On April 1st, I heard at G.H.Q. that within a few days the French 9th
and 16th Corps, which were in the Ypres area, were to be moved south.
The British were to take over the line from the Belgian left near
Bixschoote, and make a continuous British line from that point to the
left of the main French front near the La Bassée Canal. Events were
to happen which prevented the completion of this plan--events due to
a German initiative.
The days grew warmer, though rain fell with sufficient frequency to
keep the fields deep with mud.
Rumours of a "push" could be heard everywhere. It was timed by most
prophets for April 24th or 25th, though some declared it would
develop by the 20th.
Many there were who scoffed at the idea of an advance. One story
current at G.H.Q. told of a subaltern of an infantry battalion, which
had long occupied the Ploegsteert trenches, who paid a visit to a
brother officer in another division, which had been marooned in the
Kemmel trenches for what had seemed an interminable period.
"You will notice," said the Kemmel man, "my men are planting
daffodils on the parapets to hide 'em. We hope to have the line quite
invisible in the course of time."
"Humph," replied he of Ploegsteert, "you _are_ a lot of blooming
optimists. _My_ men have planted acorns in front of _our_ ditch."
On April 3rd, Lord Kitchener came to Boulogne by torpedo-boat. On
the next morning, Sunday, he landed, came through St. Omer, where
he was joined by General French, and proceeded to Chantilly, where
a conference with General Joffre was held. On the following day,
Lord Kitchener and General French met General Foch at Amiens. A dash
to St. Omer, where Sir John remained, then a rush to Boulogne, and
England's War Minister was again aboard his torpedo-boat and speeding
back toward Whitehall.
As news of this visit spread over the Army, rumour piled on rumour of
the new "push" that was to accomplish such great results.
True, sinister minds attributed Kitchener's visits to the large loss
in men and the small gain in ground of Neuve Chapelle, but they were
greatly in the minority.
We obtained a copy of the _Lille War Gazette_, a newspaper published
by the German Army in Lille, which contained many items of
interest. Chief among them was an article by a Hun named Kaden, a
lieutenant-colonel of a line regiment. The following is a translation
of this article, which caused much comment:--
FIRE.
BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL KADEN.
As children, many of us have played with it; some of us have seen
an outbreak of fire. First a small tongue-like flame appears; it
grows into a devastating fury of heat. We out here in the field
have seen more than enough of it.
But there is also the fire of joy--of sacred enthusiasm. It arose
from sacrificial altars, from mountain heights of Germany, and
lit up the heavens at the time of solstice and whenever the home
countries were in danger. This year fires of joy shall flare
from the Bismarck columns throughout the length and breadth
of Germany, for on April 1st, just one hundred years ago, our
country's greatest son was born. Let us celebrate this event in a
manner deep, far-reaching, and mighty!
Blood and Iron!
Let every German, man or woman, young or old, find in his heart
a Bismarck column, a pillar of fire, now in these days of storm
and stress. Let this fire, enkindled in every German breast, be
a fire of joy, of holiest enthusiasm. But let it be terrible,
unfettered; let it carry horror and destruction! Call it hate!
Let no one come to you with "Love thine enemy!" We all have but
one enemy--ENGLAND!
How long have we wooed her almost to the point of our own
self-abasement? She would none of us, so leave to her the
apostles of peace, the "No War" disciples. The time has passed
when we would do homage to everything English--our cousins that
were!
"God punish England!"--"May He punish her!" This is the greeting
that now passes when Germans meet. The fire of this righteous
hate is all aglow!
You men of Germany from East and West, forced to shed your blood
in the defence of your homeland, through England's infamous envy
and hatred of Germany's progress, feed the flame that burns in
your souls. We have but one War Cry: "God punish England!" Hiss
this one to another in the trenches, in the charge; hiss as it
were the sound of licking flames. Behold in every dead comrade a
sacrifice forced from you by this accursed people. Take tenfold
vengeance for each hero's death!
You German people at home, feed this fire of hate!
You mothers, engrave this in the heart of the babe at your breast!
You thousands of teachers to whom millions of German children
look up with eyes and hearts, teach Hate, unquenchable Hate! You
homes of German learning, pile up the fuel on this fire.
Tell the nation that this hate is not un-German, that it is not
poison for our people. Write in letters of fire the name of our
bitterest enemy. You guardians of the truth, feed this sacred
hate!
You German fathers, lead your children up to the high hills
of our homeland, at the feet of our dear country bathed in
sunshine. Your women and children shall starve: bestial, devilish
conception. England wills it! Surely all that is in you rises
against such infamy!
Listen to the ceaseless song of the German forest, behold the
fruitful fields like rolling seas, then will your love for this
wondrous land find the right words, "Hate, unquenchable Hate!
Germany, Germany above all!"
Let it be inculcated in your children, and it will grow like a
landslide, irresistible, from generation to generation.
You fathers, proclaim it aloud over the billowing fields, that
the toiling peasant below may hear you, that the birds of the
forest may fly away with the message: into the land that echoes
from German cliffs send it reverberating like the clanging of
bells from tower to tower throughout the country side:
"Hate, Hate, the accursed English, Hate!"
You masters, carry the flame to your workshops. Axe and hammer
will fall the heavier when arms are nerved by this Hate.
You peasants, guard this flame, fan it anew in the hearts of your
toilers that the hand may rest heavy on the plough that throws up
the soil of our homeland.
What CARTHAGE was to ROME, ENGLAND is to GERMANY.
For ROME as for us it is a question of "to be or not to be."
May our people find a faithful mentor like Cato.
HIS CETERUM CENSEO, CARTHAGINEM ESSE DELENDAM for us means
"GOD PUNISH ENGLAND."
Some people laud the "thoroughness" of the German Army.
I wonder if they laud the "thoroughness" of its hate.
The Army under Sir John French was assuming considerable proportions
early in April. In addition to the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th,
7th, and 8th Divisions, the 27th and 28th, the Canadian Division
and the Divisions of the Indian Corps, as well as the 1st, 2nd and
3rd Cavalry Divisions and the Indian Cavalry Division, were well
seasoned. The North Midland, 2nd London and South Midland Territorial
Divisions were "out," and fast gaining experience and a good
reputation with it, while the Northumberland Territorial Division was
on the way.
G.H.Q. information summaries in the early days of April said
laconically, "Nothing to report on the British front," and were
generally fairly correct.
On the 8th and 9th the roads leading from the Ypres district were
filled with French troops moving southward. The veterans of the 9th
Corps limped past, frost-bite having visited most of them during
their long sojourn in the trenches of the Salient.
