THE TREK THROUGH BELGIUM
My first experience of billeting was sufficient to prove the very
arbitrary character of the whole proceeding. Imagine some one hundred
and fifty men, and twelve officers, suddenly appearing in a small
outlying street of the far-famed Belgian city, at the untimely hour of 4
a.m., and all clamouring for a night's lodging. To begin with, it was
not an easy matter to arouse the slumbering people; and the billeting
party had to wait long before each door, ere slippered feet were heard
along passages, and drowsy voices inquired suspiciously as to our
business; then appeared more or less clad figures, who gazed anxiously
at the cloaked men standing at the door (for the Germans lay at the back
of every mind). However, the talismanic charm of 'Englishmen' did
wonders. It was 4.30 a.m. before I tumbled into an extremely comfortable
bed, and had barely laid my head upon the pillow--so it seemed--when a
great knocking at the door aroused me with a start from vivid dreams of
home, as an orderly entered the room with the alarming statement that
the column was moving off in ten minutes. It was seven o'clock, and I
felt inclined for another twelve hours in bed; there were no ablutions
that morning. A flying leap into my clothes; a most indiscriminate
packing of my valise, which I left my servant struggling with, in an
inexperienced attempt to roll it up correctly, and I swallowed a cup of
coffee which my kind hostess had provided for me (why is coffee always
so hot when one is in a hurry?), and I mounted my horse in the nick of
time to fall in with my column as it moved off.
It was a long weary march over a very flat country, intersected with
dykes, and only broken by the ubiquitous poplar trees; and one had ample
time to think, and sometimes doze, as we marched along on our
twenty-five mile trek. At the midday halt, a little diversion enlivened
the proceedings in the shape of pulling two bogged horses out of a
narrow cut where they had been 'watered.' We managed with the help of
ropes and planks to get the poor brutes on to terra firma again, more
dead than alive.
Then on and on, hour after hour, halting ten minutes each hour for a
needed breather and rest, until Ostend hove in sight. Visions of a
comfortable billet rose before one's luxurious mind, but no such luck;
right through the city we marched, finding the station square crammed
with terror-stricken and most wretched-looking refugees; until, some
four miles out, we lighted upon the most filthy and forsaken place to be
found on the map of civilization--Steene. The houses were so vile and
malodorous, that it was with great reluctance the O.C. allowed the men
to enter. By this time it was very dark and very cold, and it was with
purely animal instinct that we found the way to our mouths in the
darkness, and tried to make believe that we enjoyed the biscuit and
bully beef which formed our rations.
Then came the somewhat important question of where to sleep. I deemed
myself among the fortunate in securing a stretcher, and dossed in a
transport wagon; a tired man might have a worse bed than that, and I
slept the sleep of the weary and, as I would fain hope, of the
righteous.
The following morning, as it seemed likely that we should remain at
Steene for at least another day, I cast round for something more
comfortable in the way of a billet, and had secured three rooms at the
worthy Burgomaster's for the O.C., Mr. Jaffray and myself, and was about
to enjoy a more or less comfortable tea in the open, when an orderly
rode up with orders to trek back to Bruges.
In a few minutes the camp was struck, and once more we moved on. I felt
that I could enter into the spirit of the well-known refrain--
The brave old Duke of York,
He had ten thousand men.
He marched them up to the top of a hill,
And he marched them down again.
And when they were up, they were up;
And when they were down, they were down:
And when they were half-way up the hill,
They were neither up or down.
As we retraced our steps through Ostend, we found a large and acclaiming
crowd lining the route. As I rode just behind the Gordons, who were
marching with their usual swinging step, I was amused to hear a Belgian
woman ask her friend, 'And who are those?' pointing to the Highlanders.
'Oh,' was the reply, 'those are the wives of the English soldiers.' The
gay Gordons were greatly incensed on my setting before them their new
status.
In the centre of the city I came across my friend Peel (padré of the
22nd Brigade; he has since won a military cross, and gained the
universal love of his men by his gallant conduct and splendid ministry).
He had somehow or other lost his Brigade, and being thus stranded, had
slung his batman up behind him on his horse and was proceeding with
unruffled dignity in the direction of the line of march.
