MY SEARCH IS REWARDED.
We had now reached the middle of November, and the 4th Division was
expected to come north very soon. My only chance of finding my son's
body lay in my making a journey to Albert before his battalion moved
away. I woke up one morning and determined that I would start that
day. I told Ross to get my trench clothes and long boots ready, for I
was going to Albert. At luncheon my friends asked me how I proposed to
travel, for Albert was nearly fifty miles away. I told them that the
Lord would provide, and sallied off down the road with my knapsack,
thoroughly confident that I should be able to achieve my purpose. An
ambulance picked me up and took me to the Four Winds cross-roads, and
then a lorry carried me to Aubigny. I went to the field canteen to get
some cigarettes, and while there I met a Canadian Engineer officer
whom I knew. We talked about many things, and as we were leaving I
told him that I was going forth in faith as I hoped to get to Albert
that evening. I said, "You know my motto is 'The Lord will provide'."
As we walked along we came to a turn in the road, where we saw at a
little distance a side-car with a driver all ready. I said to my
friend, "It is just the thing I want. I think I will go to the owner
of that car and say to him that the Lord has provided it for me." He
burst out laughing and said, "I am the owner of that car, and you may
have it." I thanked him and started off. It was a long ride, and at
the end a very wet and muddy one, but I got to Tara Hill that evening
and had dinner at General Thacker's Headquarters. I told the officers
there of the purpose of my visit, that I was going up to the front
line the next morning, and asked if they would telephone to one of the
batteries and tell the O.C. that I should arrive some time in the
middle of the night. The Brigade Major of course tried to dissuade me,
but I told him that I was going in any case, that he was not
responsible for my actions, but that if he liked to make thing easier
for me he could. He quite understood the point, and telephoned to the
11th Battery. I then went back to the reserve headquarters of the 4th
Division in the town, and prepared myself for the journey. When I had
to make an early start in the morning, I always shaved the night (p. 155)
before, because I thought that, of all the officers, the chaplain
should look the freshest and cleanest. I was in the middle of the
process of shaving, and some staff officers were making chocolate for
our supper, when a German plane came over and dropped a huge bomb in
the garden. It was about one a.m., and we could not help laughing at
the surprise the Germans would have felt if they could have seen our
occupation going on quite undisturbed by their attempt to murder us.
About half-past one, I started up the street which led to the Bapaume
road. The moon was shining, and I could see every object distinctly.
Near our old Headquarters I got a lift in a lorry, which took me
almost to Pozieres. There I got out and proceeded on my way alone. I
entered the Y.M.C.A. hut and had a good strong cup of coffee, and
started off afresh. That lonely region in the moonlight with the
ruined village to one side and the fields stretching far away on
either hand gave me an eerie feeling. I came upon four dead horses
which had been killed that evening. To add to the strangeness of the
situation, there was a strong scent of tear-gas in the air, which made
my eyes water. Not a living soul could I see in the long white road.
Suddenly I heard behind me the sound of a troop of horses. I turned
and saw coming towards me one of the strangest sights I have ever
seen, and one which fitted in well with the ghostly character of the
surroundings. It was a troop of mounted men carrying ammunition. They
wore their gas masks, and as they came nearer, and I could see them
more distinctly in the moonlight, the long masks with their two big
glass eye-pieces gave the men a horse-like appearance. They looked
like horses upon horses, and did not seem to be like human beings at
all. I was quite glad when they had passed. I walked on till I came to
what was known as Centre Way. It was a path, sometimes with bath-mats
on it, which led across the fields down to the battery positions in
the valley. Huge shell holes, half filled with water, pitted the
fields in every direction, and on the slippery wood I had great
difficulty to keep from sliding into those which were skirted by the
path. Far off beyond Courcellette I saw the German flare-lights and
the bursting of shells. It was a scene of vast desolation, weird
beyond description. I had some difficulty when I got into the trench
at the end of Centre Way, in finding the 11th Battery. The ground had
been ploughed by shells and the trenches were heavy with soft and
clinging mud. At last I met a sentry who told me where the O.C.'s (p. 156)
dugout was. It was then about half-past three in the morning, but I
went down the steps, and there, having been kindly welcomed, was given
a blanket on the floor. I started at 6 a.m. with a young sergeant for
Death Valley, where I was to get a runner to take me to Regina Trench.