Lines of French guns ambled by, "75's," with their graceful light
grey lines, were eminently business-like, their gunners clad in dark
blue cape-overcoats that looked warm and comfortable.
The 1st Cavalry Division was given a new brigade, the 9th, which
consisted of the 15th Hussars, 19th Lancers and the Warwickshire
Territorial Battery.
Bumping over the bad roads at good speed meant frequent car trouble.
I was fortunate to find Harold Smith, the Royal Automobile Club
Engineer, one day at Boulogne, where he was superintending the
installation of a first-class motor repair plant for the Red Cross
Ambulances. Mieville, of the Red Cross, in whose hands were all
matters pertaining to Red Cross motor vehicles, proved a good
Samaritan. Between Mieville and Smith my decrepit car was given a new
lease of life.
The Army Service Corps would have done well to have "co-opted" Smith
and one or two more like him. His repair shop at Boulogne, when
completed, was so far ahead of any repair park possessed by the Army
in France that comparison made the Army shops look very bad indeed.
Yet Smith's work was done in three weeks or less and a building of
quite a temporary character utilised.
While I was in Boulogne an Army Service Corps captain came to
Harold Smith and said: "I have been told to lay down a foundry, and
unfortunately know nothing whatever about the bally thing. Do you
happen to know anything about a foundry?"
"Well," replied Smith, "have a fairly good idea of what you will
need. Suppose I draw up a specification of a foundry installation
to-night and let you have it to-morrow?"
"Delighted," said the captain. "It would be good of you."
So Smith set to work, duly completed the specification, and turned it
over to the A.S.C. man, who went away, quite happy, at once to put
in the specification as it was handed to him. He admittedly had no
knowledge as to its correctness and was quite satisfied to seek none.
I met Moore-Brabazon, of the Flying Corps, on the quay. With a few
days' leave in his pocket, he was as happy as a sandboy.
"We had a chap rejoin us a day or so ago," said "Brab," "who had a
remarkable story to tell. His name is Mapplebeck. He is an officer in
the Liverpool Regiment, attached to the R.F.C.
"Not long ago, Mapplebeck was up alone on a scout near Lille, when
his engine went wrong, and he had to make a descent. He knew he was
well inside the German lines, but was shocked to see a couple of
Huns, apparently doing sentry duty, not far from where he had planned
to land.
"The two Germans ran toward the machine as it came down, each
grabbing hold of the left wing. The biplane tossed and rolled and
pitched about as it came to rest. Mapplebeck tumbled out on the right
side, dived head first through a thick hedge a few feet distant, and
ran hot-foot down a deep ditch that led to a cross-hedge not far away.
"He lost no time in dodging through the further hedge, and was off
like a hare down another ditch. The Huns must have taken the wrong
turning when pursuing him, as he got clear away and hid in a dwelling
till night.
"Obtaining some peasant clothing, Mapplebeck made his way into
Lille. Though the town was full of Germans, his disguise was so good
he was not bothered in any way. Finding a loyal French business
man, Mapplebeck cashed a London cheque, for which he received
French notes bearing a German stamp. With these he bought a suit of
clothing, and started to tramp the road to Belgium.
"He reached Belgium safely, kept on, and eventually crossed the Dutch
border. Obtaining passage to London, he at once went to Farnborough
and reported. There he was given a new machine which was ready to
come to France. He lost no time in bringing it across the channel and
reporting for duty, just as though nothing unusual had happened.
"One by one we obtained from him the details of his experiences. He
was mightily modest about it all, and laughed at the idea that he had
done anything that was the least bit out of the ordinary."
On April 17th the 2nd Cavalry Division held a horse show at Vieux
Berquin. The horses and the riding were worthy of the best that
Dublin or Olympia could produce.
Sunday, the 18th, I had set aside for a joy-ride. Running to St.
Omer, I picked up Major St. Leger, of the Irish Guards, Assistant
Camp Commandant, and then called at a farm near Meteren, where the
9th Lancers' Headquarters were billeted.
Beale-Browne, "Bimbo" Reynolds, Rex Benson and Alex Graham, were out
enjoying the perfect morning, but we luckily found Captain "Algy"
Court, of the 9th, who had been in the hospital when the Brigade was
at Ypres, and thus missed seeing the Salient. This made him the more
keen to have a look at the famous Menin Road. Calling at General
Mullens's headquarters at Godawaersvelde, in the hope of annexing
"Rattle" Barrett, "Jeff" Hornby or Romer Williams, but finding the
Brigade Staff absent to a man, we pushed on to Poperinghe, where we
procured a very passable luncheon in a crowded hotel.
Finally we reached Ypres, ran through it, and out on the Menin
Road toward Hooge. Court was very anxious to run on to Hooge, but
I had been told a car could be seen by the Huns as it approached
that delectable spot, and I therefore counselled discretion. "Algy"
pressed hard for a visit to Hooge itself, saying he was most eager to
inspect the "trenches to the south of the road." St. Leger wavered,
but finally agreed with me that to "run into one" when joy-riding
would look bad, so we satisfied ourselves with watching the bursting
shells from a safe distance.
Only a few weeks later, "Algy" Court was killed in those very
trenches to the south of the Menin Road at Hooge, when the 9th
Lancers, badly gassed and heavily attacked on front and left
flank--all but outflanked, in fact--held on gallantly during a day of
the fiercest of fighting, and saved the line.
While we were on Menin Road little groups of wounded Tommies came
past. A Canadian Staff officer told us the K.O.S.B.'s, and the West
Kents had rushed a German position on a hill in front of Zillebeke,
after our engineers had exploded a mine under it. About 200 yards of
enemy trench had been taken, and fifteen prisoners, including two
officers, captured. From them it was learned that at least 150 Huns,
most of whom must have been killed, were in the destroyed trench.
"The K.O.S.B.'s and the West Kents," said the Canadian, "are hanging
on to the captured area, in spite of continual heavy counter-attacks
by the Germans. We had just had a message from our chaps asking for
help to hold on."
As he spoke a roar burst forth on the line not far away, seeming
to me to come from a point just south of Cavan's House. For fifteen
minutes Hun howitzer shells fell in scores on the luckless area of
the successful advance. The air reverberated with the crashes of the
huge shells, which fell in such rapid succession one could not count
them.
After we left Ypres, we heard still another fierce deluge of
shell-fire fall on that spot late in the afternoon.
Such was the commencement of the fight for Hill 60, near Verbranden
Molen, which was to be contested bitterly for many a day, costing
thousands of casualties to friend and foe. The next day, the 19th,
the Germans tried to win back the position at the point of the
bayonet, and succeeded in gaining a foot-hold on the southern
slope of the hill, only to lose it after a hand to hand fight that
afternoon.
