FESTUBERT AND GIVENCHY.
_May and June, 1915._
When our men came out of the line, the 2nd Field Ambulance was ordered
back for rest and reorganization to a village called Ouderdom, three
miles to the Southwest, and their O.C. invited me to follow them. It
was late in the evening when I started to walk. The light was fading
and, as I had no map, I was not certain where Ouderdom was. I went down
the road, delighting in the sweet smells of nature. It was with a sense
of unusual freedom that I walked along with all my worldly possessions
in my haversack. I thought how convenient it was to lose one's kit.
Now I could lie down beside any haystack and feel quite at home. The
evening air grew chillier and I thought I had better get some roof
over my head for the night. I asked various men that I met where
Ouderdom was. None of them knew. I was forced once again to take my
solitary journey into the great unknown. It was therefore with much
satisfaction that, when quite dark, I came upon some wooden huts and
saw a number of men round a little fire in a field. I went up to one
of the huts and found in it a very kind and courteous middle-aged
lieutenant, who was in charge of a detachment of Indian troops. When
he heard I was looking for the Field Ambulance and going towards
Ouderdom, he told me it was much too late to continue my journey that
night. "You stay with me in my hut, Padre," he said, "and in the
morning I will give you a horse to take you to your men." He told me
that he had been living by himself and was only too delighted to have
a companion to talk to. He treated me as bounteously as circumstances
would permit, and after a good dinner, he gave me a blanket and straw
bed on the floor of his hut. It was very pleasant to come out of the
darkness and loneliness of the road and find such a kind host, and
such good hospitality. We discussed many things that night, and the
next day I was shown over the camp. Later on, the Lieutenant sent me
on horseback to Ouderdom. There I found the Ambulance encamped in a
pleasant field beside a large pond, which afforded us the luxury of a
bath. I shall never forget those two restful days I spent at Ouderdom.
I blamed the blankets, however, for causing an irritation of the (p. 075)
skin, which lasted till I was able to have another wash and change.
Pleasant as my life was with the Ambulance, I felt I ought to go back
and join my Brigade. I got a ride to the transport at Brielen, and
there, under a waggon cover, had a very happy home. Near us an
Imperial battery fired almost incessantly all night long. While lying
awake one night thinking of the men that had gone, and wondering what
those ardent spirits were now doing, the lines came to me which were
afterwards published in "The Times":
"REQUIESCANT"
In lonely watches night by night,
Great visions burst upon my sight,
For down the stretches of the sky
The hosts of dead go marching by.
Strange ghostly banners o'er them float,
Strange bugles sound an awful note,
And all their faces and their eyes
Are lit with starlight from the skies.
The anguish and the pain have passed,
And peace hath come to them at last.
But in the stern looks linger still
The iron purpose and the will.
Dear Christ, who reign'st above the flood
Of human tears and human blood,
A weary road these men have trod,
O house them in the home of God.
The Quartermaster of the 3rd Brigade furnished me with a change of
underwear, for which I was most grateful. I felt quite proud of having
some extra clothes again. The battalions were moved at last out of the
area and we were ordered off to rest. Our first stop was near
Vlamertinghe. We reached it in the afternoon, and, chilly though it
was, I determined to have a bath. Murdoch MacDonald got a bucket of
water from a green and slimy pond and put it on the other side of a
hedge, and there I retired to have a wash and change. I was just in
the midst of the process when, to my confusion, the Germans began to
shell the adjoining field, and splinters of shell fell in the hedge
behind me. The transport men on the other side called out to me (p. 076)
to run and take cover with them under the waggons. "I can't, boys",
I replied, "I have got no clothes on." They roared with laughter at my
plight. Though clothes are not at all an impregnable armour, somehow
or other you feel safer when you are dressed. There was nothing for it
but to complete my ablutions, which I did so effectually in the cold
spring air that I got a chill. That night I was racked with pains as I
rode on the horse which the M.O. lent me, on our march to Bailleul.
We arrived in the quaint old town about two in the morning, and I made
my way in the dark to the hotel in the Square. I was refused admission
on the reasonable plea that every bed was already occupied. I was just
turning away, wondering where I could go, for I was hardly able to
stand up, when an officer came out and said I might go up to a room on
the top storey and get into his bed as he would need it no more. It
was quite delightful, not only to find a bed, but one which had been
so nicely and wholesomely warmed. I spent a most uncomfortable night,
and in the morning I wondered if my batman would find out where I was
and come and look after me. About ten o'clock I heard a knock at the
door and called out "Come in." To my astonishment, a very smart staff
officer, with a brass hat and red badges, made his way into my room,
and startled me by saying, "I am the Deputy-Judge-Advocate-General."
