OUR HOME AT CAMBLAIN L'ABBE.
_November and December, 1916._
From Roellencourt we moved up to our new headquarters in the Chateau
at Camblain l'Abbe, which, after we left it in December, was long the
home of the Canadian Corps. I had an Armstrong hut under the trees in
the garden, and after it was lined with green canvas, and divided into
two by green canvas curtains, it was quite artistic and very
comfortable. Opposite the Chateau we had a large French hut which was
arranged as a cinema. The band of the 3rd Battalion was stationed in
town and gave us a concert every evening, also playing at our services
on Sundays. After the concert was over I used to announce a "rum
issue" at half-past nine in the building. The men knew what it meant,
and a good number would stay behind. Then I would give them a talk on
temperance, astronomy, literature or any subject about which I thought
my audience knew less than I. We generally finished up by singing some
well-known evening hymn. Very pleasant were the entertainments we had
in that old cinema. One night, before a battalion was going up to the
line, I proposed we should have a dance. The band furnished the music,
and the men had one of the most enjoyable evenings they had ever had.
Camblain l'Abbe was not a large place, so we were cramped for room,
and a Nissen hut had to be built for "C" mess.
My little friend Philo had been stolen on our march, so his place was
taken now by a brindle bull terrier which had been born in Albert. I
called her "Alberta" and as time went on she became a well-known
figure in the First Division. She often accompanied me on my walks to
the trenches, and one day was out in No Man's Land when a minnenwerfer
burst. Alberta did not wait for the bits to come down, but made one
dive into the trench, to the amusement of the men, who said she knew
the use of the trenches. She was my constant companion till her
untimely end in 1918.
The country round about Camblain l'Abbe was very peaceful and pretty,
and the road to the left from the Chateau gave one a fine view of the
towers of Mont St. Eloi, which were not then damaged by shells. The
two towers and the front wall of the old abbey were a striking (p. 150)
object against the horizon, and could be seen for miles around. They
made a beautiful picture in the distance when seen at sunset from the
trenches beyond Arras. Those two towers must stand out in the foreground
of all the memories which Canadians have of that region which was so
long their war-home. As far as I could learn, Mont St. Eloi had been
the site of an old monastery which had been destroyed in the French
Revolution, the towers and the walls of the church alone surviving.
The farms of the monastery had passed to secular ownership, but were
rich and well cultivated. A spiral stone staircase led up to an
observation post at the top of one of the towers. The place was visible
from the German lines, and till we had taken Vimy Ridge no one was
allowed to climb the tower unless on duty.
Our trenches now were extremely quiet, and were a pleasant contrast to
those we had left on the Somme. The whole Corps had only a few
casualties each day. The spirits of the men, who had been under a
heavy strain, were now completely restored. Our Corps Headquarters at
this time were at the beautiful Chateau of Ranchicourt, where they
were very comfortably settled, the country round about being hilly,
richly wooded and well watered. We had church parades in the cinema,
and I often wished that the people at home could have heard the
singing of the men when we had some favourite hymn which the band
accompanied. Every morning I had a celebration of the Holy Communion
there, and sometimes had a good congregation. One night I was talking
to some men in a cookhouse on the opposite side of the village and I
announced the service. When I was leaving, one of the men followed me
and asked me if I would speak to his officer for him and get him sent
back to some quiet job. He told me that he had once had an attack of
nervous prostration, caused by the shock of his father's sudden death,
and that he could not stand life in the trenches. He seemed very much
upset, and I felt that perhaps it would be wise to get him out of the
line, but I could not avoid a sense of disappointment in the midst of
my pity. He told me that he had been confirmed, but had never made his
Communion and was coming to my service the next morning. I promised I
would speak to his officer and went off.
