FILMING UNDER FIRE
The General's Speech to the Fusiliers Before Going Into
Action--Filming the 15-inch Howitzers--A Miniature
Earthquake--"The Day" is Postponed--Keeping Within "The
Limits"--A Surprise Meeting in the Trenches--A Reminder of
Other Days--I Get Into a Tight Corner--And Have An
Unpleasantly Hot Experience--I Interview a Trench
Mortar--Have a Lively Quarter of an Hour--And Then Get Off.
Rain, rain, rain. It was like a dull, dismal December night. Owing to
the tramping of hundreds of feet up and down the trenches, they became
like a quagmire. We slipped and slid, clutching to the sticky, clay
walls, and floundering up to our knees in holes, and, to make matters
worse, Bosche, who knew that this was the time we brought up fresh
munitions, crumped the Fifth Avenue as hard as he could. One or two
shells crashed into the trench on the way up, and I had to pass over two
working parties (by the aid of a candle-light, screened) searching for,
and placing the remains of their comrades in sacks.
Good God! it's a hellish game; and the terror of war gripped one's
heartstrings that night. The momentary flash of the exploding shells
lighted up the faces of the men with ghastly vividness, some grinding
out curses then groping blindly on. I was glad when the journey was
ended, and I turned into a dug-out in the village to rest for the night.
Next morning a misty, drizzly pall still hung over everything. I
wondered how in the world our men were going to attack under such
conditions, and to-morrow was "The Day." I pitied them with all my
heart and soul. And then I thought of myself, and my own particular job.
I couldn't possibly "take" in such disgusting weather. The result would
be an absolute failure. I controlled my feelings, and hoped for the
best.
The time arrived for the General's speech. Reaching the field, I found
all the men mustered up. The General had just arrived. I started to film
the scenes as they presented themselves to me. Jove! The speech was the
most impressive that I had ever heard. I will give it as it was spoken,
as near as I can. I do not think that it has been published before:
"Officers and men of the West Riding Field Company, R.E.,
and -- Battalion, Royal Fusiliers:
"I hoped yesterday to be able to come and wish you good
luck, on the first anniversary of the engagement in Gully
Ravine, there the Royal Fusiliers took the Turkish fifth
line of trenches. Owing to the rain, however, and to the
discomfort to which you would have been placed, I postponed
my visit until to-day.
"I want to tell you something of the situation as it now
stands. You are probably aware that we are now taking part
in the greatest battle ever fought by British troops. Not
only is it of far more importance than any fight since
Waterloo, but the numbers engaged far exceed any assembly of
troops in former days. The strength of this army,--the
Fourth Army--under General Sir H. S. Rawlinson, is ----
times as large as the force of British troops at Mons, when
we first came out a year and a half ago.
"The importance of winning a great victory is so great that
nothing has been left undone to ensure success. But the
higher Commanders know--and I know--that all the best
arrangements in the world cannot win battles. Battles are
won by infantry, and it is to the battalions like yourself
that we look to gain a great victory, equal to the great
victory which the Russians have obtained this month.
"The Germans are shut in all round. On their northern flank
they are shut in by the British Navy, on the eastern flank
pressed back by the Russians, on the southern flank the
Italians are advancing, and this week, on the western flank,
certain Divisions of the French and many Divisions of the
British are determined to break their line and drive them
back to their own country.
"Officers and men of the -- Battalion, the Royal Fusiliers:
You are very fortunate in having this opportunity to add to
the high honours already gained by your distinguished
regiment. Not only, however, are you fighting for your
battalion and your regiment, you are fighting to maintain
against the Germans the same high reputation which you have
won for the ---- Division on the Gallipoli Peninsula. More
than that, you are fighting for your country, and also you
are fighting for Christianity and Humanity. You are fighting
for truth and justice against oppression. We are fighting
for our liberty against slavery.
