Our hosts got us a jug of cold water and a basin, and we proceeded to
wash on a chair in the corner of the room, the commandant and three
other officers being interested spectators. Then we sat down to dinner
and had soup and fish and meat; and then, ye gods! asparagus and cheese
and fruit--a right noble repast. The windows were barred and shuttered,
but all around we heard the heavy boom of big guns, the angry screaming
of shells. As the meal drew to an end the two telephones in the room
got busy. There were, I think, fifteen officers and ourselves, and two
of the subalterns were at the receivers:
"Yes, my wife is in England. She is so happy there; she loves the
English, and there is no sign of war." The commandant was interrupted
in his peaceful picture by the sharp voices of the telephonists.
"'Allo, 'allo, 'allo! Find the trench major. 'Allo! What? No, the
major, find the major; I would speak with the major. No--the major...."
The wild glare of the exasperated man who wanted the major met the
equally ferocious stare of the man who held the other wire, and whose
voice had all this time been cutting through his.
"'Allo, 'allo! Yes, this is the Artillery; yes, he is here. 'Allo!
What? When? At what hour? What? Speak up! Cré nom de Dieu, speak
clearly! Pardon, mon Colonel. To-night towards eleven hours. Yes, mon
Colonel. It is understood."
By this time the table talk had risen--something was under
discussion.... Our voices rose; the two telephonists' voices rose also.
My eyes met Chris's; we could not help laughing--this was like a scene
from a pantomime.
"Sapristi!" The man who still wanted the major could not forbear longer.
"Silence--I beg of you. Silence. Be quiet, you with that telephone.
'Allo, 'allo! Find the trench major."
From the other side of the room the other man spoke:
"Be quiet with your own telephone. 'Allo, 'allo! Yes--yes.
Gentlemen--ladies--I pray you be silent. 'Allo! Yes--mon Colonel. Oh,
what is then--Lieutenant who?"
And so on! We were asked to write our names in the pocket-books of all
our hosts. Then someone said "Music," and in a moment we were all round
the piano that had been brought from a shelled farmhouse in our honour.
The telephones were still busy, and one young lieutenant got orders
to go to the top of a very tall chimney that remained standing "to
observe, as there was a certain movement along the front." His comrades
mocked him, crisping their fingers, as if climbing hand over hand up
the long iron ladders.
"You make a good target, George," one wit said soothingly.
George bade us good-night, looking annoyed. We heard him in the passage
directing his sergeant to go up the chimney and waken him if necessary!
Chris played and sang song after song; every chorus caught up and
re-echoed. Then in a lull we heard steps outside and a heavy banging on
the shutter, and as we listened a pure tenor voice lilted:
"Good-bye, Piccadilly,
Good-bye, Leicester Square;
It's a long, long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there."
"De ---- de ----!" everyone shouted, and Captain de ---- entered,
smiling.
"Where have you come from?" we asked, for we had last seen him at
Calais.
"My battery is seven miles from here, and they telephoned to me you
ladies were here, so behold me!"
We had more songs, and then the Belgian National Anthem. It was a
fine and inspiring thing to hear--sung from their hearts by these
big, strong men who were offering their lives daily for their king
and country, and sung as it was to the tune played by Chris, with her
lovely girlish face, and the deep booming of the guns to render it
still more effective. I shall never forget it.
Then out in the darkness we groped our way to our car, thinking the
day's adventures were ended. Along the sky the rockets and star shells
blazed and spluttered, lighting us for the moment, and then leaving
the darkness still more oppressive around us. It took much pushing and
shoving to get the "Petit Camerade" on to the roadway, and our hosts
bade us good-bye heartily, though in whispers, as we were very near the
"movement along the front."