The Huns also gave Ypres and the Menin Road a heavy shelling for an
hour on the 19th, just twenty-four hours too late to catch our "joy
party." The day of our visit was the last one that found the Menin
Road a safe place, for daily thereafter the 17-inch shells were busy
with the terrible work that was to end in the utter devastation of
Ypres--work which was to continue for the rest of April, through May,
and well into June, with but little respite.
A couple of days later the West Surreys had a fight for Hill 60 that
nearly swept away the battalion. The Germans brought up some field
guns and hammered away at our parapets at close range. When the
West Surreys came out, after gallantly holding the position until
relieved, a subaltern was the senior officer left in command. The
"Princess Pat's," too, were to leave the majority of their officers
there. Hill 60 took toll of all but a remnant of that regiment.
We dropped "Algy" Court at his billets, then hastened to St. Omer,
where a good dinner was awaiting us. St. Leger's mess was always
a cheery one, having among its members Surgeon-General O'Donnell,
Colonel Cummings, of the R.A.M.C., Colonel Warren, of the Army Post
Office, and Colonel Thresher, the Camp Commandant. That night Colonel
Father Keating and Captain Father Rawlinson were fellow-guests, two
greatly beloved "Padres," in either of whom was sufficient subtle
merriment and quiet humour to cheer up a whole corps of pessimists.
A captured German order gave rather gruesome details of a liquid-fire
thrower of sorts, intended, so the order said, for fighting in
streets and houses.
The German official report accused the British at Hill 60 of using
shells containing poisonous fumes.
Odd forerunners, these, in the light of subsequent events, for on
Friday, April 23rd, came the first German gas attack.
The 23rd dawned bright and clear, a perfect spring morning. Soon
after daybreak word came that the Germans had broken the French line
between Bixschoote and Langemarck. The 1st Cavalry Division was
ordered to concentrate between Ecke and Godawaersvelde, preparatory
to being sent up in support.
The Germans had sprung their first gas attack in the grey of dawn,
launching the asphyxiating fumes at a portion of the allied line held
by the 78th French Reservist Division.
The success of the new manœuvre had been extraordinary. That it far
exceeded the most sanguine hopes of the Germans was clear from the
fact that very few troops were available to take advantage of so
great a hole in the allied line. No German cavalry was sufficiently
near at hand to be utilised. That this point was brought well home to
the Huns was made clear to us within very few hours afterward, for
before the second gas attack the Germans had moved up a couple of
corps of cavalry to a point within call.
But the opportunity had passed. Gas, when its use was unexpected,
its effect multiplied by ignorance as to what it really was, and
vague conjecture as to what it might be, and gas when our troops were
expecting it and had been warned as to its objects and dangers, were
very different propositions.
That the German gas attacks were for some time most demoralising,
and often locally successful, was not to be denied; but some part
of the line invariably held, and made the local enemy gain of less
importance. Respirators assisted men to stay in their trenches
in spite of the coming of the noxious fumes. Of far more value
was the gradual realisation on the part of the men that gas could
be withstood, and might or might not envelope them in sufficient
quantity to produce a deadly effect.
Those French reservists who first were wrapped in the strange
greenish-yellow mist that left them gasping for air and dying of
strangulation, were not to be too greatly condemned for the general
scamper that ensued. Under the circumstances, the indefinable and
inexplicable horror would very likely have torn the line from the
grasp of the most seasoned troops of either the French or British
armies. Later I saw battalions of English veterans in utter
demoralization by the coming of the gas, and it was many a day before
the sight of a gas cloud failed to bring great terror to many a
soldier who had to face it.
By ten o'clock on the morning of the 23rd the situation seemed most
serious. Back from the Bixschoote-Langemarck line the French had come
to the line of the canal that leads south from Steenstraate to Ypres.
At a point not far from Boesinghe the Huns had actually crossed to
the west bank of the canal, were at the very doors of Boesinghe, and
had taken Het-Sas and Lizerne to the north. Lizerne was well to the
west of the canal, and on the main Dixmude-Ypres road.
Messages that reached the 1st Cavalry Division, explaining the
situation, were addressed to the Cavalry Corps, Indian Cavalry, 2nd
Army, and the new Northumbrian Territorial Division. All these units
were to be engaged on that front before many days had passed.
General De Lisle ran to 5th Corps Headquarters in Poperinghe before
eleven o'clock. We passed battalion after battalion of the North
Country Terriers along the road, trudging sturdily Ypreswards, or
lying in the fields for a breather.
Ambulances were continually arriving in Poperinghe, full of wounded
and gassed Tommies.
I met Major Moore, of the Canadian Division, who told me the
Canadians had been "at it hard." Another Canadian acquaintance, a
wounded officer, came past, and told me something of the situation.
The Canadians had won laurels that morning by an action which showed
clearly the great military value of individual initiative in the
private soldier. That is the quality that made British generals
think the Australian and New Zealand soldiers who were lost at the
Dardanelles the finest men that had yet been produced in the great
world-war.
In dug-outs in front of Wieltje and west of St. Julien, some of the
Canadians were unaware of the gas attack until the Germans had driven
the French well back and come on after them to such close quarters
that the grey lines were clearly visible to the surprised Canadian
eyes.
Grabbing rifles and ammunition pouches, with no time for company or
battalion formation, officers and men rushed toward the advancing
lines of Huns, and seeking such cover as could be found, opened a
fierce fire at short range. The natural, inborn individual fighting
spirit of men raised in the open--men to whose hands a rifle was no
stranger--met the situation with such instinctive cohesion of action
that the Huns were driven back and the line saved.
A 5th Corps Staff officer told us the Canadians had actually saved
the day and had established, during the early hours of the morning,
a crescent-shaped line from the Canal south-east of Boesinghe to a
point just north of St. Julien, the crescent bending southward as
the line crossed the Ypres-Langemarck road. From this line they were
gradually being forced south by heavy German attacks.
From one to two o'clock our Divisional Headquarters waited by the
roadside in the western edge of Poperinghe while our three brigades
came up, preparatory to a move toward the scene of battle.
That hour of inaction was crammed with scenes that told of the heavy
fighting ahead of us. Lyne-Stephens, convoying a couple of dozen of
the splendid Du Cros ambulances, full to overflowing with shattered
men, hurried past _en route_ for Hazebrouck. As a hospital train of
twelve coaches, every available corner containing a wounded Tommy,
steamed west, scores of motor omnibuses hurried eastward toward the
sound of the guns, every khaki-coloured 'bus with its complement of
the Lancashire and Yorkshire Terriers of the North Midland Division.