"Oh", I said, "I was hoping you were my batman." He laughed at that
and told me his business. There had been a report that one of our
Highlanders had been crucified on the door of a barn. The Roman Catholic
Chaplain of the 3rd Brigade and myself had tried to trace the story to
its origin. We found that the nearest we could get to it was, that
someone had told somebody else about it. One day I managed to discover
a Canadian soldier who said he had seen the crucifixion himself. I at
once took some paper out of my pocket and a New Testament and told
him, "I want you to make that statement on oath and put your signature
to it." He said, "It is not necessary." But he had been talking so
much about the matter to the men around him that he could not escape.
I had kept his sworn testimony in my pocket and it was to obtain this
that the Deputy-Judge-Advocate-General had called upon me. I gave it
to him and told him that in spite of the oath, I thought the man was
not telling the truth. Weeks afterwards I got a letter from the
Deputy-Judge telling me he had found the man, who, when confronted (p. 077)
by a staff officer, weakened, and said he was mistaken in swearing
that he had seen the crucifixion he had only been told about it by
someone else. We have no right to charge the Germans with the crime.
They have done so many things equally bad, that we do not need to
bring charges against them of which we are not quite sure.
The Brigade was quartered in the little village of Steenje. It was a
pretty place, and it was delightful to be back in the peaceful country
again. May was bringing out the spring flowers and the trees wore
fresh green leaves. There was something about the exhilarating life we
were leading which made one extremely sensitive to the beauties of
nature. I have never cared much for flowers, except in a general way.
But now I noticed a great change. A wild flower growing in a ditch by
the wayside seemed to me to be almost a living thing, and spoke in its
mute way of its life of peace and contentment, and mocked, by its very
humility, the world of men which was so full of noise and death.
Colour too made a most powerful appeal to the heart. The gleam of
sunlight on the moss that covered an old thatched roof gave one a
thrill of gladness. The world of nature putting on its fresh spring
dress had its message to hearts that were lonely and anxious, and it
was a message of calm courage and hope. In Julian Grenfell's beautiful
poem "Into Battle," he notes this message of the field and trees.
Everything in nature spoke to the fighting man and gave him its own
word of cheer.
Of course all the men did not show they were conscious of these emotional
suggestions, but I think they felt them nevertheless. The green fields
and shining waters around Steenje had a very soothing effect upon minds
that had passed through the bitterest ordeal in their life's
experience. I remember one morning having a service of Holy Communion
in the open air. Everything was wonderful and beautiful. The golden
sunlight was streaming across the earth in full radiance. The trees
were fresh and green, and hedges marked out the field with walls of
living beauty. The grass in the meadow was soft and velvety, and, just
behind the spot where I had placed the altar, a silver stream wandered
slowly by. When one adds to such a scene, the faces of a group of
earnest, well-made and heroic young men, it is easily understood that
the beauty of the service was complete. When it was over, I reminded
them of the twenty-third Psalm, "He maketh me to lie down in green (p. 078)
pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters." There too was the table
prepared before us in the presence of our enemies.
At Steenje, as no billet had been provided for me, the Engineers took
me in and treated me right royally. Not only did they give me a pile
of straw for a bed in the dormitory upstairs, but they also made me an
honorary member of their mess. Of the work of the "Sappers", in the
Great War, one cannot speak too highly. Brave and efficient, they were
always working and co-operating enthusiastically with the infantry.
Every week now that passed was deepening that sense of comradeship
which bound our force together. The mean people, the men who thought
only of themselves, were either being weeded out or taught that there
was no place for selfishness in the army. One great lesson was
impressed upon me in the war, and that is, how wonderfully the
official repression of wrong thoughts and jealousies tends to their
abolition. A man who lets his wild fancies free, and gives rein to his
anger and selfishness, is going to become the victim of his own mind.
If people at home could only be prevented, as men were in the war,
from saying all the bitter and angry things they feel, and from
criticising the actions of their neighbours, a different temper of
thought would prevail. The comradeship men experienced in the Great
War was due to the fact that everyone knew comradeship was essential
to our happiness and success. It would be well if all over Canada men
realized that the same is true of our happiness and success in times
of peace. What might we not accomplish if our national and industrial
life were full of mutual sympathy and love!
Our rest at Steenje was not of long duration. Further South another
attack was to be made and so one evening, going in the direction
whither our troops were ordered, I was motored to the little village
of Robecq. There I managed to get a comfortable billet for myself in
the house of a carpenter. My bedroom was a tiny compartment which
looked out on the backyard. It was quite delightful to lie in a real
bed again and as I was enjoying the luxury late in the morning I
watched the carpenter making a baby's coffin. Robecq then was a very
charming place. The canal, on which was a hospital barge, gave the men
an opportunity for a swim, and the spring air and the sunshine put
them in high spirits.
