THE SOMME (SEPTEMBER 1917)
About this time I got a telegram from Lord Beaverbrook asking me to
meet him the next morning at Hesdin (Canadian Representatives' H.Q.);
so I left Amiens early, arriving at Hesdin about 11.45 a.m. There they
handed me a letter from him explaining to me that something very
important had happened, and that he had left for Cassel. Would I have
some lunch and follow him there? I lunched alone at the H.Q. and
started for Cassel, where I arrived about 2.30, and found a letter
telling me that he found that the aerodrome from which he wanted to
get the news he desired was not near Cassel, so he had left, but would
I meet him at the "Hôtel du Louvre," Boulogne, at 4 p.m., as his boat
left at 4.20? Away I went to Boulogne, and walked up and down outside
the "Louvre." About ten minutes past four up breezed a car, and in it
was a slim little man with an enormous head and two remarkable eyes. I
saluted and tried to make military noises with my boots. Said he: "Are
you Orpen?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Are you willing to work for the
Canadians?" said he. "Certainly, sir," said I. "Well," said he,
"that's all right. Jump in, and we'll go and have a drink." So down to
the buffet we went, and we had a bottle of champagne in very quick
time, and away he went on to the boat, without another word, smiling;
and the smile continued till I lost sight of him round the corner of (p. 043)
the jetty. A strange day: I wondered a lot on the way back to Amiens,
where I arrived about 9.45. I never knew then what a good friend I had
met.
[Illustration: XVI. _A Grave in a Trench._]
As before, in Cassel, I first began to realise how wonderful the
workwomen of France were, so in Amiens I began to realise how
different the young men of France were to what one was brought up at
home to imagine. I had always been led to believe that an Englishman
was a far finer example of the human race than a Frenchman; but it
certainly is not so now. The young Frenchman is a keen, strong, hardy
fellow, and his general level of physical development is very high.
I remember this was brought home to me by having baths at Amiens.
There was one bathroom in the hotel, and it contained a bath, but no
hot water ran into it. So I told my batman to get hot water brought
there in the mornings. The bathroom was on the first floor of the
hotel, across on the other side of the courtyard from where I slept.
The assistant cook, a man six feet odd high, and weighing about
thirteen stone, a merry, jovial great giant, used to heat water for me
and put it into an enormous bronze tub, which held a whole bathful;
and he and my batman used to carry this upstairs; but if I happened to
come along at the same time, this great man used to bend down and pick
me up with his free hand and set me on his shoulder, and so to the
bathroom.
One morning, about a year later, he told me he was going to leave. I
asked him if he had got the "sack," or if he were leaving of his own
free will. "Neither," said he. "I'm called up; I'm of age." This
great, enormous man had only then reached the age of seventeen years. (p. 044)
It amazed me. I remember a sad thing happened. When he left I gave him
fifty francs and one hundred "Gold Flake" cigarettes. He had to go
through Paris to get to his regiment, and when he arrived at the Gare
du Nord they searched him, and found the cigarettes, took them from
him, and fined him two hundred and fifty francs. It was a sad gift.
About this time I painted de Maratray--philosopher, musician,
correspondent and clown.
Fane had gone, and Captain Maude was A.P.M. Amiens. Maude was a good
A.P.M. His police were well looked after and adored him. He never
wanted an officer or man from the trenches to get into trouble, but
did his best to get them out of it when they were in it. Often have I
been sitting at dinner with him at the "Hôtel de la Paix" and one of
his police would come in and say, "A young officer is at the 'Godbert,'
sir. He's had too much to drink, and is behaving very badly." Maude
would curse loudly at his dinner being spoilt, but would always leave
at once, and would calm down whatever young firebrand it was, find out
where he had to go, and have him seen off by lorry or train to his
destination. All this meant much more trouble for Maude than to have
him arrested, and much less trouble for the culprit; but he always put
them on their honour never to do it again; and many are the letters I
have seen thanking him for being "a sport," and promising never "to do
it again"; and asking would he dine with them the next time they got a
night off? That was Maude's idea: he could not do too much for the men
from the trenches, and they appreciated it. Maude was loved all
through the North of France, except by a few rival A.P.M.'s. One (p. 045)
could easily judge what his character was like from his favourite
song:--
"Mulligatawny soup,
A mackerel or a sole,
A Banbury and a Bath bun,
And a tuppenny sausage roll.
A little glass of sherry,
Just a tiny touch of cham,
A roly-poly pudding
And Jam! _Jam!!_ JAM!!!"
[Illustration: XVII. _The Deserter._]
A lot of nice people used to come to Amiens at that period; Colonel
Woodcock and Colonel Belfield, the "Spot King," and Ernest Courage,
"Jorrocks," in particular. It all became one large party at night for
dinner. Maude was very popular with all the French officials, and
great goodwill existed between the French and the British, and
Marcelle's black eyes smiled at us from behind the desk, with its
books, fruit, cheese and bottles; smiled so well that had she been
different she might have out-pointed Marguerite as "Queen of the
British Troops in Picardy." But no, her book-keeping and an occasional
smile were enough for Marcelle, and she did them both exceedingly
well.
Poor Marcelle! Afterwards I was told that when the Huns began to bomb
Amiens badly she completely broke down and cried and sobbed at her
desk. She was sent away down South, to Bordeaux, I think, and we never
saw her again. It was sad. She was a sweet child, with her great dark
eyes, and the little curl on her forehead, and her keen sense of the
ridiculous.
The song of that time was:--
"Dear face that holds so sweet a smile for me.
Were it not mine, how 'Blotto' I should be."
But one night Carroll Carstairs of the Grenadier Guards breezed into (p. 046)
Amiens, bringing with him a new American song which became very
popular. The chorus ran something like this:--
"When Uncle Sam comes
He brings his Infantry;
He brings Artillery;
He brings his Cavalry.
