THE ALLIES IN YPRES
The contrast between the reception of the two armies was striking. On
the arrival of the Germans, people kept in their houses, or looked at
the foe with frightened curiosity; now, everyone lined the streets,
eager for a glimpse of the brave soldiers who had come to defend Ypres.
A week before, the citizens had furnished food to the enemy, because
they dared not refuse it--and only then what they were obliged to give.
Now, each one vied with the other in giving. Bread, butter, milk,
chocolate--everything they had--went to the soldiers, and sounds of
rejoicing came from all sides. Perhaps, the most pleased of all were
the poor wounded Belgians, who had been so tried the preceding week.
All those who were able to drag themselves along crowded to the windows
and doors, to welcome their new comrades; and the latter, unable to
make themselves understood by words, made vigorous signs that they were
about to chop off the Germans’ heads. What excited the most curiosity
were the ‘petticoats,’ as they were styled, of the Highlanders, and
everyone gave their opinion on this truly extraordinary uniform,
which had not been previously seen in these parts. The soldiers were
quartered in the different houses and establishments of the town. Once
more the Abbey was left unmolested, though once again also the want of
bread was felt--not, that it had been this time stolen, but that, in
spite of all their efforts, the bakers could not supply the gigantic
demand for bread necessary to feed our newly arrived friends. Seeing
that we were likely to be forgotten in the general excitement, Edmund
was sent out to see what he could find. After many vain efforts, he at
last succeeded in getting three very small-sized loaves, with which he
returned in triumph. Scarcely had he got inside the parlour, when there
came a vigorous tug at the bell. The new-comer proved to be a man who,
having caught sight of the bread, came to beg some for ‘his soldiers.’
Edmund was highly indignant, and loudly expostulated; but the poor
man, with tears in his eyes, turned to Mother Prioress (who had just
entered), and offered to pay for the bread, if only she would give
him a little. ‘I have my own son at the front,’ he exclaimed, ‘and I
should be so grateful to anyone that I knew had shown kindness to him;
and now I have been all over the town to get bread for my soldiers,
and there is none to be had!’ Mother Prioress’ kind heart was touched,
and telling the good man to keep his money, she gave him the loaves as
well, with which he soon vanished out of the door, Edmund grumbling
all the time because the nuns (and himself) had been deprived of their
supper. Mother Prioress, laughing, told him the soldiers needed it
more than we. She turned away, thinking over what she could possibly
give the community for supper. She went--almost mechanically--to the
bread-bin, where, lifting up the lid, she felt round in the dark. What
was her delight to find two loaves which still remained, and which had
to suffice for supper--as well as breakfast next morning. We retired
to rest, feeling we were, at any rate, well guarded; and the firm tread
of the sentries, as they passed under our windows at regular intervals,
inspired us with very different feelings from those we had experienced
the week before, on hearing the heavy footsteps of the German watch.
The officials of the British Headquarters entered the town with the
army, and for several weeks Ypres was their chief station, from which
issued all the commands for the troops in the surrounding districts.
We were not long, however, in knowing the consequences of such an
honour. The next day, at about 10.30 A.M., the whirr of an aeroplane
was heard. We were becoming accustomed to such novelties, and so did
not pay too much attention, till, to our horror, we heard a volley of
shots from the Grand’ Place saluting the new-comer. We knew from this
what nationality the visitor was. The firing continued for some time,
and then ceased. What had happened? Our enclosure prevented us from
following the exciting events of those troubled times, but friends
usually kept us supplied with the most important news. It was thus
that, soon afterwards, we heard the fate of the air monster which had
tried to spy into what was happening within our walls. The first shots
had been unsuccessful; but at last two struck the machine, which began
rapidly to descend. The inmates, unhurt, flew for their lives as soon
as they touched ground; but, seizing the first motor-car to hand, the
soldiers chased them, and at last took them prisoners. What was their
horror to find in the aeroplane a plan of the town of Ypres, with
places marked, on which to throw the three bombs, one of these places
being the Grand’ Place, then occupied by thousands of British soldiers.
