It is odd to reflect that Volendam, Monnickendam and
Marken may become ordinary inland hamlets in the midst of green fields
if the great scheme for draining the Zuyder Zee is carried through.
If the people and village of Volendam are to be described in a
phrase, they may be called better Markeners in a better Marken. The
decoration of the pointed red-roofed houses is similar; there is the
same prevailing and very ingratiating passion for blue Delft--and
a very beautiful blue too; the clothes of the men and women have a
family resemblance. But Volendam is in every way better--although
its open drain is a sore trial: it is more human, more natural. The
men hold the record for Dutch taciturnity. They also smoke more
persistently and wear larger sabots than I saw anywhere else,
leaving them outside their doors with a religious exactitude that
suggests that the good-wives of Volendam know how to be obeyed. The
women discard the Marken ringlets and richness of embroidery, but in
the matter of petticoats they approach the Scheveningen and Huizen
standards. Their jewellery resolves itself into a coral necklace,
while the men wear silver buttons--both coming down from mother to
daughter, and father to son.
The fishing fleet of Volendam sails as far as the North Sea, but it
is always in Volendam by Saturday morning.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277