CAMEOS FROM FRANCE
The work of this Young Men's Christian Association
has sunk so deep into the minds and into the lives
of our fellow countrymen that its work in the
future can never be diminished, and must be
extended. And it is going to do more to my mind,
than simply minister to the wants of the men in
camp; it is going to be a bond between this
country and the Great Englands beyond the
sea.--THE RT. HON. THE EARL OF DERBY, K.G.,
G.C.V.O.
A STRIKING feature of the war work of the Y.M.C.A. has been the
promptness with which a new situation has been seized and a new opening
entered. There has been an utter absence of red tape, and freedom of
action has been given to all accredited representatives of the
Association. The Red Triangle has always been first in the field, and
has been likened to a tank in its knack of overcoming apparently
insuperable obstacles. The day after the British troops first entered
Bapaume a Y.M.C.A. man appeared leading a packhorse loaded up with
cigarettes, biscuits, and dolly cakes, which he distributed amongst the
troops. He had got a foothold for the Association, and that foothold was
retained until Bapaume was evacuated.
* * * * *
In the British offensive in the early days of August 1918 a noted war
correspondent at the Front wrote:--
'In one part of the line three hours after the
troops reached their final objective they were
eating a hot breakfast as part of the programme of
the day. The familiar, ever-welcome sign of the
"Y.M.C.A." blossomed on a roofless French café six
miles within the crumpled German line, before the
tanks had finished chasing the 11th Corps staff
out of Framerville and down the Peronne road.
Food, and even books and papers, were set out
under the Red Triangle for tired and hungry
fighting men as they trooped into the rickety
building to eat and be refreshed in a room
carpeted with German papers.'
* * * * *
What thrilling memories the name of Arras will always conjure up in the
minds of Y.M.C.A. workers who served in that city of ruins! One wrote
home the day after a strong attack by the British on the enemy lines. He
wrote the letter from a dug-out which only the day before was occupied
by the Huns, in which he was carrying on for the Y.M.C.A. So precipitate
was their flight that he partook of the repast served up by German cooks
for German officers. At one time the rival trenches were, in places,
less than ten yards apart! It was here that Sir Douglas Haig personally
complimented the Association on the work its representatives were doing
on the field of battle.
The most memorable motor run we ever had was from Souastre to Arras in
1916. The hut was closed when we reached Souastre in the morning, the
leader having received a letter from the Town Major politely requesting
him to close it from 7.30 A.M. as it was expected that the Huns would
strafe the village at 8 A.M., and again at 4.30, and so it happened.
This seemed strange, as the village had not been strafed of late. How
could the British have known when Fritz would fire again? It seemed
uncanny, until a strange unwritten reciprocal working arrangement
between friend and foe was explained, which means in effect that Fritz
refrains from bombing or bombarding 'A----' three or four miles behind
the British lines if Tommy leaves village 'B----' behind his lines
alone, and _vice versa_. As both villages are used as billets for the
rival armies, both have been glad at times to honour this understanding.
The run from Souastre to the railhead at Saulty was uneventful. Night
was closing in as we left for Arras and there was no moon. For twenty
kilos or more we had to travel with lights extinguished. We were less
than a mile from the enemy trenches, which ran parallel to the road we
were traversing. 'Verey' lights or star-shells sent up by the enemy
continually made everything as light as day for the few seconds they
were in the air. There were mysterious noises from the gun emplacements
that run along the roadside, and mysterious shapes loomed up ahead of us
from time to time as we overhauled and passed transport wagons and the
like. At last we reached our destination, and it was the writer's first
visit to a town of considerable size that had been wrecked by
bombardment. There were barricades in the streets, shell-holes and
ruins everywhere. We motored through the famous Grande Place and passed
through street after street in that city of the dead, until, turning a
corner, we entered a narrow street near the ruined cathedral, and
hearing a piano playing rag-time, it was obvious that we were near the
Y.M.C.A. The memory of that old château in the narrow street will always
remain with us as we saw it then--the entrance hall, where free hot
drinks were being dispensed; the canteen crammed with British soldiers,
including many 'Bantams,' who were then stationed at Arras; the little
concert-room, with possibly a hundred men gathered round a piano singing
choruses and snatches of songs or listening to the rag-time,
accompanying it at times by whistling the refrain or stamping on the
floor. Another crowd upstairs had been entertained to a lantern lecture,
and the day's programme was being concluded with family prayers. As we
lay awake that night we heard many familiar noises that sounded strange
there--a cat call, the cry of a baby, whilst ever and anon a shell would
go shrieking over the town. In the morning we visited the ruined
cathedral, which was a sight to make men or angels weep, but even there
one saw erect amid the ruins, at the highest point, the Cross, the
emblem of our Christian faith, and one knew that though it might be by
way of the Cross, yet truth and freedom would triumph in the end.
