INCIDENTS OF THE STRUGGLE
Meanwhile, in the distance, we could hear the sound of cannonading,
which told us of the approach of the enemy; and when we met at
recreation, the one and only topic of conversation was the War.
Each day brought its item of news--such or such a town had fallen,
another was being bombarded, a village had been razed to the ground,
another was burning, so many prisoners had been taken, such a number
wounded, many alas! killed. As often as not, what we heard one day
was contradicted the next, and what was confirmed in the morning as
a fact, was flatly denied in the afternoon; so that one really did
not know what to believe. We could at least believe our own ears, and
those told us, by the ever-approaching sound of firing, that the danger
was steadily increasing for the brave little town of Ypres. It was
therefore decided that, in case of emergency, each nun should prepare a
parcel of what was most necessary, lest the worst should come, and we
should be obliged to fly.
Soon, crowds of refugees, from the towns and villages in the firing
line, thronged the streets. The city was already crowded with soldiers.
Where, then, could the refugees find lodging and nourishment? How were
they to be assisted? All helped as far as they were able, and dinner
and supper were daily distributed to some thirty or forty at the Abbey
doors. This meant an increase of work, which already weighed heavily
enough on our reduced numbers; for we had, since September 8, lost four
subjects--one choir dame and three lay-sisters--owing to the law then
issued, commanding the expulsion of all Germans resident in Belgium.
This had been the first shock. Nothing as yet foretold the future, nor
gave us the least subject for serious alarm, when, on the afternoon
of September 7, an official came to the parlour to acquaint us with
the newly published law, and to say that our four German nuns would
have to leave within thirty-six hours. We were literally stunned.
Benedictines! Enclosed nuns! All over twenty-five years in the convent!
What harm could they do? Surely no one could suspect them of being
spies. Telegrams flew to Bruges, even to Antwerp, to obtain grace--all
was useless, and at 3.30 P.M., September 8, we assisted at the first
departure from the Abbey, which we innocently thought would be at the
worst for about three weeks, little dreaming what we should still live
to see. These first poor victims were conducted by our chaplain to his
lordship the Bishop of Bruges, who placed them in a convent just over
the frontier in Holland, where we continued corresponding with them,
until all communication was cut off by the arrival of the Germans, as
has already been stated. In the result, we found our labours increased
by the loss of our three lay-sisters; but we divided the work between
us, and even rather enjoyed the novelty. Poor old Sister Magdalen (our
oldest lay-sister), however, failed to see any joke in the business;
and when she found herself once again cook, as she had been when she
was young and active, her lamentations were unceasing. We tried to
assist her, but she found us more in the way than anything else. She
discovered at last a consoler in the person of Edmund, who offered to
peel apples, pears, and potatoes; and when the two could get together,
Sister Magdalen poured forth the tale of her endless woes into Edmund’s
sympathetic ear, whilst he in return gave her the ‘latest news’; and
it was a curious spectacle to see the two together in the little court
anxiously examining a passing aeroplane, to know of what nationality
it was, though which of the pair was to decide the matter was rather
questionable, Edmund being exceedingly short-sighted, and Sister
Magdalen not too well versed in such learned matters. To return to the
refugees: Mother Prioress took some of us to help her in the children’s
refectory, and with her own hands prepared the food for them. For
dinner they had a good soup, with plenty of boiled potatoes, bread, and
beer: for supper, a plateful of porridge in which we mixed thin slices
of apple, which made a delicious dish, and then potatoes in their
jackets, bread, and beer. We had to work hard, for it was no small task
to get such a meal ready for about forty starving persons. We left
Sister Magdalen to grumble alone in the kitchen over the mysterious
disappearance of her best pots and pans; especially one evening,
when, forgetting to turn the appetising mixture which was preparing
for supper, we not only spoilt the porridge, but burnt a hole in a
beautiful copper saucepan.
The sound of hostilities came ever nearer and nearer. Dreadful rumours
were current of an important battle about to be fought in the proximity
of Ypres. What made things worse was the great number of spies that
infested the neighbourhood. Daily they were arrested, but yet others
managed to replace them. Four soldiers and one civilian kept a vigilant
watch on the town, examining every one who seemed the least suspicious,
as much as the prisoners themselves.