Endless were the thanksgivings which mounted up to heaven for such
a preservation, and prayers and supplications for Divine protection
were redoubled. Since the beginning of the War, everyone, even the
most indifferent, had turned to God, from Whom alone they felt that
succour could come; and those who before never put their foot in church
were now amongst the most fervent. Pilgrimages and processions were
organised to turn aside the impending calamity; and, heedless of human
respect, rich and poor, the fervent and the indifferent, raised their
voices to the Mother of God, who has never yet been called upon in
vain. Even the procession of Our Lady of Thuyn--so well known to all
those who yearly flock to Ypres for the first Sunday in August--with
its groups, its decorations, its music, had been turned into a
penitential procession; and the ‘Kermess’ and other festivities, which
took place during the following eight days, were prohibited. Needless
to say, the Monastery was not behindhand. Every day the community
assembled together at 1 o’clock for the recitation of the rosary, and,
when possible, prayed aloud during the different employments of the
day. Numberless were the aspirations to the Sacred Heart, Our Lady of
Angels, Our Holy Father St. Benedict, each one’s favourite patron,
the Holy Angels, or the Souls in Purgatory. Each suggested what they
thought the most likely to inspire devotion. Perhaps the best of all
was that which Dame Josephine--_Requiescat in Pace_--announced to us
one day at recreation. It ran as follows: ‘Dear St. Patrick, as you
once chased the serpents and venomous reptiles out of Ireland, please
now chase the Germans out of Belgium!’ The Office of the Dead was not
forgotten for those who had fallen on the battle-field, and we offered
all our privations and sacrifices for the good success of the Allies,
or the repose of the souls of the poor soldiers already killed. We also
undertook to make badges of the Sacred Heart for the soldiers, though
at the moment we saw no possible means of distributing them. At length,
to our great joy, the arrival of the British troops, among whom were
many Irish Catholics, opened an apostolate for us, which went on ever
increasing. The idea had first come to us when, weeks before, a number
of Belgian soldiers were announced, of whom 250 were to have been
quartered at the college. Reverend Mother Prioress had then suggested
that we should make badges, so as at least to help in some little
way, when everyone else seemed to be doing so much. We set to work
with good will--some cutting the flannel--others embroidering--others
writing--till at last we had finished. What was our disappointment to
hear that not a single soldier had come to the college. We then tried,
in every way possible, to find a means of distributing our handiwork;
but all in vain, till one day, a poor girl, called Hélène, who washed
the steps and outer porch leading to the principal entrance of the
convent, came to beg prayers for her brother who was at the front.
Mother Prioress promised her we should all pray for her brother, at
the same time giving her a badge of the Sacred Heart for him, together
with a dozen others for anyone else she might know to be in the same
position. Hélène soon returned for more, and the devotion spreading
through the town, everyone came flocking to the parlour to get badges
for a father, a brother, a cousin, a nephew at the front, many even
also asking them for themselves, so that they might be preserved from
all danger. Even the little children in the streets came, to ask for
‘a little heart!’ until the poor Sister at the door was unable to get
through her other work, owing to the constant ringing of the bell. In
despair, she laid her complaints before her Superior, saying that a
troop of children were there again, of whom one had come the first
thing in the morning for a badge. On receiving it she had gone outside,
where, changing hats with another child, she promptly returned,
pretending to be some one else. The Sister, who had seen the whole
performance through the _guichet_, had smiled at her innocent trick,
and given her another. But now here she was again, this time with some
one else’s apron on, and bringing half a dozen other children with her.
Mother Prioress then saw the little girl herself, who, nothing abashed,
put out her hand saying, ‘Des petits cœurs, s’il vous plaît, ma Sœur!’
This was too much for Mother Prioress’ tender heart, and, instead of
scolding, she told them there was nothing ready then; but for the
future, if they came back on Mondays, they might have as many ‘petits
cœurs’ as they wished. The little troop marched quite contentedly out
of the door, headed by the girl--who could not have been more than
seven years old--and diminishing in size and age down to a little mite
of two, who toddled out, hanging on to his brother’s coat. The devout
procession was brought up by a tiny black dog, which seemed highly
delighted with the whole proceeding. This little digression has brought
us away from our subject, but was perhaps necessary to show how we were
able to send badges to the soldiers, by means of this somewhat strange
manner of apostolate; for a young girl, hearing of the devotion,
brought them by dozens to St. Peter’s parish (where an Irish regiment
was stationed), impressing on each man, as she pinned the badge to his
uniform, that it was made by ‘the Irish Dames!’