It was late at night and raining as it seldom rains in dear old England,
when we splashed ankle deep in water, over the cobbled streets of
Bruges, the stones being too slippery to permit of riding. Hungry and
tired we slouched along, until we came to the Monastery of St. Xavier,
at St. Michel, some two miles out of the city. Never shall I forget the
kindness extended to us by the lay brothers; especially one, Brother
Sylvester. I hope if these lines should ever reach his eye, that he will
accept the grateful thanks of those who benefited by the charitable
goodness of the Order, and especially his own.
The men were speedily billeted in sweet straw, laid down in the upper
dormitories of the building; whilst the hundred and twenty horses were
stalled in the spacious stables; and beds provided for the officers in
the dormitories. But what was better still, after the men had been
attended to (and this is the invariable rule, men first) we regaled
ourselves upon tea and bread and butter in the bakehouse, where, in
front of the huge fire, we toasted our benumbed extremities and dried
our sodden clothing. After such a night's rest, as only comes to
fagged-out men, we awoke to a golden-tinted autumn morning, which
brought to us the joy of living; and once more we felt ready for the
onward trek. I have since learned that the Division was originally
destined to relieve Antwerp, but the sudden fall of the city set the
enemy free to march on Calais; and so the Seventh Division, with the
Third Cavalry Division, under Sir Julian Byng, the whole commanded by
Sir Henry Rawlinson, was sent post haste to intercept his advance in the
neighbourhood of Ypres. And thus the small force of under thirty
thousand men pressed on to the heroic task of holding up the main body
of the enemy; not less than two hundred and forty thousand men.
Later on I shall have something to say about the prolonged encounter
which is historically known as the 'first battle of Ypres.' But
meantime it may be of interest to my readers to give an outline of our
rapid trek through Belgium.
Leaving our hospitable quarters at Bruges, the column, which seemed
interminable, marched to Beernem. At this place I was fortunate enough,
with my brother chaplain, Mr. Jaffray, through the forethought of Mr.
Peel, to secure a bed. The accommodation was rough, and the little
estaminet was crowded with officers, who were only too thankful to sleep
on any floor where there was a chance of putting down a valise. I
particularly remember this billet, for I thought that I had a chance of
distinguishing myself by capturing a spy. Orders had been issued,
stating that a certain 'Captain Walker,' posing as a R.A.M.C. officer,
was visiting our troops, and picking up stray crumbs of information;
should such a person be encountered he was to be immediately arrested. I
had just turned in, when amid the babel of conversation which came from
downstairs, I caught the name 'Walker.' Slipping quietly down the ladder
which served as a staircase, I listened for a moment or two at the door,
and from what I heard, gathered that I had spotted my man; and suddenly
appearing as an apparition in pyjamas, I inquired in somewhat stentorian
tones which was Captain Walker? A rosy-cheeked subaltern somewhat
sheepishly admitted that he was Lieut. Walker, and I found my hopes
dashed to the ground. This was not my only encounter with spies,
supposed or real, of which more anon.
A morning stay at Beernem enabled me to improvise a Parade Service, it
being Sunday; which was apparently heartily joined in by those
attending. The opportunities for such work by chaplains on the trek are
few and far between, and it is a question of
Seizing the current when it serves,
Or losing our ventures.
Leaving Beernem, our route led us through Wynghene. It was here I seized
the opportunity of displaying my undoubted ability as mess president, to
which post I had been appointed. At the midday halt in this village, I
was anxiously looking about for bread, eggs, vegetables or any other
commodity which would embellish the festal board of the mess, and thus
win the gratitude of my always hungry brother officers, when, through an
open door, I caught sight of fowls in a backyard. I promptly jumped off
my horse, and entered into negotiations with the owners of the chicken
run, which speedily resulted in the decapitated corpses of three plump
fowls being slung from my saddle. Amid the envy of the column, I proudly
rode down to the transport of my unit with my spoil, the result being
that in a short time not a fowl remained alive in the village; and that
night every mess was redolent with the delicious scent of roast fowl.