It was at Robecq, that I had my first sight of General Haig. I was
standing in the Square one afternoon when I saw the men on the (p. 079)
opposite side spring suddenly to attention. I felt that something
was going to happen. To my astonishment, I saw a man ride up carrying
a flag on a lance. He was followed by several other mounted men. It
was so like a pageant that I said to myself, "Hello, here comes Joan
of Arc." Then a general appeared with his brilliant staff. The General
advanced and we all saluted, but he, spying my chaplain's collar, rode
over to me and shook hands and asked if I had come over with the
Canadians. I told him I had. Then he said, "I am so glad you have all
come into my Army." I did not know who he was or what army we were in,
or in fact what the phrase meant, but I thought it was wise to say nice
things to a general, so I told him we were all very glad too. He seemed
gratified and rode off in all the pomp and circumstance of war. I heard
afterwards that he was General Haig, who at that time commanded the First
Army. He had from the start, the respect of all in the British
Expeditionary Force.
A sudden call "to stand to", however, reminded us that the war was not
yet won. The Brigadier told me that we had to move the next morning at
five. Then he asked me how I was going and I quoted my favourite text,
"The Lord will provide." My breakfast at 3.30 next morning consisted
of a tin of green peas without bread or other adulterations and a cup
of coffee. At five a.m. I started to walk, but it was not long before I
was overtaken by the car of an artillery officer, and carried, in great
glory, past the General and his staff, whose horses we nearly pushed
into the ditch on the narrow road. The Brigadier waved his hand and
congratulated me upon the way in which Providence was looking after me.
That afternoon our brigade was settled in reserve trenches at
Lacouture. There were a number of Ghurka regiments in the neighbourhood,
as well as some Guards battalions. I had a service for the bomb-throwers
in a little orchard that evening, and I found a billet with the
officers of the unit in a particularly small and dirty house by the
wayside.
Some of us lay on the floor and I made my bed on three chairs--a style
of bed which I said I would patent on my return to Canada. The chairs,
with the middle one facing in the opposite direction to prevent one
rolling off, were placed at certain distances where the body needed
special support, and made a very comfortable resting place, free from
those inhabitants which infested the ordinary places of repose. Of
course we did not sleep much, and somebody, amid roars of laughter (p. 080)
called for breakfast about two-thirty a.m. The cook who was sleeping
in the same room got up and prepared bacon and coffee, and we had
quite an enjoyable meal, which did not prevent our having a later one
about nine a.m., after which, I beguiled the time by reading aloud
Leacock's "Arcadian Adventures with the Idle Rich." Later in the day,
I marched off with our men who were going into the trenches, for the
battle of Festubert. We passed the place called Indian Village and
went to the trenches just beyond.
We met a bearer-party bringing out a young German prisoner who was
badly wounded. I went over to him and offered him a cigarette. This he
declined, but asked for some water, putting out his dry tongue to show
how parched it was. I called to some of our men to know if they could
spare him a drink. Several gladly ran across and offered their
water-bottles. They were always kind to wounded prisoners. "If thine
enemy thirst give him drink." Just before the men went into the
trenches, I shook hands with one or two and then, as they passed up,
half the battalion shook hands with me. I was glad they did, but at
the same time I felt then that it was not wise for a chaplain to do
anything which looked as if he were taking matters too seriously. It
was the duty of everyone to forget private feelings in the one
absorbing desire to kill off the enemy. I saw the different battalions
going up and was returning towards headquarters when whom should I
meet but the dreaded Brigadier coming up the road with his staff. It
was impossible to dodge him; I could see already that he was making
towards me. When he came up to me, he asked me what I was doing there,
and ordered me back to Headquarters on pain of a speedy return to No.
2 General Hospital. "If you come east of my Headquarters," he said,
"you will be sent back absolutely certainly." That night I took my
revenge by sleeping in his deserted bed, and found it very
comfortable.
