THE BATTLEFIELD OF NEUVE CHAPELLE
A Visit to the Old German Trenches--Reveals a Scene of
Horror that Defies Description--Dodging the Shells--I Lose
the Handle of My Camera--And then Lose My Man--The Effect of
Shell-fire on a Novice--In the Village of Neuve Chapelle--A
Scene of Devastation--The Figure of the Lonely Christ.
It occurred to me that an interesting film might be made out of scenes
of the battlefield of Neuve Chapelle. The very thought of it conjured up
a reeking, whirling mass of humanity, fighting with all the most
devilish, death-dealing weapons that had ever been conceived by the mind
of man. I decided to do a picture of the scene, and took with me an
orderly who had never been under fire before.
We proceeded along the La Bassée Road, and at the Croix Rouge proceeded
on foot towards Neuve Chapelle. As usual, Bosche shelling was so
consistent in its intensity that we thought it advisable to spread out a
bit in case a shell burst near us. My guide was Major ----, who
commanded one of the regiments holding the ground on the other side of
Neuve Chapelle.
Eventually I reached the assembly trenches, where our men concentrated
for the great attack. In shape they were just ordinary trenches,
branches off a main gallery, but they were in an awful state of decay,
and literally torn to shreds by shell-fire. What tales these old
sandbags might tell if only they could speak, tales of our brave boys
and our Indian troops that would live for ever in the history of
mankind. Standing upon one of the parapets, I looked round, and
marvelled that it was possible in so small a section of ground so many
men were hidden there. Quickly formulating my programme, I decided to
begin at the assembly trenches, and follow in imagination the path of
the troops during the battle, ending up in the ruins of Neuve Chapelle
village itself, which I could see in the distance.
"Be careful," came the warning voice of a major, "the whole of the
ground here is in view of the Bosche artillery observers. If they see
anyone moving about they'll start 'strafing' like anything, and I assure
you they do it very conscientiously."
I therefore kept as low as possible.
Fixing up the camera, I started to film the scenes from the assembly
trenches to the old first line trench, and then into the stretch of
ground known as "No Man's Land." Finishing this particular picture, we
went along to the old German trenches, and during the whole time we bent
nearly double, to keep under the line of the old parapets. In the old
German trenches the frightful effect of modern shell-fire was only too
apparent. The whole line, as far as one could see, was absolutely
smashed to atoms. Only the bases of the parapets were left, and in the
bottom of the trenches was an accumulation of water and filth. It was a
disgusting sight. The whole place was littered with old German
equipment, and whilst wading and splashing along through the water I saw
such things, and such stenches assailed my nostrils, as I shall not
easily forget. Dotted all over the place, half in and half out of the
mud and water, were dead bodies.
But why recount the horrors of the scene? Imagine the sights and the
smell. How I got through that section of trench Heaven only knows. It
was simply ghastly.
To escape from the scene I hurried to the end of the trench and again
crossed "No Man's Land." The sight here was not so bad as in the
trenches. To obtain a good view of the spot I got up very gingerly on
top of the parapet, fixed the machine, and filmed the scene. But this
enterprise nearly put an end to my adventure, _and also to the other
members of the party_. I had finished taking, and had got my camera down
on the stand, in the bottom of the trench, and was on the point of
unscrewing it, when two shells came hurtling overhead and exploded about
forty feet away. The Major ran up to me and shouted that I had been
seen, and told me to take cover at once. He and the others, suiting the
action to the word, dived below the parapets. Snatching the camera off
its stand, I followed, and paddled as close as possible to the mud. The
shells began falling in quick succession. Nearer and nearer they came.
Some just cleared the parapet top; some burst in front, some immediately
behind.
"They have got our line; let's shift along further," some one said.
From one point of the trench to the other we dodged. The shells seemed
to follow us wherever we went. Crash! One struck the crumbling parapet
on the very spot where, a few seconds before, I had been sheltering. In
the rush for cover I had lost the handle of the camera, and as it was
the only one I had there, I began to work my way back to find it.
"Don't be a fool," called the Major. "If you show yourself they'll have
you, as sure as eggs are eggs." But my anxiety to obtain pictures of the
bursting shells was too much for me. I set to to make a handle of wood.
Looking round, I spotted an old tree-trunk, behind which I could take
cover. Doubling towards it, I crouched down, and finding a piece of wood
and an old nail I fashioned a handle of a sort.
At this moment a funny incident occurred. I had momentarily forgotten
the existence of the other members of the party. I was hoping against
hope that they had escaped injury. What had happened to them? Where were
they? It almost seemed as if my thoughts were communicated by telepathy
to one of them, for just above the parapet in front of me rose the head
of Captain ----.
"I say, Malins," he said, "did you find your handle?"
The words were barely out of his mouth when a shell shot by. Captain
----'s head went down like a jack-in-the-box. The sight was too funny
for words. If he hadn't ducked the shell would have taken his head off,
for it struck the ground and exploded, as we found out afterwards, only
ten feet away.
For three-quarters of an hour this "strafing" continued, then giving
Bosche ten minutes to settle down we came out of our holes and corners.
What sights we were!
Collecting my apparatus, I again crossed "No Man's Land," and carefully
made my way into the village of Neuve Chapelle itself. To describe it
would only be to repeat what I said of the devastated city of Ypres.
There was nothing whole standing. The place was smashed and ground down
out of all recognition. And yet, from its solitary high position upon
the cross, the figure of Christ looked down upon the scene. It was
absolutely untouched. It stood there--this sacred emblem of our
Faith--grim and gaunt against the sky. A lonely sentinel. The scene was
a sermon in itself, and mere words fail to describe the deep impression
it made upon me.