Our next billet was at Eeghem, where a stone kitchen floor was the
utmost we could secure for the officers, after having bedded the men in
barns on luxurious beds of sweet straw. In the early morning, in company
with Mr. Peel, I enjoyed a brief stroll in the neighbourhood. In the
course of our walk we passed one of those small wayside chapels, which
are dotted here and there all over Belgium; not larger than some eight
feet square, it offered all the facilities that we needed for prayer and
quiet thought.
As we approached Roulers, we found the town alive with people who had
assembled to welcome that which they regarded as an army of deliverance
from the dreaded Germans.
After billeting the officers with considerable difficulty--for naturally
people at times resented the intrusion of hungry and travel-stained men
into their spic and span houses--I secured a most comfortable room for
myself in the house of an old widow lady; one of those charming old
world persons who are occasionally met with on life's journey, and who,
by their innate courtesy and sympathy, accentuate the oneness of the
human family. When a country is under martial law one cannot, of course,
take 'no' for an answer in applying for a billet, and therefore, in the
case of Belgium, one made the demand with the authority of 'in the
king's name,' which invariably brought about the desired result. My dear
old hostess could not do enough for me; with quavering accents she
remarked, 'Thank God you English have come, for now we feel safe.' I
must confess I felt very much of a hypocrite, for I knew that the enemy
was pursuing us in hot haste. Indeed, a few hours afterwards they
marched into the city, which they have held ever since.
As we pressed on to Ypres, via Zonnebec, our route ran alongside of the
railway, and it was a stirring sight to see the naval armoured train
dash along, seeking for a pot shot at the enemy who was not far distant,
the sailors forming the crew regarding the work as a sporting venture.
The first view of Ypres was glorious. As we marched through the great
square in front of the Cloth Hall, I was struck with the mediæval aspect
of the place. The gabled houses carried one's imagination into the long
ago; whilst the glorious Cloth Hall of the eleventh century, backed up
by the equally fine cathedral of similar age, presented a picture not
easily to be forgotten. Alas! when I next saw it, the place was a heap
of crumbling ruins.
The Germans had passed through the city four days before we arrived; and
according to their wont, had helped themselves very liberally to what
they fancied. Many of the shopkeepers were loud in their complaints of
the shameful manner in which they had been robbed.
I was able to secure most excellent billets for the mess in the house of
Monsieur and Madame Angillis. These good people were in a state of
considerable fear, for, not only had they two sons fighting in the
Belgian army, one of whom had been wounded, but as the owners of
considerable property in the city and the neighbourhood, they were
anxious as to what the future would bring. Their worst fears have been
realized, and I am afraid they are among the great mass of sufferers in
unhappy Belgium. Their daughter was rendering splendid service in the
Belgian Red Cross, and proved a great help in directing me to wounded
British soldiers, who might otherwise have been lost sight of.
By this time fighting was in full swing, and our men had thrown up the
first line of trenches in semi-circular form, some six or seven miles to
the east of the town.
Very soon the wounded and German prisoners made their appearance, and
doctors and chaplains were busily engaged. Most of the prisoners had a
very scared look, for we learned afterwards that they had been told that
we cut our prisoners' throats, or shot them out of hand, and their joy
was great at finding even their personal belongings restored to them.
I was much struck with the characteristic behaviour of 'Tommy Atkins' to
these men; even to the extent of sharing his rations with them, and
handing out his 'fags,' which was an act of real self-denial.
I owe my grateful thanks to one Uhlan, whose saddle fell to my lot, and
which I henceforth used, and regarded as one of the most comfortable I
have ever ridden on.
A singularly unfortunate case came under my notice among the first batch
of wounded brought in. An officer of the 'Borders' in the dead of
night, hearing as he thought a German advance, left his trench to
reconnoitre, and after a fruitless search was returning to his men in
the thick early morning mist, when a sentinel, ignorant of his having
gone out, shot him as he approached the trenches. The poor chap was
badly hit in the lungs, and made a brave struggle for life, but alas!
died a few hours afterwards.
The Divisional Head-quarters being established at Ypres, my unit moved
out to its Brigade, which occupied the line of trenches in the
neighbourhood of Zandvoorde.
