THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI
Filming Within Forty-five Yards of the German
Trenches--Watching for "Minnies"--Officers'
Quarters--"Something" Begins to Happen--An Early Morning
Bombardment--Develops Into the Battle of St. Eloi--Which I
Film from Our First-Line Trench--And Obtain a Fine Picture.
A bombardment was to take place. A rather vague statement, and a common
enough occurrence; but not so this one.
I had a dim idea--not without foundation, as it turned out--that there
was more in this particular bombardment than appeared on the surface.
Why this thought crossed my mind I do not know. But there it was, and I
also felt that it would somehow turn out seriously for me before I had
finished.
I was to go to a certain spot to see a general--and obtain permission to
choose a good view-point for my machine. My knowledge of the topography
of this particular part of the line was none too good.
Reaching the place I met the General, who said, in a jocular way, when I
had explained my mission:
"Have you come to me to-day by chance, or have you heard something?"
This remark, "Had I heard something?" confirmed my opinion that
something _was_ going to happen. Without more ado, the General told me
the bombardment would take place on the morrow, somewhere about 5.30
a.m.
"In that case," I said, "it will be quite impossible to obtain any
photographs. Anyway," I added, "if you will permit me, sir, I will sleep
in the front line trenches to-night, and so be ready for anything that
may happen. I could choose a good spot for my machine this afternoon."
"Well," he replied, "it's a hot corner," and going to the section maps
he told me our front line was only forty-five yards away from the
Bosche. "You will, of course, take the risk, but, honestly speaking, I
don't expect to see you back again."
This was anything but cheerful, but being used to tight corners I did
not mind the risk, so long as I got some good films.
The General then gave me a letter of introduction to another general,
who, he said, would give me all the assistance he could. Armed with this
document, I started out in company of a staff officer, who was to guide
me to the Brigade headquarters. Arriving there (it was the most advanced
point to which cars were allowed to go), I obtained two orderlies, gave
one my aeroscope the other the tripod, and strapping another upon my
back, we started off on a two-mile walk over a small hill, and through
communication trenches to the section.
At a point which boasted the name of "Cooker Farm," which consisted of a
few dug-outs, well below ground level, and about five by six feet high
inside by seven feet square, I interviewed two officers, who 'phoned to
the front line, telling them of my arrival. They wished me all good luck
on my venture, and gave me an extra relay of men to get me to the front.
A considerable amount of shelling was going on overhead, but none,
fortunately, came in my immediate neighbourhood. The nearest was about
fifty yards away.
From our front line trenches the Bosche lines were only forty-five yards
away, therefore dangers were to be anticipated from German snipers. A
great many of our men had actually been shot through the loophole of
plates. I immediately reported myself to the officer in charge, who was
resting in a dug-out, built in the parapet. He was pleased to see me,
and promised me every assistance. I told him I wished to choose a point
of vantage from which I could film the attack. Placing my apparatus in
the comparative safety of the dug-out, I accompanied him outside.
Rifle-fire was continuous; shells from our 60-pounders and 4.2's were
thundering past overhead, and on either side "Minnies" (German bombs)
were falling and exploding with terrific force, smashing our parapets
and dug-outs as if they had been the thinnest of matchwood.
Fortunately for us these interesting novelties could be seen coming. Men
are always on the look-out for "Minnies," and when one has been fired
from the Bosche it rises to a height of about five hundred feet, and
then with a sudden curve descends. At that point it is almost possible
to calculate the exact whereabouts of its fall. Everyone watches it; the
space is quickly cleared, and it falls and explodes harmlessly.
Sometimes the explosion throws the earth up to a height of nearly 150
feet.
While I was deciding upon the exact point of the parapet upon which I
would place the camera, a sudden cry of "Minnie" was heard. Looking up,
I saw it was almost overhead, and with a quick rush and a dive I
disappeared into a dug-out. I had barely got my head into it before
"Minnie" fell and blew the mud in all directions, covering my back
plentifully, but fortunately doing no other damage.
Eventually I decided upon the position, and looking through my periscope
saw the German trenches stretching away on the right for a distance of
half a mile, as the ground dipped into a miniature valley. From this
point I could get an excellent film, and if the Germans returned our
fire I could revolve the camera and obtain the resulting explosions in
our lines.
The farm-house where I spent the night was about nine hundred yards
behind the firing track. All that now remained of a once prosperous
group of farm buildings were the battered walls, but with the aid of a
plentiful supply of sandbags and corrugated iron the cellars were made
comparatively comfortable.
By the time I reached there it was quite dark, but by carefully feeling
my way with the aid of a stick I stumbled down the five steps into the
cellar, and received a warm welcome from Captain ----, who introduced me
to his brother officers. They all seemed astounded at my mission, never
imagining that a moving picture man would come into the front battle
line to take pictures.
The place was about ten feet square; the roof was a lean-to, and was
supported in the centre by three tree-trunks. Four wooden frames, upon
which was stretched some wire-netting, served as bedsteads; in a corner
stood a bucket-fire, the fumes and smoke going up an improvised chimney
of petrol tins. In the centre was a rough table. One corner of it was
kept up by a couple of boxes; other boxes served as chairs.
Rough as it was, it was like heaven compared with other places at which
I have stayed. By the light of two candles, placed in biscuit tins, we
sat round, and chatted upon kinematograph and other topics until 11.30
p.m. The Colonel of another regiment then came in to arrange about the
positions of the relieving battalions which were coming in on the
following day. He also arranged for his sniping expert and men to
accompany the patrolling parties, which were going out at midnight in
"No Man's Land" to mend mines and spot German loop-holes.
A message came through by 'phone from Brigade headquarters that the time
of attack was 5.45 a.m. I could have jumped for joy; if only the sky was
clear, there would be enough light for my work. The news was received in
quite a matter-of-fact way by the others present, and after sending out
carrying parties for extra ammunition for bomb guns, they all turned in
to snatch a few hours' sleep, with the exception of the officer on duty.
At twelve o'clock I turned in. Rolling myself in a blanket and using my
trench-coat and boots as a pillow, I lay and listened to the continual
crack of rifle-fire, and the thud of bullets striking and burying
themselves in the sandbags of our shelter. Now and then I dozed, and
presently I fell asleep. I suddenly awakened with a start. What caused
it I know not; everything seemed unnaturally quiet; with the exception
of an isolated sniper, the greatest war in history might have been
thousands of miles away. I lit a cigarette, and was slowly puffing it
(time, 4.15 a.m.), when a tremendous muffled roar rent the air; the
earth seemed to quake. I expected the roof of our shelter to collapse
every minute. The shock brought my other companions tumbling out.
"Something" was happening.
The rumble had barely subsided, when it seemed as if all the guns in
France had opened rapid battery fire at the same moment. Shells poured
over our heads towards the German positions in hundreds. The shrieking
and earsplitting explosives were terrific, from the sharp bark of the
4.2 to the heavy rumble and rush of the 9-inch "How." The Germans,
surprised in their sleep, seemed absolutely demoralised. They were
blazing away in all directions, firing in the most wild and
extraordinary manner, anywhere and everywhere. Shells were crashing and
smashing their way into the remains of the outbuildings, and they were
literally exploding all round.
Captain ---- instructed his officers to see what had happened to the
ammunition party. They disappeared in the hell of shell-fire as though
it were quite an every-day incident. I opened the door, climbed the
steps, and stood outside. The sight which met my eyes was magnificent in
its grandeur. The heavens were split by shafts of lurid fire. Masses of
metal shot in all directions, leaving a trail of sparks behind them;
bits of shell shrieked past my head and buried themselves in the walls
and sandbags. One large missile fell in an open space about forty feet
on my left, and exploded with a deafening, ear-splitting crash. At the
same moment another exploded directly in front of me. Instinctively I
ducked my head. The blinding flash and frightful noise for the moment
stunned me, and I could taste the exploding gas surrounding me. I
stumbled down the steps into the cellar, and it was some minutes before
I could see clearly again. My companions were standing there, calmly
awaiting events.
The frightful din continued. It was nothing but high explosives, high
explosive shrapnel, ordinary shrapnel, trench bombs, and bullets from
German machine-guns. One incessant hail of metal. Who on earth could
live in it? What worried me most was that there was not sufficient light
to film the scene; but, thank Heaven, it was gradually getting lighter.
It was now 5 a.m. The shelling continued with increasing intensity. I
got my apparatus together, and with two men decided to make my way to
the position in the front line.
[Illustration: WITH MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA AFTER FILMING THE BATTLE OF ST.
ELOI]
Shouldering my camera I led the way, followed by the men at a distance
of twenty yards. Several times on the journey shrapnel balls and
splinters buried themselves in the mud close by. When I reached the
firing trench all our men were standing to arms, with grim faces,
awaiting their orders. I fixed up the tripod so that the top of it came
level with our parapet, and fastened the camera upon it. It topped the
parapet of our firing trench (the Germans only forty-five yards away),
and to break the alignment I placed sandbags on either side of it.
In this position I stood on my camera case, and started to film the
Battle of St. Eloi.
Our shells were dropping in all directions, smashing the German parapets
to pulp and blowing their dug-outs sky-high. The explosions looked
gorgeous against the ever-increasing light in the sky. Looking through
my view-finder, I revolved first on one section then on the other; from
a close view of 6-inch shells and "Minnies" bursting to the more distant
view of our 9.2. Then looking right down the line, I filmed the clouds
of smoke drifting from the heavy (woolly bears) or high shrapnel, then
back again. Shells--shells--shells--bursting masses of molten metal,
every explosion momentarily shaking the earth.
The Germans suddenly started throwing "Minnies" over, so revolving my
camera, I filmed them bursting over our men. The casualties were very
slight. For fully an hour I stood there filming this wonderful scene,
and throughout all the inferno, neither I nor my machine was touched. A
fragment of shrapnel touched my tripod, taking a small piece out of the
leg. That was all!
Shortly after seven o'clock the attack subsided, and as my film had all
been used up, I packed and returned to my shelter.
What a "scoop" this was. It was the first film that had actually been
taken of a British attack. What a record. The thing itself had passed.
It had gone; yet I had recorded it in my little 7- by 6-inch box, and
when this terrible devastating war was over, and men had returned once
again to their homes, business men to their offices, ploughmen to their
ploughs, they would be able to congregate in a room and view all over
again the fearful shells bursting, killing and maiming on that winter's
morning of March 27th, 1916.