Refugees laden with cardboard boxes, pushing loaded bicycles or
pulling-carts groaning under tall piles of household effects, added
to the road's congestion. Detachments of infantry marching on,
guns rattling up, ammunition trains urging their claims to special
facilities for a clear road, added to the _mêlée_.
Over this highway, jammed with two lines of traffic bound in each
direction, the 1st Cavalry Division and its transport pushed its
way, through Poperinghe, where railway trains were debouching long
lines of blue-clad French regulars, and then on along the road toward
Elverdinghe, to the eastward.
General de Lisle went first to Woesten, which we found full of French
territorial troops. Shells had fallen in the village during the
morning, but none were bursting near when we arrived.
We started down the road toward Elverdinghe but had not gone far when
Bang! bang! just in front, then the whirr of shrapnel bullets, the
sharp crack as they struck the _pavé_ a few yards ahead, and spurts
of dirt and dust, told us that the roadway was receiving attention at
the hands of the Boche gunners.
I pulled the car up sharply, and as I did so two more shrapnel
burst a few feet above the road in front of us, the missiles from
the exploding shells singing past and striking all about with nasty
smacks, as if in boasting evidence of a creditable amount of velocity
and precision.
One regiment of our Division was assigned duty as a reserve for the
Belgian left, which was not far north of us. Another regiment was to
act as reserve for the French in front of us. The remainder of the
Division was a sort of general reserve, to be utilised wherever and
whenever necessity arose.
A run to Elverdinghe showed that it had been heavily shelled, the
church being riddled with great holes. Our line was pushed to
the east of the town. An ambulance driver who had been left in
Elverdinghe told me he was sure "someone will get it in this hole
soon," and he proved to be no bad prophet.
As dark closed we learned that the Canadians' line had been forced
back, but the support line had held firm as a rock, and our men were
counter-attacking most gallantly as the day ended. The rumph! rumph!
of the howitzer shells increased in frequency, the cannonade swelling
in volume as the night came.
A good sized château between Poperinghe and Elverdinghe housed our
Headquarters Staff for the night.
A run to Cassel at daybreak was a maddening experience, the road from
Steenvoorde to Poperinghe being packed and jammed with all manner
of horse and motor transport. A big five-ton lorry belonging to
the Canadians had broken down as it was being turned in the narrow
roadway. Result, an immovable barrier across the _pavé_.
If ever in my life I longed to tamper with a job that was "none of
my business," I did so on that 24th of April. Organisation of the
traffic on that congested road could have been so easily done with a
dozen assistants, and hours saved to all users of the road.
Thousands of light French _camions_ were waiting at Cassel for
train-load after train-load of French troops from Arras. The 9th
Corps, which had so few days previously left Ypres, after a sojourn
of there of many months, was being hurried back as fast as steam and
petrol could bring it.
That morning I was given a message for General de Lisle from the
French Corps Commander, to the effect that the British Cavalry was
required in the front line.
Temporary divisional headquarters had been established at the fourth
kilometre stone on the Elverdinghe road, to allow messages from
regiments or brigades easily to find it.
When I arrived with the message I transmitted it to Major Fitzgerald,
then set off to seek de Lisle, who, "Fitz" said, was making a tour of
the line, and could be found either in Woesten or Elverdinghe.
I chose the latter objective. The way was lined by great black French
Spahis, clad in variegated garb and wondrous head gear, for the first
couple of kilometres. As we approached Elverdinghe, all signs of life
vanished. An odd stillness brooded over the immediate vicinity, a
sort of local lull in the maelstrom of sound the shell-bursts were
making and had made throughout the night, a couple of miles to the
eastward.
A half instinctive pause in the edge of the village, and a moment
spent in tense listening, gave me an uncanny feeling of solitude. As
I stood, undecided whether to push on into the town or circle back
for Woesten, the silence was mashed to reverberating atoms by an
8-in. howitzer shell, which fell not far from the town.
Bang! rumph! r-r-r-rumph! Bang! Shrapnel and high explosive seemed to
come together.
Another and another shell followed, then a blinding crash as I
was turning my car and a shell burst in the square not far away,
showering bits of shell and _débris_ over me.
The pieces slap-slapped resoundingly against the metal panels of the
car, and one good-sized stone was hurled against my back.
As I raced away to safety towards Poperinghe, the shells still came
into the village and around it, and followed the road at my back,
urging me on.
Shortly afterwards I saw Captain Bertram Neame, the Adjutant of the
18th Hussars, who had been wounded in the right hand and arm by one
of the shells.
"An aeroplane marked with red, white and blue rings, but evidently a
German flying false colours, circled round over the battery near us,"
said Neame, "and half a dozen German shrapnel fell there at once.
Then the 'plane circled over the farm containing 18th Headquarters,
and another farm which was sheltering most of A Squadron. Immediately
afterwards shells poured into the two farms, and several of the men
were hit."
Months after I read the diary of Captain T. O. Thompson, of the
R.A.M.C., who was attached to the 18th Hussars.
His graphic account of the shelling in Elverdinghe that morning read
as follows: "A Squadron were in the next farm, and all their men
sleeping peacefully in the sunshine against the wall of a barn, when,
without warning, a 'coalbox' arrived and landed full on one man. They
found only an arm and a leg and his head. The next arrived later and
wounded two men. The inhabitants of the farm cleared at a run, and
some French territorials, who had been in that farm for seven months,
went like greased lightning.
"The Colonel (Burnett), and Adjutant (Neame), and Captain H.
(Holdsworth), walked about thirty yards up the road, when a shell
arrived and wounded the Adjutant in the hand and H. in the back. It
hit the Colonel on the back, fortunately on the belt, and slightly
wounded him in the thigh. It bruised the Major, who was twenty yards
away, on the shin.
"The Germans kept on putting shells along the road, and then started
on the village. They were the beastly 8·2 high explosives, and were
going just over us on to the Poperinghe road. Six horses were going
up this road when a shell landed about fifteen yards short of it.
One of the grooms was badly wounded, one killed, being lifted into
and left hanging in one of the trees by the roadside.
"Then the 4th Dragoon Guards came down the road on foot and passed
into the village, but came out again as a shell greeted them in the
square. They came off the road, and came along a hollow near the
stream toward us. The rear squadron was marching along a ditch behind
a hedge-row in two-deep formation when a beastly shell landed right
in the ditch and hurled four of them sixty feet into the air. Two
others were killed as well. Brown, a 4th D.G. Lieutenant, was one
of the four; his hand was found in the stream one hundred and fifty
yards away."
All things considered, I was lucky to get out of Elverdinghe unhurt
that morning.
I found General de Lisle as he was returning from Woesten with
Captain Nicholson; I then ran to Woesten with a message for General
Briggs.
