Hof der dingen - the beached whale

de aangespoelde walvis

On the night of December 18, 1954, a sperm whale stranded on the beach of De Panne, along the Belgian coast. Two customs officers patrolling the beach, were the first to spot the animal – its tail still moving in the water.
The immense carcass of this magnificent creature – nearly 17 meters long – quickly attracted a crowd of curious spectators. Among them was Oswald Vermoere, who took a photograph to capture the extraordinary scene. He proudly displayed the image in his grocery shop, where it quickly turned into a local talking point – fuelling far-fetched stories and colourful retellings.
The cadaver was eventually moved and is now preserved and on display at the Belgian Institute for Natural Sciences in Brussels, in a room dedicated entirely to whales.
A tradition of macabre tourism
As odd as it may sound, there’s a long tradition of people travelling to the coast to see beached whales. Parents and grandparents even bring children to gawk at the tragic spectacle, drawn by a mix of wonder and morbid fascination – a peculiar brand of macabre tourism.
The earliest written record of a whale stranding in Belgium dates back to 1403. In Accurate Description of the Old and Famous Coastal Town of Ostend (1792), J. Bowens recounts how no fewer than eight whales washed ashore in Ostend that year. Each was said to be about 22 meters (70 feet) long, and the townspeople reportedly harvested 24 tons of bacon from each animal.
In 1989, over 100,000 spectators flocked to Sint-André, Oostduinkerke, to catch a glimpse of Valentine, a stranded sperm whale weighing 40 tons and measuring 17 meters long. Valentine became Belgium’s most famous whale – a coastal celebrity, if you will. A tombstone was erected in his memory at Ten Bogaerde—a farm that used to be part of the Dune Abbey in Koksijde.
You’re now part of a long-standing coastal tradition — witnessing the strange and solemn sight of a beached whale. Valentine, and the whale before you now, may no longer draw crowds along the shore — but their stories, and their quiet presence, live on.