Without Knowing, on the Camino

Each morning he walks the same stretch of the Meuse — unaware that he follows the ancient route of pilgrims bound for Santiago de Compostela.

Every morning, as the mist still clings to the Meuse, people set out from Roermond for their daily walk. Some follow the dike for exercise, others to clear their minds — yet without knowing, their footsteps trace one of Europe’s oldest pilgrim routes.

The Camino de Santiago passes quietly here, unmarked by fanfare or faith, just a worn rhythm between river and sky. The man in the photo has walked this path for years, greeting the same geese, watching the same current. He may never carry a scallop shell or reach Santiago, but his devotion to the road is its own kind of pilgrimage.

The Church on Friesland’s Highest Mound (Hegebeintum, The Netherlands)

The church at Hegebeintum (The Netherlands).

In the tiny Frisian village of Hegebeintum, the church seems to float above the surrounding fields. It stands atop the highest terp—an artificial dwelling mound—in the Netherlands, rising about eight and a half metres above sea level. Built in the 12th century, the Romanesque church of brick and tuffstone replaced an earlier wooden structure, serving both as a place of worship and as a refuge during floods.

Over the centuries, the church was altered in Gothic style and fortified with a stout tower. Inside, you can still see medieval fresco traces and a richly carved 17th-century pulpit. The terp itself has its own story: much of it was dug away in the late 19th century for fertile soil, leaving the church standing even more prominently against the horizon.

Today, the church and terp together form a striking landmark—a meeting point of human resilience, medieval faith, and the ever-changing Frisian landscape.

The interior of the church at Hegebeintum (The Netherlands).

Coal, Catholicism, and Community: Henri Poels and the Social Fabric of South Limburg (1900–1930, The Netherlands)

Henri Poels.

When coal was discovered in South Limburg at the turn of the 20th century, it promised jobs, prosperity—and potential trouble. Across Europe, industrial regions had already shown how rapidly growing workforces could become hotbeds of labour unrest, socialism, and political radicalism. In The Hague and in church offices alike, there was quiet concern: how could Limburg’s mining communities grow without becoming a social powder keg?

That challenge found its champion in Monsignor Henri Poels, a priest from Venray who would become known as aalmoezenier van de arbeid—chaplain to the working class. Poels understood that keeping the peace in the mines meant more than sermons on Sunday. It required housing, leisure, and a sense of belonging firmly rooted in Catholic life. His mission was both pastoral and strategic: to “bind the worker to the soil,” as one famous slogan put it, by giving them a stake in stable, faith-based communities.

In 1911, Poels founded Ons Limburg, a cooperative housing association designed to tackle the chronic shortage of decent homes for miners and their families. Good housing, he believed, was a bulwark against the appeal of socialist promises. But bricks and mortar were only the beginning. Poels actively encouraged a dense network of Catholic associations—sports clubs, choirs, youth groups, and mutual aid societies—that would anchor miners’ lives in a shared moral and cultural framework.

His reach extended into the cultural sphere as well. Through initiatives like the NV Tijdig, he supported Catholic-friendly cinema and theatre, offering wholesome entertainment that kept people within the Church’s orbit even in their leisure hours. In the process, he helped shape a “pillar” of Catholic life in Limburg—parallel to, and often in competition with, socialist and liberal networks.

The results were tangible. Catholic miners’ unions provided an alternative to secular labour movements, offering advocacy on wages and conditions without breaking ranks with the Church. Housing cooperatives ensured that miners lived in neighbourhoods designed with parish life in mind—complete with churches, schools, and clubhouses. For decades, this model of faith-led community building kept Limburg’s mining region socially cohesive, even as it absorbed waves of migrant labour from other parts of the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, and beyond.

By the 1930s, the coalfields of South Limburg were more than an economic engine; they were a laboratory for a uniquely Catholic approach to industrial society. Poels’ legacy still lingers in the brick façades of garden villages, in the archives of miners’ associations, and in the memory of a time when the Church was not only a place of worship, but the architect of an entire way of life.

Banner of the Dutch Roman Catholic Miners’ Union, Geleen branch in South Limburg (1920).