Arriving at our position in the dusk of a quickly parting day, we found
ourselves actually posted in front of the firing line. Disagreeable as
the experience was, there was nothing for it but to stick it. In a wood
close by, the enemy had machine guns, supported by a body of Uhlans.
Disturbing sniping took place at intervals through the night, which
rendered the bivouac unpleasant in the extreme. We slept on the ground
between the wagons; and under the circumstances I felt it wise to keep
as low down as possible, as 'fire' is in no sense discriminating.
Our Brigade Head-quarters were at Kruiseck, to which place I rode early
one morning with our Major, to inspect farmhouses, with a view to
arranging Field Dressing Stations. Later in the day calling at
Head-quarters to inquire if there were any funerals requiring my
attention, I found the whole place in extreme excitement; Uhlans were
advancing in force. Every hedgerow and wall was lined with our men; the
scared inhabitants, utterly unnerved by shell fire, were fleeing from
the place. Their appearance was heartrending, and revealed the
unutterable horror of war as carried into the midst of a peaceful
population.
My ride back to my unit in the gloaming was sufficiently adventurous to
please the most reckless man, owing to the proximity of the Uhlans, and
gave a zest not often met with to the three or four miles which had to
be traversed. Never did I strain my eyes more eagerly, and somewhat
after the fashion of Jehu of yore I made my way along the deserted track
into a place of comparative safety.
From the neighbourhood of Zandvoorde my unit was hurriedly moved to
Gheluvelt, which was then threatened by a German force approaching from
the direction of Bercelaire.
Here the whole population was in a state of indescribable anxiety and
fear, which it was impossible to remove, for the shells were more
convincing than any arguments we could bring to bear.
Our Head-quarters were established at a Xaverian Brotherhood; the
superior of which--a dear old gentleman--did his utmost to ensure our
comfort. It was weary work hanging about all day awaiting results.
Towards evening I thought it wise to get a sleep, and so turned in about
five o'clock. During these days of constant anxiety, owing to the
proximity of the enemy, we seldom or never removed our clothes,--I had
not had mine off for over a week at that time--thus we were ready for
any emergency, at any time.
From the village of Gheluvelt we moved on a mile nearer to Ypres, where
we billeted in the Chateau de Gheluvelt, from which the owner (Monsieur
Peerebone) and his family had evidently departed in great haste. Finely
situated in a well wooded park, the house was most splendidly equipped
in every respect. The pictures, statuary and furniture were in keeping
with the outward appearance of the place. It was interesting to notice
the different manner of dealing with other people's property in vogue
with the British, in contrast with the German method; so rigid was our
O.C. that not even a vegetable was allowed to be taken from the
well-stocked walled garden, close by the mansion; a sentry being placed
to prevent any hungry 'Tommy' gratifying his desire in that quarter.
Towards evening a general engagement took place, and there was very
heavy shelling. Several shells struck the house, but none of us were
injured. On the following morning I was called to an advanced outpost of
the Scots Guards, to bury Sergeant Wilson, of Lord Esmé Gordon's
Company. On reaching the line I found the Battalion about to advance
into action in extended order, and the man had been hurriedly buried. On
my way back I joined Captain Hamilton Wedderburn, Adjutant, who had been
ordered to the rear suffering from appendicitis. I had met this
officer's father, Colonel Hamilton, who resided in my neighbourhood at
home.
During the night several wounded men came in, and the large salon
presented a weird appearance as the doctors attended the suffering men.
No cooking was allowed, and all windows were carefully curtained, in
order not to draw the fire of the enemy, who were in very unpleasant
proximity to the house. I well remember next morning, because the
Germans had got the range to a nicety, and the otherwise enjoyable place
was rendered unbearable by the crash of shells. So unhealthy grew the
position, that the transport was moved a mile away; but we who composed
the tent section remained to deal with any men who were brought in. It
is astonishing how quickly one grows accustomed to 'fire,' and a very
short experience enabled us to go about our work, under risky
circumstances, in the most ordinary manner.