Roulers, Warneton, Dixmude, and countless other towns and villages
had succumbed; and at last, to our great grief, news reached us that
the Germans were in Bruges, and had taken possession of the episcopal
palace--and our much-loved Bishop, where was he? Alas! we were doomed
not to hear, for all communication was cut off, and for the future
we only knew what was happening in and around Ypres. And was it not
enough? The windows already shook with the heavy firing. The roar of
the guns in the distance scarcely stopped a moment. From the garret
windows, we could already see the smoke of the battle on the horizon;
and to think that, at every moment, hundreds of souls were appearing
before the judgment-seat of God! Were they prepared? Terrifying problem!
As everywhere else, the German numbers far exceeded those of the
Allies. It consequently came to pass that the latter were forced to
retreat. It was thus that on Wednesday, October 21, we received the
alarming news that the town would probably be bombarded in the evening.
We had already prepared our parcels in case we should be obliged to fly
and now we were advised to live in our cellars, which were pronounced
quite safe against any danger of shells or bombs. But our dear Lady
Abbess, how should we get her down to the cellar, when it was only
with great difficulty that she could move from one room to another? If
we were suddenly forced to leave, what then would she do? We could
only leave the matter in God’s hands. We carried down a carpet, bed,
arm-chair, and other things, to try to make matters as comfortable as
possible for her--then our own bedding and provisions. The precious
treasures and antiquities had already been placed in security, and
we now hastened to collect the remaining books and statues, which we
hoped to save from the invaders. We had also been advised to pile up
sand and earth against the cellar windows to deaden the force of the
shells should they come in our direction. But if this were the case,
they would first encounter the provision of pétrole in the garden--and
then we should all be burnt alive. To prepare for this alarming
contingency, Dame Teresa and Dame Bernard, armed with spades, proceeded
to the far end of the garden, where they dug an immense hole, at the
same time carrying the earth to block the entrances to the different
cellars. After a whole day’s hard labour, they succeeded in finishing
their excavation and in tilting the huge barrel, which they could
neither roll nor drag--it being both too full and too heavy--to the
place prepared. Their labour, however, proved all in vain; for Edmund,
displeased at the barrel’s disappearance, then highly amused at the
brilliant enterprise, declared he could not draw the pétrole unless put
back in its old position.
The reported fortunate arrival of a large number of Indian troops (they
said 400,000, though 40,000 would be nearer the mark) had a reassuring
effect: but we still remained in suspense, for if the Allies came by
thousands, the Germans had a million men in the neighbourhood. The
Allies and Germans also sustained frightful losses. The ambulance cars
continually brought in the unfortunate victims from the battle-field,
till at last the town was full to overflowing. One Sunday morning, a
French officer and military doctor came to visit the convent to see if
it would not be possible to place their wounded with us. We willingly
offered our services, and Mother Prioress showing them the class-rooms,
it was decided that the whole wing facing the ramparts, including
the class-rooms, children’s dormitory and refectory, the library,
noviceship and work-room, should be emptied and placed at their
disposal. The great drawback was the lack of bedding; for already,
before the arrival of the Germans in the town, we had given all we
could possibly spare for the Belgian wounded, who had at that time
been transported to Ypres. The two gentlemen took their leave, very
pleased with their visit, the officer--who seemed to all appearances
a fervent Catholic--promising to send round word in the afternoon,
when all should be decided. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, we
listened (after having obtained permission) to the proverb, ‘Many hands
make light work,’ and soon the rooms in question were emptied of all
that would not serve for the soldiers, and were ready for their use.
What was our disappointment, in the afternoon, to hear that the French
officer, thanking us profusely for our offer, had found another place,
which was more suitable, as being nearer the site of the engagement.
We had always shown our goodwill, and were only too pleased to help in
any little way the brave soldiers, who daily, nay hourly, watered with
their blood Belgium’s unfortunate soil. This was not the last we heard
of the officer; for we soon had a visit from a French deacon, who was
serving as infirmarian at the ambulance, begging for bandages for the
wounded soldiers. All our recreations and free moments were spent in
‘rolling’ bandages, for which were sacrificed sheets and veils, and
in fact anything that could serve for the purpose--to all of which
we of course added dozens of badges of the Sacred Heart. The deacon
was overjoyed and returned several times ‘to beg,’ giving us news of
the fighting. One day he brought a little souvenir, by way of thanks
for our help. It consisted of a prayer-book found on a German wounded
prisoner, who had died. The prayers were really beautiful, being taken
mostly from passages of the Psalms, adapted for the time of war; while
the soiled leaves showed that the book had been well read.
