STORIES OF 'LE TRIANGLE ROUGE'
It is with very great pleasure I send a small
contribution (3s.) to the Y.M.C.A. funds, and only
wish it could match my inclination. Few things
have brought so much comfort to the parents at
home as the knowledge of the splendid work done by
your organisation. As one boy puts it, 'When we
get inside the Y.M.C.A. hut, we feel as if we are
home again.'
AT the close of a Y.M.C.A. Conference held in the Hôtel McMahon in
Paris, a French lady came timidly forward with a lovely bouquet of red
roses, and in a pretty little speech presented them as a thankoffering
for the war work of the Y.M.C.A. It was the gift of a mother who had
four sons serving with the Army. Those flowers have long since faded,
but the kind thought that prompted them will always remain a gracious
memory.
* * * * *
A soldier home on leave brought an interesting souvenir of the first
'Threapwood' hut, which did such good work in the Ploegsteert Woods, but
was ultimately destroyed by shell-fire--a 2 franc and a 50 centimes
piece which had become welded together in the heat of the conflagration.
Another Tommy saw a fierce fight take place between British and Germans,
actually inside the hut at Neuve Église. The incident that seemed to
have appealed most strongly to his imagination was the fact that the
pictures were still hanging on the walls. It is interesting to notice
the curious freaks of dud shells. Outside the hut at Tilloy we saw one
which had pierced its way through the trunk of a tree without
exploding--the nose of the shell protruded at the other side of the
trunk, the shell itself remaining firmly embedded in the tree.
* * * * *
An Australian officer one day sauntered into the 'Crystal Palace,' an
important Y.M.C.A. centre in Havre. He was interested, and well he might
be. It is a huge building, and swarms of men assemble there in the
evenings. The Australian's interest took a practical form. Before
leaving he handed two one-pound notes to the leader, expressing regret
that he could not make it more, and adding, 'I think you Y.M.C.A. people
will make a religious man of me before the war is over.' 'What do you
mean?' said the secretary. 'Well,' said he, 'I have never had any use
for religion, but at the battle of ---- I felt down and out. I didn't
care much if the Boche killed me. I had had nothing to eat for
days--when suddenly a Y.M.C.A. man appeared, heaven knows where he came
from, but he was there right enough, and he handed me a good hot drink,
a packet of biscuits, and some cigarettes. Yes,' said he, 'I believe
you Y.M.C.A. men will make a religious man of me before you have
finished.'
* * * * *
In war-time people often forget their differences, and in Paris one of
our splendid British soldiers, who was a Roman Catholic, lay badly
wounded and terribly ill. He wanted to confess, but there was no English
priest near. Ultimately a French priest confessed and absolved him
through an American Y.M.C.A. lady--a Protestant--who acted as
interpreter.
* * * * *
In the early days of the war a valued worker on Salisbury Plain was the
grandson of a famous Cornish revivalist. He was an ordained man and a
very strong Protestant. He went out to France later on as a chaplain of
the United Board. Returning home on furlough, he called at Headquarters
and told his experiences on the battlefield. 'You will be surprised,'
said he, 'when I tell you that my greatest friend in Flanders was a
Roman Catholic padre. He was one of the best men I ever knew, and we had
an excellent working arrangement. On the battlefield if I came across
any of his men, I would hand them on to him, and he would pass my men on
to me. If he were not at hand, I would try my best to help the dying
Roman Catholic soldier as I thought my friend would have helped him had
he been there, and _vice versa_. I shall never forget,' said he, 'my
last night in Flanders and our affectionate farewell. You know how
strong a Protestant I have always been, and my convictions have never
been stronger than they are to-day, but see this,'--and he unbuttoned
his tunic and brought out a Crucifix which was hanging from his
neck--'this was the parting gift of my Roman Catholic friend, and as
long as I live I shall keep it as one of my most treasured
possessions.'
* * * * *
As a rule there is not much romance in the story of a department that
concerns itself with nothing but trading. But the story of the growth
and development of the trading department of the Red Triangle is a
romance. All along we have discouraged trading for trading's sake in our
huts, but in a crisis like the one brought about by the war, it is not
for each individual or organisation to pick and choose, but to do what
is needed by the State, and on that principle we have had to develop the
trading side of our work enormously. Home and overseas, the department
has been brilliantly led by men animated with the highest ideals of
Christian service, who have been ready to take any risks, and whenever
necessary to work day and night. Their task has been colossal and they
have done magnificently. During the six months ending 31st May 1915, our
turnover in France amounted to £32,594, whilst three years later the six
months turnover had risen to £680,000. It was thrilling work during the
German advance in March 1918, chasing our ever-moving centres in the
Somme area, and keeping up their supplies or maintaining touch with
Amiens during these terrible days, when for a whole week more than £600
daily was taken in the little 'Joy' hut outside the Central Station.
That meant day and night work at our Base Stores in France, and thanks
to the cordial co-operation of the A.M.F.O. and the H.Q.L. of C. we were
able to send forward 200 trucks from one port alone, containing 45,000
cases, or 1,500 tons of food-stuffs, smokes, and ingredients for hot
drinks--tea, coffee, and cocoa. From December 1914 to the middle of May
1918--1,350,000 cases were handled by our stores in France,
representing the double handling of 50,500 tons of goods. During the
retreat the Y.M.C.A. motor lorries became mobile centres of operation.
They were filled up at the nearest stores available, and often travelled
from eighty to ninety miles to a cross roads or convenient point where
men going in and coming out of the line were provided with the necessary
supplies. For the six months ending November 30, 1917, our free gifts to
the troops in France amounted to £157,000. This figure does not include
the cost of huts and equipment, nor yet the general expenditure on the
work--but it embraces the cost of the hostels for the relatives of
wounded, and free food and drink for the walking wounded and for the men
serving in advanced positions.
