The General then took us to a bridge on the canal where fishing was
occasionally indulged in. The doctor who had lunched with us appeared,
and with great glee produced a hand grenade which he flung in the
water. The explosion was followed by a geyser-like rising of the water,
and then hundreds of dead fishes floated to the surface and were caught
in a net and safely landed!
Just then an officer joined us to ask if we could take away from the
nearest village four little children and their mother, who was shortly
expecting another baby. The village was being bombarded, and the little
family were in terror. We gladly acquiesced, and the General took us
back in his car; we got "Le Petit Camerade" (our second Ford ambulance)
into action and departed, Jean, the motor cyclist, being sent by the
General to see us on our way. We collected the poor little mother
and her four sturdy little boys, wrapped them well up in scarves and
balaclavas, and took them to the English lady's refugees' home. Again,
unluckily, we failed to find her. Jean ran round himself to look for
her, and at last, after waiting for an hour, we left the little family
there and departed.
The relief of the good woman was touching. She was not like the other
woman with nine children, a husband, and a pig, whom we tried in vain
to rescue. The doctors of a certain division were perturbed by the
danger run by the nine children (whose ages were from two to eleven),
who had to lie in a damp trench for four hours every day whilst their
village was bombarded. After much argument, the woman consented to
leave, and we arranged with the Refugee Committee in Calais to take
them over, and we sent a big car out to fetch them. However, when it
came to the point, the mother refused to leave the pig; all persuasion
was useless, and the car took the father and the nine to Calais. Two
days later he got permission to take his nine children for a walk; and
they never returned. News was heard of them walking back the 50 miles
to rejoin their mother and the pig!
Having left the four little fellows waving to us from the doorstep, we
retraced the road and arrived at Pervyse. Here we said good-bye to Jean
and took the road to Ramscappelle. The sentries at first refused to let
us pass, as the road was being shelled, but we were in a hurry, so they
yielded. We left the car at one point and took shelter in the ruins of
a cottage, but a shell also landed there, knocking one of the shattered
walls to pieces, and so we deemed it more prudent to rejoin the "Petit
Camerade" and race for our lives. A burst of derisive laughter followed
us. Unknowingly we had been on the edge of a Belgian trench!
As we neared Ramscappelle a soldier leapt towards us with a warning
cry. We heard the cold shriek above our heads that denoted trouble
coming; and Chris set her mouth a trifle sternly, rammed her foot
on the accelerator, and we were past just as the house staggered
towards us and fell, blocking the road behind us. We glanced round;
the soldier who had shouted waved reassuringly, and we turned into the
old brickyard. A few fresh shells had fallen, and beside the path were
two little graves marked with wooden crosses that had not been there
last time we passed. We found a suitable place to leave the "Petit
Camerade" against a wall of bricks piled high. The ground was rough and
greasy. We hurried to the cottage where the artillery mess was, and the
whizzing and whistling overhead denoted "activity on the front." In
fact we ran at top speed up that garden path and hammered on the door.
Friendly faces greeted us, and we were soon inside and the table was
being laid.