The next morning, the man was at the service, and after the others
left, waited to speak to me. I thought he wanted to remind me of my
promise. But, instead of that, he came up and said to me, "I don't (p. 151)
want you to speak to my officer, Sir, God has given me strength to
carry on. I have determined to do so and go over the top with the
others." I was delighted to see the change in him. It meant everything
to him and was one of the turning points in his life. Whatever the
future had in store, it was the man's victory over himself, and I gave
him a glad handshake and told him how proud I was of him. Months
afterwards, after the taking of Vimy Ridge, I was passing down the
lines of his battalion, which was in tents near the La Targette road,
when the young fellow came running up to me, his face radiant with
smiles, and told me he had been through all the fighting and had gone
over the top with the boys, and that it wasn't half so bad as he had
thought. In the spring of 1919, I was going into the Beaver Hut in the
Strand one day, when a young fellow came up to me and thanked me for
what I had done for him in the war. I did not recognize him and asked
him what I had done for him, and he told me he was the man who had
been at that service in Camblain l'Abbe and had been through all the
fighting ever since and had come out without a scratch. I met similar
instances in which the human will, by the help of God, was able to
master itself and come out victorious. Once at Bracquemont a man came
to my billet and asked me to get him taken out of his battalion, and
sent to some work behind the lines. He told me his mother and sisters
knew his nerves were weak and had always taken special care of him. He
said that up to this time God had been very good to him in answering
his prayer that he might not have to go over the parapet. I asked him
what right he had to pray such a prayer. He was really asking God to
make another man do what he would not do himself. The prayer was
selfish and wrong, and he could not expect God to answer it. The right
prayer to pray was that, if he was called to go over the parapet God
would give him strength to do his duty. He seemed quite surprised at
the new light which was thus thrown upon the performance of what he
considered his religious duties. Then I told him that he had the
chance of his life to make himself a man. If in the past he had been
more or less a weakling, he could now, by the help of God, rise up in
the strength of his manhood and become a hero. His mother and sisters
no doubt had loved him and taken care of him in the past, but they
would love him far more if he did his duty now, "For", I said, "All
women love a brave man." I told him to take as his text, "I can do all
things through Christ which strengtheneth me," and I made him (p. 152)
repeat it after me several times. I saw that the young fellow was
pulling himself together, and he shook hands with me and told me he
would go up to the line and take his chance with the rest--and he did.
Later on, he was invalided to the Base with some organic disease. I do
not know where he is now, but he conquered; and like many another
soldier in the great crusade will be the better for all eternity for
his self-mastery.
On the road which led to Ranchicourt there was an interesting old
chateau at a place called Ohlain, which is mentioned by Dumas in "The
Three Musketeers." The chateau is surrounded by a large moat, and was
built in medieval times. It has a very fine tower, and some other old
buildings surrounding a little courtyard with a garden. The place is
entered by a drawbridge which in olden days used to be raised up
against the massive gateway by chains. One night I had service in the
courtyard at sunset, with the 16th Battalion. One could hardly imagine
a more picturesque setting for a war service in dear old France. At
one point, however, we were disturbed by the arrival of three men who
had been dining in an estaminet in the village, and coming
unexpectedly upon a church service were a little too hearty in their
religious fervour. They had to be guided to some quiet spot where they
might work it off in solitude. Incidents of that kind during voluntary
services were always a little embarrassing, for officers and men felt,
as well as myself, that under the softening influences of religion we
could not be over-hard on the transgressions of frail mortality.
Nothing but the direst necessity would compel us at such times to
resort to the process of military discipline.
Near Camblain l'Abbe, our ambulances were set up on an elevation of
the ground where two roads crossed. The place rejoiced in the name of
"The Four Winds", and anyone who has resided there for any length of
time feels that the title is an appropriate one. At times the wind
would sweep over the place, and, when rain was mingled with the gale,
it was rather an unpleasant corner. But the ambulances were
comfortable, and the patients were well looked after. Near by is the
little cemetery, where the bodies of many Canadians lie in peace.
Our life at Camblain l'Abbe, after the hard fighting at the Somme, was
really very pleasant, and the battalions were filled up with new
drafts from the Base. We felt that as the winter was approaching (p. 153)
there would probably be no hard fighting for some months. Special
pains were taken to provide concert parties in the different
battalions, so that the men might have amusement in the evening. It
was wonderful what talent was discovered in the various units. As I
look back upon some of those entertainments at the front I think I
never enjoyed anything more. Not only were the performers clever and
resourceful, but the audience was one that it was thrilling to sit
amongst. In the cinema the stage was well appointed and lighted with
electric lights; the costumes of the men, especially those who took
the part of ladies, were good and well made. The music, vocal and
instrumental, was all that could be desired. But the audience,
composed of hundreds of strong, keen, young men who had endured hard
things, and perhaps, in a few hours after the show, would be once
again facing death in the front trenches, was a sight never to be
forgotten. Could any performer ask for a more sympathetic hearing? Not
a joke was lost upon the men, not a gesture was unobserved; and when
some song with a well-known chorus was started, through the murky
atmosphere of cigarette smoke would rise a volume of harmony which
would fairly shake the building. I have often stood at the back and
listened to a splendid burst of song, which to me had an added charm
from the deep unconscious pathos of it all. Some of those men that
were joining in the rollicking ragtime tune were dying men. Some of
the eyes kindling with laughter at the broad farce of the play, within
a few hours would be gazing upon the mysteries behind the screen of
mortal life. The pathetic chorus of "A Long, Long Trail" always moved
me, and I wondered how many of those brave young hearts in the crowded
hall, now on "the long, long trail," would ever see again the land of
their dreams. I took good care not to let the men know that I was ever
moved by such sentimentalism. We were out to fight the Germans, and on
that one object we had to concentrate all our thoughts to the
obliteration of private emotions.