Then, by God, we'll all go to Germany!
God help Kaiser Bill!
God help Kaiser Bill!
God help Kaiser Bill!
"For when Uncle Sam comes...." (Repeat)
One day Maude asked me to go to the belfry, the old sixteenth-century
prison of Amiens, a beautiful building outside, but inside it was very
black and awe-inspiring. The cells, away up in the tower, with their
stone beds and straw, rats and smaller animals, made one's flesh
creep. I am sorry I never painted the old fat lady who kept the keys
in the entrance hall, a black place, lit by an oil lamp which hung
over the stone fireplace. I put off painting her and her hall then for
some reason, and later she was killed by a shell at the door during
the bombardment. Here in the belfry the deserters were put, in an
endeavour to make them say who they were, and Maude asked me to go
this day because he had an interesting case.
A young man in a captain's tunic had been found in a brothel, and his
papers were very incomplete. He had no leave warrant. They found he
had been living at the "Hôtel de la Paix" for about a week. He had
come to Amiens on a motor-bicycle, which he left in the street. They
telephoned to the "Captain's" regiment and found the "Captain" was
with his unit, but a tunic had been stolen from him at Calais. They (p. 047)
also found a motor-bicycle had been stolen from Calais, and that it
corresponded in number with the one found in the street.
[Illustration: XVIII. _The Great Mine. La Boisselle._]
We were given a candle, and climbed the black stairs to his cell. The
youth was in a bad state, sobbing. Maude told him how sorry he was for
him, and asked him not to be a fool, but to tell him the truth, and he
would have him out of that place at once. He agreed, and told a long
story, or rather--another long story. This was his third day and his
third story, and it turned out there was not a word of truth in this
one either.
He was one of the best-looking young men I ever saw, tall, clean-cut
and smart-looking. The next day Maude found out that most of his tears
were due to the fact that he was very badly diseased, and of course,
without any treatment, was getting worse daily. Maude could not stand
this, so he sent him to the hospital for treatment, from which the
youth promptly escaped, and was not found again for ten days. They
knew some one must have been hiding him, probably a woman; which
proved right. In ten days he was found, plus forty pounds, which the
lady had given him.
Maude gave him one more twenty-four hours' chance in the belfry; but
it was no good, only more lies. So he was sent to Le Havre, where I
believe no deserter has ever lasted more than forty-eight hours
without telling the truth and nothing but the truth. I presumed that
after that he was shot. The only thing I learnt for certain, was that
he was a Colonial private. Some time later I used to go very often to
a little restaurant in Paris, and became friends with one of the head
waiters. He said a customer had come in, giving the name of Lord
X----, and had engaged a table for dinner. He evidently had some
doubt about Lord X----, and asked me if I would know him if I saw (p. 048)
him. I said, "Certainly," as the name given was that of the son of
one of the best-known Earls in England. In he came for dinner, a very
good-looking man, wearing the Légion d'Honneur. Lord X----, the
deserter of the belfry!
The great mine at La Boisselle was a wonderful sight. One morning I
was wandering about the old battlefield, and I came across a great
wilderness of white chalk--not a tuft of grass, not a flower, nothing
but blazing chalk; apparently a hill of chalk dotted thickly all over
with bits of shrapnel. I walked up it, and suddenly found myself on
the lip of the crater. I felt myself in another world. This enormous
hole, 320 yards round at the top, with sides so steep one could not
climb down them, was the vast, terrific work of man. Imagine burrowing
all that way down in the belly of the earth, with Hell going on
overhead, burrowing and listening till they got right under the German
trenches--hundreds and hundreds of yards of burrowing. And here
remained the result of their work, on the earth at least, if not on
humanity. The latter had disappeared; but the great chasm, with one
mound in the centre at the bottom, and one skull placed on top of it,
remained. They had cut little steps down one of its sides, and had
cleared up all the human remains and buried them in this mound. That
one mound, with the little skull on the top, at the bottom of this
enormous chasm, was the greatest monument I have ever seen to the
handiwork of man.
There was another fairly large mine here, just by the Bapaume Road,
and there was a large mine at Beaumont-Hamel, and also the
"Cough-drop" at High Wood. These were wonderful, but they could not
compare in dignity and grandeur with the great mine of La Boisselle.
[Illustration: XIX. _The Butte de Warlencourt._]
Working out on the Somme, in the evenings as the sun was going down, (p. 049)
one heard constantly a drone of aeroplanes, which quickly grew louder
and louder, and before one could think, two of these great birds would
pass just over one's head, quite close to the ground. A couple of
minutes later, Bang! bang! bang! bang! and the boom and crash of the
guns. Presently you would see the two birds, high up, returning to
their aerodrome. They had gone up to the Boche trenches, in the eye of
the sun, machine-gunning them and dropping small bombs.
The Butte de Warlencourt looked very beautiful in the afternoon light
that summer. Pale gold against the eastern sky, with the mangled
remains of trees and houses, which was once Le Sars, on its left. But
what must it have looked like when the Somme was covered with snow,
and the white-garmented Tommies used to raid it at night? It must
surely have been a ghostly sight then, in the winter of 1916.
About this time I went to Paris several week-ends at odd times and
painted for the Canadians Generals Burstall, Watson and Lipsett, also
Major O'Connor. Poor Lipsett was killed by a shell later. He was a
thoughtful, clever, quiet man, and was greatly respected. Burstall was
a great, bluff, big, hearty fellow, and Watson was a fine chap, a real
"sport." O'Connor was A.D.C. to General Currie, and had been twice
wounded.
Paris! What a city!
"Paree!
That's the place for me.
Just across the sea
From Dover!"