IN FRONT OF ARRAS.
_April, 1918._
Etrun was a convenient place for a headquarters. My hut was
comfortable, and the tree that grew beside it stretched its
thickly-leaved boughs over it, as though wishing to protect it from
the sight of enemy planes. Visitors were always welcome. In the garden
were many other huts, and a path led to the churchyard in which stood
the old church. It was strongly built, but very crudely furnished, and
spoke of many generations of humble worshippers to whom it was the
gate of heaven. On one side of the garden was a stream, which turned a
quaint mill-wheel, and an island in the stream, connected with the
banks by a bridge, made a pleasant resort. A little nest of beauty,
such as Etrun was, in the midst of the war, most restful to the soul,
especially after a visit to the line. Of course, we had to be careful
about screening all lights, for a shell landed one night in a hut
opposite mine. Luckily the shell was a "dud". Had it not been, my
sergeant, groom, and batman would have been no more, for it burrowed
its way into the ground under the floor of their abode, as they were
having supper.
On one occasion about one in the morning, we were awakened from sleep
by three terrific explosions. They sounded close, so I thought that
some of our men might have been hit. I got up and went off to see
where the shells had landed. The quaint old hamlet lay silent in the
moonlight, and not a soul was stirring. I went down one of the narrow
streets, and met a tall figure in black coming towards me. It was the
Cure, who was bent on a similar mission, fearing that some of his
people had been wounded. We went round the place together until we met
a man coming up the road, who told us that a bomb had struck the
railway bridge and exploded two mines which we had in readiness in
case the Germans were to make an advance. The bridge had been
completely shattered, but luckily our sentries there had escaped. The
Cure and I then parted and went back to our beds.
It was a great treat for our men who were billeted in villages in (p. 249)
the Scarpe Valley to have plenty of water, and in the various
mill-ponds they found swimming-places. Our front line at this time
extended for quite a long distance north and south of the Scarpe. In
fact the river acted for a short distance as No Man's Land. On the
north of the Scarpe were the ruins of the village of Fampoux, and on
the south those of Feuchy. How well our men will remember the towns of
Maroeil, Anzin, St. Nicholas and St. Aubin. I used to go off across
the meadow lands, now bright and fresh with spring verdure, till I got
to the St. Eloi road, and then by jumping lorries would make my way to
St. Nicholas and on to Cam Valley. On the east side of the valley were
quaint dugouts which were occupied by the battalion in reserve. A path
up the valley led to the communication trench, and finally down
Pudding Lane to Pudding Trench. The ground was elevated, so that from
one of the trenches which led down towards Fampoux I was able to see
with my glasses the country behind the German lines. I saw quite
distinctly one day the spires of Douai, and in another direction on a
hillside I could make out a railway train which must have been
carrying German troops. I had many interesting walks through the
trenches, and slept there several times. On one occasion I took
Alberta with me, but she would persist in going off into No Man's Land
hunting for rats. The arrival of a minnenwerfer, however, gave her a
great fright and made her jump back into the trench with alacrity,
much to the amusement of the men, who said that she knew the use of
trenches.
One day I went down the trench which led into Fampoux. Whizzbangs were
falling every now and then, so the men were keeping low. At one place
there was a good view of the German lines. An officer and a sergeant
stood there looking through their glasses and pointed out to me a spot
in the hillside opposite where we could see a number of the enemy.
They came out of one trench, crossed the road, and went down into
another. The officer told me that he had counted over a hundred that
day. I asked him why he did not telephone to Battalion Headquarters to
inform the artillery. He told me he had no telephone. Then I said,
"Why don't you send a runner?" He explained that Fampoux was occupied
as an outpost, and that no runners were allowed to be sent from there
during the daytime; orders to this effect being very strict. "I am not
a runner," I said, "and I am not in your Battalion. If you will give
me the map-location of the place where you think the Germans are (p. 250)
congregating, I will take it back with me to the liaison officer at
Battalion Headquarters." He was very pleased with my offer, because at
this time we were daily expecting a big attack upon our lines. To get
back we had to crawl down a steep place in the trench, which was in
view of the Germans, until at last we reached the cellar of a ruined
house which the O.C. of the company used as a billet. He got out his
maps and gave me the exact location of the road and trenches where the
Germans had been seen to pass, and where apparently they were massing.
I got him to write down the map-location carefully on a piece of
paper, and then, armed with this and feeling very important, I started
back, this time avoiding the trench and going up the Fampoux road on
the side of which there was some torn and broken camouflage. I came
across a steel helmet by the wayside with part of a man's head in it,
and the road had been pretty well battered by shells, but I felt
exceedingly proud at being able to do something which might possibly
avert an attack upon our men. I went on till at last I saw in the
hillside the beginning of a trench, and made my way up this to Pudding
lane and found Battalion Headquarters. The Artillery officer had been
having a quiet time and was delighted at the prospect of ordering a
"shoot." At once he telephoned back to the brigade, and not long
after, when the quiet sun was setting in the West, a most terrific
bombardment of artillery, both field and heavy, smashed the German
trenches on the hill opposite. The headquarters men and I looked over
the valley and saw the line of bursting shells. Much to their
amusement, I told them that this was my music, that I had ordered the
shoot. I felt like the fly on the axle of a cart, who said to his
companion fly, "Look at the dust we are making."