Further reading

• BWSA, Henri Poels (Internationaal Instituut voor Sociale Geschiedenis)

• Canon van Nederland, Limburg-venster: Ons Limburg and housing policy

• T. Oort, Film en het moderne leven in Limburg (chapter on associations and cinema)

• S. Langeweg, Mijnbouw en arbeidsmarkt in Nederlands-Limburg, 1900–1965

• Katholiek Zuid-Limburg en het fascisme (Maaslandse Monografieën 19)

• Open Universiteit, “Mijn en Kerk” thematic article

Limburg Torn Between Two Countries: Faith, Identity, and Relations with the New Order for the Low Countries after 1839

A map with the division of Limburg from the Treaty of XXIV Articles (London, 1839).

When revolution erupted in Brussels in 1830, Limburg found itself at the nexus of Europe’s great powers. For nine uneasy years, the province lived in political limbo. Belgium had declared independence; the Netherlands refused to let go. In the meantime, Limburg’s towns and villages experienced a tug-of-war not just between two capitals, but between two different worlds.

Much of Limburg’s population sided—openly or quietly—with the Belgian cause. Catholic to the core, many Limburgers felt culturally and spiritually closer to Belgium and its Church than to a Protestant-dominated Dutch state. The Catholic Church became both an anchor and a shield: an institution that spoke their language, celebrated their feast days, and upheld traditions that had shaped village life for centuries. In the uncertain 1830s, clinging to the Church was as much an act of identity as it was of faith.

Politically, the situation was volatile. In the early months of the Belgian Revolution, places like Sittard, Roermond, and Venlo joined the uprising; only Maastricht held out for the Dutch king, guarded by its fortress commander. Diplomacy played out in London’s conference rooms, with maps repeatedly redrawn—first in the so-called XVIII Articles of 1831, then in the far harsher XXIV Articles of 1839. These final terms carved Limburg in two, assigning the eastern half, including Maastricht, to the Netherlands.

The decision was met with resentment on the ground. Limburgers had grown accustomed to the broader freedoms they enjoyed under Belgian administration during the 1830–1839 interlude. Many resisted the new Dutch order: over 3,500 people formally opted for Belgian nationality, and thousands more quietly crossed the border. Even for those who stayed, the bond with “Holland” was thin. Daily life—markets, schooling, professional networks—often still pointed south to Liège, Hasselt, and Brussels rather than north to Amsterdam or The Hague.

In this climate, the Catholic Church’s role deepened. It provided continuity in a time when political allegiance was in flux. Parish life, religious festivals, and clergy influence became subtle markers of a Limburg identity distinct from the Dutch national narrative. For decades afterward, this sense of difference lingered. By the time Limburg was fully integrated into the Netherlands in the late 19th century, its Catholic heritage was not just a religious fact—it was a quiet statement of who they were, forged in the shadow of a political split.

Further reading

• Piet Lenders, Honderdvijftig jaar scheidingsverdrag België–Nederland en de opsplitsing van Limburg, 1989

• W. Jappe Alberts, Geschiedenis van de beide Limburgen, 1972

• K. Schaapveld, Local Loyalties: South Limburg During the Belgian-Dutch Separation, 1998

• L. Cornips, Territorializing History, Language, and Identity in Limburg, 2012

’t Paeterke: Venlo’s Bronze Memory of the Dominicans (Venlo, The Netherlands)

‘t Paeterke, by Ger Janssen.

On Venlo’s Dominicanenplein stands ’t Paeterke—the Little Father—a bronze sculpture by local artist Ger Janssen. It honours the Dominican friars who lived here from 1892 until the early 21st century, first in the Trans-Cedron monastery and later beside the Kloosterkapel Mariaweide.

The chapel’s roots reach back to the early 15th century. Over the centuries it served as a beguine chapel, a pipe factory, a warehouse, even a carpentry shop, before war damage in WWII led to a major 1950s restoration. Today, it lives on as Domani, a vibrant cultural venue.

Janssen, known for capturing human expression in bronze, portrays the friar with quiet dignity—linking the square’s present to its monastic past. The Dominicanenplein itself emerged only in the late 20th century, when the city made the adjacent medieval Nieuwstraat car-free, creating a calm space where history still lingers.

