THE BOMBARDMENT
To return to the Abbey. Everything had become suddenly animated there;
for, at the departure of Dame Placid and Sister Romana, Reverend Mother
Prioress had declared that we should all follow, taking advantage of
the occasion, as there was a cessation of hostilities for the moment.
In vain some of us begged to be allowed to remain behind; but we had
all to make our last preparations and go. When, however, the packages
turned up, each bigger than the other, we looked at one another in
dismay. How should we ever drag such a load with us? Dame Columban and
Dame Bernard offered to try to find a workman to help us, and their
offer was finally accepted. What happened they record.
‘Mother Prioress gave us her blessing, and let us out of the enclosure
door. Oh dear! What a sensation! Happy prisoners for so many years,
we now found ourselves in the streets. With a shudder, we started
on our errand. We had not gone a hundred paces, when, whizz ...
bang! a shell passed over our heads; a moment after, whizz ... bang,
another--then another--and another. Half-way down the street, a
British officer on horseback cried out to us: “Mes Sœurs ... à la
maison.” Where were we to go? We knew no one. We looked round to
find a place of refuge; and, seeing a man standing on his doorstep,
timidly asked if we might take shelter there. He willingly agreed,
seeming only too delighted to bid us welcome. As soon as the officer
had vanished, we asked our kind host if he could tell us where the
workman (Chinchemaillie) we were seeking lived, and on being directed
to his abode, we left the house. Once more in the street, we hurried
on. While crossing the Grand’Place, a perfect hail of shells and
shrapnel came down on all sides. Explosion followed explosion. The
soldiers and civilians crouched down by the side of the houses
whenever a shell burst; but we, ignorant of the great risk we were
running, walked bravely on. At length we concluded we must have taken
a wrong turning; so, meeting a pale-faced gentleman, we asked him
if he would be so kind as to put us on the right road again. He was
hurrying along, burdened with parcels of all sizes, and carrying a jug
of milk. When we spoke to him, he seemed almost dazed. “Yes, Sisters,”
he answered “... certainly ... but ... the Germans have just shelled
my house ... I am running to save my life.” We understood then why he
looked so disturbed; offering our deepest sympathy, we begged him not
to trouble. Recovering himself, he assured us that he was going our
way, and would willingly accompany us. We took some of his parcels
from him, and went along. At a turning in the street we parted, having
received further directions from him and thanked him for his kindness.
Another man, having overheard our conversation, came forward, and
offered to conduct us to the house in question. We went on, passing
several buildings which had been much injured, and finally, the
bombardment raging all the time, arrived at our destination, only
to hear that the workman had left the town in the morning, and had
not been able to re-enter it. The people of the house showed us the
greatest kindness, especially on hearing who we were, and insisted
on our spending the night in their cellar, saying it was far too
dangerous to go out again. We thanked them for their offer, but of
course set off again for the Monastery. Just as we arrived at the
Grand’Place, Hélène, who had already rendered such valuable services
to the community came running towards us. She was breathless and
almost crying, having been searching for us everywhere; we had been
out so long, and the bombardment had been so continuous, that the nuns
thought we must have been killed. We soon got safely home, where we
found everyone in a dreadful state of anxiety.’
On hearing the continual explosions, Mother Prioress and the community
had knelt down by the enclosure door, to pray for the safe return of
Dame Columban and Dame Bernard. As they delayed so long, Reverend
Mother sent Edmund to ask Hélène to look for them. Having done so,
Edmund returned and did his best to persuade the nuns that there was no
need to leave the Abbey. ‘You have your cellars to shelter you, why do
you want to go? What will become of me, when you are gone? If a bomb
falls on the convent, well, it will be the will of God. Why not die
here as well as anywhere else?’ We shall see later, that when the shell
really did fall on the Abbey, the good man was anything but resigned
to die. As he perceived that he gained nothing by his eloquence, he
went out into the street, and soon returned with a soldier, to see if
the new-comer might not be more successful. The soldier was at first
rather bewildered at his new surroundings, being an English Protestant,
but was soon set at ease on finding that we talked English. At this
moment the two wanderers came back, and set everyone’s heart at ease.
Of course there was no longer a question of our leaving that night,
especially as the soldier assured us that there was no danger that the
Germans would get into Ypres, adding that our cellars would be proof
against all their bombs. Edmund, by this time, was triumphant, and
pulling out his cigar-case, offered it to the ‘Tommy,’ who insisted on
his accepting a cigarette in return. Edmund then began to relate the
story of his woes. ‘What should I have to eat, if they were to go?’
he exclaimed. ‘Imagine, the other day the Sister brought me my dinner.
What did I see? I could hardly believe my eyes! A piece of beef-steak.
I sat down in high glee; for I do not remember when I had had a piece
before. What was my disappointment to find what I had taken to be a
beef-steak was nothing else than a piece of fried brown bread. I could
have thrown it in the fire.’ The soldier then took his leave, though
not before Mother Prioress had given him a badge of the Sacred Heart,
which he promised to wear always as a souvenir of his visit to our
Abbey. We took care, also, to give him as many apples and pears as he
could put into his pockets.
