A VAGUE UNREST
The spring was drawing near, and a certain vague feeling of unrest
was over the troops. Word was being passed about that old Fritz was
preparing for something. On our side there were no visible preparations
for a spring offensive.
And so the lads were restless. Very often, when the wind was favorable,
large enemy toy-balloons floated high over our lines, and as the long
piece of smouldering hemp attached to each balloon burned up to a
knotted cord, a package of propaganda articles was released and a great
flock of fluttering leaflets came slowly down through the air, falling
at last among the troops in the back areas. Usually these articles
told of a big offensive that was to begin and went on to say that as
the Germans had no hatred for the Canadians, and as they saw no reason
for the Canadians taking part in this war, they advised them not to
take part in it any longer. I remember one batch of leaflets gave us
just seventy-two hours to get out of the war. Although we laughed at
such propaganda, we were undeniably restless. For instance, we were
especially watchful till the seventy-two hours had passed. We knew
Fritz was going to strike, but we did not know when or where.
Just about the middle of March we moved out to Hersin, a little town
about three miles from Fosse-dix, to rest. I was billeted with the
curé, a most lovable man, to whose house was attached a large garden.
There were a few peach trees in the garden and they were already in
bloom.
While at Hersin I was able to help the curé of Fosse-dix by going to
one of his adopted parishes, Bouvigny, about five miles from where
I was billeted. While taking breakfast with him, he showed me a
small photo of the interior of the church at Bouvigny after a recent
bombardment. Half the church seemed to be filled with broken beams and
pillars, and looking out from the debris, untouched in any way, was
an almost life-size statue of the Blessed Virgin. I was struck by the
serene, calm expression of Our Lady, but this seemingly miraculous
preservation of statues and crucifixes was a common occurrence on the
Western Front.
Just before I left a number of airplanes hummed by overhead, and
casually I asked the curé if he had ever been up in an airplane. He
surprised me by saying he had, during some great public event at Paris.
When he had reached solid earth again after his flight, a society
lady, standing nearby, had said: “Now, my Father, you will know the way
to heaven!” He had replied, he said: “Yes, Madame, and whenever you
wish to know the way to heaven, I will be very pleased to teach you it.”
That was the last time I ever saw the little curé of Fosse-dix, for
on Thursday, March 21st, something happened and we were ordered back
suddenly to Mazingarbe. I remember the date very well for it was the
Feast of St. Benedict and my birthday.
The unrest was no longer vague.