One afternoon, about this time, the Sister who acted as portress
announced the visit of an ‘English Catholic priest,’ serving as army
chaplain. Mother Prioress went immediately round to the parlour to
receive the reverend visitor, who stated that he had been charged by a
well-known English lord, should he ever pass by Ypres, to come to our
convent, to see the ‘English flag’ which one of his ancestors had sent
to the Abbey. Mother Prioress assured him that the only flag in the
convent was the famous one captured by the Irish Brigade in the service
of France at the battle of Ramillies.[3] She added that she would
be happy to give him a photograph of the flag. He said he would be
enchanted, promising to call the next day to fetch it. Accordingly, the
following day he returned, accompanied by two officers. Dame Josephine,
together with Dame Teresa and Dame Patrick, were sent to entertain
them. On entering the parlour, Dame Josephine immediately knelt to
receive the ‘priest’s’ blessing, who looked rather put out at this
unwonted respect. After an interesting conversation on various topics,
she asked how long he had been attached to the army. He said he had
volunteered as chaplain, being in reality a monk, having also charge
of a community of nuns. More and more interested at not only finding a
‘priest’ but a ‘monk,’ Dame Josephine expressed her admiration of the
sacrifice he must have made in thus leaving his monastery, and asked
to what Order he belonged. The reverend gentleman said that he was of
the Order of St. John the Evangelist, and that he was indeed longing to
be able to put on once more his holy habit. Then, making a sign to the
officers, he abruptly finished the conversation, stating that he had
an appointment, which he could by no means miss, and quickly vanished
out of the parlour. Dame Teresa and Dame Patrick, who had hardly been
able to keep in their laughter, now told Dame Josephine of her mistake;
for they had truthfully divined that the supposed ‘priest’ was a
Protestant clergyman. In fact he had stated on his introduction that he
was ‘a priest of the Church of England,’ from which Dame Josephine had
inferred that he was an ‘English Catholic priest’; and so her special
attention to him. Dame Teresa and Dame Patrick had rightly interpreted
the visitor’s description of himself as a Protestant clergyman, and
enjoyed Dame Josephine’s mistake.
Outside, the noise grew ever louder. The roar of the cannon, the
rolling of the carriages, Paris omnibuses, provision and ambulance
cars, the continual passage of cavalry and foot soldiers, and the
motor-cars passing with lightning-like speed, made the quiet, sleepy
little town of Ypres as animated as London’s busiest streets. At night
even the Allied regiments poured in, profiting by the obscurity to hide
their movements from the Germans; while, contrasting with the darkness,
the fire from the battle-field showed up clearly against the midnight
sky. One evening, as we made our usual silent visit to the garrets
before going to bed, a signal of alarm announced that something more
than ordinary had occurred. In the distance thick clouds of smoke rose
higher and higher, which, from time to time rolling back their dense
masses, showed sheets of fire and flame. Were the Germans trying to
set fire to the town? No one was near to enlighten us; so, anxious and
uneasy, we retired to our cells, begging earnest help from Heaven.
Since the first warning of bombardment one or other of us stopped up at
night, being relieved after some hours, in case anything should happen
while the community took their rest.
The most alarming news continued to pour in. The soldiers, by means
of their telescopes, had descried two German aeroplanes throwing down
pétrole to set the country and villages on fire. Were we to expect the
same fate? Stories of German atrocities reached us from all quarters;
but what moved us most was the account of the outrageous barbarities
used upon women, even upon nuns.
We were far from an end of our troubles. Despite the danger and
anxiety, we strove to keep up religious life, and the regular
Observances went on at the usual hours. Instead of distracting us, the
roar of the battle only made us lift up our hearts with more fervour
to God; and it was with all the ardour of our souls that we repeated,
at each succeeding hour of the Divine Office: ‘Deus, in adjutorium
meum intende! Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina!’ The liturgy of Holy
Mass, also--one would have said it had been composed especially for the
moment.
