Description:In the autumn of 1914, when thousands of British soldiers were learning a little French and setting off for Flanders, the Belgians were heading in the opposite direction. Unlike the many nations that voluntarily threw themselves into the Great War, Belgium had little choice in the matter once the German army had crossed its borders. Understandably, large numbers of refugees headed for the ports and took the first boat to safety, and for many the final destination was Birmingham. It must have been a severe shock to the system: one day in Brussels, the next in Broad Street. The promise, of course, was that the war ‘would be over by Christmas’, but the hastily formed War Refugee Committee could hardly depend on this. Accommodation had to be found for the new arrivals, and eventually jobs as well. When the first exiles arrived on 3 September 1914 they had even more immediate requirements: a change of clothes and a decent meal. (Not something that was easy to get in Birmingham, with or without money.)The reception house for the Belgians was at 44 Islington Row (now part of Broad Street) and it rapidly became very busy indeed. Before January 1915 over 2,500 people had knocked on its door, and that number would have doubled before the war was a year old. Today it would be easy to find beds for a thousand people in Broad Street; not so in 1914. The committee had to rely on the generosity of Birmingham residents to provide bed and board, often for a whole family. In addition, larger premises such as the Friends’ Institute on Moseley Road (which was adapted to sleep 500) and Harborne Hall (which could hold 90) were made available. There were bed and breakfast establishments too, but these were not a great success. It was a rare Birmingham landlady, who could speak French or Flemish, and a rarer one still who could prepare a decent continental breakfast. It takes time to adapt to black pudding. Finding work for the new arrivals was surprisingly easy. The local factories had infinite variety and Belgium had two trades in common with Birmingham: jewellery making and munitions. Once they had learnt the English for a bunsen-burner and grenade, they were away. For the women with young children, they spent their spare hours making gifts and necessities for the soldiers in the Belgium army. By the summer of 1916 the Belgian government had sent 900 lbs of wool across to Birmingham to be converted into socks and mittens. Whatever else it is, war is a great leveller. The rich Belgian businessman found himself working alongside Birmingham men from back-to-backs, while well-to-do Antwerpians shared a hostel with families from the poor quarters. Perhaps the biggest surprise faced the new-born, who instead of opening their eyes to a hospital in Flanders, found themselves alive and well in Carpenter Road in Edgbaston, where a special maternity home was opened. By the end of the war over 60 children would have Birmingham, and not Brussels or Bruges, on their birth certificates. This brief spell of European integration finally came to an end in January 1919, when 3,000 Flemings and Walloons gathered in the Town Hall to say goodbye and to thank the citizens of Birmingham for their hospitality. No doubt they were looking forward to a decent meal of chips and mayonnaise. But in the meantime a plaque was presented to the Lord Mayor to commemorate their four-year stay in the Midlands. It still survives just inside the side entrance to the Council House