The Woudagemaal: Steam Power to keep Friesland dry (Lemmer, The Netherlands)

Commemorative tile panel showing the pumping station and the 1947 decision to name the station after engineer D.F. Wouda.

On the edge of Lemmer, where land and water continually battle for space, the Ir. D.F. Woudagemaal stands as a monument to Dutch engineering — and a machine still in active service.

Built in 1918, this steam-powered pumping station is the largest of its kind in the world still operating. When Friesland faces high water, the boilers are fired up, the pistons start pounding, and the Woudagemaal begins to pump millions of liters toward the IJsselmeer. It’s not just historic — it’s essential.

Inside, you walk through vast brick halls where cast-iron engines, red valves, and gleaming pressure gauges create the feeling of a mechanical cathedral. The technology is a century old, but when it comes to keeping the province dry, the Woudagemaal still delivers.

Named after engineer Dirk Frederik Wouda, the pumping station became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998. Today, it’s open to visitors, who can explore the machinery, visit the interactive visitor center, and — if the water rises — witness the living power of steam.

The boiler hall, where huge vessels heat water to generate steam.

The steam engines with the great flywheels that drive the pumps.

How England Crushed the French Fleet at Sluys (1340)

A miniature of the battle from Jean Froissart's Chronicles, 15th century. BNF, fr. 2643 fol. 72.

In June 1340, the waters near the port of Sluys—on the coast of what is now the Netherlands—became the site of a brutal and decisive naval confrontation between England and France. This clash, known as the Battle of Sluys, marked one of the opening engagements of the conflict that would later be called the Hundred Years’ War—a protracted series of wars fought between the two kingdoms from 1337 to 1453. While the conflict is often associated with dynastic claims to the French throne, its roots also lay in fierce competition over trade, land, and political influence in western Europe.

At the time, King Edward III of England was pressing a claim to the French crown through his mother, Isabella, a French princess. The French monarchy, however, rejected his claim, invoking the Salic law to bar succession through the female line. As diplomatic relations collapsed, war broke out, and with it came the strategic need to control key maritime routes. England, dependent on cross-Channel supply lines and the wool trade, could not afford to lose control of the sea. The French, recognizing this, had concentrated a formidable fleet—estimates suggest between 120 and 200 ships—at Sluys, aiming to blockade English ports and launch raids along the southern coast of England.

The French strategy at Sluys relied on using their ships as floating fortresses: they chained them together across the mouth of the harbor, forming an improvised barrier that they hoped would halt any English attempt to break through. On board were thousands of soldiers and marines, perhaps as many as 20,000 men, including Genoese mercenary crossbowmen hired for their effectiveness in naval warfare.

Edward III, commanding a slightly smaller fleet of around 120 ships but supported by experienced sailors and longbowmen, decided to attack directly. On 24 June 1340, in a bold and aggressive move, the English fleet launched its assault. Utilizing superior maneuverability, coordinated tactics, and the deadly range of the English longbow, they managed to overpower the French fleet. The battle turned into a massacre: many French ships were captured or sunk, and thousands of French soldiers and sailors were killed or drowned.

The victory at Sluys gave England control of the English Channel for years to come. While it did not end the war—indeed, the Hundred Years’ War would drag on for more than a century—it secured a vital lifeline for English military campaigns in France and marked the beginning of England’s emergence as a serious naval power in medieval Europe.

The First Farmers in Limburg – The Bandkeramiek Culture (Linear Pottery Culture)

Linear Pottery from Limburg (The Netherlands; ca. 5300 BC)

Around 7,500 years ago, the first farmers arrived in what is now southern Limburg. They belonged to the Linear Pottery (LBK) culture, named after the ribbon-like decorations on their pottery (Bandkeramik in German). These people didn’t just pass through—they settled, built long wooden houses, cultivated crops, and raised livestock on the fertile loess soils of the region.

Archaeological sites in Elsloo, Stein, and Sittard have revealed traces of their daily life: pottery, polished stone tools, and even burial grounds. In Stein, over 100 graves were uncovered, some with beautifully decorated ceramics and flint tools buried beside the deceased—signs of ritual, memory, and perhaps social status. These finds show that these early farmers lived in organized, permanent communities.