Our Brigade Headquarters were at Le Touret in a large farm surrounded
by a moat. We were quite happy, but on the next day, which I spent in
censoring the letters of the 13th Battalion, I was told that the 2nd
Brigade were coming to occupy the billet and that I had to get out and
forage for myself. At half past six in the evening I saw from my window
the giant form of General Currie followed by his staff, riding across
the bridge over the moat. He looked very imposing, but I knew it meant
that the bed I had slept in was no longer mine. I called my friend (p. 081)
Murdoch MacDonald and I got him to pack my haversack. "Murdoch", I
said, "once more we have to face the big, black world alone, but--'the
Lord will provide'". The sun had set, the air was cool and scented
richly with the fermented manure spread upon the land. Many units were
scattered through the fields. We went from one place to another, but
alas there was no billet for us. It was tiring work, and both Murdoch
and I were getting very hungry and also very grumpy. The prospect of
sleeping under the stars in the chilly night was not pleasant. I am
ashamed to say my faith began to waver, and I said to Murdoch MacDonald,
"Murdoch, my friend, the Lord is a long time providing for us
tonight." We made our way back to the main road and there I saw an
Imperial Officer who was acting as a point man and directing traffic.
I told him my difficulty and implored him, as it was now getting on
towards eleven p.m., to tell me where I could get a lodging for the
night. He thought for a while and then said, "I think you may find a
bed for yourself and your man in the prison." The words had an ominous
sound, but I remembered how often people at home found refuge for the
night in the police station. He told me to go down the road to the
third farmhouse, where I should find the quarters of some Highland
officers and men. The farm was called the prison, because it was the
place in which captured Germans were to be held until they were sent
down the line. Followed by Murdoch, I made my way again down the busy
road now crowded with transports, troops and ambulances. It was hard
to dodge them in the mud and dark. I found the farmhouse, passed the
sentry, and was admitted to the presence of two young officers of the
Glasgow Highlanders. I told them who I was and how I had been bidden
by the patrol officer to seek refuge with them. They received me most
cordially and told me they had a spare heap of straw in the room. They
not only said they would arrange for me for the night, but they called
their servant and told him to get me some supper. They said I looked
worn out. A good dish of ham and eggs and a cup of strong tea at that
time were most refreshing and when I had finished eating, seeing a
copy of the Oxford Book of Verse on the table, I began to read it to
them, and finally, and quite naturally, found myself later on, about
one a.m., reciting my own poems. It was most interesting meeting
another set of men. The barn, which was kept as a prison for Germans
was large and commodious. As we took only five or six prisoners (p. 082)
at that time, it was more than sufficient for the purpose. The officers
told me that the reason why so few prisoners turned up was that the
Canadians got tired of their charges before they arrived at the
prison, and only handed over a few as souvenirs. I really think the
Scotsmen believed it. The Glasgow men moved away and were succeeded by
a company of Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. The tables were now
turned, for as I had kept on inhabiting the large room with the three
heaps of straw in it, the two officers who came "to take over" asked
my permission to make their billet in the prison.
In the meantime, the fighting in the trenches was very fierce. I spent
my days in parish visiting and my nights at the various dressing
stations. The batteries of artillery were all round us in the fields
and orchards, and there was great concentration of British and
Canadian guns. In spite of the brigadier's orders, I often went east
of Headquarters. One lovely Sunday evening I had a late service for
men of the 16th Battalion in an orchard. They were going off later
into No Man's Land on a working party. The service, which was a
voluntary one, had therefore an underlying pathos in it. Shells were
falling in the fields on both sides of us. The great red sunset glowed
in the west and the trees overhead cast an artistic gray green light
upon the scene. The men were facing the sunset, and I told them as
usual that there lay Canada. The last hymn was "Abide with Me", and
the words, "Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes", were
peculiarly touching in view of the fact that the working party was to
start as soon as the service was ended. At Festubert our Cavalry
Brigade, now deprived of their horses, joined us, and I remember one
morning seeing Colonel, now General, Macdonell, coming out of the line
at the head of his men. They were few in number and were very tired,
for they had had a hard time and had lost many of their comrades. The
Colonel, however, told them to whistle and keep step to the tune,
which they were doing with a gallantry which showed that, in spite of
the loss of their horses, the spirit of the old squadron was still
undaunted.
Our batteries round Le Touret were very heavily and systematically
shelled, and of course rumour had it that there were spies in the
neighbourhood. The French Police were searching for Germans in British
uniforms, and everyone felt that some of the inhabitants might be
housing emissaries from the German lines. Some said lights were (p. 083)
seen flashing from farmhouses; others averred that the French peasants
signalled to the enemy by the way they ploughed their fields and by
the colour of the horses used. In Belgium we were told that the
arrangement of the arms of windmills gave away the location of our
troops. At any rate everyone had a bad attack of spy-fever, and I did
not escape it. One night about half past ten I was going down a dark
road to get my letters from the post office, when an officer on a
bicycle came up to me and, dismounting, asked me where a certain
British Artillery Brigade was. I was not concerned with the number of
the brigade, but I was horrified to hear the officer pronounce his
"rs" in the back of his throat. Of course, when we are not at war with
Germany, a man may pronounce his "rs" however he pleases, but when we
are at war with the great guttural hordes of Teutons it is different.