"It is now thirty-three years since I was first associated
with the Royal Fusiliers, the regiment I have looked up to
during all my service as a pattern of smartness and
efficiency. I have served with you in Gibraltar, Egypt, and
many stations in India; also at Aldershot, and on the
Gallipoli Peninsula during the past year. There is no
regiment in the service in which I have had a higher
confidence, and I hope next week to be able to assemble you
again and to congratulate you on the great victory that you
are going to win for me, as commanding this Division, and
for your country."
The faces of the men shone with a new light. It seemed as if they had
seen a sight which other mortals were not allowed to look upon. As
upright as poplars, chests well forward and heads thrown back, their
souls seemed to speak out of their inflexible determination to win. They
marched away, going to that stretch of land from which many have never
returned--giving their lives for freedom and the honour of England.
I turned and gave a parting wave of the hand to a group of officers
standing by.
"See you to-night," I said, "at the 'White City.' We will drink to the
health of 'The Day,'" and with a parting laugh I moved a way.
I found out through H.Q. that some of our 15-inch howitzers were in the
vicinity, so I decided to film them without delay, to work them into the
story of the battle. I discovered their position on my map. I reached
the battery. The state of the ground was indescribable. It was more
like a "sea of mud," and standing in the middle of this morass was the
giant gun, for all the world like a horrible frog squatting on its
haunches. Each time it breathed it belched out flame and smoke with the
most unearthly crash that could possibly be produced, and with each
breath there flew with it a mass of metal and high explosive weighing
fourteen hundred pounds, scattering death and destruction for hundreds
of yards round the point of impact in the German defences, so that our
boys might find it easier to force their way through.
I filmed the firing several times, from various points of view, and when
standing only about fifteen yards away the concussion shook the ground
like a miniature earthquake. On one occasion, indeed, it lifted my
camera and tripod in the air, driving it crashing into my chest. I had
unknowingly placed myself in the danger zone which forms a semi-circle
on either side of the muzzle when fired, the force being at times so
great as to tear trees up by the roots and send them crashing to the
ground.
The prospects for "The Day" were certainly bad. As one burly Lancashire
lad said to me: "the Devil was looking after his own; but we are going
to beat them, sir." That was the spirit of all the men I met there.
I went direct to B.H.Q. to get a full supply of film stock before going
to the front line. I wished to get there early, to have a final look
round and a discussion with the officers.
A man I knew was there, looking for all the world like a man down and
out. He had a face as long as a fiddle, and several other officers were
looking just as glum. "You're a cheerful lot," I said. "What's up?
Anything wrong?"
"Yes, rather," they replied, "the ---- day is postponed for forty-eight
hours."
[Illustration: BOMBARDING THE GERMAN TRENCHES AT THE OPENING BATTLE OF
THE GREAT SOMME FIGHT, JULY 1ST, 1916]
[Illustration: MY OFFICIAL PASS TO THE FRONT LINE TO FILM THE BATTLE OF
THE SOMME, JULY 1ST, 1916]
"Great Scott! Why?" I asked.
"The weather," he answered laconically. "It's quite impossible for our
chaps to go over the top in such sticky stuff. They wouldn't stand an
earthly. As I said before, it's doing its best to upset the whole
affair. I know the men will be awfully disappointed. We can hardly hold
them back now--but there, I suppose the Commander-in-Chief knows best.
Undoubtedly it's a wise decision. The weather may break--God knows it
couldn't be worse!"
At that moment the Brigade-General came in. He was looking quite bright.
"I hear 'The Day' has been postponed, sir," I said. "Is that official?"
"Yes," he said. "If the weather improves ever such a little it will pay
us for waiting, and of course it will suit you much better?"
"Rather," I replied. "It also gives me more time to film the preliminary
scenes. I shall, however, keep to my programme, and go to the trenches
this afternoon."
I packed all my apparatus together, put some bully and biscuits in my
bag, and started off once more for the trenches. I admit that on the
journey thoughts crept into my mind, and I wondered whether I should
return. Outwardly I was merry and bright, but inwardly--well, I admit I
felt a bit nervous. And yet, I had an instinctive feeling that all would
be well, that I need not worry. Such is the complex mystery of the human
mind, battling within itself against its own knowledge, its own
decisions, its own instincts. And yet there is a predominating force
which seems to shuffle itself out of the midst of that chaotic state of
mind, and holds itself up as a beacon-light, saying "Follow me, believe
in me, let me guide you, all will be well." And it is the man who allows
himself to be guided by that mysterious something, which for the want of
a better name we may call "instinct," who benefits, both spiritually
and materially, by it.