But Limburg was not an isolated case—it was part of a much wider transformation sweeping across Europe: the spread of farming. This neolithic revolution had begun millennia earlier in the Near East and moved slowly westward through Anatolia, the Balkans, and Central Europe. By the time the LBK people reached Limburg around 5300 BCE, farming was already well established in southeastern Europe.

In the Balkans and Greece, cultures like Starčevo and Sesklo had been practicing agriculture and building villages for centuries. Further north, in what is now Hungary and Austria, longhouse villages similar to those in Limburg had developed. In the Danube basin, the Vinča culture flourished, with large settlements and some of the earliest symbolic writing in Europe.

To the west and south, the Cardial and Impressa cultures spread farming along the Mediterranean coast—from Italy to southern France and Spain—marked by pottery decorated with shell and comb impressions. Around the same time, in the interior of the Iberian Peninsula, early farmers began to mix with local hunter-gatherers, forming new hybrid communities.

Meanwhile, much of northern and western Europe, including Britain, Scandinavia, and large parts of Germany and the Low Countries, was still occupied by Mesolithic hunter-gatherers. In this context, Limburg was a frontier zone: the northernmost edge of the LBK expansion, where the new farming way of life first met older traditions of mobility and foraging.

The arrival of the LBK people in Limburg marks a turning point. They brought more than tools and seeds—they brought a new way of living that emphasized permanence, land ownership, and community. Their longhouses, field systems, and burial customs reflect a radical shift in how people related to the land, to each other, and to the past.

Further Reading

• Bakels, C. C. (2003). The Early Neolithic of the Netherlands: Bandkeramik Farmers in the Low Countries. Antiquity, 77(296), 570–580.

• Modderman, P. J. R. (1970). The Linear Pottery Culture: Diversity in Uniformity. Berichten van de Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek, 20–21, 63–70.

• Louwe Kooijmans, L. P. (2005). Prehistory of the Netherlands. Amsterdam University Press.

• Van de Velde, P. (1979). Bandkeramische nederzettingen in Limburg. Archeologische Berichten.

Urk's Lighthouse (Urk, The Netherlands)

The lighthouse of Urk, a prominent and enduring symbol of the town, has a rich history that reflects the maritime heritage of this former island community. Established in 1844, the Urk lighthouse was built to guide fishermen and sailors through the treacherous waters of the Zuiderzee. The lighthouse stands on the highest point of Urk, offering a commanding view of the surrounding sea and serving as a beacon of safety for generations of seafarers.

The construction of the lighthouse marked a significant development in Urk's maritime infrastructure, enhancing the safety of navigation and supporting the local fishing industry. Over the years, the lighthouse has been modernized, transitioning from oil lamps to more advanced lighting systems, yet it has maintained its historic charm and significance.

Throughout its existence, the Urk lighthouse has witnessed the transformation of the region, including the ambitious Zuiderzee Works, which converted the Zuiderzee into the IJsselmeer and connected Urk to the mainland. Despite these changes, the lighthouse remains a vital part of the town's identity, symbolizing the resilience and enduring spirit of Urk's maritime community.

Today, the Urk lighthouse is not only a functional navigational aid but also a cherished historical landmark. It attracts visitors who are eager to explore its storied past and enjoy the panoramic views of the IJsselmeer. The lighthouse stands as a testament to Urk's rich maritime legacy and continues to be a proud emblem of the town's connection to the sea.

Kerkje aan Zee (Little Church by the Sea, Urk, The Netherlands)

Kerkje aan Zee (Little Church by the Sea, Urk, The Netherlands)

The 'Kerkje aan Zee' (Little Church by the Sea) in Urk is a historic landmark with a captivating history that dates back to the 17th century. Perched on the edge of the former island of Urk, this quaint church has long been a symbol of hope and guidance for the local fishing community. The original wooden church, which stood on the same site, was a crucial spiritual center for the island's inhabitants. However, the current stone structure was established in 1786, signifying a new era in Urk's religious and cultural life.