The nights at this time were very dark, and at several points we could
see burning farm homesteads and villages, which to the thoughtful mind
denoted the awful destruction and suffering envolved by the ghastly
outrage upon humanity, being perpetrated by the enemy.
We left the château very suddenly, owing to heavy shelling. Some of our
men were hit, and two of our 'mess' had horses killed under them, but
otherwise we managed to get clear from a decidedly dangerous position.
That night it was pitch dark, and we halted on the roadside, some two or
three miles west of Gheluvelt. It was pouring with rain as we ate our
meal of cold rations; we could not even enjoy a comforting smoke, as the
lighting of a match would have been certain to draw the fire of our
vigilant foe. Mr. Jaffray and I both agreed that a night's lodging in a
damp ditch was hardly consonant with our wishes, and therefore we set
out for the hamlet of Halte, where the railway crosses the road, in
hopes that we might find cover of some sort.
Leading our horses very cautiously along the road, for sentinels were
posted in every direction, and at such 'nervy' times men frequently fire
before they challenge, we made our way to a small estaminet which we
found crammed with French soldiers. I pleaded hard for even a chair, but
the proprietor assured me of the impossibility of offering even this
very slender hospitality. I was fortunate to meet MacKenzie, the
Transport officer of the Scots Guards, who introduced me to a French
officer, who in turn interested the landlady's daughter in our forlorn
condition. This kind angel of mercy informed me that her married sister
lived at a farm near by, and she thought that there was a bedroom that
Mr. Jaffray and I might make use of. Accordingly, holding my reins in
one hand and my fair guide's hand in the other, I was led through pitch
darkness for some distance, and presently found myself in a huge Belgian
farm kitchen, crammed with French soldiers and smelling horribly of
garlic. Yes! the farmer could let us have his bedroom for the night, at
a small remuneration, as he and his wife had decided to stay up;
accordingly, we were shown into an exceedingly small room, some eight
feet square, in which was a bed the covering of which made one shudder
to look at; but any port in a storm; and we accordingly doubled up the
best way we could on a bed some two feet too short for us. As we vainly
tried to fall asleep, my batman suddenly turned up,--how he found our
quarters will always be a mystery to me--with the news that the column
had moved off to some place which he could not pronounce. I showed him
my map and asked him if he recognized any name in the locality, but
finding that he was as much at sea as to the destination of the unit as
I was, I determined that it was useless to attempt to explore that part
of Belgium in the darkness of a soaking night; so stowing my servant
away in the corner of the kitchen, we did our best to get a few hours'
sleep. In the first grey of the dawn we arose and ate a little black
bread and very salt bacon, washed down with some execrable coffee, then
leading our horses out of the cowhouse in which we had installed them
the night before, and from which we had had to turn out a couple of very
evil-smelling beasts, we sallied forth to the apparently hopeless task
of discovering the direction in which the column had moved. One's
deductive faculty had to be drawn upon largely. Presently we found
ourselves at Zillebeke, where we were held up by the Northumberland
Hussars, who came by in splendid order on their way to entering action.
Standing by my side was a Staff officer who had dismounted from his car,
awaiting the passage of the cavalry. I explained to him our difficulty,
and he said that he rather thought our unit was with the 10th Hussars
at Zandvoorde, some four miles away, and very kindly offered me a lift.
My horse had contracted a terrible cold and was hardly fit to ride, so
placing him in charge of my batman, I arranged to drive on in the car,
leaving Mr. Jaffray and my servant to follow. The friendly officer
turned out to be Lord Nairne, who was, unfortunately, killed a few days
afterwards.
On reaching the village of Zandvoorde, I encountered a terrible sight.
The enemy was approaching from two sides, and shelling hard. The place
was a slaughter-house; never have I seen so ghastly a sight. The
doctors, with their coats off and shirt sleeves rolled up, looked more
like butchers than medical men, and for an hour or two I found my hands
full in the saddest of all work, dealing with dying men.
As I was eating a hasty breakfast--for in campaigning one learns the
value of sleeping and eating whenever a chance presents itself--the
O.C. came to me saying that some one must get through to Ypres, to stop
the transport that was about to come out, and also to warn the major of
the serious condition of affairs at Zandvoorde. Would I go? Such an
opportunity of doing 'a real bit' only comes now and again, therefore it
was not difficult to decide.
