LONDON (MARCH-JUNE 1918)
I was now ordered back to London--I forget what for, something about
expenses, I think. Lord Beaverbrook had become my boss, and they were
going to pay all my expenses. It was a nice thought, but they never
did.
I went with my brother up to G.H.Q. on March 20th to get warrants from
Major A. N. Lee, D.S.O., and went on to Boulogne, and there met Ian
Strang, who dined with us at the "Morny." There was a raid on when we
came out from dinner, and people wished us to take shelter; but we had
dined very well. The next morning there was a thick mist low down,
with a clear sky above. When I got on the boat I met General Seely,
who introduced me to General Sir Arthur Currie, who said: "You used to
billet at St. Pol, usedn't you?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Well," said he,
"I have just come through it. They got seven fourteen-inch shells into
it this morning." "Has the offensive started?" said I. "That's about
it," said he.
London seemed very strange to me at first. I felt very out of things.
Nobody I met, except the soldiers, or those who had been to France
like myself, seemed to have any thoughts in common with mine: they did
not appear to want to think about the fighting man or of the colossal
deeds that were being done daily and nightly on the several fronts.
No, they all talked of their own war-work. Overworked they were, (p. 068)
breaking up--some at munitions; some at shoemaking classes; others
darning socks--and they were all suffering terribly from air raids. In
fact, to put it in a few words, they were well in the middle of the
world war; they were just the same as the fighting man in France or on
some other front.
Then it was that the definite thought came to me: the fighting man,
the Hero, will be forgotten; that the people of England who have not
been "overseas" and seen them at work, would never realise what these
men have been through--win or lose, they would never know.
Their constant talk was of the terrible things they at home were going
through on air-raid nights. It hurt me--their complaining about their
little chances of damage, when I knew that millions of men were
running a big risk of being blown into eternity at any moment, day or
night. It is true, my first visit home made me realise that the
fighting man after the war would be ignored, and I knew the
reason--"Jealousy." I had been given the chance of looking on, and I
had seen and worshipped. But if I had not seen, I might have felt just
the same as those who stayed at home. Jealousy is one of the strongest
things the human mind has to struggle against. Even now, after joint
victory, it is one of the things the Allied nations have to guard
against, for it exists between them, but surely the bond of the dead,
that great community:--
"The Chosen Few,
The very brave,
The very true,"
French, British, Belgian, Italian, Portuguese and American, surely (p. 069)
they should be enough to hold us together in love and respect, without
jealousy, or any envy, hatred or malice in our hearts!
It was decided that an exhibition of my stuff should be held, so
photographs had to be taken of each little thing, a title given to
each, and the whole bunch sent to G.H.Q. for Major Lee to censor,
which he did, refusing to pass nearly all of them. But General
MacDonough, however, squashed all that. Then one of my titles got me
into trouble. My first "Colonel's" set had been waiting all the year
to get something against me, and now they worked up a molehill to a
mountain. I had to go constantly to the War Office, and I was talked
to very severely. In fact, I was in black disgrace. My behaviour could
not have been worse, according to Intelligence (F), or whatever they
were then called at G.H.Q.
I was lunching with Maurice Baring at the "Ritz" one day, and he told
me McCudden was in London. I said I would like him to sit. "Well,
write and ask him," said Baring. "But," said I, "I don't know him."
"Right," said Baring, "I'll write to him." The thing was arranged, and
one morning I heard a cheery voice below and someone came bounding
upstairs, and before I saw him he shouted: "Hello, Orps! Have you a
ping-pong table here?" He was the little unknown boy at the 56th
Squadron with whom I used to play ping-pong only a few months before.
Now he was the great hero, Major McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc., and
well he wore his honours, and, like all great people, sat like a lamb.
The news one got in those days was terrible--one could not realise
it--it seemed utterly impossible. Péronne taken! Bapaume taken! The (p. 070)
Huns were back over the old Somme battlefields; they had taken
Pozières; the great American stores there had gone; they were back
over the great mine of La Boisselle. Terrible! And the golden Virgin
had fallen from the Cathedral tower, and one remembered the old
prophecy, "When the Virgin of Albert falls from her tower the end of
the war is at hand," and now she was down in the dirt of the street.
Did it mean defeat? Amiens was being shelled, the Boche swarmed on the
heights of Villers-Bretonneux, and they could see clearly that great
landmark of Picardy, Amiens Cathedral.
The railroad from the North to Paris was smashed, and they very nearly
destroyed the great railway bridge near Etaples--great masses of
masonry were blown out of it--everything was bombed right back to the
sea. Then the Huns turned South. On they rushed--Montdidier shelled,
Clermont in danger, on they went to Soissons and Château Thierry. One
Sunday news came to the War Office that Paris had been bombed all day.
A few minutes later this was corrected to "Paris has been shelled all
day." It was awful! unbelievable! Paris shelled! Where had the Huns
got to? Was the prophecy true of the Virgin falling from her tower?
Were the Allies beaten? All the towns in Germany were ringing their
victory bells, and we had our backs to the sea. It was a black period.
