SPRING, 1916.
At the end of March our Division was ordered back to the Salient, and
so Headquarters left St. Jans Cappel. It was with great regret that I
bid good-by to the little place which had been such a pleasant home
for several months. The tide of war since then has no doubt swept away
many of the pastoral charms of the scenery, but the green fields and
the hillsides will be reclothed in beauty as time goes on. We stopped
for a few days at Fletre, and while there I made the acquaintance of
the Australians, and visited the battalions which were billeted in the
neighbourhood.
It was always delightful to have the Division out in rest. As long as
the men were in the line one could not be completely happy. But when
they came out and one went amongst them, there was nothing to
overcloud the pleasure of our intercourse. One day I rode over to a
battalion and found a lot of men sitting round the cookhouse. We had a
long talk about the war, and they asked me to recite my war limericks.
I spent the evening with the O.C. of a battery and the night, on my
return, was very dark. One of the battalions had been paid off that
afternoon, and the men, who as usual had been celebrating the event in
an estaminet, were in boisterous spirits. It was so hard to make my
way through the crowd that Dandy got nervous and unmanageable. A young
fellow who recognized me in the dark came up and asked me if I should
like him to lead the horse down the road. I gratefully accepted his
offer. He walked beside me till we came to a bridge, and then he told
me that he had been very much interested in religion since he came to
the war, and was rather troubled over the fact that he had never been
baptised. He said he had listened to my limericks that day, and while
he was listening had determined to speak to me about his baptism. I
arranged to prepare him, and, before the battalion started north, I
baptised him in the C.O.'s. room in a farmhouse. The Adjutant acted as
his godfather. I do not know where the lad is now, or how he fared in
the war, but someday I hope I shall hear from him again. It was often
very difficult, owing to the numbers of men one was meeting, and the
many changes that were continually taking place, to keep track of the
lives of individuals. The revelations of the religious experiences (p. 123)
and the needs of the human soul, which came over and over again from
conversations with men, were always of the greatest help to a chaplain,
and made him feel that, in spite of many discouragements and much
indifference, there was always some soul asking for spiritual help.
The Headquarters of our Division were now at a place called Hooggraaf.
It consisted of a few small houses and a large school kept by nuns.
Huts were run up for the officers and, at a little distance down the
road, a home was built for "C" mess. At one side were some Armstrong
canvas huts, one of which was mine. It was a pleasant place, and being
back from the road was free from dust. Green fields, rich in grain,
spread in all directions. It was at Hooggraaf that the Engineers built
me a church, and a big sign over the door proclaimed it to be "St.
George's Church." It was first used on Easter Day, which in 1916 fell
on the Festival of St. George, and we had very hearty services.
Poperinghe, only two miles away, became our city of refuge. Many of
our units had their headquarters there, and the streets were filled
with our friends. We had many pleasant gatherings there in an estaminet
which became a meeting place for officers. The Guards Division, among
other troops, were stationed in Poperinghe, so there was much variety
of life and interest in the town. "Talbot House," for the men, and the
new Officer's Club, presided over by Neville Talbot, were centres of
interest. The gardens at the back made very pleasant places for an
after-dinner smoke. There were very good entertainments in a theatre
every evening, where "The Follies," a theatrical company of Imperial
soldiers, used to perform. Poperinghe was even at that time damaged by
shells, but since then it has suffered more severely. The graceful
spire, which stood up over the plain with its outline against the sky,
has luckily been preserved. We had some very good rest billets for the
men in the area around Hooggraaf. They consisted of collections of
large wooden huts situated in different places, and called by special
names. "Scottish Lines," "Connaught Lines," and "Patricia Lines," were
probably the most comfortable. In fact, all along the various roads
which ran through our area different units made their homes.
Our military prison was in a barn about a mile from Headquarters. I
used to go there for service every Monday afternoon at six o'clock. By
that time, the men had come back from work. They slept on shelves, (p. 124)
one over another. The barn was poorly lighted, and got dark early in
the afternoon. The first time I took service there, I was particularly
anxious that everything should be done as nicely as possible, so that
the men would not think they had come under the ban of the church.
Most of their offences were military ones. The men therefore were not
criminals in the ordinary sense of the term. I brought my surplice,
scarf and hymn books, and I told the men that I wanted them to sing.
They lay on the shelves with only their heads and shoulders visible. I
told them that I wanted the service to be hearty, and asked them to
choose the first hymn. A voice from one of the shelves said--
"Here we suffer grief and pain."
A roar of laughter went up from the prisoners, in which I joined
heartily.
At the front, we held Hill 60 and the trenches to the south of it. In
a railway embankment, a series of dugouts furnished the Brigade that
was in the line with comfortable billets. The Brigadier's abode had a
fireplace in it. One of the dugouts was used as a morgue, in which
bodies were kept till they could be buried. A man told me that one
night when he had come down from the line very late, he found a dugout
full of men wrapped in their blankets, every one apparently asleep.
Without more ado, he crawled in amongst them and slept soundly till
morning. When he awoke, he found to his horror that he had slept all
night among the dead men in the morgue. There was a cemetery at
Railway Dugouts, which was carefully laid out. Beyond this there was
another line of sandbag homes on one side of a large pond called
"Zillebeke Lake." They were used by other divisions.
