I started this series about the village pub years ago, inspired by a Sunday morning visit with a group of walkers to a nearly crowded café in Poperinge. I noticed the elderly café owner, who seemed to enjoy the lively atmosphere despite the busyness. She meticulously recorded our orders on the beer card and encouraged us to sing along to a schlager from the jukebox. At that moment, something clicked within me—I realized I was witnessing a vanishing way of life: KNIPS, shot!
Over the years, I visited around 200 cafés across Belgium and Northern France. Sometimes, I encountered closed doors; other times, I wasn't allowed to take photos. To put things into perspective, about 100 years ago, my municipality had 80 cafés. Today, there are only two. They are disappearing like snow under the sun, due to factors like the smoking ban, stricter drink-driving regulations, or simply a lack of successors to take over. It's a challenging profession, one for which I hold great respect.
Interestingly, it’s often women, known as
Bazin, who keep these cafés open. They no longer do it for financial gain but to avoid fading away in a care center. Instead, they stay among people, serving their loyal regulars whom they love—and who love them in return. Their openness keeps a cherished community alive.
Café Breugelhof © Jan Vanhulle
Or was it Breughelhof with 'gh' in the middle? I still wonder. When the new spelling arrived, so did a new sign in the village of Nieuwkerk, where Lies (Eliza Blanckaert)—or 'aunt Lies,' as everyone called her—and Ston (Gaston Wyckhuyse) ran the place. How is it possible to miss people you didn’t even know so deeply? I still ask myself that question. The openness and warmth they radiated were unparalleled. Maybe it was because they had no children of their own? Or perhaps they were simply born that way—hospitable to everyone, always ready with a listening ear, a chat, and a beer for just one euro.
The café had a simple interior: homemade, delicious picon (out of respect for Ston, I never photographed his secret mix), bottled beer, a few Trappists, and some tables and chairs. One detail stuck with me: Lies would prepare a drink the moment she saw her customers approaching through the window. She could read their faces and instantly know what kind of mood they were in and what they would drink.
Once, I visited to photograph them by appointment. Both had dressed in their Sunday best, a sight I had never seen before. Lies usually talked about her potatoes and vegetable garden, her daily concerns, while Ston would speak about the races and the carnival club.
Much later, Lies appeared on TV—was it
Man Bites Dog?—in a segment called 'The Week Of.' She passed away suddenly during that week of filming, leaving behind a heartfelt piece of TV that became a lasting tribute to a little lady with a big heart.
De Warande © Jan Vanhulle
Urbain, the boss of the Warande in Zwevezele, of which I only suspect that he is also a pigeon fancier because he always wears the blue and by the way immaculate tunic, standard equipment of the pigeon fancier, is not only a café owner but also a petrol station owner and also drove a taxi, he started with that in 1954, when there were not many cars and the elderly were happy that they had transport in those days. Later on he did more and more ceremonies, weddings because he always drove Chevrolets, he still owns his Caprice from the year 1980, a large sled with which he does his shopping once a week, 'then I drive to the Aldi' (big mall) he tells me. He also drove a taxi with those Chevrolets for the prostitutes along the Ghent road and also experienced something with it, but Urbain never married, he actually took over the café from his sister Agnes, therefore he only did the petrol pump and taxi, but after the death of his sister he did not have to think long. One of his regular customers had his eye on me for a while, come he says to me I'm going to predict your future, the pendulum predicts what is to come... that they would rob Urbain a few weeks after my visit for 20 euros, however, that was not in that prediction.
Noela, a nice lady behind the counter, who liked to go to the hairdresser first and put on a clean dress for the photos. Unfortunately, Noela recently had to close her smiss after more than fifty years of service, her health no longer allowed it, in any case she always did it with heart and soul. Everyone was welcome, from the men of the nearby Woodimport Vandecasteele to a card club, a sports club, the regular customers, neighbours, the Okra club etc... Only when there was a bike race on TV, it sometimes happened that Noela was glued to the screen, a very big lover like her, could clearly foresee and discuss the race like the TV commentators, the newspapers with the results of the previous days in the area. She is a serious fan of the lesser-known Italian rider Marco Marcato who hangs out as a poster in a big way. De Smisse opened as an inn after conversion in 1950, together with her husband Hubert they moved in, in 1970, after his death, Noela continued on her own. The café is full of figurines of blacksmiths and the like that keep the memory of the past alive.