General de Lisle was faced with the fact that he was acting as
reserve to the British left, and therefore suggested to the French
commander that the French reserves should first be used, and the
British cavalry only called upon to occupy the front French line when
no further French reserves were available, a suggestion of which the
French General at once saw the wisdom.
Returning from Woesten, Nicholson and I found we must make a
_détour_, as the narrow country road was completely blocked by French
horse transport.
Dashing into Poperinghe at high speed we were surprised to see the
townsfolk running hither and thither in great fright and confusion.
Six great shells had been thrown the long distance from the enemy
line and landed in the town. They had come but a couple of minutes
before, a scared Belgian told us.
I lost no time, swinging through the square and out on the
Elverdinghe road at high speed. No sooner were we clear of the centre
of the town than Hun shells screamed wickedly over us on their
way toward the railway station, exploding not far behind us with
tremendous concussion. Guns of large calibre were being used by the
Germans.
[Illustration: Damage caused by a 17-inch shell in Poperinghe, April,
1915]
[Illustration: Red Cross ambulances on the coast]
First Cavalry Division Headquarters was moved from the kilometre
stone to an _estaminet_ near by, as the inhabitants had brought up
two great wagons and decamped therein with bag and baggage.
Tales of Canadian prowess and fine work by the 13th Infantry Brigade,
which was sent to their support, were mingled with conflicting
reports of the number of guns captured by the Germans. First, the
loss of a couple of dozen was admitted by the French. Before a week
had passed we knew the number actually taken by the Germans was much
greater.
Ypres, we heard, had been so heavily shelled the day before that the
entire town had been evacuated.
All the morning I watched ambulances full of wounded French soldiers
_en route_ for Poperinghe, file past war-worn batteries of "75's,"
pushing toward the front. The begrimed French gunners, with their
cheery faces, seemed to know the esteem in which we held them and
their splendid guns, and to be keen to get into action and stem the
advance of the Germans, which was slowly but steadily surging towards
us though our men were fighting hard every inch of the way.
The Belgian refugees poured back, forced off the road by the
lorries, ambulances and guns. Slight mothers with numerous progeny,
one, or sometimes two, of the lesser units in arms, toiled by.
Each person, young or old, capable of carrying a load, bore heavy
burdens. Bicycles with huge bundles balanced on the saddle, were
pushed westward haltingly, as road-space permitted. One lad passed on
crutches, flanked by two grand-dames carrying blue buckets crammed
tight with portions of the family wardrobe.
Most of the faces of the refugees bore a stolid, matter-of-fact
expression. Some were quite cheerful. Many seemed stoically numbed
to all feeling. The strong wind tossed their unwieldy bundles,
and they stumbled awkwardly out of the path of hurrying traffic,
their feet bruised against the loose stones that edged the _pavé_.
Tired, dirty, buffeted by the gale, with strained and aching muscles
and broken feet, fleeing from death or worse, and in their flight
abandoning their worldly all, I wondered there were not more signs of
heart-sickness and despair on their thin faces.
Shells screamed over us and ploughed great holes in the British
aviation park east of Poperinghe. After the first half dozen of such
visitors, the Flying Corps packed up and took its departure for safer
quarters.
A wounded Canadian said the 2nd and 3rd Canadian Brigades in front of
us were wiped out as a fighting force. Their trenches, he told us had
been literally blown to bits. A counter-attack by the Canadians, the
13th Brigade and the French 45th Division on their left, had started
well, but failed to achieve much. German batteries and machine guns
greatly outnumbered ours and were taking heavy toll as the battle
surged backwards and forwards.
Before the day was over the French reported that they had recaptured
Lizerne.
Night closed with an increasing din from the arms of all sorts and
calibres on our front, never to cease for the whole night through.
I was sent after dark to G.H.Q. at St. Omer, a journey that meant
many a long hour of tedious waiting in the midst of the tangled skein
of traffic along the way.
Returning at daybreak on Sunday, the 25th, I planned a round-about
route from Steenvoorde to Poperinghe, circling well north of the
main road. I had travelled but a few kilometres when I found the
narrow, muddy road in front of me completely blocked by a train of
French lorries, laden with troops. Some of the vehicles were mired,
and the block bid fair to be immovable for hours. By sheer luck I
stopped opposite a farmyard, in which I turned the car, and not
far back gained a cross-road. A mile beyond the route was rendered
absolutely impassable by two detachments of British transport, which
had met face to face on a road barely wide enough for one.
"We have been here a divil of a toime," said a cheery Irish driver at
the rear of the column, "and from the look of it beyant there, we'll
be slapin' here in the mud this night."
Nothing daunted, I turned, pushed by willing hands when deep mud
made assistance necessary, and headed the other way. But fate was
unkind. Again I found the road barricaded, this time by two signal
lorries that had, like me, tried a _détour_. One had skidded sideways
and stuck fast. The other was trying to pull his fellow back on to
the roadway. Disheartened, I soon tired of what threatened to be a
long wait, and returned toward Steenvoorde. A new convoy of French
troop-lorries closed this avenue of escape, but after an hour of
floundering through almost impassable lanes, I reached Abele, on the
main road, and was soon thereafter in Poperinghe.
Truly an ounce of prevention in the way of road organisation and
route selection by some competent authority would have been worth
many pounds of the condemnation poured forth with volubility by all
road users in those days of tiresome traffic tangles.
Our headquarters moved to an _estaminet_ just outside Woesten.
I learned, on arrival, that at midnight word had come from the French
Commander, General Putz, whose headquarters were but a few hundred
yards distant, to the effect that a mistake had been made in a
previous report, and Lizerne was still in the hands of the enemy.
The roads were filled with French troops moving up, and relieved
reservists coming back, while battery on battery of grey "75's"
wheeled past.
"I don't know where they are going to put any _more_ guns," said
Budworth, our Divisional C.R.A., "the whole country round is stiff
with 'em now."
Fresson, the French liaison officer attached to the 1st Cavalry
Division, sought at French headquarters an explanation of the
situation on the extreme French left, where the Belgian right joined
it.
"Lizerne was attacked by French and Belgians, and Pilkem by French
only," said Fresson, on his return. "The mix-up in the report was
due to the Belgians. The story of Lizerne is indefinite, except
that the Germans were not driven out, as reported. As to the Pilkem
attack, this failed utterly, due to wire, machine-guns, and general
concentration by the enemy of the position they had captured.
"A further attack," continued Fresson, "is to be made this morning at
10.30., when the Pilkem ridge is to be again stormed."
The Pilkem ridge was east of our part of the front, not far distant
from the canal itself. The sounds of battle from the line facing it
were continually in our ears.