From Railway Dugouts, by paths and then by communication trenches, one
made one's way up to Hill 60 and the other parts of the front line,
where the remains of a railway crossed the hill. Our dugouts were on
the east side of it, and the line itself was called "Lover's Lane".
The brick arch of a bridge which crossed the line was part of our
front.
One day I was asked by a British chaplain, who was ordered south, to
accompany him on a trip he was making to his brother's grave at Hooge.
He wished to mark it by a cross. As the place was in full view of the
Germans, we had to visit it before dawn. I met my friend at 2.30 a.m.
in the large dugout under the Ramparts at Ypres. We started off with
two runners, but one managed most conveniently to lose us and (p. 125)
returned home. The other accompanied us all the way. It was a weird
expedition. The night was partly cloudy, and faint moonlight struggled
through the mist which shrouded us. The runner went first, and the
Padre, who was a tall man, followed, carrying the cross on his
shoulder. I brought up the rear. In the dim light, my friend looked
like some allegorical figure from "Pilgrim's Progress". Occasionally
we heard the hammering of a machine-gun, and we would lie down till
the danger was past. We skirted the grim borders of Sanctuary Wood,
and made our way to Hooge. There my friend got out his map to find, if
possible, the place where he had buried his brother. He sat down in a
large shell hole, and turned his flashlight upon the paper. It was
difficult to find the location, because the place had recently been
the scene of a hard struggle. The guide and I looked over the ground
and we found a line of graves marked by broken crosses. The night was
fast passing and in the grey of the eastern sky the stars were going
out one by one. At last my friend found the spot he was looking for
and there he set up the cross, and had a short memorial service for
the dead. On our return, we passed once more by Sanctuary Wood, and in
the daylight looked into the place torn and battered by shells and
reeking with the odours of unburied bodies.
We parted at Zillebeke Bund, and I made my way to Railway Dugouts. It
was a lovely morning and the air was so fresh that although I had been
walking all night I did not feel tired. The 3rd Battalion was holding
the line just behind a piece of ground which was called the "Bean and
Pollock." It was supposed that the Germans had mined the place and
that an explosion might be expected at any minute. One company had
built a rustic arbour, which they used as their mess-room. The bright
sun shone through the green boughs overhead. There was intermittent
shelling, but nothing to cause us any worry. I stayed till late in the
afternoon, when I made my way towards the rear of Hill 60. There I
found the 14th Battalion which was in reserve. They told me that the
16th Battalion in the line was going to blow up a mine that night, and
offered to give me a dugout if I would stay for the festivities. I
gladly accepted, and just before midnight made my way to a dugout that
had just been completed. I was told that there was a bed in it with a
wire mattress. When I got into the dugout, I lit a candle, and found
to my astonishment that the place was full of men lying on the (p. 126)
bed and the floor. They offered to get out but I told them not to
think of it. So we lit another candle, and had a very pleasant time
until the mine went up. We heard a fearful explosion, and the ground
rocked as it does in an earthquake. It was not long before the Germans
retaliated, and we heard the shells falling round us. At daybreak I
went up to the line to see the result of the explosion. A large crater
had been made in No Man's Land, but for some reason or other the side
of our trench had been blown back upon our own men and there were many
casualties.
I stayed in the trenches all afternoon, and on my way back went to an
artillery observation post on a hill which was crowned by the ruins of
an old mill. The place was called Verbranden Molen. Here I found a young
artillery officer on duty. The day was so clear that we were able to
spread out a map before us on the ground and with our glasses look up
every point named on the sheet. We looked far over to the North and saw
the ruins of Wieltje. Ypres lay to the left, and we could see Zillebeke,
Sanctuary Wood, High Wood, Square Wood, and Hooge. The light reflected
from our glasses must have been seen by some German sniper, for suddenly
we heard the crack of bullets in the hedge behind us and we hastily
withdrew to the dugout. As I walked back down the road I came to one of
the posts of the motor-machine-gunners who were there on guard. They were
just having tea outside and kindly invited me to join them. We had a
delightful conversation on poetry and literature, but were prepared to
beat a hasty retreat into the dugout in case the Germans took to
shelling the road, which they did every evening.
Railway Dugouts was always a pleasant place to visit, there were so
many men there. As one passed up and down the wooden walk which ran
the length of the embankment there were many opportunities of meeting
one's friends. On the other side of it, however, which was exposed to
the German shells, the men frequently had a hard time in getting up to
the line.
There were several interesting chateaus in the neighbourhood. That
nearest to the front was called Bedford House, and stood in what must
have been once very beautiful grounds. The upper part of the house was
in ruins, but the cellars were deep and capacious and formed a good
billet for the officers and men. At one side there was a dressing
station and in the garden were some huts protected by piles of sand
bags.
A chateau that was well-known in the Salient lay a little to the (p. 127)
west of Bedford House. It was called Swan Chateau, from the fact
that a large white swan lived on the artificial lake in the grounds. I
never saw the swan myself, but the men said it had been wounded in the
wing and had lost an eye. It was long an object of interest to many
battalions that at different times were housed in the chateau. One day
the swan disappeared. It was rumoured that a hungry Canadian battalion
had killed it for food. On the other hand, it was said that it had
been taken to some place of safety to prevent its being killed. There
was something very poetical in the idea of this beautiful bird living
on through the scene of desolation, like the spirit of the world that
had passed away. It brought back memories of the life that had gone,
and the splendour of an age which had left Ypres forever.