The afternoon my exhibition opened, they sent a message for me to go
to the War Office immediately. There a Colonel showed me a minute from
Intelligence (F), G.H.Q. My former Colonel's followers had really put
their backs into it this time. They got me fairly and squarely. The
_Daily Express_ (I think it was Lord Beaverbrook's little joke)
published a supposed interview with me in which I laughed long and (p. 071)
loud at "the Censor fellow." This, of course, I had never done, but
there it was in print. Intelligence (F) saw it and sent it to the W.O.
with the minute. I don't remember the exact words, but the gist of it
was this: "That Major Orpen's behaviour had been such that they
thought it undesirable that he should be allowed to set foot in France
again under any circumstances until the war was terminated." I asked
the Colonel what I could do. He said sternly: "Nothing." I asked him
if I might have the minute for half an hour. He said: "No," and then
"Yes," so I took it away to another and higher office. Here its career
ended in the waste-paper basket. I went back to the Colonel, and said:
"I regret, sir, I cannot return the minute, it has been destroyed."
The expression on his face was priceless, and it gave me the only
pleasure I had that day.
[Illustration: XXX. _Major J. B. McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc._]
Shortly afterwards I lunched at a house--a large party, including two
Generals. One sitting near me was telling a lady that he and the other
General were going to G.H.Q. the next morning for two days. I said:
"Sir, don't you want an extra batman with you?" He said: "Have you any
business you want to go to France for?" "Yes, sir," said I, "I have a
lot of my stuff moved to Boulogne from Amiens, and I want to see to
it." He said: "All right, telephone to ---- at the War House and he
will have your warrant ready and will get your seat for to-morrow
morning." Gee! I was excited when I left that lunch, and darted back
to my studio and telephoned to the War Office. Everything was arranged.
They even telephoned Intelligence (F) that my car was to meet me at
Boulogne. That must have been a nasty knock for Intelligence (F), but
my faithful Howlett was there with the car when I got off the boat. We
went and had lunch at the "Morny," and I saw my stuff was quite safe (p. 072)
at the "Windsor Hotel," then I motored off to St. Valery-sur-Somme and
visited the Allied Press Château (Captain Rudolf de Trafford was now
the Chief of the Allied Press, Captain Hale having gone back to his
regiment, the Black Watch), and arranged with them that I could get a
billet there if I could manage to break down the opposition at
Intelligence (F). Then I motored back to the École Militaire at
Montreuil, where I was to meet General Sir John Davidson, who was
giving me dinner and putting me up. After dinner he had to go and see
the Chief at his château, and he asked me to go with him. The
C.-in-C., as usual, was more than kind, and asked me to dinner the
next night. Then I got a bright thought and I asked his A.D.C.,
Colonel Fletcher, if he would be so kind as to do me a real good turn.
He said: "Certainly." So I explained that I wanted him to ring me up
at "Bumpherie" (H.Q. Intelligence (F)) at 10 o'clock the next morning,
and say the C.-in-C. wanted to know would I dine with him. At 9.15
a.m. the next morning I got down to the little wooden huts which were
H.Q. Intelligence (F). There I saw, through the windows in the
passage, the two Colonels and Major Lee talking. They saw me all
right, but pretended not to, so I walked up and down till a few
minutes after 10 a.m., when out came the Major. "Hello, Orpen! is that
you? I didn't know you were here." I said cheerfully: "Oh yes, I've
been here quite a long time. How are you, old bean? Lovely morning,
isn't it?" He said: "Look here, a telephone message has just come
through from the C.-in-C. He wants to know if you will dine with him
to-night." I said: "A telephone message from the C.-in-C. to me! But
why did you come out here?" He said: "To tell you, of course." "But,"
I said, "you didn't know I was here!" He said: "Answer 'Yes' or (p. 073)
'No.'" "Oh," I said, "answer 'Yes.' I want to fix up with him what
date I am coming back to France to work."
[Illustration: XXXI. _The Refugee._]
That did the trick. Intelligence (F) saw they were beaten. No more
opposition! Perfect harmony was established. I at once became "Orps."
Drinks were offered, lunches, dinners--any old thing that could be
done was "a pleasure."
The dinner at the Chief's was most interesting. Some American Generals
were there, and I learnt a lot about how things were going on, and
returned to London the next day, and started making arrangements to go
back and work in France again.
About this time I received the following from France:--
"Dear Woppy, I am glad that you
Will soon be back at G.H.Q.,
With brushes, paint and turpentine,
And canvases fourteen by nine,
To paint the British soldier man
As often as you may and can.
The brave ally, the captive Boche,
And Monsieur Clemenceau and Foch;
But, on the whole, you'd better not
Paint lady spies before they're shot.
We're living in the Eastern zone,
Between the ----, the ----, the ----
(The orders of Sir Douglas Haig
Compel me, Woppy, to be vague.)
But you can find out where we are
And come there in a motor-car.
We hold a château on a hill
. . . . . . . (Censored)
A pond with carp, a stream with brill,
And perch and trout await your skill.
A garden with umbrageous trees
Is here for you to take your ease.
And strawberries, both red and white, (p. 074)
Are there to soothe your appetite;
And, just the very thing for you,
Sweet landscape and a lovely view.
So pack your box and come along
And take a ticket for Boulogne.
The General is calling me.
Yours, till we meet again,
"M. B."
[Illustration: XXXII. _Lieut.-Colonel A. N. Lee, D.S.O., etc._]