ROLL-CALL AFTER THE FIGHT
A Glorious Band of Wounded Heroes Stagger Into Line and
Answer the Call--I Visit a Stricken Friend in a Dug-out--On
the Way to La Boisselle I Get Lost in the Trenches--And
Whilst Filming Unexpectedly Come Upon the German Line--I
Have a Narrow Squeak of Being Crumped--But Get Away
Safely--And later Commandeer a Couple of German Prisoners to
Act as Porters.
The day wore on. The success of the fighting swayed first this way, then
that. The casualties mounted higher and higher. Men were coming back
into our trenches maimed and broken; they all had different tales to
tell. I passed along talking to and cheering our wonderful men as much
as I could. And the Germans, to add to this ghastly whirlpool of horror,
threw shell after shell into the dressing station, killing and wounding
afresh the gallant lads who had gone "over the top" that morning. They
seemed to know of this place and played upon it with a gloating,
fiendish glee worthy only of unspeakable savages.
As I was passing one group of wounded, I ran against my doctor friend of
the night before.
"Busy day for you?" I said.
"My word, yes," he replied. "They are coming faster than I can attend to
them. I am just off to see P----. He's caught it badly."
"Serious?" I asked.
"Yes, rather; in the back. He's in the dug-out."
And the doctor rushed away. I followed him. P---- was lying there on a
stretcher looking ghastly. The doctor was bending over him. Poor old
chap. Only that morning he had hooked me out to film the sunken road
scenes as full of life and hope as anyone could conceive. Now he was on
his back, a broken wreck. In the trenches there were hundreds of cases
as bad, or even worse, but they did not affect me. There were far too
many for the mind to fully grasp their meaning. But down here in this
dark dug-out, twenty feet below the earth, the sombre surroundings only
illuminated by a guttering candle in a bottle, I was far more affected.
It was natural though, for one always feels things more when some one
one knows is concerned.
P---- was the first to speak.
"Hullo, old man," he said in a husky, low voice. "You've pulled
through?"
"Yes," I replied. "But 'touchwood'! I'm so sorry. Anyway, you're all
right for 'Blighty,'" and to cheer him up I continued in a bantering
strain: "You knew how to manage it, eh? Jolly artful, you know." His
face lighted up with a wan smile.
"Yes, Malins, rather a long 'Blighty,' I'm afraid."
Two stretcher-bearers came in at that moment to take him away. With
difficulty they got him out of the trench, and grasping his hand I bade
him good-bye.
"I'm glad you got our boys, Malins. I do so want to see that film," were
his last words.
"I'll show it to you when I get back to England," I called after him,
and then he disappeared.
The fighting was now beginning to die down. The remnants of four
regiments were coming in. Each section was accumulating in spaces on
their own. I realised that the roll-call was about to take place. I
filmed them as they staggered forward and dropped down utterly worn out,
body and soul. By an almost superhuman effort many of them staggered to
their feet again, and formed themselves into an irregular line.
In one little space there were just two thin lines--all that was left of
a glorious regiment (barely one hundred men). I filmed the scene as it
unfolded itself. The sergeant stood there with note-book resting on the
end of his rifle, repeatedly putting his pencil through names that were
missing. This picture was one of the most wonderful, the most impressive
that can be conceived. It ought to be painted and hung in all the
picture galleries of the world, in all the schools and public buildings,
and our children should be taught to regard it as the standard of man's
self-sacrifice.
I stayed in the trenches until the following day, filming scene after
scene of our wounded. I learned that nothing more was to be attempted
until later, when fresh divisions were to be brought up. Knowing this I
decided to leave this section of the trenches. But the ghastly scenes of
which I was witness will always remain a hideous nightmare in my memory,
though I thank God I had been spared to film such tremendous scenes of
supreme heroism and sacrifice in the cause of freedom.
I got safely back through the trenches to ----, where Brigade H.Q. told
me of an urgent message from G.H.Q. I was to report as soon as possible.
On my way I called on General ----, who was delighted to hear I had
successfully filmed the attack, the record of which would show the world
how gloriously our men had fought.
Reaching advanced G.H.Q. I reported myself. All were pleased to see me
safe and sound, and to hear of my success. I was told that lively things
were happening at La Boisselle. I heard also how successful our troops
had been in other parts of the line. Fricourt and Mametz and a dozen
other villages had fallen to our victorious troops. This news put new
life into me. At La Boisselle they said we had pushed through, and
fighting was still going on. I decided to leave for that district right
away.
Passing through Albert, I halted the car at the top of Becourt Wood.
From this point I had to walk. In the distance I could see hundreds of
shells bursting, and guns were thundering out. I gave one camera to my
orderly and another had the tripod. Taking the second camera myself, I
started off. We threaded our way through the wood and out into the
trenches. Shells were falling close by, but by hugging the parapet we
got along fairly well.
The communication trench seemed interminable.
"Where the deuce am I?" I asked an officer in passing. "I want to get to
our front trenches."
"You want to go the other way. This trench leads back to ----."
This was anything but cheering news. I had been walking for about an
hour, always seeming to just miss the right turning. Truth to tell I had
failed to provide myself with a trench map, and it was my first time in
this section. The bursting shells were filling up the trenches, and I
was becoming absolutely fogged. So, in sheer desperation--for the
bombardment was getting more intense and I was afraid of losing
pictures--I climbed on to the parapet to look round. What a scene of
desolation. The first thing I saw was a dead German. That didn't help to
cheer me up overmuch. Making a slight detour I stopped to fix the Hun
front line if possible. Our own I could see. But no matter where I
looked the Bosche line was apparently non-existent. Yet our shells were
smashing into the ground, which seemed to be absolutely empty.
I set up my camera and started to expose. While doing so I happened to
glance down, for I must explain that I was on a slight mound. Which was
the most surprised--the Bosche or myself--I do not know, for less than a
hundred yards away was the German line. I stopped turning. Immediately
I did so bullets came singing unpleasantly past my head. I dropped flat
on the ground, which luckily for me was slightly protected by a ridge of
earth. I dragged the camera down on top of me and, lying flat, the
bullets whizzed by overhead. The Bosche must have thought he had got me,
for in a few moments fire ceased. I wriggled towards the trench and
dropped like a log into the bottom, dragging my camera after me. One of
my men had followed, and seeing me drop, did the same. He came tumbling
head first into the trench.
"That was a near squeak, sir," he said. "Yes, come on, they will
probably start shelling us. Cut through here. I noticed some German
prisoners coming this way. I must get them. Where's the other man? Keep
him close up."
Reaching a trench through which the German prisoners were being led, I
hurriedly fixed my camera and filmed them shambling in, holding their
hands up, their nerves completely shattered by the intensity of our
terrific bombardment. Some were covered with wounds, others were
carrying our wounded Tommies in on stretchers. It was an extraordinary
sight. Ten minutes before these men were doing their utmost to kill each
other. Now, friend and foe were doing their best to help each other.
Shells were dropping close by. One fell in the midst of a group of
prisoners and, bursting, killed fourteen and wounded eleven. The others
were marched on.
Whether I had been spotted or not, I do not know, but German shells were
crumping unpleasantly near. I was just thinking of moving when another
burst so close that it made me quickly decide. I looked round for my
men. One was there; the other was missing.
"Get into a dug-out," I yelled. "Where is L----?"
"Don't know, sir," he said.
He dived into a dug-out at the first shell which burst near. At that
moment another "crump" crashed down and exploded with a crunching roar,
throwing a large quantity of earth all around me. One after another came
over in quick succession.
"Where the devil is that fellow?" I said to ----. "He's got my
aeroscope. When brother Fritz has smoothed down this little 'strafe' I
will try and find him."
"He was in that section, sir, where Bosche crossed."
For over half an hour the crumping continued, then it practically
ceased. The Bosche evidently thought he had distributed us to the four
winds of heaven. I emerged from my shelter and hurriedly ran along the
trench to find my man. He was nowhere to be found. Several dug-outs had
been smashed in, and in one place the water in the trench was deep red
with blood, and wading through this was anything but pleasant. At that
moment a telephone man came up.
"Can you tell me, sir, if there is a machine-gun position hereabouts? I
have been sent to run a wire." I was just replying when a crump came
hurtling over.
"Duck," I yelled, and duck we did. I tried to cover the whole of my body
under my steel helmet, and crouching low on the ground, the crump burst
just on the parapet above, showering huge lumps of dirt which clattered
upon us.
"You had better get out of this," I said, and suiting the action to the
word I attempted to run, when another crump burst, this time in the
traverse close behind. Well, which of us ran the fastest for cover I
don't know, but I was a good second!
The non-appearance of my other man worried me. He was nowhere to be
found. It occurred to me that as he did not find me on emerging from
his dug-out, and as it was coming on to rain, he had returned to the car
thinking he might find me there. Packing up my camera, therefore, I
started off, passing more prisoners on the way. I promptly collared two
of them to carry my tripod and camera, and as we proceeded I could not
restrain a smile at the sight of two German prisoners hurrying along
with my outfit, and a grinning Tommy with his inevitable cigarette
between his lips, and a bayonet at the ready, coming up behind. It was
too funny for words.
When I reached the car my lost man was not there. I enquired of several
battle-police and stretcher-bearers if they had seen a man of his
description wandering about, and carrying a leather case, but nobody had
seen him. After having a sandwich, I decided to go again to the front
line to find him. I could not leave him there. I must find out something
definite. On my way down I made further enquiries, but without result. I
searched around those trenches until I was soaked to the skin and fagged
out, but not a trace of him could I discover; not even my camera or
pieces of it. The only thing that could have happened, I thought, was
that he had got into a dug-out, and the entrance had been blown in by
heavy shell-fire.
Retracing my steps I examined several smashed dug-outs. It was
impossible to even attempt to lift the rubble. With gloomy thoughts I
returned again to the car, and on my journey back left instructions with
various men to report anything found to the town major at ----. I stayed
the night in the vicinity in the hope of receiving news; but not a scrap
came through. Again next day, and the next, I hunted the trenches,
unsuccessfully, and finally I came to the conclusion that he had been
killed and decided to post him as missing. I had arrived at this
decision whilst resting on the grass at the top of Becourt Wood and was
making a meal of bully and biscuits when, looking up, I saw what I took
to be an apparition of my missing man walking along the road and
carrying a black case. I could scarcely believe my eyes.
"Where the devil have you been?" I asked. "I was just on my way back to
post you as missing. What has happened?"
"Well, sir, it was like this. When that shell burst I dived into a
dug-out, and was quite all right. Then another shell burst and struck
the entrance, smashing it in. I have been all this time trying to get
out. Then I lost my way and--well, sir, here I am. But your camera case
is spoilt." So ended his adventure.
Thinking that the films I had obtained of the Somme fighting should be
given to the public as quickly as possible, I suggested to G.H.Q.--and
they fully agreed--that I should return to England without delay. So
packing up my belongings I returned to London next day.
Little time was lost in developing and printing the pictures, and the
Military authorities, recognising what a splendid record they presented
of "The Great Push," had copies prepared without delay for exhibition
throughout the length and breadth of the land; in our Dependencies over
seas, and in neutral countries. They were handled with wonderful
celerity by Mr. Will Jury, a member of the War Office Committee, and put
out through the business organisation over which he so ably presides. It
is sufficient here to record the deep and abiding impression created by
the appearance of the films on the screen. People crowded the theatres
to see the pictures; thousands were turned away; and it has been
estimated that the number of those who have seen these Official War
Films must run into many millions.
[Illustration: THE GERMANS MAKE A BIG COUNTER ATTACK AT LA BOISSELLE AND
OVILLERS. JULY 3RD AND 4TH, 1916]
[Illustration: MEN OF SCOTLAND RUSHING A MINE CRATER AT THE DEADLY
"HOHENZOLLERN REDOUBT"]
The Somme Film has proved a mighty instrument in the service of
recruiting; the newspapers still talk of its astounding realism, and it
is generally admitted that the great kinematograph picture has done much
to help the people of the British Empire to realise the wonderful spirit
of our men in the face of almost insuperable difficulties; the splendid
way in which our great citizen army has been organised; the vastness of
the military machine we have created during the last two and a half
years; and the immensity of the task which still faces us.
His Majesty the King has declared that "the public should see these
pictures"; and Mr. Lloyd George, after witnessing a display of the film,
sent forth the following thrilling message to the nation: "Be up and
doing! See that this picture, which is in itself an epic of
self-sacrifice and gallantry, reaches every one. Herald the deeds of our
brave men to the ends of the earth. This is _your_ duty."
A thrilling message truly, and I am proud indeed to think that I have
been permitted to play my part in the taking and making of this
wonderful film.