On another occasion, I was filled with almost equal pride, when,
meeting on the roadside a company of men who were going into the
trenches for the first time and were waiting for a guide, I offered my
services and actually led the company of young heroes into the
trenches myself. The humour of the situation was so palpable that the
men felt as if they were going to a picnic.
The trenches on the Feuchy side of the Scarpe were well made, and led
up to the higher ground to the east of Arras, where they joined the
lines of a Scots Division. At one point we saw in No Man's Land a
lonely tent, which I was told had been occupied by a British chaplain
before we had been driven back. I paid a most enjoyable visit to (p. 251)
the engineers in Arras and stayed at Battalion Headquarters. They were
in a large and comfortable house in the Place St. Croix. In the dining
room we had a grate fire, a rug on the floor, and several easy chairs.
A most sumptuous dinner was served, and one could scarcely believe
that we were in a war.
The men of the battalion were billeted in the deep cellars under a row
of houses at the end of the Grande Place. Some of these houses dated
back to the time of the Spanish occupation, so the cellars must have
been very ancient. They were vaulted in stone and were connected
together by passages, so they were not only quite safe from shells but
were exceedingly interesting and picturesque. We had several services
for the men and one for a field ambulance which made its home in the
Deaf and Dumb Asylum. In a large room in the Asylum there was a good
piano, so it enabled us to use the place at one time as a church and
at another as a ballroom. There was a strange charm about dear old
Arras which is quite indescribable. In spite of the ruined buildings
and the damaged grass-grown streets, there was the haunting beauty of
a quiet medievalism about the city. The narrow streets, the pleasant
gardens hidden behind the houses, spoke of an age that had passed.
Arras has been the centre of interest in many wars, and Julius Caesar
made his headquarters there in B.C. 65. The river Scarpe has carried
to the sea many memories of hostile hosts that have fought along its
banks. To walk back from the dressing station in the small hours of
the morning, when the moon was shining on the silent and half-ruined
streets and squares, was a weird experience. Surely, if ghosts ever
haunt the scenes of their earthly life, I must have had many unseen
companions with me on such occasions. There were still two or three
shops in the place where souvenirs and other small articles were sold
to the men, and there were hoards of champagne and other wines in some
of the cellars, but only a few of the inhabitants remained and they
lived hidden lives in the underground retreats.
Our Division, however, was soon moved from Etrun to Chateau d'Acq,
where I arrived at four one morning after a visit to the trenches. I
found my billet in an Armstrong hut. The people who had occupied the
Chateau since we were there must have experienced an air raid, because
extraordinary precautions had been taken to guard against bombs. I lit
my lamp and found that the bed was surrounded on all sides by a (p. 252)
wall composed of two thicknesses of sandbags. When I got down Into it
I felt as if I were in a grave. In the morning I got my batman to
remove the fortification, as I thought there was no occasion to
anticipate the sensations of being buried. However, at night I often
heard German aeroplanes overhead, and it was a relief when their
intermittent buzzing died off into the distance.
We were now a long way from the front line, but by jumping lorries I
was still able to go forward and visit the slums. On returning from
such a visit one afternoon I suffered a great loss. The order had gone
out some time before that all stray dogs were to be shot, and many
poor little four-footed souls were sent into whatever happy land is
reserved for the race which has been the earliest and best friend of
man. I had kept a sharp lookout on Alberta, but I never dreamt that
anyone would shoot her. However, that evening while I was getting
ready to go off to Ecoivres, and Alberta was playing in front of my
hut, the sergeant of the police, carried her off, unknown to me, and
ordered a man to shoot her. When I came out from my hut, and whistled
for my faithful friend, I was told that she had been condemned to
death. I could hardly believe it; but to my dismay I found that it was
only too true, and the poor little dog, who was known all over the
Division and had paid many visits to the trenches, was not only shot
but buried. Filled with righteous anger, I had the body disinterred
and a proper grave dug for it in front of a high tree which stands on
a hill at the back of the grounds. There, surrounded by stones, is the
turf-covered mound, and on the tree is nailed a white board with this
epitaph neatly painted in black:--
HERE LIES ALBERTA
of Albert
Shot April 24th, 1918.
The dog that by a cruel end
Now sleeps beneath this tree,
Was just the little dog and friend
God wanted her to be.
Alberta, much respected in life, was honoured in death, for nearly all
the men at Headquarters were present when she was buried, and one of
them told me that at a word from me they would lay out the police. (p. 253)
I should have liked to have given the word, but I told them that we
had a war on with the Germans, and that we had better not start
another till it was finished. On the following day the board with the
epitaph was placed in position in the presence of a Brigadier-General
and our kind-hearted and sympathetic C.R.E. I was so filled with
indignation at the loss of my companion, who, wherever I tied up
Dandy, would always mount guard over him and allow no one to approach
him, that I determined to seek a billet away from Headquarters, and
near the front. However, this intention was frustrated a day or two
later by an order which came through for our Division to go into rest
at a place called Le Cauroy, not far from the town of Frevent, and
about 15 kilometres to the southwest of Chateau d'Acq.