General Smith-Dorrien drove by. One of his Staff told me that at ten
o'clock on the night before (Saturday night) 200 Canadians were
still in St. Julien, though the line had been pressed back, leaving
the little band cut off and surrounded by Germans. All night they had
fought on, and were still fighting.
Some of our men had gotten up sufficiently close to hear the
Huns call out to the gallant Canadians in a lull in the firing:
"Surrender, Canadians! We are around you! You have no chance!"
"See you damned first! Come and get us," was the answer sent back in
the night by a clear young Canadian voice, and Bedlam was again let
loose.
That was the spirit of the men that Canada sent to France to fight
for the Empire.
On the Sunday morning, said the Staff officer, a determined effort
was being made to relieve what remained of the gallant 200.
All our attacks that day and those of the French as well failed.
Lizerne remained in enemy hands, and the last of the heroic two
hundred Canadians had evidently fallen in St. Julien before night,
for all sounds of firing from that direction ceased. Strive as they
would, our troops had been unable to reach and succour them, though
costly efforts were not wanting. Weeks and months afterwards anxious
ones waited for word from some of that noble little band in St.
Julien, but no word ever came from German hospital or prison camp.
They had fought on to the last man, to the bitter end!
At night the Germans attacked Broodseinde, east of Zonnebeke, with
great ferocity, but were driven back by our 5th Corps troops.
What was left of the Canadian 2nd Brigade was holding Gravenstafel,
just north of Zonnebeke, and not far to the south-west of
Passchendaele. The Huns poured mass on mass against the depleted
ranks of the Canadians, who were compelled to fall back, evacuating
Gravenstafel, but stubbornly disputing every foot of ground lost.
The night of Sunday, the 25th, closed in, with little in the
situation to cheer us, except the knowledge that the entire vicinity
of the Ypres Salient and the line to the north of it was crowded with
fresh French and British troops and battery on battery of guns.
By Monday night the London Sunday papers had reached us.
What was our surprise to see that the London press was greatly
cheered by the meagre French and British official reports, and
united in condemning the German official reports, which were flatly
characterised as lying inventions.
The German official reports were, as a matter of fact, in that
particular instance, more correct than either the French or British
official reports.
The French report declared Lizerne and Het-Sas to have been taken
from the Huns. The Huns had never been driven out of either town.
The British report was vaguely optimistic, evidently bent on
minimising the German gains. It was so worded that 999 men out of
1,000 would understand from it that most of the ground lost on the
23rd and the days immediately following had been won back from the
enemy. Certain it was that no one would gain the idea from the
British official report that the Huns had been steadily forcing our
line back, that our counter-attacks had failed, and that the Ypres
Salient was then so threatened that no one but a madman would deny
that further reconstruction of our line around Ypres, involving the
giving up of a large section of our front line had become a military
necessity, to be performed at the earliest moment such a manœuvre
could be carried out. Indeed, the section of our line to be abandoned
must needs be far greater than that the enemy had won by his surprise
gas attack against the French.
I do not wish to give the impression from the foregoing that the
German reports were, as a rule, more correct than French or British
official _pronunciamientos_. I think they were by no means so to be
described. In matters of fact, as to captures of men or guns, or
details as to bits of line lost or won, the Hun official reports
were less often incorrect than some might think. Now and then, when
dealing with some matter of conjecture, such as an estimate of our
casualties, they were absurdly wide of the mark. The average French
official report might err slightly as regarded detail, but was
in the main most dependable. Our chief quarrel with the official
reports as issued by the War Office to the British Press was that
they were at times subject to more than one interpretation. Escaping
actual inaccuracy, they did not always convey the impression at Home
warranted by the facts at the Front.
On the morning of the 26th I ran toward Wieltje, and obtained details
of the exact position of the lines.
The French left touched the Belgian right along the Yser-Ypres Canal
north of Lizerne, where the German line was pushed to its further
western point. The French line ran close to Het-Sas and crossed to
the east of the canal a few hundred yards south of Boesinghe.
At a point a couple of thousand yards east of the canal the British
left joined the extreme French right.
From that junction our line ran eastward through Fortuin, a village
half a mile south of St. Julien, then north-east toward Gravenstafel,
then south-east to Broodseinde.
At two o'clock that afternoon a grand attack was planned, all along
that east-and-west line.
The 13th Brigade was on the left; two companies of the Rifle Brigade
and the East Kents came next; five battalions of the 10th Brigade
and a battalion in reserve were near Fortuin; on their right was
the 11th Brigade; east of them were the York and Durham Territorial
Brigades. The Northumbrian Territorial Division was in the Wieltje
area in reserve, and the Lahore Division was coming up to the north
of Verlorenhoek, on the right of the Northumberland Terriers.
Our forces, to be sent forward in attack, numbered over two score
battalions, say, 40,000 men.
The Canadians had been withdrawn from the Salient to take stock of
their battered remnants and fill their ranks with reserves from
England. They had been tried in the fire and could be proud of having
gained the name of one of the most brilliant fighting contingents
that had been seen on the British front since the commencement of the
War.
The French were again to attack the Pilkem ridge at two o'clock,
when the British line, between four and five miles long, was to push
vigorously northward in a desperate attempt to drive the Huns from
the ground gained by gas attack three days before.
Our share in the show was small. The following order was issued to
the brigades:
"At two p.m. to-day the French will attack Lizerne and Het-Sas. The
1st Cavalry Division are ordered to support the left flank of the
French, acting in reserve. The Division will be saddled up by two
p.m. and the horses of the 1st Cavalry Brigade collected in the area
south-west of Woesten. By two p.m. the 1st Cavalry Brigade will
assemble, dismounted, north of the Woesten-Oostoleteren road, about
the nineteenth kilometre stone, ready to support in the direction
of Pypegaale, if required. The 2nd and 9th Brigades will remain in
their present positions, ready to support the 1st Cavalry Brigade
dismounted."
This gave vague promise of a bit of fun, as Pypegaale was only a mile
from the coveted Lizerne, to which the Huns were holding so doggedly.
But our participation in the mill was only to take place in the
event of the French attack ending in disaster or resulting in such
extraordinary success that the Germans would be put to absolute rout.
The shells fell all about in those days, and rarely did I visit the
support positions--which I did scores of times each day--when the
air was not full of the droning shells of our own and the French
batteries, pounding the enemy's positions on the canal.
Shell-fire; aeroplanes, British, French and German; anti-aircraft
shells, both ours and those of the enemy, and passing troops and
batteries became such common sights as the hours went by that one
hardly bestowed on them a passing glance.
