THE END DRAWS NEAR
Every day for about a week troops were almost continuously passing
through Somaine and all the heavy guns were being brought up. Soon
railway communications were established and some of the people of the
city were making visits to Paris.
Every evening I used to sit with the curé in his little kitchen before
the fire and tell him stories of the war. The old priest was kept very
busy; his assistant, a young priest, had been taken, together with all
the men of military age, by the Germans in their retreat. Almost every
day I saw the hearse drawn up before his church and I knew another
funeral cortege was soon to pass along the way. He spoke to me one
evening of the frequent deaths, and then added: “The people are dying
of joy.” True, the people had been so weakened through hunger that many
were not able to stand the great joy of deliverance. It was pitiful to
see the little boys and girls playing in the street. At first it seemed
to me that they were all too tall for their years; then I knew it was
that they were under-nourished.
A touching incident occurred one day when I was called upon to bury a
Catholic lad from one of the battalions of the Third Division, then
fighting towards Valenciennes. As I read the prayers over him, a little
French girl of about eight or nine years approached the grave, carrying
in her hand an oblong box of Canadian biscuits. The little one was
holding the box close to her side. I assumed that one of our lads had
given it to her; they were forever doing such kind acts. Presently she
saw that it was one of her gallant liberators over whom I was saying
the last prayers. Immediately she began to sob and the big tears ran
down her cheeks. She actually shook in a paroxysm of grief. It was
hard for the lads standing near, and for me, to go on with our work.
Always during the war our hearts had been steeled, not knowing what was
to come next. In a few minutes the mother came from somewhere behind
us, took the child by the arm and gently led her away.
We were in Somaine nearly three weeks and the men were greatly
benefited by the rest. I recall a humorous incident that occurred
during our stay there. One day the curé of Fenain, which was just
five minutes’ run on my bicycle from Somaine, invited me over to a
disinterment that was to take place in his cemetery. Having seen enough
of gruesome things, I politely declined to be present. Then as I saw
the curé’s face break into a smile, I felt there must be some joke, so
I promised to attend.
In my presence the casket was exhumed, and lo! gentle reader, there
appeared beautiful vestments and precious altar-vessels, together with
the municipal books and documents. Then the curé told me the story. The
coffin had been filled with its strange contents and drawn solemnly
in the hearse through the streets just as the Germans had taken over
the town; and as the funeral procession moved through the street the
Germans themselves had saluted through respect to the “Dead!”