The moment I heard the sepulchral "r" I said, "This man is a German".
He told me he had come from the Indian Army and had a message for the
artillery brigade. I took him by subtlety, thinking all was fair in
war, and I asked him to come with me. I made for the billet of our
signallers and told the sentry that the officer wanted a British
brigade. At the same time I whispered to the man to call out the
guard, because I thought the stranger was a spy.
The sentry went into the house, and in a few seconds eager Canadians
with fixed bayonets came out of the building and surrounded the
unfortunate officer. Canadians were always ready for a bit of sport.
When I saw my man surrounded, I asked him for his pass. He appeared
very much confused and said he had none, but had come from the Indian
Army. What made us all the more suspicious was the fact that he
displayed a squared map as an evidence of his official character. I
told him that anybody could get a squared map. "Do you take me for a
spy?" he said. I replied gently that we did, and that he would have to
come to Headquarters and be identified. He had an ugly looking
revolver in his belt, but he submitted very tamely to his temporary
arrest. I was taking him off to our Headquarters, where strange
officers were often brought for purposes of identification, when a
young Highland Captain of diminutive stature, but unbounded dignity,
appeared on the scene with four patrol men. He told me that as he was
patrolling the roads for the capture of spies, he would take over the
custody of my victim. The Canadians were loath to lose their prey. So
we all followed down the road. After going a short distance, the
signallers had to return to their quarters, much to my regret, (p. 084)
for it seemed to me that the safety of the whole British Army depended
on our capturing the spy, and I knew I could depend upon the Canadians.
However I made up my mind that I would follow to the bitter end.
The Highlander put the officer between us and, followed by the four
patrol men, we went off down a lonely road. The moon had now risen.
After walking about half a mile we came to a large barn, outside of
which stood a sentry. It was the billet of a battalion of Highlanders.
I told the man privately, that we had arrested the officer under
suspicion of his being a spy, and if the sentry on duty should see him
coming back along the road, he was to detain him and have him
identified. As we walked along, a number of men who had been concealed
in the ditches on each side of the road rose up and followed us. They
were men of the patrol commanded by the young Highlander on the other
side of our prisoner. It was a delightfully weird experience. There
was the long quiet moonlit road and the desolate fields all around us.
While I was talking to one of the men, the patrol officer, unknown to
me, allowed the spy to go off on his wheel, and to my astonishment
when I turned I saw him going off down the road as hard as he could. I
asked the officer why he had let him go. He said he thought it was all
right and the man would be looked after. Saying this, he called his
patrol about him and marched back again. The thing made me very angry.
It seemed to me that the whole war might depend on our capturing the
spy. At least, I owed it to the British Army to do my best to be
certain the man was all right before I let him go. So I continued to
follow him by myself down the road. The next farm I came to was about
a mile off. There I was halted by a sentry, and on telling my business
I was shown into a large barn, where the sergeant-major of a Scottish
battalion got out of the straw and came to talk to me. He told me that
an officer riding a wheel had passed sometime before, asking his way
to a certain artillery brigade. I told the sergeant-major my
suspicions and while we were talking, to our astonishment, the sentry
announced that the officer, accompanied by a Black Watch despatch
rider, had turned up again, having heard that the brigade he wanted
was in the other direction.
The sergeant and I went out and challenged him and said that he had to
come to the colonel and be identified. The colonel was in the back
room of a little cottage on the other side of the road. I made my way
through the garden and entered the house. The colonel, an oldish (p. 085)
man, was sitting at a table. In front of him was an empty glass and an
empty whisky bottle. It struck me from a superficial glance that the
colonel was the only full thing in the room. He seemed surprised at
having so late a visitor. I told him my suspicions. "Show the man in,
Padre," he said, and I did.
The spy seemed worried and excited and his "rs" were more guttural
than ever. The old Colonel, who had himself been in India, at once put
the suspect through his facings in Hindustani. Then the Colonel came
out to me, and taking me aside said, "It's all right, Padre, he can
talk Hindustani. I never met a German who could do that." Though still
not quite satisfied, I said "Good night," and went out into the garden
to return home. Immediately the young despatch rider came up to me and
said, "Who are you, who are stopping a British officer in the
performance of his duty? I arrest you. You must come in to the Colonel
and be identified." This was a turning of the tables with a vengeance,
and as I had recently laid stress on its being the duty of every
officer to prove his identity whenever called upon, I had nothing to
do but to go back into the presence of the Colonel and be questioned.