A Belgian woman was caught, near a battery position, flashing signals
with a piece of bright tin to a Hun airman high overhead. The French
took her away, one stout soldier to each arm, to summary execution.
Children were at play at the roadside. A dozen boys were engaged in
a mock bombardment. A bottle served as the hostile town. Stones made
good shells. All waited for the order, "Fire!" and then rained shots
at the target with a will. Now and then one of the children would
say, "Rumph! rumph!" mockingly, as a Black Maria fell near enough
to jar them, but for the most part they paid scant attention to the
fierce cannonade in progress all about.
In a field by the road a man was ploughing stolidly. A woman was
hanging her washing on the line, singing as she worked. A 13-pounder
anti-aircraft shell buried itself a few yards away, but she evinced
no interest in it, and did not even allow its coming to interrupt her
song.
Artillery work in modern warfare is carefully organised. It was
difficult to realise in the midst of such an inferno of shell-fire
that every gunner, who was so hard at work in those April days, had
some definite objective when launching shells enemy-ward.
Major Budworth was directed to conduct the artillery attack on
Lizerne. In other words, the guns of H and I Batteries of the Royal
Horse Artillery were to pave the way for the French infantry attack.
General Putz was anxious to retake Lizerne and Steenstraate as
well. The latter town was on the canal, a few hundred yards east of
Lizerne, and astride the Dixmude-Ypres highway, along which German
reserves, to meet the attack on Lizerne, must be brought.
Budworth placed the batteries near Woesten, about 3,000 yards from
Lizerne, which was surrounded by country so flat and so dotted with
groups of trees that artillery observation was difficult.
A couple of gunners were sent into the French front trenches at
11.30 a.m. to observe the range-finding shots.
The Lizerne attack had been timed for 2.30 p.m. All watches had been
most carefully synchronized. At 12.15 p.m., to the very second, H
Battery fired three shots, then, after an interval, three shots more.
Five minutes after the second trio had been sent Hun-ward, I Battery
also fired six shots in groups of three. The observation officers on
reconnaissance 'phoned back to the batteries from the French line,
and gave minute details as to errors in range of the dozen shells,
adding such information as would allow a more correct setting of the
timing-fuses.
Errors in direction at such range--3,000 to 4,000 yards make an ideal
range for the British 13-pounder and 18-pounder field-guns--were
rare, in view of the fact that our gunners were provided with
accurate large scale maps from which the range could be splendidly
laid.
To get the guns closer to the enemy than 3,000 yards made it possible
that the gunners might be subjected to hostile rifle fire, if the
line should be forced back slightly. At such close range as 2,000
yards so low a trajectory was necessary that cover was rarely
possible. Further, the supplying of ammunition to the guns was,
under such circumstances, a most difficult problem. If an artillery
commander could place his field-guns within 3,000 yards of the enemy
position he considered himself fortunate.
Budworth was compelled to use shrapnel, as the 13-pounders at the
Front at that time had not been provided with high explosive shell,
although it had been repeatedly promised. Had high explosive shell
been available, one battery would have sent it hurtling against the
walls and houses in the little village of Lizerne and the Germans
hiding behind them. The other battery would have simultaneously swept
the streets and open spaces with shrapnel. With no high explosive,
the only alternative was to use long fuses in the shrapnel, which
then burst on percussion against the buildings behind which the Huns
were sheltering.
The observation from the front line was chiefly valuable as a guide
to the timing of the shrapnel that was to be used to scatter the
hundreds of bullets over the open spaces. A 13-pounder shrapnel
contained about 285 bullets, an 18-pounder, 365. The timing fuses
burst none too accurately, at best. Atmospheric conditions frequently
affected the burning of the fuses, and even the heating of the gun as
it went into action sometimes did so.
H and I Batteries, having obtained the desired information from their
observers as to the range and timing of their twelve shells, waited
patiently until half past two o'clock.
At that hour, 400 shells were fired into Lizerne. For the first
five minutes each battery fired four rounds per minute, then came
a two-minute interval. For the next five minutes every one of the
twelve guns in the two batteries fired five shots per minute. A
second lull of two minutes was followed by still more rapid fire for
another five minutes, six rounds per sixty seconds blazing forth
from each of the dozen field-pieces, seventy-two shells per minute
falling in the village. Thus they continued, the spasm of firing and
the brief interval of stillness alternating, until the 400 shells had
been fired.
That the work of the Horse Artillery was well done was apparent from
the result. Its efficiency was confirmed later by captured Germans
wounded in Lizerne, who termed the place "Hell itself" while the
initial bombardment was in progress.
But the work of the guns was by no means ended. The salvo died down
at the appointed time. The French Colonial Zouaves rushed forward,
bayonets in hand, with wild cries, and then the gunners were set to
their task.
They fired another 400 rounds at the road from Steenstraate to
Lizerne, a second road leading to Lizerne from the south-east, and
a third road connecting the two. These three roads were the avenues
most likely to be utilized by the Huns for bringing up reinforcements
to meet the attack. "Searching" the roads and a couple of special
points, one just back of a rise of ground, where it seemed possible
reinforcements might be gathered, kept the gunners hard at work.
Shrapnel rained over such spots, bursting from twenty to thirty feet
above ground, and spreading death all about.
Watching the two batteries in action gave me a high opinion of their
abilities. Nothing in modern warfare was so fascinating a study as
that of guns in action.
France, with her faith pinned to low trajectory and high muzzle
velocity as exemplified in her wonderful "75's," and Germany's
gun-religion, centring on weight of shell, made a formidable contrast.
The making of a field-piece was ever a compromise between those two
schools--a gun firing a light shell straight and fast, or a gun
in which speed and direct line were sacrificed to gain weight of
projectile.
A 35-pound howitzer shell and an 18-pounder shrapnel, such as that
fired by the British field artillery, were sent on their mission of
death from guns of practically the same weight. Thus greatly did
an increase in muzzle velocity mean a corresponding increase in
avoirdupois.
Thirty-eight hundredweight was generally agreed by gun-experts the
world over to be the weight permissible for field pieces; this limit
being imposed by questions of mobility and transport.
It was to gain those assets so great to the French military mind,
low trajectory and high muzzle velocity, that the weight of the "75"
shell was dropped to 15 pounds.
Howitzer against field-gun, with high explosive shell for both, was
German practice against French practice. As one who became very
tired of the continuous rain of big German howitzer shells, I must
confess a wholesome respect for Hun theory in relation to questions
of modern artillery. But no German gun, light or heavy, could, to my
mind, compare with the wonderful "75."