The usual big gun duel was proceeding with its usual intensity, but we
were putting over about fifty shells to the Huns' one. "Crump" fell both
ahead and behind me, compelling me, as before, to fall flat upon the
ground. I reached the "Fifth Avenue." The trench was full of men taking
down munitions. The news of the postponement had by some means reached
them; they also were looking rather glum.
Ye Gods, I thought, it's very nearly worth while to risk walking along
the top. In places there was quite two feet of mud and water to wallow
through.
"Fritz is crumping down the bottom of the Avenue, sir," said a Tommy to
me; "just caught several of our lads--dirty blighters: right in the
trench, sir."
"Thanks," I replied.
Thinking there might be an opportunity of getting some scenes of
shell-bursts, I hurried on as fast as conditions would permit. With men
coming up, and myself and others going down, with full packs on, it was
most difficult to squeeze past each other. At times it was impossible,
so climbing up on to the parapet, I crawled into another traverse
further along.
Just then another shell burst lower down, but well away from the trench,
hurting no one. I eventually reached the "White City" without mishap,
and was greeted enthusiastically by the officers present.
"What's the programme now?"
"I am waiting for the final kick-off," I said. "Are you going to give me
a good show? And don't forget," I said, "hold back some of your
bayonet-work on Fritz until I get there with my machine."
"But you're not coming after us with that affair, are you?"
"Yes, certainly; bet your life I shan't be far behind. As soon as you
get into Bosche trenches I shall be there; so don't forget--get there."
From the corner some one shouted: "Tell brother Fritz if he gets out of
'the limits,' won't you?" This remark caused much laughter.
"Where have you heard that term used?" I enquired. "'Limits' is a
technical term."
"Yes, I heard it used once, a year or two ago. I was staying at a small
place called Steyning, near Brighton. A Film Company was taking scenes
in the village and on the downs. They had about two hundred horsemen and
an immense crowd, and were rehearsing a scene for what I was told was a
representation of the Battle of Worcester. It was some fight. The camera
man was continually shouting out to them to keep in 'the limits' (I
assumed he meant the angle of view). As I say, it was some fight.
Everything went well until a section of the men, who were supposed to
run away, got a few genuine knocks on the head and, wishing to get their
own back, they continued fighting. It was the funniest thing in the
world. Of course the camera was stopped, and the scene retaken."
"That's extraordinary," I replied. "Do you know that I was the chap who
filmed that scene? it was for a film play called 'King Charles.' It's
very peculiar how one meets. I remember that incident quite well."
I again filmed various scenes of the Germans "strafing" our lines. Our
guns, as usual, were crashing out. They were pouring concentrated fire
on the Hawthorn Redoubt, a stronghold of the Germans, and thinking it
would yield an excellent picture, I made my way to a point of vantage,
whence I could get an unobstructed field of view. There was only one
place, and that was a point directly opposite. To get there it was
necessary to cross a sunken road about twenty-five feet wide. But it
was under continual fire from German machine guns, and being broad
daylight it was absolutely asking for trouble, thick and unadulterated,
to attempt to cross it. I was advised not to do so, and I admit I ought
to have taken the advice. Anyway, the opportunity of getting such a fine
scene of a barrage of fire was too strong, and for once my cautionary
instincts were at fault.
To reach the sunken road was comparatively easy. You had only to walk
along our front line trench, and fall down flat on the ground when a
German shell burst near you, then proceed. I reached the junction where
the road ran across at right angles, and from the shelter of our parapet
the road looked the quietest place on earth. It appeared easy enough to
me to jump up quickly, run across and drop on the further side in our
trench.
"Ridiculously easy! I'm going across," I said to my man. "When I'm over
I'll throw a cord across for you to tie my tripod on to; then I'll pull
it across. It will save you attempting it."
I tied the camera on my shoulders, so as to have my arms quite free. I
was now ready. The firing was renewed with redoubled vigour. Shells I
could see were falling on the Hun lines like hailstones. "Jove!" I said
to myself, "I shall miss it. Here goes."
Clambering up to the road level, I sprawled out flat and lay perfectly
still for a few seconds, with my heart jumping like a steam engine.
Nothing happened. I gradually drew up my leg, dug the toe of my boot in
the ground, and pushed myself forward bit by bit. So far, so good: I was
half-way across. I was congratulating myself on my easy task. "What in
the world am I lying here for?" I asked myself; "why shouldn't I run the
remaining distance?" And suiting the action to the word, I got up--and
found trouble! I had barely raised myself to my hands and knees when,
with a rattle and a rush, a stream of bullets came swishing by, some
striking the ground on my left, about nine feet away.
I took the whole situation in in a flash. To lie there was almost
certain death; to stand up was worse; to go back was as bad as going
forward. What happened afterwards I don't know. I could hear the bullets
whizzing by my head with an ugly hiss. The next moment, with a jump and
a spring, I landed head first in the trench on the opposite side. For
the moment I did not know whether I was hit or not. I unstrapped my
camera, to see if it had caught any bullets, but, thank Heaven, they had
cleared it. Some of our men were standing looking aghast at me, and
wondering what the devil it was that had made such a sudden dive into
their midst. The look on their faces was just too funny for words; I had
to roar with laughter, and, realising that I was safe, they also joined
in.
But I was not out of the wood yet, for brother Fritz immediately turned
"whizz-bangs" on to us. "Phut-bang," "phut-bang," they came. Every one
scampered for cover. Needless to say, I did so too. Five minutes went
by. All the time these souvenirs dropped around us, but luckily none of
them got any direct hits on our trench.
I thought I would wait another five minutes, to see if Bosche would
cease fire. But not he. He was rather cross about my crossing the road
safely.
Time went by. Still the firing continued. I decided to risk throwing the
cord and pulling over my tripod. Keeping low, I yelled to my man: he,
like a sage, had also taken cover, but hearing my shouts came out.
"The rope is coming," I yelled. "Tug it as a signal, when you have it."
"Right," came the reply.
Three times I threw it before I received the welcome tug at the other
end. Then a voice shouted: "Pull away, sir."
I pulled. I had to do it gently, otherwise the broken nature of the
ground might damage the head. At last it was safely over, but Bosche had
seen something moving across; then he turned his typewriter on again.
More bullets flew by, but with the exception of one which struck the
metal revolving top and sliced out a piece as evenly as if it had been
done by machine, no harm was caused.
I bade one of the men shoulder my tripod. We rushed up the trench as
fast as possible, and I thanked Heaven for my escape. When I reached the
section where I judged it best to fit up my camera, I gently peeped over
the parapet. What a sight. Never in my life had I seen such a hurricane
of fire. It was inconceivable that any living thing could exist anywhere
near it. The shells were coming over so fast and furious that it seemed
as if they must be touching each other on their journey through the air.
To get my camera up was the work of a few seconds. I had no time to put
any covering material over it. The risk had to be run, the picture was
worth it. Up went my camera well above the parapet and, quickly sighting
my object, I started to expose. Swinging the machine first one way then
the other, I turned the handle continuously. Pieces of shell were flying
and ripping past close overhead. They seemed to get nearer every time.
Whether they were splinters from the bursting shells or bullets from
machine guns I could not tell, but it got so hot at last that I judged
it wise to take cover. I had exposed sufficient film for my purpose, so
quickly unscrewing the camera, my man taking the tripod, I hurried into
a dug-out for cover. "Jove!" I thought, mopping the perspiration from
my head, "quite near enough to be healthy!"
Although the men were all taking cover, they were as happy as crickets
over this "strafe." There is nothing a Tommy likes more than to see our
artillery plastering Bosche trenches into "Potsdam."
"Well, what's the next move?" I was asked.
"Trench Mortars," I said. "Both 'Flying Pigs' and 'Plum Puddings' ought
to make topping scenes."
"Yes," the Captain said. "They are in action this afternoon, and I am in
charge of H.T.M. I'll give you a good show. I have only one pit
available, as Fritz dropped a 'crump' in the other yesterday, and blew
the whole show to smithereens. My sergeant was sitting smoking at the
time, and when she blew up it lifted him clean out of the trench,
without even so much as scratching him. He turned round to me, and
cursed Bosche for spoiling his smoke. He's promised to get his own back
on 'Brother Fritz.' Bet your life he will too."
He had hardly ceased speaking, when our dug-out shook as if a mine had
gone up close by. I tumbled out, followed by the others. Lumps of earth
fell on our heads; I certainly thought the roof was coming in on us.
Getting into the trench, the bombardment was still going strong, and
looking on my left I saw a dense cloud of smoke in our own firing
trench.
"What in the world's up?" I enquired of a man close by.
"Dunno, sir," he said. "I believe it's a Bosche mine. It made enough
fuss to be one, yet it seems in such an extraordinary position."
"How about getting round to have a look at it?" I said to ----.
"Right-o," he said; "but you know we can't cross the road there. I
think if we back well down, about one hundred yards, we may nip across
into No. 2 Avenue. That'll bring us out near 'Jacob's Ladder.'"
"Lead on," I said. "I wish I had known. I came in across the road
there," pointing down our firing trench.
"You've got more pluck than I have," he said. "You can congratulate
yourself that you are alive. Anyway, come on."
Eventually I reached "Jacob's Ladder," and asked an officer what had
happened.
"I don't know," he said; "but whatever it was, it's smashed our front
trench for about eighty yards: it's absolutely impassable."
Another officer came running up at that moment. "I say," he said,
"there's a scene up there for you. A trench mortar gun had a premature
burst, and exploded all the munition in the pit; blew the whole lot--men
and all--to pieces. It's made a crater thirty yards across. It's a
beastly wreck. Can't use that section of the front line. And to make
matters worse, Fritz is pumping over tear-shells. Everybody is tickled
to death with the fumes."
"Don't cheer me up, will you?" I remarked. "I'm going to film the trench
mortar this afternoon, both the H.T.M. and the 2-inch Gee. I can thank
my lucky stars I didn't decide to do them earlier. Anyway, here goes;
the light is getting rather poor."
The officer with whom I was talking kindly offered to guide me to the
spot. Crumps were still falling, and so was the rain. "We'll go through
'Lanwick Street,' then bear to the left, and don't forget to keep your
head down."
[Illustration: THE PLAN OF ATTACK AT BEAUMONT HAMEL. JULY 1ST, 1916]
[Illustration: OVER THE TOP OF BEAUMONT HAMEL. JULY 1ST, 1916]
There are two things I detest more than anything else in the trenches:
they are "whizz-bangs" and rats. The latter got mixed up in my feet
as I was walking through the trench, and one, more impudent than the
rest, when I crouched down to avoid a burst, jumped on to my back and
sprang away into the mud.
"We will turn back and go by way of 'White City,' then up King Street.
It may be cooler there." It certainly was not healthy in this
neighbourhood.
Turning back, I bade my man follow close behind. Entering the main
trench, I hurried along, and was quite near the King Street turning when
a Hun "crump" came tearing overhead. I yelled out to my man to take
cover, and crushed into the entrance of a dug-out myself. In doing so, I
upset a canteen of tea over a bucket-fire which one of our lads was
preparing to drink. His remarks were drowned in the explosion of the
shell, which landed barely twenty-five feet away.
"Now then," I called to my man, "run for it into King Street," and I got
there just in time to crouch down and escape another "crump" which came
hurtling over. In a flash I knew it was coming very near: I crouched
lower. It burst with a sickening sound. It seemed just overhead. Dirt
and rubble poured over me as I lay there. I rushed to the corner to see
where it had struck. It had landed only twelve feet from the dug-out
entrance which I had left only a few seconds before, and it had killed
the two men whom I had crushed against, and for the loss of whose tea I
was responsible.
