Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.11 April
Leuven, Belgium: A grim start to this week. Not the insight into Flemish life I'd expected. Walking along the canal near Ghent, I saw something in the water. Looked like a cushion.
Looked closer, saw arms and a head. Maybe a tailor's dummy? Hooked it with my walking stick. It rolled. An old woman in a red silk blouse and lots of jewellery, definitely dead.
Couldn't face the thought of leaving her in there, so pulled her out. Tried to lay her flat out but she was locked rigid. No point even trying resuscitation. In the end, left her sitting by my rucksack and went for help.
A cafe beside a bridge a hundred yards away. Told the barman I'd found a body. "Oh, that is bad," he said. True Belgian stoicism. He phoned for help. I went back and waited with her. Cold wind blowing. It made her shake. Wiped her face a little. Only thing I could do for her.
Help came in 10 minutes - I'd interrupted a search. Ambulance, two police cars, pathologist, more cars, fire engine, diver. Sat in a patrol car and answered questions while the next of kin identified her. Hard to watch. Brought back bad memories.
Police finished interview, diver took me for a drink. Sat and watched crowds gather on the bank while he told me about her: local woman, widowed, children grown up and left home, long history of suicide attempts. Missing for 36 hours. He'd been kitting up to search the canal when they got my call.
Slow dispersal - fire engine, body, police. Watched them go then carried on walking. Rain started after half-an-hour. Great. Found a semi-dry camp-site. A lot of dreams that night.
Since then, just kept walking. Small towns, fields, factories - not inspiring. The people keep me going. Half of Flanders wants to put me up for the night. (The other half doesn't understand my broken Dutch.)
Looking forward to Wallonia: hills, forests, castles, and, apparently, the world's finest sausages. But I'll miss Flanders. Particularly the place-names. Walked past Reet, Duffel, Boom and Donk this week. You wonder why I still like Belgium?
For further information, visit the website at www.netplaycafe. co.uk/bonewalk
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments