PREPARING FOR THE "BIG PUSH"
The Threshold of Tremendous Happenings--General ----'s
Speech to His Men on the Eve of Battle--Choosing My Position
for Filming the "Big Push"--Under Shell-fire--A Race of
Shrieking Devils--Fritz's Way of "Making Love"--I Visit the
"White City"--And On the Way have Another Experience of Gas
Shells.
The time for which England has been preparing during these past two
awful years is here. We are now on the threshold of tremendous
happenings. The Great Offensive is about to begin. What will be the
result?
We see the wonderful organisation of our vast armies, and we know the
firm and resolute methods of our General Staff--as I have seen and known
them during the war--would leave nothing to be desired. As a machine, it
is the most wonderful that was ever created.
My position as Official Kinematographer has afforded me unique
opportunities to gain knowledge of the whole system required to wage the
most terrible war that has ever been known to mankind. I have not let
these opportunities slip by.
The great day was coming; there was a mysterious something which
affected everyone at G.H.Q. There was no definite news to hand; nobody,
with the exception of those directly concerned, knew when and where the
blow was to be struck. Some thought on the northern part of our line,
others the centre; others, again, the south. In the home, in the
streets, in the cafés and gardens, the one topic of conversation
was--the coming Great Offensive.
I was told by a colonel that my chance to make history was coming. That
was all. But those few words conveyed an enormous lot to me. Later in
the day I was told by a captain to proceed to the front line, to choose
a suitable position wherein to fix up my camera. Our section facing
Gouerment was suggested to me as the place where there was likely to be
the most excitement, and I immediately set out for that section. During
the journey I was held up by a large body of our men, who turned out
afterwards to be the London Scottish. They were formed up in a square,
and in the centre was a general, with his staff officers, addressing the
men. His words thrilled the hearts of every one who heard them:
"Gentlemen of the London Scottish: Within the next few days
you will take part in the greatest battle in the history of
the world. To you has been entrusted the taking and holding
of Gouerment.... England is looking to you to free the world
from slavery and militarism that is epitomized in the German
nation and German Kultur.... Gentlemen, I know you will not
fail, and from the bottom of my heart I wish you the best of
luck."
I waited until the address was finished, and then proceeded to a certain
place, striking out on the left and trudging through innumerable
communication trenches, at times up to my knees in mud and water.
Eventually I reached an eminence facing the village of Gouerment. It was
in a valley. The German trenches ran parallel with my position, and on
the right I could discern the long green ribbon of grass termed "No
Man's Land," stretching as far as the eye could see. The whole front of
the German lines was being shelled by our heavy guns; the place was a
spitting mass of smoke and flame. Salvo after salvo was being poured
from our guns.
[Illustration: IN A SHELL HOLE IN "NO MAN'S LAND" FILMING OUR HEAVY
BOMBARDMENT OF THE GERMAN LINES. I GOT INTO THIS POSITION DURING THE
NIGHT PREVIOUS. IT WAS HERE THAT I EARNED THE SOUBRIQUET "MALINS OF NO
MAN'S LAND"]
"What an inspiring sight," I said to an officer standing by my side,
"and these shells were made by the women of England."
"Well," he said, "you see Gommecourt; that's all coming down in a day or
two. Every gun, large and small, will concentrate its fire on it, and
level it to the ground. That's your picture."
"In that case," I replied, "I shall want to be much nearer our front
line. I must get within five hundred yards of it. What a sight! What a
film it will be!"
I stood watching the bombardment for some time, then fixing my camera
position, I returned. Divisional H.Q. told me I should be informed in
ample time when the attack was to be made.
That afternoon I returned to G.H.Q., but the best laid schemes of mice
and men aft gang agley. I was told that night to prepare immediately to
proceed to the H.Q. of a certain Division, with instructions to attach
myself to them for the next week; all particulars would be given to me
in the morning.
I received my instructions next morning. I was to proceed to the
Division, report myself, and I should receive all the information and
assistance I required. With parting wishes for the best of luck, and
"don't come back wounded," I left H.Q., and proceeded by car to the
Company H.Q., where I was received with every courtesy by General ----.
He told me the best thing to do was to go to Divisional H.Q. and see the
General. He had been informed of my arrival, and the final details could
be arranged with him, such as the best points of vantage for fixing up
my camera. Accordingly I hurried off to Divisional H.Q. and met the
General. On being ushered into his room, I found him sitting at a table
with a large scale map of a certain section of our line before him. He
looked the very incarnation of indomitable will, this General of the
incomparable ---- Division.
I quickly explained my mission, and told him I should like to go to the
front trenches to choose my position.
"Certainly," he said, "that is a very wise plan, but if you will look
here I will show you the spot which, in my opinion, will make an ideal
place. This is the German position. This, of course, is Beaumont Hamel,
which is our objective. This is as far as we are going; it will be a
pivot from which the whole front south of us will radiate. We are going
to give the village an intense bombardment this afternoon, at 4 o'clock;
perhaps you would like to obtain that?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, "it is most necessary to my story. What guns are
you using?"
"Everything, from trench mortars to 15-inch howitzers. We are going to
literally raze it to the ground. It is one of the strongest German
redoubts, and it's not going to be an easy job to occupy it; but we
achieved the impossible at Gallipoli, and with God's help we will win
here. There is a spot here in our firing trench called 'Jacob's
Ladder,'" and pointing to the map, he showed it me.
"That certainly looks a most excellent point, sir," I said. "What is the
distance from Bosche lines?"
"About 150 yards. They 'strafe' it considerably, from what I am told;
but, of course, you will have to take your chance, the same as all my
other officers."
"That is unavoidable, sir. The nature of my work does not permit me to
be in very comfortable places, if I am to get the best results."
"Right," he said, "if you will report to Brigade H.Q. the Brigade Major
will give you what orderlies you require, and you had better draw
rations with them while you are there. He has instructions to give you
every assistance."
"Oh, by the way, sir, what time does the mine go up?"
"Ten minutes to zero," he replied. "You quite understand, don't you?
Major ---- will give you zero time to-morrow night."
After lunching with the General I started off for Brigade H.Q. The
weather was vile. It had been raining practically without break for
several days, and was doing its best to upset everything and give us as
much trouble as possible.
What an enormous number of munition waggons and lorries I passed on the
road; miles and miles of them, all making for the front line. "Ye gods!"
I thought, "Bosche is certainly going to get it."
I reached my destination about 2.30. What a "strafe" there was going on!
The concussion of what I afterwards found out was our 15-inch howitzers
was terrible. The very road seemed to shake, and when I opened the door
of the temporary Brigade H.Q., one gun which went off close by shook the
building to such an extent that I really thought for the moment a shell
had struck the house.
"Captain ----, I presume?" said I, addressing an officer seated at a
long table making out reports and giving them over to waiting dispatch
riders. The room was a hive of industry.
"Gad, sir," he said, "are you the kinema man? I am pleased to see you.
Take a seat, and tell me what you want. You are the last person I
expected to see out here. But, seriously, are you really going to film
'The Day'?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Where do you propose to take it?"
"General ---- suggested 'Jacob's Ladder.'"
"What?" came a startled chorus from about half a dozen other officers.
"Take photos from 'Jacob's Ladder,'" they repeated in tones of
amazement. "Good Lord! it's an absolute death-trap. Bosche strafes it
every day, and it's always covered by snipers."
"Well," I said, "it certainly seems by the map to be an ideal place to
get the mine going up and the advance over 'No Man's Land.'"
"Granted, but--well!--it's your shoot. Will you let us introduce the
doctor? You'll need him."
"Gentlemen," I said, with mock gravity, "I assure you it would be most
difficult for me to receive a more cordial welcome." This remark caused
some laughter. Turning to the Captain, I said: "Will you give me an
orderly? One who knows the trenches, as I wish to go there this
afternoon to film the 'strafe' at 4 o'clock. I shall stay down there for
the next few days, to be on the spot for 'The Day,' and ready for
anything that follows."
"Certainly," he said. "Have you got a trench map? What about blankets
and grub?"
"I have my blanket and some provisions, but if I can draw some bully and
biscuits, I shall manage quite well."
Having secured supplies and filled my knapsack, I strapped it on my
shoulder, fixed the camera-case on my back and, handing the tripod to
another man, started off. I had hardly got more than two hundred yards
when the Captain ran up to me and said that he had just had a 'phone
message from D.H.Q., saying that the General was going to address the
men on the following day, before proceeding to battle. Would I like to
film the scene? It would take place about 10 a.m. Naturally, I was
delighted at the prospect of such a picture, and agreed to be on the
field at the time mentioned. Then with a final adieu we parted.
The weather was still vile. A nasty, drizzly mist hung over everything.
The appearance of the whole country was much like it is on a bad
November day at home. Everything was clammy and cold. The roads were
covered to a depth of several inches with slimy, clayey mud. Loads of
munitions were passing up to the Front. On all sides were guns, large
and small. The place bristled with them, and they were so cunningly
hidden that one might pass within six feet of them without being aware
of their existence. But you could not get away from the sounds. The
horrible dinning continued, from the sharp rat-tat-tat-tat of the French
75mm., of which we had several batteries in close proximity, and from
the bark of the 18-pounders to the crunching roar of the 15-inch
howitzer. The air was literally humming with shells. It seemed like a
race of shrieking devils, each trying to catch up with the one in front
before it reached its objective.
Salvo after salvo; crash after crash; and in the rare moments of
stillness, in this nerve-shattering prelude to the Great Push, I could
hear the sweet warblings of a lark, as it rose higher and higher in the
murky, misty sky.
At one place I had to pass through a narrow lane, and on either side
were hidden batteries, sending round upon round into the German
trenches, always under keen observation from enemy-spotting balloons and
aeroplanes. The recent shell-holes in the roadway made me pause before
proceeding further. I noticed a sergeant of the Lancashire Fusiliers at
the entrance to a thickly sand-bagged shelter, and asked him if there
was another way to the section of the front line I sought.
"No, sir," he said, "that is the only way; but it's mighty unhealthy
just now. The Hun is crumpling it with his 5.9-inch H.E., and making a
tidy mess of the road. But he don't hit our guns, sir. He just improves
their appearance by making a nice little frill of earth around them, he
does, and--look out, sir; come in here.
"Here she comes!"
With a murderous shriek and horrible splitting roar a German shell burst
on the roadway about fifty yards away.
"That is Fritz's way of making love, sir," he said, with a chuckle;
which remark admirably reflects the marvellous morale of our men.
"Have they been shelling the avenues much?" I asked, referring to the
various communication trenches leading to the front line.
"Yes, sir. Nos. 1, 2 and 3 are being severely crumped. I would suggest
No. 5, sir; it's as clear as any of them. I should advise you to get
along this lane as fast as possible. I have been here some time, so I
know Fritz's little ways."
He saluted, and like a mole disappeared into his dug-out as I moved
away.
I told my man to keep about ten yards behind me, so that in the event of
a shell bursting near by one or the other of us would have a chance of
clearing.
"Now," I said, "let it go at a double. Come on," and with head well
forward I raced up the road.
Altogether, with my camera, I was carrying about seventy pounds in
weight, so you can guess it was no easy matter. There was about another
150 yards to go, when I heard the ominous shriek of a German shell.
"Down in the ditch," I yelled. "Lie flat," and suiting the action to the
word, I flung myself down in the mud and water near a fallen tree. Crash
came the shell, and it exploded with a deafening roar more on the side
of the road than the previous one, and near enough to shower mud and
water all over me as I lay there.
"Now then," I yelled to my man, "double-up before they range the next
one," and jumping up we raced away. Not before I had got well clear,
and near the old railway station, did I stay and rest. While there
several shells crashed in and around the road we had just left. I was
glad I was safely through.
With the exception of the usual heavy shelling, getting down to the
front trench was quite uneventful. My objective was a place called "The
White City," so called because it is cut out of the chalk-bank of our
position facing Beaumont Hamel. Getting there through the communication
trenches was as difficult as in the winter. In places the mud and water
reached my knees, and when you had come to the end of your journey you
were as much like dirty plaster-cast as anything possibly could be.
After three-quarters of an hour's trudging and splashing I reached "The
White City," and turned down a trench called "Tenderloin Street." About
one hundred yards on my right, at the junction of "King Street" and "St.
Helena Street," my guide pointed me out the Brigade dug-out. Depositing
my camera and outfit close to some sandbags I went inside and introduced
myself. Four officers were present.
"By Jove!" said one, "you are welcome. Have a drink. Here's a
cigarette."
"Here you are," said another, "have a match. Now tell us all the news
from home. My word, we haven't heard a blessed thing for days. Have you
really come to photograph 'The Day'?"
"Yes," I replied. "But I have come this afternoon to look round, and to
film the 'strafe' at Beaumont Hamel. You know the trenches round here:
where can I see the village to the best advantage?"
"Well," said one, "there are several places, but Bosche is 'hating' us
rather this afternoon, and the firing trench is anything but healthy.
He's been properly dosing us with 'whizz-bangs,' but you know he _will_
have his bit of fun. You see, when Fritz starts we let off a few 'flying
pigs' in return, which undoubtedly disturbs his peace of mind."
"By my map, a spot called 'Lanwick Street' seems likely," I said. "It's
bang opposite the village, and they are putting the 15-inch on the
eastern corner. If you will be good enough to guide me, I will have a
look now; it will take me some time to fix up my camera in reasonable
safety."
"You won't find much safety there," he replied. "We have practically to
rebuild the parapet every night, but only for a few more days, thank
Heaven! Anyway, come along."
We proceeded by way of "King Street" to "Lanwick Street," and several
times we had to fall flat in the trench bottom to escape being hit by
shells. They seemed at times to burst almost overhead. The "whizz-bangs"
which Fritz puts over are rather little beggars; you have no time to
dodge them. They come with a "phut" and a bang that for sheer speed
knocks spots off a flash of lightning. One only thinks to duck when the
beastly thing has gone off.
"Lanwick Street" was the usual sort of trench. At one end was an
artillery observation officer, correcting the range of his guns.
"Go easy, won't you?" he said to me. "Bosche has an idea we use this
corner for something rather important. If he sees your camera we shall
certainly receive his attention. For Heaven's sake, keep your head
down."
"Right-o!" I said. "Lend me your periscope; I will have a look at the
ground first through that."
I looked on the village, or rather the late site of it. It was
absolutely flattened out, with the exception of a few remaining stumps
of trees, which used to be a beautiful wood, near which the village
nestled.
"That's been done by our guns in five days; some mess, eh?"
"My word, yes. Now about this afternoon's bombardment; they are working
on the left-hand corner."
I chose a spot for working and fixing up my tripod, and waited until
4.30 p.m.
In the meantime, with the aid of a stick, I gradually pushed away
several sandbags which interfered with my view on the parapet. To do
this it was necessary to raise myself head and shoulders above the top
and, with one arm pushed forward, I worked the bags clear. I felt much
better when that job was done.
"You're lucky," said the A.O. "I had one of my periscopes hit clean by a
bullet this morning. Fritz must be having a nap, or he would have had
you for a cert."
"Anyway," I replied, "it gives me a comparatively clear view now."
Time was drawing near. I prepared my camera by clothing it in an old
piece of sacking, and gently raising it on to the tripod I screwed it
tight. Then gradually raising my head to the view-finder, I covered the
section which was going to be "strafed," and wrapping my hand in a khaki
handkerchief, waited.
Our guns were simply pouring shells on the Bosche. The first of the
15-inch came over and exploded with a deafening roar. The sight was
stupefying.
I began to expose my film, swinging the camera first on one side then
the other. Shell after shell came roaring over; one dropped on the
remaining walls of a château, and when the smoke had cleared there was
absolutely nothing left. How in the world anything could live in such a
maelstrom of explosive it is difficult to conceive.
I continued to expose my film at intervals until about 6 o'clock, and
twice I had to snatch my camera down hastily and take shelter, for the
"whizz-bangs" came smashing too close for safety.
I was just taking down my camera when several shells exploded in the
trenches about fifteen yards behind us. Then a man came running into our
traverse: "Shure, sor," he said, "and it's gas-shells the dirty swine
are sending over. My eyes seem to be burning out." His eyes were
undoubtedly bad. Tears were pouring down his cheeks, and he was trying
to ease the pain by binding his handkerchief over them. Then I smelt the
gas, and having had a previous dose at Vernilles, and not wishing for
further acquaintance with it, I bade my man rush as quickly as possible
back to "The White City."
I got back to H.Q. dug-out just in time for tea. I told the officers
present of my success in filming the "strafe," and I learned that it was
the first time Fritz had put tear-shells over them. "We must certainly
prepare our goggles," they said.
"Have you seen 'Jacob's Ladder'?" enquired one of the officers.
"No," I replied, "I shall wait until dusk. It will then be safer to move
about."
We sat smoking and talking about the prospects of the "Big Push," and at
last we all lapsed into silence, which was broken by the arrival of a
lieutenant. The Captain looked up from his bench. "Hullo, what's up? Any
news?"
"Oh, no; nothing much, sir," said he, "but H.Q. wishes me to go out for
a raid to-night. They want a Bosche to talk to; there are a few things
they want to know. We haven't brought one in for several nights now.
They asked me to go out again; I said, if there was one to be had my
Company would bring him along."
[Illustration: GEOFFREY H. MALINS, O.B.E., OFFICIAL KINEMATOGRAPHER TO
THE WAR OFFICE]
"Right-o!" said the Captain. "Who are you taking?"
"---- for one, and a few men--the same lot that have been across with me
before. H.Q. specially want to know the actual results of the heavy
'strafe.' They are going to cease fire to-night, between twelve and one.
I want to find out where their machine guns are fixed up----" And so the
conversation went on.
At that moment another officer came in, and I got him to show me round
"Jacob's Ladder." We went through "King Street" again, and followed the
trench until we arrived at the place. The formation of this point was
extraordinary.
A stranger coming upon it for the first time would undoubtedly get a
slight shock for, upon turning into a traverse, you come abruptly upon
an open space, as if the trench had been sliced off, leaving an opening
from which you could look down upon our front line trenches, not only
upon them but well in front of them.
I was on the bank of a small valley; leading down from this position
were about twenty-five steps, hence the name "Jacob's Ladder." Our
parapet still followed down, like the handrail of a staircase, only of
course much higher.
The position from a photographic point of view was admirable, and I
doubt whether on any other part of our front such a suitable point could
be found. "Jove!" I said, "this is the ideal place. I will definitely
decide upon it."
"If you look carefully over here you will see the Bosche line quite
plainly. They are about seventy yards away, and at that point we are
going to put a barrage of fire on their second line with our Stokes
guns. We are going to do that from 'Sunken Road,' midway in 'No Man's
Land.' Can you see it there?"
"Yes," I replied; "splendid. As soon as I have got the mine exploding,
and our men going over the parapet and across 'No Man's Land,' I can
immediately--if all's well--swing my camera on to the barrage and film
that. This is a wonderful position."
"It rests entirely with Fritz now. If he does not crump this place you
will be all right, but they are sure to plaster our front trench as soon
as they see us go over."
"Well, I must risk that," I said.
And we turned and retraced our steps to the "White City," where I bade
my companion good night, and returned to film the scene of the General's
speech to his men the following morning.