I noticed this time that a full bottle of whiskey and another tumbler
had been provided for the entertainment of the Indian Officer. The
despatch rider saluted the Colonel and said, "I have brought in this
officer, Sir, to be identified. He says he is a Canadian chaplain but
I should like to make sure on the point." I stood there feeling rather
disconcerted. The Colonel called to his adjutant who was sleeping in a
bed in the next room. He came out in a not very agreeable frame of
mind and began to ask me who I was. I immediately told my name, showed
my identification disc and engraved silver cigarette case and some
cablegrams that I had just received from home. The Colonel looked up
with bleary eyes and said, "Shall I put him in the guardroom?" but
the adjutant had been convinced by my papers that I was innocent and
he said, "I think we can let him go, Sir." It was a great relief to
me, because guard-rooms were not very clean. I was just making my way
from the garden when out came the young despatch rider. I bore him no
malice for his patriotic zeal. I felt that his heart was in the right
place, so I said to him, "You have taken the part of this unknown
officer, and now that you are sure I am all right, may I ask you what
you know about him?" "I don't know anything", he said, "only that I
met him and he asked me the way to the Brigade, and as I was going (p. 086)
there myself I told him I would act as his guide." "Well", I said, "we
are told that there are spies in the neighbourhood reporting the
location of our batteries to the Germans, so we ought to be very
careful how we give these locations away." "I tell you what, Sir," he
replied, "I'll go and examine his wheel and see what the make is; I
know a good deal about the wheels used in the army." We went over to
the wheel and by the aid of my flashlight he examined it thoroughly
and then said, "This is not an English wheel, I have never seen one
like it before. This wheel was never in use in our army." The despatch
rider now got an attack of spy-fever. It was decided that he should
ride on to the Brigade Headquarters and find out if an Indian officer
was expected there. He promised to come back as soon as possible and
meet me in the road. We trusted that the bottle of whiskey in the
Colonel's billet would cause sufficient delay for this to be
accomplished. The night was cool and beautiful and the sense of an
adventure added charm to the situation. I had not gone far down the
road when to my horror I heard a wheel coming behind me, and turning,
I saw my spy coming towards me as fast as he could. I was not of
course going to let him get past. The added information as to the
character of the wheel gave me even greater determination to see that
everything was done to protect the army from the machinations of a
German spy.
I stood in the road and stopped the wheel. The poor man had to
dismount and walk beside me. I wished to delay him long enough for the
despatch rider to return with his message from the Brigade. Our
conversation was a trifle forced, and I remember thinking that if my
friend was really a British officer he would not have submitted quite
so tamely to the interference of a Padre. Then I looked at the
revolver in his belt, and I thought that, if, on the other hand, he
was a German spy he would probably use his weapon in that lonely road
and get rid of the man who was impeding his movements. We went on till
we came to the sentry whom I had warned at first. At once, we were
challenged, "Halt, who are you?" and the suspected spy replied "Indian
Army." But the sentry was not satisfied, and to my delight he said,
"You will both have to come in and be identified". We were taken into
the guardroom and told that we should have to stay there for the
night. My friend got very restless and said it was too bad to be held
up like this. I looked anxiously down the road to see if there were
any signs of the returning despatch rider. The sentries were (p. 087)
obdurate and said they wouldn't let us go till we could be identified
in the morning. Then the officer requested that he might be sent to
the Brigade under escort. The sergeant asked me if that would meet
with my approval. I said, "Certainly", and so, turning out three
members of the guard with fixed bayonets, they marched us off towards
the Brigade. The spy had a man with a fixed bayonet on each side of
him: they gave me only one. I felt that this was a slight upon my
manhood, and asked why they did not put a soldier on each side of me
too, as I was as good a man as the other. It was a queer procession in
the moonlight. At last we came to the orchard in which stood the
billet of the General commanding the Artillery Brigade. I was delighted
to find that some Canadian Batteries were there, and told the men what
my mission was. They instantly, as true Canadians, became fired with
interest and spy-fever. When we got to the house I asked to see the
General. He was asleep in a little room off the kitchen. I was shown
in, and he lit a candle and proceeded to get up. I had never seen a
general in bed before, so was much interested in discovering what he
looked like and how he was dressed. I found that a general in war time
goes to bed in his underclothes, like an ordinary private. The General
got up and went outside and put the spy through a series of questions,
but he did so in a very sleepy voice, and with a perfunctory manner
which seemed to me to indicate that he was more concerned about
getting back to bed than he was in saving the army from danger. He
told the officer that it was too late then to carry on the business
for which he had come, but that he would see about it in the morning.