Throughout the centuries, the 'Kerkje aan Zee' has played a vital role in the lives of Urkers. As a place of worship, it has been the site of countless baptisms, weddings, and funerals, marking the key moments in the lives of the island's residents. The church's strategic location by the sea meant it also served as a navigational landmark for fishermen braving the often treacherous waters of the Zuiderzee, providing a sense of safety and homecoming.

The church's history is interwoven with the dramatic changes that Urk has undergone. Originally an isolated island, Urk was connected to the mainland in the 20th century as part of the Zuiderzee Works, a series of projects designed to reclaim land and control flooding. Despite these changes, the 'Kerkje aan Zee' has retained its unique charm and continues to be a proud symbol of Urk's enduring legacy.

Inside, the church is adorned with maritime memorabilia, reflecting the close relationship between the church and the sea. The interior's simplicity and the historic organ add to its timeless appeal, creating a serene atmosphere for reflection and worship.

The 'Kerkje aan Zee' is not just a religious structure but a testament to the resilience and steadfast faith of the Urkers. It stands as a reminder of the island's rich history, its maritime heritage, and the strong community bonds that have been forged through centuries of shared experiences. Today, it remains a cherished landmark, drawing visitors from near and far to experience a piece of Urk's storied past.

Maria, Sterre der Zee, Stella Maris (Maastricht, The Netherlands)

Maria, Sterre der Zee (Maastricht).

The "Maria, Sterre der Zee" procession on October 10th in Maastricht is a cherished tradition, honoring the Virgin Mary under the title "Star of the Sea." This annual event draws worshippers and pilgrims to celebrate Mary’s protective role over the city, symbolizing hope, guidance, and refuge. The tradition dates back centuries, with Maastricht’s faithful attributing their devotion to Mary as a source of blessings and miracles, especially for those who seek protection during life’s journeys.

The title "Sterre der Zee" (Star of the Sea) originates from Saint Jerome’s translation of the Bible in the 4th century. In his Latin Vulgate, he referred to Mary as "Stella Maris," a term that underscores her role as a spiritual compass for Christians, much like stars have long been used to guide sailors across treacherous waters. This metaphor of Mary as a guiding star became one of her most enduring titles in Catholic tradition.

The name also has deeper roots beyond Christianity. Scholars often draw parallels between Mary and the Egyptian goddess Isis, who was similarly revered as a protector of sailors and depicted with celestial imagery. Another significant connection lies with Venus, the "Morning Star" and "Evening Star," a planet that has symbolized guidance and light through the ages. The blending of these ancient symbols with Christian devotion to Mary enriches the meaning of "Sterre der Zee," linking her to an enduring legacy of hope and guidance from both pagan and biblical traditions.

In Maastricht’s procession, these layers of history and symbolism are celebrated, uniting past and present devotion in an event that honors Mary as a spiritual light for all.

Maastricht’s Sterre der Zee procession (October 10th).

Zeldenrust Windmill (Dokkum, The Netherlands)

The Zeldenrust windmill in Dokkum.

The Zeldenrust windmill is a historic gem gracing the charming town of Dokkum, Friesland. For centuries, this iconic structure has been a vital part of the local community, reflecting the Netherlands' rich windmill heritage. Originally built in the 18th century, Zeldenrust was a bustling corn mill, grinding grain into flour to feed the population.

Beyond its practical function, the windmill was a symbol of prosperity and engineering prowess. Skilled millers harnessed wind power to operate the heavy millstones, a demanding yet essential task. Today, Zeldenrust stands as a cherished monument, offering visitors a glimpse into the past and a deep appreciation for Dutch craftsmanship.

Ommelebommelstién (Urk, The Netherlands)

De Vroemoêr (The Midwife), by Piet Brouwer.

About 70 meters from the shore of Urk lies a massive boulder in the IJsselmeer. This boulder was transported from Scandinavia to Urk during the Ice Age. The stone holds significant importance for the people of Urk. According to legend, Urk children do not arrive by stork; instead, they come from this 'Ommelebommelstién'.

When a child is about to be born, an expectant father must row out to the stone and, upon payment, receive his child there. The legend adds a whimsical detail: boys are twice as expensive as girls. This charming tale is deeply ingrained in local folklore and highlights the unique cultural heritage of Urk. The ‘Ommelebommelstién’ serves as a symbol of the town's connection to its past and the enduring nature of its traditions.