Hazekasteel © Jan Vanhulle
I once ended up there by chance when I was standing with my son Tom at a closed door of the Breughelhof in Nieuwkerke, in the street to the right there was a possibility to turn around by car, we had discovered the Haze Castle. The probably smallest, in size, boss of Belgium has been there for many years. Actually she calls Maria Lalleman but everyone says 'Maitje' and she always wears an apron like all our mothers wore, I only found those same aprons a few years ago at a farmer's market in the middle of the south of Germany. Her best buddy is called Jérome and he is even smaller than Maitje, it can hardly be otherwise because he walks on four legs that Jack Russel of hers. Once the café was called 'au lion d'or' but when she bought the café in 1982 she changed the name because everyone in the village always called Maitje and her sisters 'the girls of the haze castle' because that's where they once lived, near that castle.
In den Keizer © Jan Vanhulle
When I received a message from the daughter that her mother Jacqueline had died, well that arrived, I had photographed her a few times before and also provided her with those photos, Jacqueline Catry was then just about the oldest café owner in our Kortrijk region, more than 50 years behind (and in front of) the bar. She was born in her father's café and loved to do it and stayed among people, usually regular customers who knew her doings or sometimes a photographer who had blown away came over. She wasn't very talkative when I visited her a few times, she didn't stand still either, unless she immersed herself in the crosswords and read the 'bonjour tout le monde monthly' (monthley magazine: stars and gossip) and she didn't listen to my photo wishes either, she even suddenly lashed out at me with a booklet: 'haven't you photographed me enough yet?' Wow! She has long been forgiven because Alzheimer's is a strange creature, one second later she had already forgotten about it herself and we just went on and said hello to the flock of sheep in front of her door.
Tineke was 90 years old and for 45 years she has kept her café open, for years she collected Portuguese blue, the café is full and at home she has more, who can imitate her? The customers help her with the service and lugging the beer crates, or shake up the coal stove and it is a lively and cozy chaos kept in order, the habitués come and go through the back door, sporadic visitors enter through the front door. And every day you learn something new, did you know that little Aixam (very small European) car has big doors and you don't need a driver's license for it and if the cops catch you in a drunken state with it you have to hand in that driver's license that you don't have....
La Forge (blacksmith)
Françine who is normally always behind the bar because holiday is a word she doesn't know, well she was sitting in front of it now, in a wheelchair, what had happened? 'I'm rehabilitating after a fall over the wire of my Christmas tree that is now outside, it hasn't been there for a whole year and that cable wasn't used to me yet et voilà!' 'Look at me sitting here'?
The fall had clearly had no effect on her tongue, the beers were still there at one euro and the helpful regular customers helped nicely. Her ancestors already kept the small farm with adjoining café open and Françine took over when her parents got too old and stopped. Probably every Rekkem resident knows the somewhat remote place in the Triloystreet, the contrast with the adjacent LAR (big industrial area) could not be greater, but here everyone still comes across the floor from the factory worker to its director, always nice to hear French-speakers and Flemish-speakers talking and working together here.
Du Lohan (local place name)
Gilberte, I don't know how old you were, I'm a pretty good old age estimator but with the ladies I take care and say a few years younger, so I think 88 years. When I drove past it I thought: hey that's permanently closed here, the neon had had its day and the shutters were hanging at half past six, but on the way back I stopped anyway and pulled at your door and oh what a surprise: open! In my best French I asked what there was to drink, 'trois Chimay: le Bleu-Blanc-Rouge' you replied 'et café filtre', maybe there was more to get but communication was difficult without your hearing aids in and once your specialty was: escavèche en quenelles Chimaciennes et gibier (sur commande/made to order), I saw on your card here in Bourlers! We also met the first alderman of the municipality who was quite happy for us Flemish people and told us that you actually survived on Chimay and while enjoying our Chimay Bleu we clearly strived for the same goals. Walloons and Flemish who match, completely normal, only what escavèche actually is, I only found out much later.
