three or four days. The soldiers were young, full of energy, and frustrated at being stuck in the clinic's crowded cellars and attics. To give the men a chance to blow off a little steam, Edith allowed them out on strolls after dark. But she warned the soldiers to stick to the back streets, not to talk English, and to walk alone or in silent pairs. They were to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
    Before long, the soldiers were ignoring Edith's rules. They got into the habit of stopping at neighborhood bars for a few beers. The local Belgian drinkers welcomed them. None of the British dreamed they were taking risks since German soldiers drank in different bars. But, one night, things turned dangerous. Edith was away from the clinic, staying with friends in another part of Brussels, on the night that six or seven Irish soldiers knocked back too many beers. When they stepped out of the bar and into the street at the end of the evening, they ambled down Rue de la Culture singing “It's a long way to Tipperary” – a popular Allied wartime song – at the top of their lungs.
    Miraculously, no Germans rushed out at the sound of the loud Irish voices. Nobody appeared from the command post or from the boarding-house for German soldiers. Apparently they slept through the whole noisy episode. But a doctor at the clinic awoke. Alarmed at the racket, he rounded up the singing Irishmen and locked them in a ward.
    Edith arrived back at the clinic before seven the next morning. If she was annoyed by the Irish soldiers' musical night, or frightened about what it might lead to, she kept her calm manner. Her concern was to get the Irish out of the clinic. She contacted members of her group, who agreed to take in the soldiers. In the quiet of the early morning, the Irish were hurried through the streets to their new quarters. Edith braced herself for a visit from German officials, asking questions about the singing. But no Germans appeared. Edith hoped she had survived another crisis.

    When Charlie Scott came to Edith in early April, he was running a high fever and felt so weak that he could hardly stand. Scott was the young soldier from the Norfolk Regiment who had been hidden for eight months by the miner Désiré Richez at his cottage in Wiheries. During this long time, the wounds to Scott's chest had grown worse. He needed expert medical care, something Richez hadn't a hope of providing. Besides the worry about Scott's health, Richez was nervous that the Germans had targeted his cottage. It was probably a matter of days before they would discover Scott's hiding place in a hole inside the kitchen wall. Richez acted quickly, and with the help of other members of the secret network, he smuggled Scott to Brussels and to Edith.
    She put Scott into a bed and dressed his wounds. Since Edith and Scott were a couple of Norfolk natives, they shared happy stories of their home county. Scott felt relieved and protected. But his sense of comfort ended late the next night,