It was not the time or place to hang about, so I hurried to the
trench-mortar pit to finish my scenes whilst daylight lasted.
I met the officer in charge of the T.M.
"Keep your head down," he shouted, as I turned round a traverse. "Our
parapet has been practically wiped out, and there is a sniper in the far
corner of the village. He has been dropping his pellets into my show
all day, and Fritz has been splashing me with his 'Minnies' to try and
find my gun, but he will never get it. Just look at the mess around."
I was looking. It would have beaten the finest Indian scout to try and
distinguish the trench from the débris and honeycomb of shell-holes.
"Where the deuce is your outfit?" I said, looking round.
"You follow me, but don't show an inch of head above. Look out."
Phut-bang came a pip-squeak. It struck and burst about five yards in
front of us. "Brother Fritz is confoundedly inconsiderate," he said. "He
seems to want all the earth to himself. Come on; we'll get there this
time, and run for it."
After clambering, crawling, running and jumping, we reached a hole in
the ground, into which the head and shoulders of a man were just
disappearing.
"This is my abode of love," said my guide. "How do you like it?"
I looked down, and at the depth of about twelve feet was a trench
mortar. The hole itself was, of course, boarded round with timber, and
was about seven feet square. There was a gallery leading back under our
parapet for the distance of about eighty feet, and in this were stored
the bombs. The men also sheltered there.
I let myself down with my camera and threaded by the numerous "plum
puddings" lying there: I fixed my camera up and awaited the order for
the men to commence firing.
"Are you ready?" came a voice from above.
"Right, sir," replied the sergeant. I began exposing my film.
"Fire!" the T.M. officer shouted down.
Fire they did, and the concussion nearly knocked me head over heels. I
was quite unprepared for such a backblast. Before they fired again, I
got a man to hold down the front leg of my tripod. The gun was
recharged; the order to fire was given, the lanyard was pulled, but no
explosion.
"Hullo, another----"
"Misfire," was the polite remark of the sergeant. "Those fuses are
giving us more trouble than enough."
Another detonator was put on, everything was ready again. Another tug
was given. Again no explosion.
Remembering the happenings of the morning in another pit, when a
premature burst occurred, I felt anything but comfortable. Sitting in
the middle of about one hundred trench mortar bombs, visions of the
whole show going up came to me.
Another detonator was put in. "Fire," came the order. Again it failed.
"Look here, sergeant," I said, "if that bally thing happens again I'm
off."
"The blessed thing has never been so bad before, sir. Let's have one
more try."
Still another detonator was put in. I began turning the handle of my
camera. This time it was successful.
"That's all I want," I said. "I'm off. Hand me up my camera. And with
due respect to your gun," I said to the T.M. officer, "you might cease
fire until I am about fifty yards away. I don't mind risking Brother
Fritz's 'strafe,' but I do object to the possibility of being scattered
to the four winds of heaven by our own shells." And with a laugh and
good wishes, I left him.
"I say," he called out, "come into my dug-out to-night, will you? It's
just in front of Fifth Avenue. I shall be there in about half an hour; I
have got to give Fritz a few more souvenirs to go on with. There is a
little more wire left over there, and the C.O. wants it all 'strafed'
away. Do come, won't you? So long. See you later. Keep your head down."
"Right-o!" I said, with a laugh. "Physician, heal thyself. A little
higher, and you might as well be sitting on the parapet." He turned
round sharply, then dropped on his knees.
"Strafe that bally parapet. I forgot all about it. Fire!" he yelled, and
I laughed at the pleasure he was getting out of blowing up Fritz.
I scrambled and slithered back into the recognised trench again, and on
my way back filmed the H.T.M., or "Flying Pig," in action. By this time
it was getting rather dull, so going to a dug-out, I dropped my
apparatus, and had another final look at the position from which I was
going to film the great attack in the morning.