Escavèche is a pickled fish based on trout or eel and is already known in the Chimay-Virelles region from the Spanish Habsburg rule in the 16th century.
Au repos du Guerrier © Jan Vanhulle
Here in Godewaersvelde ( border Belgium/ France) I thought it was the most beautiful, original interior I ever visited, here Yvonne Derhille-Dupont keeps her café open, once I arrived just before 16.00h, great panic everywhere about 10 people were waiting in front of a closed door and fiercely in discussion, I already thought, mannekes it will be busy here? At 16.15 not yet open, call, leave and walk again, there must be nothing wrong with Yvonne, right? Someone got in from the back and unlocked the front door: nothing wrong with Yvonne, she had just overslept her afternoon nap. The door was open and I stepped in, no one followed me, I was there all alone with Yvonne, she likes to speek a mouth of Vlaemsch (old Flemish) and likes to tell a dirty joke, she is not able to walk anymore and if you serve yourself it is good. She told me that she had only visited the grave of her deceased husband once in all those years, point final. The café actually had a different name, but the café (with beautiful, reminds me of the Brussels world expo-58 interior) once participated in a French Film and was given a film name, after the film the sign disappeared again and a long time later some regular customers found nothing better than to hang the film board back at night, hence it looks more recent than the rest. Yvonne has become too old to stand on ladders and so the movie name sticks, luckily the daughters come to help out more than once, otherwise it is self-service, luckily I know where to find the Picon (local aperitif) and the matching glasses. Santé to Yvonne, who is a good friend with the local politician!
In Dikkebus you had to watch out for the big dog? The sweet animal did no harm to anyone and came to you wagging his tail, time had stood still, Alice Gouwy who is 90 years old here in the photo, had fallen and was in rehabilitation, not so good anymore, we were allowed to take everything out of the basement ourselves if the neighbour did not come to help in time and then we paid Alice neatly. On Thursday afternoon the elderly gentlemen came to Alice to play in the 'bolletra' (wooden ball game) , it was very friendly and joking, the men settled neatly at the end of their game and allowed me to take pictures, they told me that Alice was actually the best of the whole team, she can put her wooden balls wherever she wants, But she couldn't play with the walker now. Dear Alice, I was always welcome in your kitchen, had to watch out for your secret weapon (fly swatter) every now and then and I miss your cordiality and tasty Picon. You once also played in the beautiful slow moviefilm 'Bedankt & Merçi' by Kat Steppe.
*Many cafés were given the name America because you could buy tickets for emigration that started mid-19th century to America there.
Jan Vanhulle (Belgian)
Built in 1953, from an early age I was interested in photography but I studied to be a teacher of drawing and painting. After my military service in the seventies, the country was in crisis, there was nothing open in education and I was able to work (because of my photo hobby) as a salesman of cameras in a specialized store. I took evening photography classes and got the diploma but there was no time to photograph myself, just work and sell all those Japanese, German, Swedish devices. After 40 years I became free and now try to register as much as possible of what remains in our region, bakers, butchers, small self-employed people, bicycle repairers, hairdressers, village shops, the people who realize something because for me they are the real heroes of society. Why should I photograph landscapes or the setting sun? Memories of my childhood where almost all the neighbors practiced a trade or profession, nostalgia for the past? I can't find an exact answer to it? Our world has already changed and continues to change, everything goes to the big www companies and the personal contact is gone. I already had some successes here and there, but actually I should organize my chaotic collection of images, the series you see here is already an example of that, although I still find taking the photos more important than the PR part about myself as a photographer.
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