* * * * *
A well-known war correspondent writing from British Headquarters in
France to the _Daily Mail_, on August 13, 1918, told the story of a
village under shell-fire and still within reach of machine-gun bullets,
in which was a German notice-board pointing to an incinerator, and
wrote:--'I hear from an officer who visited the spot again a day later
that another notice, "This way to the Y.M.C.A." was added. A dashing
cavalry officer, very much of the old school, possessing a voice that
would carry two miles, begged me with great earnestness to do him one
service, "Would I mention the Y.M.C.A.? It had provided his men with hot
coffee before riding out."' That is the kind of service the Red Triangle
has the privilege of rendering to our fighting men in the course of
practically every battle.
* * * * *
The Bois Carré in 1916 was a very unhealthy spot. At the edge of a wood
in a tiny natural amphitheatre the Y.M.C.A. had one of its outposts. An
orderly was usually in charge, and day and night he kept up a good
supply of hot drinks for free distribution to the troops. There they
could buy biscuits, cigarettes, soap, and other necessaries, or receive
free of charge the ever-welcome writing-paper and materials. The
supervising secretary visiting the dug-out one day in the course of his
rounds found it had been blown in by a big shell. The orderly was
terribly wounded, part of his side having been blown away, but smiling
amid his agony, he said, 'The money's safe here, sir!' Careless of
himself, the brave fellow's first consideration was to safeguard the
money in the Y.M.C.A. till.
We have vivid recollections of our visit to the Bois Carré in 1916. Late
in the evening we reached Dickebusch. The Y.M.C.A. was there in the main
street of the little Belgian village, and immediately behind it was the
ruined church. It was only a small strafed building in a ruined street
when the Red Triangle first made its appearance in Dickebusch, but the
secretary held that to be the most convenient type of Y.M.C.A. building,
'for,' said he, 'if it becomes too small, all you have to do is to
knock a hole through the wall on either side, and take in additional
houses.' This was exactly what we had done and, unattractive as it was,
the place drew crowds of men. At the Dickebusch Y.M.C.A. we were
provided with shrapnel and gas helmets and instructed in the use of the
latter. A two-mile trudge across a duck-walk over 'b----y meadow'
brought us to the famous Ridgewood Dug-outs. It was here that the
Canadians lost their guns in the early days of the war, and afterwards
so gloriously regained them. We entered the wood at midnight. A huge rat
crossed our path, and as we entered the first of the Y.M.C.A. dug-outs
where free cocoa was being dispensed in empty jam tins, we remembered a
yarn told us the day before by one of our workers. He had come to
Ridgewood as a special speaker, and after the evening meeting lay down
on the floor of the dug-out to sleep, but as he was beginning to feel
drowsy, a huge rat ran over his legs, and later one passed across his
face. With an electric flash-lamp he scared them away, but soon getting
used to it they came on 'in close formation.' He lit a candle, and a few
minutes later the rat ran away with the candle--so he said! From the
Ridgewood we went on to the Bois Carré. Shells were screaming overhead
all the time, but it was not a long walk though it provided many
thrills. For a couple of hundred yards we were on open ground, and
within easy reach of the Hun snipers. Only two of us were allowed to
pass at a time, and my guide and I had to keep fifty yards apart, and
when a 'Verey' light went up, had to stand absolutely still until it
fell to earth, and its light was extinguished. Weird things those star
shells! They shoot up to a good height like rockets, burst into
brilliant light, poise in mid-air and gradually shimmer down and out. A
few minutes brought us to the shelter of a ruined _brasserie_, and from
its further side we entered the communication trenches, and thus passed
to the Bois Carré. Standing back to visualise the scene, the orderly
caught my arm and pulled me into the shelter of the dug-out--a second
later came the patter of machine bullets on the sand-bags where we had
stood not ten seconds before. There was something fascinating about that
little dug-out Y.M.C.A., with its caterer's boiler, urns and stores, and
it is sad to think that since then it has been destroyed by shell-fire,
even though other dug-outs have been opened to take its place.
[Illustration: A GREAT BOON TO BRITISH TOMMY--A Y.M.C.A. WELL UNDER
SHELL-FIRE]
[Illustration: THE CAMBRIDGE DUG-OUT]
A year later we revisited that old _brasserie_. There was little of it
left. The central hall remained, and the Red Triangle was on it,
marking it out as a centre for walking wounded. A dressing station had
been rigged up in the cellar underneath. A distinguished preacher
serving with the Y.M.C.A. conducted a memorable Watch-night service in
the Ridgewood. Two or three hundred men gathered round and listened with
marked attention. A shell burst quite close during the prayer, and every
man instinctively glanced up to see the effect on the padre. He carried
on exactly as if nothing had happened, and won his way to every heart.
[Illustration: A REFUGE FOR THE WALKING WOUNDED]