A return to General Putz's headquarters found the French staff
in possession of a report from the Front, to the effect that the
Algerian Brigade had taken Lizerne, held all the trenches on the west
side of the canal, and were preparing to cross the canal at Lizerne
and Het-Sas.
Later developments showed the French officers in the fighting line
had again been optimistic to a point of inaccuracy in reporting
Lizerne captured. The next day it was discovered that the Germans
still held two houses on the western edge of canal, and had "dug
themselves in" in an entrenched bridge-head on the canal bank.
The French troops were in a semicircle, 300 yards distant, and
were bringing up, under cover of the night, "75's" on either side
of the miniature German fort, and preparing to batter it down by
high-explosive shells fired at point-blank range.
The 1st Cavalry Division left the reserve line before Lizerne was
finally wholly clear of Germans.
All day the din of battle on the long front had been maddening.
Ear-drums became tuned to it for a time. But periods of acute
sensitiveness would recur, in which the sound seemed to beat against
one's brain with a dull ache, punctuated with sharp pain from the
constant concussion.
An evening message from 5th Corps Headquarters told of the
failure of the great attack at 2 p.m., owing to gas fumes from
the German trenches. A later attack had been organised, in which
the Northumbrian Territorial Division had won from the enemy some
trenches south-west of St. Julien, and then pushed on and captured
St. Julien itself. The Manchesters, too, had taken some German
trenches east of St. Julien.
But the good work was to be undone. That night the Huns won back St.
Julien, and by daybreak on the 27th the line was practically where it
had been twenty-four hours earlier, in spite of sad losses.
[Illustration: A French "75" in the mud of a Flanders beet-field]
[Illustration: An ambulance which was struck by a shell while
carrying wounded from east of Ypres]
[Illustration: View showing depth of 17-inch shell-hole in the garden
of a château between Poperinghe and Elverdinghe]
April 27th saw another strenuous effort by our gallant troops on that
front. The southern edge of a wood, situated less than a mile west
of St. Julien, was penetrated, but later the men returned to our
original line.
The German official report said that the Huns fairly mowed down
British troops when they advanced near St. Julien, and their
artillery caught our men as they were retiring and inflicted
frightful losses. Unfortunately, there was no exaggeration in that
report.
Arriving at our headquarters château, east of Poperinghe, we found
that half an hour earlier a dozen or more 17-inch shells had fallen
in and about the town.
Poperinghe was being shelled daily, eleven townsfolk having been
killed on the afternoon before. Most of the population had sought a
more salubrious locality.
Of great interest to us was a huge shell-hole that had just been made
in the château garden, fifty yards from our sleeping quarters. It was
over thirty feet in diameter and ten or twelve feet deep.
The big shell had shattered every window in that district, and the
concussion had ruined most of the tiled roofs within sight. Great
shell splinters, weighing from five to thirty pounds, still warm,
were lying about.
That night, after eleven o'clock, when all were asleep, four more
17-inch visitors arrived in that edge of Poperinghe. All four shook
the château to its foundations, one falling within 100 yards of
it and smashing three dwelling houses into one mass of splinters,
plaster and _débris_.
General de Lisle was sleeping on the floor of the château dining
room. The first of the mammoth quartette so shook the building that a
lustre chandelier, housed in a dust-covering and therefore unnoticed,
became detached and fell to the polished floor below. Its myriad tiny
pieces of glass jangled musically as they showered over the General,
who was sleeping peacefully beneath. Fortunately, de Lisle was not
hit by any of the heavier portions of the costly ornament, but his
emotions on being awakened from deep slumber by the resounding smash
of the shell, followed by the crash of the falling chandelier and
the attendant rain of tuneful prisms, can better be imagined than
described.
For the rest of the night, the headquarters staff--with the exception
of de Lisle himself--repaired to the cellar in search of less
interrupted repose. The General, having ascertained that no other
lustre chandelier was suspended from the ceiling, stuck to his
original pitch.
The next morning at daybreak, 1st Cavalry Division Headquarters moved
from that château, in spite of its many desirable attributes as a
habitation.
On the 27th, General de Lisle sent me to the headquarters of Major
Pilkington, of the 15th Hussars, on an errand. The reserve Belgian
line was hard by. In backing my car, to turn it in the narrow lane,
a bank of a reserve trench or ditch caved, and the poor car stood on
its tail, at an uncomfortable and astonishing angle. Colonel Burnett
and one of his 18th Hussar officers passed, and with their help and
that of a dozen obliging 15th Hussar troopers, we attempted to move
the brute. It resisted our combined efforts. Then the Belgians near
by saw what had transpired and came at a run. In a jiffy the car
was out, but having been lifted with more zeal than discretion was
strained in so many places that it ran more like a crawfish than a
car, until a week later, when time and opportunity allowed me to
substitute an ample and expensive list of new parts.
Plodding through Poperinghe late that afternoon, the first of seven
or eight 17-inch Boche "big 'uns" fell close behind me. I felt,
rather than heard, a crash, the wave of sound deafening me. Missiles
rained down sharply on roofs, walls and paved roadway. Lame duck
though it was, the car lifted itself and sped at a touch of the
accelerator pedal. I heard some of the other shells explode, but was
well out of harm's way by the time they arrived.
On the 28th of April the Division was moved back to a bivouac in the
woods that lined the Poperinghe--Proven road, the main highway to
Dunkirk.
Late in the afternoon, after a splendid day of lying in the sun,
which was greatly appreciated by the whole Division, billets to the
westward were assigned to us, and we trekked off without delay.
[Illustration: Staff officers at lunch]
[Illustration: Looking east over the Menin Bridge at the edge of Ypres]
Wormhoudt, a French-Flemish town on the main road from Dunkirk to
Cassel, was selected for headquarters, and there we rested for four
days before returning to our old home, the La Nieppe château, on
the road from Cassel to St. Omer.
_En route_ to Wormhoudt we passed the Indian Cavalry, coming up
to relieve us as reserve. The Poona Horse, Sind Lancers, and
Inniskilling Dragoons presented a fine appearance as they rode by.
Rest was welcome to the Division. The troops had not been in the
actual firing-line, but had been in continual occupation of reserve
trenches for days, frequently under heavy shell-fire, and rarely with
an opportunity for taking off their boots or sleeping elsewhere than
in the open.
The villages and farms around Wormhoudt provided excellent billets
for the troopers. Barns filled with straw and flax were warm and
comfortable resting-places after the days and nights in cold, damp
trenches.
So April ended peacefully for us, the Germans holding what they had
won on the 23rd and closing the month with a vigorous bombardment of
Dunkirk, a few miles north of us, which served no useful military
purpose, but gave the Huns the satisfaction of killing a fair number
of civilians, including a good bag of women and children.