I had a foretaste of what I was presently to pass through, as, sitting
on the doorstep of a cottage, I was changing into riding boots, out of
the heavy Swiss climbing boots that I had been wearing, and which
threatened to be awkward in the stirrups, if by any chance I was thrown,
a not unlikely event under fire, when a shrapnel burst some twenty feet
from me, with an explosion which almost lifted me from the ground. The
door before which I sat, and the front of the cottage, were liberally
studded with bullets and pieces of the casing, but in a most
providential manner I was untouched. Very quickly I completed my change
of boots, and got my kit-bag once more stowed away in a transport wagon.
Strictest orders had been given that no kits were to be removed from the
wagon, and I hope that the O.C., if ever he discovers my delinquency,
will take into consideration the urgency of my desire to fulfil
instructions in the carrying of his orders into Ypres.
For three miles, right over 'Hill 60,' I had the ride of my life. Shells
were bursting in every direction, but my good horse struggled on gamely.
By this time he had come to know the import of the shrieking whistle
which betokens the approach of a shell, but he displayed no more concern
than a momentary quiver as it burst. As for me I could only place myself
in God's hands, and well remember how, as each shell approached, I
repeated that comforting word from Isaiah xxvi. 3, 'Thou wilt keep him
in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in
thee.' Over and over again I repeated 'because he trusteth in thee.' And
then bang! bang! and once more the danger was past.
The road was crowded with terrified people, literally fleeing for their
lives, and as I got out of the range of fire, I tried to comfort them in
the best way I could.
Reaching Ypres I delivered my message, and then sank down and fell into
a deep sleep for four hours. I suppose it was a kind of reaction from
the nervous strain.
I found Ypres crammed with wounded men, and worked hard there for the
next day or two. Many were the distressing cases that came under my
attention.
It was on October 23 that I received my first batch of letters from
home, and the first opportunity I stole away into a quiet corner and
enjoyed myself to my heart's content.
Those were wonderful days, in which all sorts and conditions of men,
from officers of the Household Troops downwards, passed through my
hands. Of course there were many funerals to conduct, and in connexion
with the funeral arrangements and the system of tabulating I came much
into contact with Major the Hon. ----. Collins, one of the most charming
and courteous of men.
On October 31--that fateful day, when it seemed impossible for the thin
line of khaki to further withstand the tremendous onslaught of the enemy
which had placed the Prussian Guard in its front line--the sad duty of
burying young Prince Maurice of Battenburg fell to my lot. It was a
strange coincidence, for I had met him in bygone years when he was a
bright, attractive boy. Such a task awakened the greatest interest in
my heart, for sad as the ceremony was, I keenly felt the privilege of
rendering this last act of tender duty to a young prince so universally
beloved. One of his men, in relating the manner of his heroic death,
afterwards said to me, 'I loved him, sir, as a brother.' The funeral,
which was attended by Prince Arthur of Connaught and several Generals,
took place under heavy fire. So continuous indeed was the roar of the
shells, that an officer, writing to the papers some time after, related
that it was impossible to distinguish the chaplain's voice. The service
was therefore necessarily brief, and at its conclusion the crowd of
officers quickly dispersed.
An order had been issued for a withdrawal from the Front, and the Menin
road into Ypres was blocked with troops and transport.
A short time previous to this I had the misfortune to be somewhat
seriously injured, for my horse--frightened or struck by a shell which
burst near by, I have never been able to determine which,--fell heavily
on me, severely crushing my left leg. I had been taken in a Staff car to
the 6th casualty clearing station and attended to, but the injured limb
grew steadily worse. In the course of the afternoon, to my great joy,
the 23rd Field Ambulance passed me on its way from Hooge, and I was
promptly placed on an ambulance wagon, on which I trekked through Ypres;
until we reached Dickebusch, some three miles on the south of the city.
As we halted for a time at the square at Ypres, a young officer, seeing
me in the ambulance, came up with a cheery 'Hallo, padré! what's up?