The spy with a guttural voice then said, "I suppose I may go, Sir?"
and the General said, "Certainly." Quickly as possible, fearing a
further arrest, the stranger went out, took his wheel, and sped down
the road. When I went into the garden, I found a number of men from
one of our ambulances. They had turned up with stolen rifles and were
waiting with the keenest delight to join in "Canon Scott's spy hunt."
Imagine therefore, their disappointment when the officer came out a
free man, answered the sentry's challenge on the road, and disappeared
in the distance.
On the following day, the French military police came to my billet and
asked for particulars about the Indian officer. They told Murdoch
MacDonald that they were on the lookout for a German spy who was (p. 088)
reported to be going about through our lines dressed in a British
uniform. He had been seen at an observation post, and was making
enquiries which aroused suspicions. This of course made me more sorry
than ever that I had allowed the spy to get through my fingers. Like
the man the French police were after, the officer was fair, had a
light moustache and was of good size and heavily built.
My adventures with my friend did not end there. When we had left Festubert
and got to the neighbourhood of Bethune, I took two young privates one
day to have lunch with me in a French hotel near the Square. We were just
beginning our meal when to my astonishment the suspected spy, accompanied
by a French interpreter, sat down at an opposite table. He looked towards
me but made no sign of recognition--a circumstance which I regarded as
being decidedly suspicious. I naturally did not look for any demonstration
of affection from him, but I thought he might have shown, if he were
an honest man, that he remembered one who had caused him so much
inconvenience. Once more the call of duty came to my soul. I felt that
this man had dodged the British authorities and was now giving his
information to a French interpreter to transmit it at the earliest
possible moment to the Germans. I told my young friends to carry on as
if nothing had happened, and excusing myself, said I would come back
in a few minutes. I went out and inquired my way to the Town Major's
office. There, I stated the object of my journey and asked for two
policemen to come back with me and mount guard till I identified a
suspicious looking officer. I then returned and finished my lunch.
When the officer and the interpreter at the conclusion of their meal
went out into the passage, I followed them and asked for their
identification. The officer made no attempt to disguise or check his
temper. He said that there must be an end to this sort of work. But
the arrival of the two policemen in the passage showed that he had to
do what I asked him. This he did, and the interpreter also, and the
police took their names and addresses. Then I let my friends go, and
heard them depart into the street hurling denunciations and threats of
vengeance upon my devoted and loyal head.
It was about a week or ten days afterwards that I was called into our
own Brigadier's office. He held a bundle of letters in his hand stamped
with all sorts of official seals. The gist of it all was that the G.O.C.
of the Indian Division in France had reported to General Alderson the
extraordinary and eccentric conduct of a Canadian Chaplain, who (p. 089)
persisted in arresting a certain British officer whenever they happened
to meet. He wound up with this cutting comment, "The conduct of this
chaplain seems to fit him rather for a lunatic asylum than for the
theatre of a great war." Of course explanations were sent back. It was
explained to the General that reports had reached us of the presence
in our lines of a German spy in British uniform, who from the description
given, resembled the Indian officer in all particulars.
It is needless to say that every one was immensely amused at "the
Canon's spy story," and I mentally resolved that I would be more
careful in the future about being carried away by my suspicions. I
told people however that I would rather run the risk of being laughed
at over making a mistake than to let one real spy escape.
Festubert made a heavy toll upon our numbers, and we were not sorry
when we were ordered out of the line and found ourselves quartered in
the neighbourhood of Bethune. Bethune at that time was a delightful
place. It was full of people. The shops were well provided with
articles for sale, and a restaurant in the quaint Grande Place, with
its Spanish tower and Spanish houses, was the common meeting ground of
friends. The gardens behind private residences brought back memories
of pre-war days. The church was a beautiful one, built in the 16th
century. The colours of the windows were especially rich. It was
always delightful to enter it and think how it had stood the shock and
turmoil of the centuries.
One day when I was there the organ was being played most beautifully.
Sitting next to me in a pew, was a Canadian Highlander clad in a very
dirty uniform. He told me that a friend of his had been killed beside
him drenching him in blood. The Highlander was the grandson of a
British Prime Minister. We listened to the music till the recital was
over, and then I went up to the gallery and made myself known to the
organist. He was a delicate young fellow, quite blind, and was in a
state of nervous excitement over his recent efforts. I made a bargain
with him to give us a recital on the following evening. At the time
appointed, therefore, I brought some of our men with me. The young
organist met us at the church and I led him over to a monastery in
which a British ambulance was making its headquarters. There, in the
chapel, the blind man poured out his soul in the strains of a most
beautiful instrument. We sat entranced in the evening light. He
transported us into another world. We forgot the shells, the mud, (p. 090)
the darkness, the wounded men, the lonely graves, and the hideous fact
of war. We wandered free and unanxious down the avenues of thought and
emotion which were opened up before us by the genius of him whose eyes
were shut to this world. It was with deep regret that, when the concert
was over, we heard him close the keyboard. Three years later the
organist was killed by a shell while he was sitting at his post in the
church he loved so well and had never seen.