* * * * *
A distinguished officer of the Danish Army called at the headquarters of
the British Y.M.C.A. after a visit to France, to acquaint himself with
the history of our war work:--'One day I stood on Messines Ridge,' said
he, 'and all around me was devastation caused by war, shells were to be
seen bursting all around, accompanied by the deafening roar of the big
guns. Overhead amidst the din could be heard the whirr of the engines of
the German and Allied fighting machines. I felt thrilled to think I was
in the midst of the greatest battle of history. Stepping aside a few
yards I was surprised to find a dug-out with the Red Triangle sign. I
could only exclaim, "What, these people here!"'
* * * * *
One of the funniest sights we saw in France was that of a tiny British
corporal marching behind ten stalwart German prisoners, escorting them
back to their quarters after they had finished orderly duty in one of
our tents. The humour of the situation evidently appealed to him, for he
winked as he passed us--quite an unsoldierly thing to do!
* * * * *
Tommy has a knack of making himself comfortable, though his surroundings
very often do not naturally suggest comfort. It is surprising what a
snug bed and living room combined can be made out of a discarded
hen-house! A barn occupied by men of the Horse Guards Blue was
ingeniously rigged up by its temporary tenants. One wall was missing and
was made up with sacking--on the other side of this flimsy partition
were the horses. The harness was hung round the walls, and four stakes
driven into the ground for each bed. The wire that had bound hay bales
had been ingeniously woven into wire mattresses stretched from stake to
stake; over it was, stretched the sacking--also from hay bales--and
over that again was a good thick layer of straw. There is never anything
to be gained by grumbling, but everything by taking things cheerfully as
they come and making the best of one's circumstances.
* * * * *
A Y.M.C.A. hut is a poor substitute for home, but our aim is to make
every Y.M.C.A. as much like home as it is possible for it to be. It is
surprising how much can be done by pictures, decorations and flowers, to
give the home touch. A canary singing over the counter; a cat on the
hearth; a bunch of primroses or forget-me-nots; a smile or a word of
welcome; a woman's voice; a piano--family prayers at the close of the
day--these are some of the things that count, and are numbered amongst
the greatest assets of the Red Triangle.
* * * * *
It is strange how often scenes and sounds of war and peace are
intermingled. It is a common sight to see men and women going
unconcernedly about their work, and children playing in towns that are
habitually shelled or bombed. Stranger still is it to note the habits of
the wild birds, constructing their nest amid scenes of war and in
localities subject to constant bombardment. The Y.M.C.A. hut in
Ploegsteert Wood was destroyed during a three hours' bombardment in May
1916, but whenever there came a few seconds' pause in the booming of the
guns, the nightingales sang as unconcernedly as in the piping times of
peace. We once heard, near Hersin, a sort of duet between a cuckoo and a
big gun; the bird punctuating with its call the thunder of the guns,
and, as stated elsewhere, whilst the barrage was in full swing the
thrushes on Kemmel, only a few hundred yards behind the guns, sang as
sweetly and merrily as in the lanes and gardens of England. In the
course of a brief visit to the American front in France we called at a
little Y.M.C.A. shanty, badly strafed, within a mile or so of the enemy.
Through the open window from which all glass had long since vanished, a
swallow entered, and, perching on a wire stretched across the room,
carolled joyously its simple little song--a message truly of peace and
eternal hope!
* * * * *
The 'Walthamstow' hut at Remy had to be temporarily abandoned during the
German offensive. The leader in charge transferred operations to a
dug-out across the way, which adjoined a clearing station. The
inevitable caterer's boiler enabled him to keep up a constant supply of
hot tea and coffee for the wounded. An Australian terribly mutilated was
brought in. A happy smile, a few cheery words, and a cup of steaming
hot cocoa made the Australian feel he had met a friend--and speaking
slowly, in a voice that was scarcely louder than a whisper, he said, 'I
wonder why I am allowed to suffer like this,' 'I know why,' replied the
Y.M.C.A. man; 'you are suffering like this so that two women I love--my
mother and my sister--may live in peace and safety in the north of
London. If it were not for the sacrifices you and thousands of other
boys are making out here, that would be impossible.' The soldier lad was
quiet for some time, and then whispered to his new-found friend--'I'm
glad to go on suffering!'
* * * * *
The same secretary tells an interesting story of one of the bitter
fights round Passchendaele. The wounded were being brought in on
stretchers, and he was on the spot with hot drinks for the boys. The
guns were quiet for a moment and a voice was heard singing clearly and
distinctly:
'Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on.
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.'
[Illustration: Y.M.C.A. MOTOR KITCHEN BEHIND THE LINES]
The singer was a private, badly wounded and being carried in on a
stretcher. The subsequent verses were drowned in the roar of battle, but
those standing round could see from the movement of the wounded man's
lips that he was still singing. Thus it is possible for a man to find
his Saviour near him even amid the horror and noise of war.
* * * * *
One day in 1917 we stood outside a little Y.M.C.A. at Erquinghem, lost
during the German advance in the following spring, and standing there we
heard 'Grandmother' speak. 'Grandmother,' it should be explained, was
a mighty howitzer. It was concealed under an improvised shed carefully
camouflaged, and was brought out on rails, in a horizontal position. As
we watched, it was brought to the vertical and out shot a tongue of
flame. The projectile was so huge we could watch its flight for miles
until it disappeared from view in the distance. Listening intently we
heard the explosion in the enemy's lines. Many a Y.M.C.A. on the Western
Front is situated right amid the guns, and when they are fired one knows
it--'Grandmother' speaking, seems to shake the very foundations of the
earth.
[Illustration: INDIAN TROOPS AT THE SIGN OF THE RED TRIANGLE]