On Wednesday, October 28, between 1.30 and 2 P.M.--the hour for
our pious meditation--we were suddenly interrupted by a noise to
which we were not as yet accustomed. It seemed at first to be only a
cannon-ball, flying off on its deadly errand; but instead of growing
feebler, as the shell sped away towards the German ranks, the sound
and whirr of this new messenger of death grew ever louder and more
rapid, till it seemed, in its frightful rush, to be coming straight
on our doomed heads! Instinctively some flew to the little chapel of
Our Blessed Lady at one end of the garden; others remained still where
they were, not daring to move, till after a few seconds, which seemed
interminable, a deafening explosion told us that something dreadful
(alas! we knew not what) must have occurred. We learned, afterwards,
that it was the first of the bombs with which the enemy, infuriated at
the resistance of what they disdainfully styled ‘a handful of British
soldiers,’ determined to destroy the town which they already feared
they would never retake. The first bombs, however, did no damage--the
one which had so frightened us falling into the moat which surrounds
Ypres, behind the Church of St. James, and two others just outside the
town. At about 9.30 P.M., when we were retiring to our cells after
matins, another sound, far from musical, fell on our ears. As usual,
some sped silently to the garrets, where, though hearing strange
noises, they could see nothing; so everyone went to rest, concluding it
was the sound of bombs again. In fact the Germans were bombarding the
town. We heard, the next day, that several houses in the Rue Notre-Dame
had been struck, and all the windows in the street broken. The owners
innocently sent for the glazier to have the panes of glass repaired,
little thinking that, in a few weeks, scarce one window would remain in
the whole of Ypres.
Not content with fighting on the ground, it seemed as though the sky
also would soon form a second battle-field. Aeroplanes passed at
regular hours from the town to the place of encounter, to bring back
news to the Headquarters how the battle was waging. Besides this,
German Taubes made their appearance, waiting to seize their opportunity
to renew, with more success than their first attempt, the disastrous
ruin caused by the bombs. It was high time to think of our dear Abbess’
safety. It was therefore decided that she should take refuge at
Poperinghe, and Mother Prioress sent out for a carriage to convey her
there; but in the general panic which reigned, every possible means of
conveyance had been seized. After several enquiries, a cab was at last
secured, and soon drove up to the convent. Our dear Lady was so moved,
when the news was broken to her, that four of us were obliged to carry
her downstairs. After a little rest, we helped her to the carriage,
which had driven round into the garden, to avoid the inconveniences
which would necessarily have arisen had the departure taken place in
the street. It proved almost impossible to get her into the carriage,
owing to her inability to help herself. At length, thanks to the
assistance of one of the Sisters of Providence, who had been more than
devoted to her ever since her stroke, we succeeded; and accompanied
by Dame Josephine, a Jubilarian, Dame Placid, and Sister Magdalen,
our beloved Abbess drove out of the enclosure,[4] the great door soon
hiding her from our sight. Sad, troubled, and anxious, we turned back,
wondering what would become of our dear absent ones. Would they arrive
safely at their destination? Would they find kind faces and warm hearts
to welcome them? Only the boom of the guns mockingly answered our
silent enquiries.
[3] See Note at end of Chapter.
[4] By the Constitution of the Order, the enclosure may be broken in
times of war, and in other cases provided for.
NOTE TO CHAPTER III
THE ‘FLAG’ AT YPRES
BY R. BARRY O’BRIEN
There is a ‘legend’ of a ‘blue flag’ said to have been carried or
captured by the Irish Brigade at the battle of Ramillies, and which
was subsequently deposited in the Irish convent at Ypres. This is a
sceptical age. People do not believe unless they see; and I wished
to submit this ‘blue flag’ to the test of ocular demonstration.
Accordingly, in the autumn of 1907, I paid a visit to the old
Flemish town, now so familiar to us all in its misfortunes. I was
hospitably received by the kind and cheerful nuns who answered all my
questions about the flag and the convent with alacrity. ‘Can I see the
flag?’--‘Certainly.’ And the ‘flag’ was sent for. It turned out not
to be a blue flag at all. Blue was only part of a flag which, it would
seem, had been originally blue, red, and yellow. An aged Irish nun
described the flag as she had first seen it.