When we were at Bethune a very important event in my military career
took place. In answer to repeated requests, Headquarters procured me a
horse. I am told that the one sent to me came by mistake and was not
that which they intended me to have. The one I was to have, I heard,
was the traditional padre's horse, heavy, slow, unemotional, and with
knees ready at all times to sink in prayer. The animal sent to me,
however, was a high-spirited chestnut thoroughbred, very pretty, very
lively and neck-reined. It had once belonged to an Indian general, and
was partly Arab. Poor Dandy was my constant companion to the end.
After the Armistice, to prevent his being sold to the Belgian army, he
was mercifully shot, by the orders of our A.D.V.S. Dandy certainly was
a beauty, and his lively disposition made him interesting to ride. I
was able now to do much more parish visiting, and I was rather amused
at the way in which my mount was inspected by the different grooms in
our units. I had to stand the fire of much criticism. Evil and
covetous eyes were set upon Dandy. I was told he was "gone" in the
knees. I was told he had a hump on the back--he had what is known as
the "Jumper's bump." Men tickled his back and, because he wriggled,
told me he was "gone" in the kidneys. I was told he was no proper
horse for a padre, but that a fair exchange was always open to me. I
was offered many an old transport hack for Dandy, and once was even
asked if I would change him for a pair of mules. I took all the
criticisms under consideration, and then when they were repeated I
told the men that really I loved to ride a horse with a hump on its
back. It was so biblical, just like riding a camel. As for bad
kidneys, both Dandy and I were teetotallers and we could arrest
disease by our temperance habits. The weakness of knees too was no
objection in my eyes. In fact, I had so long, as a parson, sat over
weak-kneed congregations that I felt quite at home sitting on a
weak-kneed horse.
Poor dear old Dandy, many were the rides we had together. Many (p. 091)
were the jumps we took. Many were the ditches we tumbled into. Many
were the unseen barbed wires and overhanging telephone wires which we
broke, you with your chest and I with my nose and forehead. Many were
the risks we ran in front of batteries in action which neither of us
had observed till we found ourselves deafened with a hideous explosion
and wrapped in flame. I loved you dearly, Dandy, and I wish I could
pull down your soft face towards mine once again, and talk of the
times when you took me down Hill 63 and along Hyde Park corner at
Ploegsteert. Had I not been wounded and sent back to England at the
end of the war, I would have brought you home with me to show to my
family--a friend that not merely uncomplainingly but cheerfully, with
prancing feet and arching neck and well groomed skin, bore me safely
through dangers and darkness, on crowded roads and untracked fields.
What dances we have had together, Dandy, when I have got the bands to
play a waltz and you have gone through the twists and turns of a
performance in which you took an evident delight! I used to tell the
men that Dandy and I always came home together. Sometimes I was on his
back and sometimes he was on mine, but we always came home together.
A few days later my establishment was increased by the purchase of a
well-bred little white fox-terrier. He rejoiced in the name of Philo
and became my inseparable companion. The men called him my curate.
Dandy, Philo and I made a family party which was bound together by very
close ties of affection. Though none of us could speak the language of
the others, yet the sympathy of each enabled us to understand and
appreciate one another's opinions. I always knew what Dandy thought
and what he would do. I always knew too what Philo was thinking about.
Philo had a great horror of shells. I put this down to the fact that
he was born at Beuvry, a place which had been long under shell-fire.
When he heard a shell coming in his direction, Philo used to go to the
door of the dugout and listen for the explosion, and then come back to
me in a state of whining terror. He could not even stand the sound of
our own guns. It made him run round and round barking and howling
furiously.
It was while we were out in rest at Bethune that I was told I could go
on a week's leave to London. I was glad of this, not only for the
change of scene, but for the sake of getting new clothes. I awoke (p. 092)
in the early morning and listened to the French guns pounding away
wearily near Souchez. At noon I started with a staff officer in a
motor for Boulogne. It was a lovely day, and as we sped down the road
through little white unspoilt villages and saw peaceful fields once
again, it seemed as if I were waking from a hideous dream. That
evening we pulled in to Victoria Station, and heard the Westminster
chimes ringing out half past eight.