The sergeant was a splendid young fellow from Montreal who had won the
D.C.M., and was most highly thought of in the battery. He was
afterwards killed on Vimy Ridge, where I buried him in the cemetery
near Thelus. I had been warned that we were going to make a
bombardment of the enemy's lines that morning, and that I ought to be
out of the way before that began. I left the sergeant near
Courcellette and made my way over to the Brigade Headquarters which
were in a dugout in Death Valley. There with the permission of his
O.C., a runner volunteered to come with me. He brought a spade, and we
started down the trench to the front line. When I got into Regina
Trench, I found that it was impossible to pass along it, as one sank
down so deeply into the heavy mud. I had brought a little sketch with
me of the trenches, which showed the shell hole where it was supposed
that the body had been buried. The previous night a cross had been
placed there by a corporal of the battalion before it left the front
line. No one I spoke to, however, could tell me the exact map location
of the place where it stood. I looked over the trenches, and on all
sides spread a waste of brown mud, made more desolate by the morning
mist which clung over everything. I was determined, however, not to be
baffled in my search, and told the runner who was with me that, if I
stayed there six months, I was not going to leave till I had found
that grave. We walked back along the communication trench and turned
into one on the right, peering over the top every now and then to see
if we could recognize anything corresponding to the marks on our map.
Suddenly the runner, who was looking over the top, pointed far away to
a lonely white cross that stood at a point where the ground sloped
down through the mist towards Regina Trench. At once we climbed out of
the trench and made our way over the slippery ground and past the deep
shell holes to where the white cross stood out in the solitude. We
passed many bodies which were still unburied, and here and there were
bits of accoutrement which had been lost during the advance. When we
came up to the cross I read my son's name upon it, and knew that I had
reached the object I had in view. As the corporal who had placed (p. 157)
the cross there had not been quite sure that it was actually on the
place of burial, I got the runner to dig the ground in front of it. He
did so, but we discovered nothing but a large piece of a shell. Then I
got him to try in another place, and still we could find nothing. I
tried once again, and after he had dug a little while he came upon
something white. It was my son's left hand, with his signet ring upon
it. They had removed his identification disc, revolver and
pocket-book, so the signet ring was the only thing which could have
led to his identification. It was really quite miraculous that we
should have made the discovery. The mist was lifting now, and the sun
to the East was beginning to light up the ground. We heard the crack
of bullets, for the Germans were sniping us. I made the runner go down
into a shell hole, while I read the burial service, and then took off
the ring. I looked over the ground where the charge had been made.
There lay Regina Trench, and far beyond it, standing out against the
morning light, I saw the villages of Pys and Miraumont which were our
objective. It was a strange scene of desolation, for the November
rains had made the battle fields a dreary, sodden waste. How many of
our brave men had laid down their lives as the purchase price of that
consecrated soil! Through the centuries to come it must always remain
sacred to the hearts of Canadians. We made a small mound where the
body lay, and then by quick dashes from shell hole to shell hole we
got back at last to the communication trench, and I was indeed
thankful to feel that my mission had been successful. I have received
letters since I returned to Canada from the kind young fellow, who
accompanied me on the journey, and I shall never cease to be grateful
to him. I left him at his headquarters in Death Valley, and made my
way past Courcellette towards the road. As the trench was very muddy,
I got out of it, and was walking along the top when I came across
something red on the ground. It was a piece of a man's lung with the
windpipe attached. I suppose some poor lad had had a direct hit from a
shell and his body had been blown to pieces. The Germans were shelling
the road, so with some men I met we made a detour through the fields
and joined it further on, and finally got to the chalk-pit where the
87th Battalion was waiting to go in again to the final attack. I was
delighted to see my friends once more, and they were thankful that I
had been able to find the grave. Not many days afterwards, some of
those whom I then met were called themselves to make the supreme (p. 158)
sacrifice. I spent that night at the Rear Headquarters of the 4th
Division, and they kindly sent me back the next day to Camblain l'Abbe
in one of their cars.
On November 24th I received a telegram saying that a working party of
one of the battalions of the 4th Division had brought my son's body
back, and so on the following day I motored once again to Albert and
laid my dear boy to rest in the little cemetery on Tara Hill, which he
and I had seen when he was encamped near it, and in which now were the
bodies of some of his friends whom I had met on my last visit. I was
thankful to have been able to have him buried in a place which is
known and can be visited, but I would say to the many parents whose
sons lie now in unknown graves, that, after all, the grave seems to be
a small and minor thing in view of the glorious victory and triumphant
life which is all that really matters. If I had not been successful in
my quest, I should not have vexed my soul with anxious thought as to
what had become of that which is merely the earthly house of the
immortal spirit which goes forth into the eternal. Let those whose
dear ones lie in unrecorded graves remember that the strong, glad
spirits--like Valiant for Truth in "Pilgrim's Progress"--have passed
through the turbulent waters of the river of death, and "all the
trumpets have sounded for them on the other side."
In June of the following year, when the Germans had retired after our
victory at Vimy Ridge, I paid one more visit to Regina Trench. The
early summer had clothed the waste land in fresh and living green.
Larks were singing gaily in the sunny sky. No sound of shell or gun
disturbed the whisper of the breeze as it passed over the
sweet-smelling fields. Even the trenches were filling up and Mother
Nature was trying to hide the cruel wounds which the war had made upon
her loving breast. One could hardly recall the visions of gloom and
darkness which had once shrouded that scene of battle. In the healing
process of time all mortal agonies, thank God, will be finally
obliterated.