Last time I saw you was in your pulpit at St. John's, Boscombe; life's a
funny game, isn't it?'
Such interviews are of frequent occurrence at the Front, where lives
momentarily touch, and then, possibly, for ever separate.
Lying on a stone floor of a deserted cottage in Dickebusch that night, I
passed one of the most painful, wretched and sleepless nights of my
life. My brother officers were all snoring comfortably, when suddenly a
knock at the door placed me on the alert. My first thought was that the
Germans had got through, accordingly I made no reply; presently a gruff
voice said, 'An orderly, sir,' and I cried out, 'Come in.' He had
brought a dispatch to say that the whole German line had been forced
back, and that the Ambulance was immediately to take up its old position
on the farther side of Hooge.
In a very short time an early breakfast was quickly disposed of and the
column was ready to move off.
The O.C., finding me utterly incapacitated by reason of my injuries,
decided that I must go into hospital, for wounded men are not much use
in a life where a man's fullest powers are daily called for.
Fortunately, at that moment, Colonel Swan, A.D.M.S., and Lieut.-Colonel
Guy Moores, D.A.D.M.S., came up in their car, and learning my condition,
very kindly brought me and my kit into Ypres; saying that I must proceed
to the Base.
Accordingly I was deposited at Ypres station, where the R.T.O. most
kindly had me cared for in his office.
During the long hours of Sunday, November 1, I spent a miserable time
waiting for the hospital train to start. In the course of the day, an
officer in my Brigade, Lord Bury, had a chat with me, and committed to
me an urgent telegram for his wife. In the course of the morning he had
been arrested as a spy; and seemed very amused at the uncommon
experience. At 6 p.m. I was placed on the train, and with some two or
three other fellow sufferers, gradually rolled away from the sound of
fire, which for three weeks past had been the daily accompaniment of
one's life.
I cannot speak too highly of the great care and solicitude bestowed upon
the wounded in the train. For the first time one came into touch with
those splendid women, literally angels of mercy, the nursing sisters.
Never shall I cease to remember their loving care, and the skilful way
in which they bandaged up my crushed leg.
It was a long journey. Leaving Ypres at 6 p.m. on Sunday night, we
didn't reach Boulogne until 3 p.m. on the Monday afternoon, a distance
of not more than eighty miles.
On reaching the Base I was informed that I was to be sent to England, on
a hospital ship about to leave. Accordingly, with some twenty or thirty
other officers, and a large number of men, we were conveyed to the
ambulance, through a dense crowd of sympathizing French people.
I have certainly never seen such a collection of scarecrows as we
presented to the public gaze; and in much pain though we were, we could
not help being struck with the ludicrousness of our condition.
Bespattered with mud; filthy in appearance; beards of several days'
growth; legs of trousers, and sleeves of coats cut away; bandaged and
bloody; we must have presented a truly remarkable sight.
On the hospital ship, the _Carisbroke Castle_, the arrangements were
perfect. It was almost worth being injured to lie in such a comfortable
bed; and the food was beyond description of delight.
On board, every case was speedily dealt with by medical men, and
everything done to ensure the comfort of the sufferers.
Whilst the life at the Front is exceedingly rigorous and claims the
utmost of one's strength, and the word and act of sympathy does not come
much to the surface of men's lives, yet, when once a man is bowled over,
a careful country certainly does its best to alleviate his suffering.
On reaching Southampton the following morning, finding that I lived in
the area of a military hospital (The Royal Victoria and West Hants), of
which I have been chaplain for many years, the senior officer, as a
great concession, very kindly allowed me to be sent home.
Home! Do those who always live in the blessed shelter of this sweet
spot, really know the fulness and sweetness of 'home.' Truly the English
classic song, 'Home, sweet Home, there is no place like Home,' comes
with a new, full, deep meaning to men who have passed through the ordeal
of fire.
Bed claimed my presence for many a weary day, and it was March 16
before a Medical Board permitted me to resume my duties with the
British Expeditionary Force. My further experience of service must be
related in the subsequent chapter on 'Life at the Base.'
THE WELCOME OF A PEOPLE