Introduction to Repair Cafés: Fostering Community and Sustainability through Collaborative Repair

Volunteers at the Repair Café Roermond.

Repair Cafés represent a global grassroots movement that marries sustainability with community engagement. These events, like the one held in Roermond, are free and open to everyone, offering a space where individuals can come together to repair broken items. The philosophy behind Repair Cafés is simple yet profound: rather than discarding and replacing, people are encouraged to repair and reuse, thereby reducing waste and promoting environmental stewardship.

At a Repair Café, participants bring in broken items from home—whether it's clothing, furniture, electrical appliances, bicycles, or toys—and work alongside skilled volunteers to fix them. These volunteers, who possess a wide range of repair knowledge and skills, provide guidance and support, transforming what might otherwise be a frustrating experience into an educational and rewarding one. The act of repair becomes a shared endeavor, with visitors learning new skills, gaining confidence in their ability to fix things, and contributing to the collective knowledge of the community.

Even those who arrive with nothing to repair find value in the experience. They can enjoy a cup of coffee or tea while observing the repair process, offer help to others, or simply gain inspiration from the books on DIY repair and crafting available at the reading table. The atmosphere at a Repair Café is one of collaboration and creativity, where the focus is not only on fixing items but also on building relationships and fostering a sense of community.

Repair Cafés are more than just places to mend broken objects; they are vibrant hubs of learning, sharing, and sustainability. They challenge the throwaway culture and emphasize the importance of resourcefulness, all while bringing people together in a spirit of cooperation and mutual support. Through these gatherings, Repair Cafés empower individuals to take an active role in reducing waste and preserving the environment, one repair at a time.

Some more volunteers at the Repair Café Roermond.

Repair Café Roermond

The Saint Servatius procession (Maastricht, The Netherlands)

Saint Servatius’ reliquary in the streets of Maastricht.

Saint Servatius, also known as Sint Servaas in Dutch, holds a revered place in the history and religious tradition of the Netherlands, particularly in the city of Maastricht. As the earliest bishops of Maastricht in the 4th century, Saint Servatius played a pivotal role in spreading Christianity throughout the region and establishing Maastricht as a center of religious significance.

Born in the 4th century in present-day Armenia, Saint Servatius embarked on a missionary journey that ultimately led him to the Roman settlement of Maastricht. Here, he served as the city's first bishop and became renowned for his piety, wisdom, and miraculous deeds.

The Saint Servaas procession, a centuries-old tradition, pays homage to the life and legacy of Saint Servatius. Held annually in Maastricht in May, this solemn procession draws pilgrims and spectators from far and wide to witness the elaborate pageantry and religious fervor that characterize the event.

During the procession, the relics of Saint Servatius, housed in the magnificent Basilica of Saint Servatius, are carried through the streets of Maastricht in a ceremonial procession. Accompanied by clergy, worshippers, and musicians, the relics are venerated by the faithful as they pass by, invoking the intercession of Saint Servatius for blessings and protection.

Above: A glimpse into the 2024 Saint Servatius procession in Maastricht (May 19, 2024).

Remembering Roermond's city fire from 1665

The 2024 City Procession arriving at the ‘Kapel in 't Zand’.

The city fire of Roermond on May 31, 1665, started when a marksman participating in a procession fired into the air. The glowing bullet landed on a thatched roof, and the wind spread the fire. Three-quarters of the houses in the city went up in flames.

The population of the city, led by the bishop, went to the ‘Kapel in 't Zand’, just outside the city, to pray to Saint Mary. Joanna van Randenraedt, a devout unmarried woman, chose to stay in the city. She was known as a semi-saint, who had visions and predicted the future. Joanna threw a small statue of Mary from the Franciscan church into the fire. After that, the fire went out - no, it was thought that it was extinguished because of that.

Since then, every year in May, the City Procession travels from the Munsterplein to the ‘Kapel in 't Zand’. The city procession is also called the Candle Procession, because candles of the patron saints of all the water wells are carried and donated to the parish of ‘Kapel in 't Zand’. All this to thank Mary and the parish for all the help provided.

Story based on Verwoestende branden by the City Archives of Roermond.