‘It was attached to a stick, and I remember reading on a slip of paper
which was on the flag “Remerciements Refuged at Ypres, 170....” The
flag consisted of three parts--blue with a harp, red with three lions,
and yellow. The red and yellow parts were accidentally destroyed,
and all that remains is the blue, as you see it, with a harp; and we
have also preserved one of the lions. The story that has come down to
us is that it was left here after the battle of Ramillies I think,
but whether it was the flag of the Irish Brigade, or an English flag
captured by them at the battle, I do not know.’
The flag, of course--blue with a harp, red with three lions, and
yellow--suggests the royal standard of England, with a difference. At
the time of the battle of Ramillies, the royal standard, or ‘King’s
Colour,’ consisted of four quarterings: the first and fourth quarters
were subdivided, the three lions of England being in one half, the
lion of Scotland in the other. The _fleurs-de-lis_ were in the second
quarter; the Irish harp was in the third.[5] But this (the Ypres) flag
had, when the nun saw it, only three quarters--blue with harp, red with
three lions, and yellow; the rest had then been apparently destroyed.
At the famous battle of 1706, the Irish Brigade was posted in the
village of Ramillies. They fought with characteristic valour, giving
way only when the French were beaten in another part of the field. The
Brigade was commanded by Lord Clare, who was mortally wounded in the
fight. Charles Forman writes, in a letter published in 1735:--
‘At Ramillies we see Clare’s regiment shining with trophies and covered
with laurels even in the midst of a discomfited routed army. They
had to do with a regiment which, I assure you, was neither Dutch nor
German, and their courage precipitated them so far in pursuit of their
enemy that they found themselves engaged at last in the throng of our
army, where they braved their fate with incredible resolution. If you
are desirous to know what regiment it was they engaged that day, the
colours in the cloister of the Irish nuns at Ypres, which I thought had
been taken by another Irish regiment, will satisfy your curiosity.’[6]
Mr. Matthew O’Conor, in his ‘Military Memoirs of the Irish Nation,’
says:--
‘Lord Clare ... cut his way through the enemy’s battalions, bearing
down their infantry with matchless intrepidity. In the heroic effort to
save his corps he was mortally wounded, and many of his best officers
were killed. His Lieutenant, Colonel Murrough O’Brien, on this occasion
evinced heroism worthy of the name of O’Brien. Assuming the command,
and leading on his men with fixed bayonets, he bore down and broke
through the enemy’s ranks, took two pair of colours from the enemy, and
joined the rere of the French retreat on the heights of St. Andre.’
Forman does not state to what regiment the colours belonged.
O’Callaghan, in his ‘History of the Irish Brigade,’ quotes him as
saying: ‘I could be much more particular in relating this action, but
some reasons oblige me, in prudence, to say no more of it.’
O’Conor says that the colours belonged to a celebrated English
regiment. O’Callaghan is more precise. He says:--
‘According to Captain Peter Drake, of Drakerath, County of Meath (who
was at the battle with Villeroy’s army, in De Couriere’s regiment),
Lord Clare engaged with a Scotch regiment in the Dutch service,
between whom there was a great slaughter; that nobleman having lost
289 private centinels, 22 commissioned officers, and 14 sergeants; yet
they not only saved their colours, but gained a pair from the enemy.
This Scotch regiment in the Dutch service was, by my French account,
“almost entirely destroyed”; and, by the same account, Clare’s engaged
with equal honour the “English Regiment of Churchill,” or that of the
Duke of Marlborough’s brother, Lieutenant-General Charles Churchill,
and then commanded by its Colonel’s son, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles
Churchill. This fine corps, at present the 3rd Regiment of Foot, or
the Buffs, signalized itself very much in the action with another,
or Lord Mordaunt’s, “by driving three French regiments into a morass,
where most of them were either destroyed or taken prisoners.” But the
“Régiment Anglois de Churchill,” according to the French narrative,
fared very differently in encountering the Regiment of Clare, by
which its colours were captured, as well as those of the “Régiment
Hollandois,” or “Scotch regiment in the Dutch service.”’
The question may, or may not, be problematical, but it seems to me that
what I saw in the convent at Ypres was a remnant of one of the flags
captured, according to the authorities I have quoted, by the Irish
Brigade at the battle of Ramillies; and that flag was, apparently, the
‘King’s Colour’ which reproduces the royal standard.
[5] _Enc. Brit._ 11th ed.
[6] _Courage of the Irish Nation._