The number of people seeking shelter for the night in the convent
increased constantly. Already, some thirty persons had come; some
bringing their own mattresses, the others depending on our charity. We
gave all that we had. In the end, no fewer than fifty-seven persons
came for a night’s lodging. Numberless poor came also during the
day for food, for they could not find anything to eat in the town;
bakers, butchers, grocers--all had fled to save their lives. We were
in the greatest necessity ourselves, but still gave to all who asked.
We experienced the truth of our Lord’s words, ‘Give, and you shall
receive,’ when, a few days later, we were in the streets--without
a house, without food, without money. It was then, indeed, that we
received a hundredfold the charity we showed towards those who applied
to us in their distress.
On the Wednesday morning, Our Lord gave us a little surprise. Our
chaplain had been obliged to leave Ypres the evening before, to place
the nuns who lived in his college in safety. But the Divine Master
watched over us, and instead of the one Mass which we had lost, He
sent us two French military priests to offer up the Holy Sacrifice for
us. Reverend Mother presented her excuses for the poor breakfast they
received--for we had nothing to give them but the bread which we had
made ourselves out of meal, and some pears--asking their opinion of
the situation. They strongly advised us to leave while there was yet
time and enquired where we thought of going. Mother Prioress told
them that the Lady Abbess of Oulton Abbey in England had offered, from
the very outset of the War, to take the whole community, but the great
question was how to get so far. They said that we ought to apply to
the British Command for help, expressing the opinion that the English
ambulance, established at the college of which our chaplain was the
President, would surely come to our assistance. They then left, saying
how delightful it had been to have found such a peaceful spot in which
to say Mass, after the noise and horrors to which they had been so long
accustomed.
The day passed slowly. The Germans were gaining ground. The noise of
the Allied guns was now deafening. We were obliged to leave all the
windows ajar, to prevent the glass being broken by the shocks, which
made the house tremble from the garrets to the cellar. Monoplanes and
biplanes, friendly and hostile, passed continually overhead--the former
chasing the latter, which were dropping bombs without end on the town.
At last, two friendly aeroplanes undertook to mount guard, and remained
continually hovering round and round; but even then, the Taubes came;
and the fighting went on in the air, as well as on all sides of us. The
risks of remaining were certainly great; and yet--why leave our Abbey,
when it was still untouched? We were sure of a warm welcome at Oulton;
but how could the whole community get there, and, above all, our
beloved Lady Abbess? On the other hand, how were we to live in Ypres?
Not only were we in danger of being killed at any moment, but there was
no longer any means of getting food. For several days Edmund had, with
the greatest difficulty, procured two pints of skimmed milk; but even
this would soon cease. Again, there was certainly no more prospect of
receiving any money in Belgium, where the banks had all been robbed. We
had paid our debts prior to the commencement of hostilities; and so had
very little money left. In the afternoon, Mother Prioress determined
to go out and seek for information at the British Headquarters; for
everyone seemed to have deserted the stricken town. She took Dame
Columban and Dame Patrick with her. They went first to the college.
At the end of the Rue St. Jacques, a French soldier gave a military
salute and advanced towards them. It was one of the priests who had
said Mass for the community in the morning. He accompanied the three
nuns as far as the college, but told them that the ambulance had left
during the night, which was a very bad sign; for when the wounded were
removed, it showed that there was great danger. He also promised to
attend the next morning at 5 o’clock to say Mass. It was notified that
the Headquarters were to be found a mile and a half out of Ypres. The
burgomaster had also left the town. Going to the houses of several
influential people--M. and Mme. le Sénateur Fracy de Venbeck and Mme.
Van den Berghe and others--friends of the Monastery, Mother Prioress
and her companions found them all locked up, and the inhabitants gone.
One big shop was burning, and the French soldiers were trying to put
the fire out. A baker’s establishment had a large hole in the roof.
It was pouring rain, and the nuns had no umbrella; so they turned
their steps homewards. But their mission was not to prove useless; for
Divine Providence had arranged that they were to help one of His poor
creatures. Having arrived at the Grand’ Place, they were stopped by an
English officer, who pointed to a cart, driven by a soldier, which was
following them. In it was an old woman lying, apparently helpless. He
explained to them that, passing by a deserted village, which had been
destroyed by the Germans, he had found her lying in a ditch. He had
lifted her into the cart and taken her along with him, and he now asked
if the nuns could not direct him to some hospital or institute where
she would be taken care of. They went with him as far as the Hospice,
where the officials declared they had more work than they could
possibly attend to; still, as Mother Prioress begged so hard, they
took her in. The poor old woman was over ninety. How many are there
who, like her, find themselves turned out of the little home, which
had perhaps cost them their whole life’s savings. Why should the poor,
the aged, the infirm, the innocent, suffer to satisfy the ambition
of the unjust? Truly, ‘My ways are not your ways, saith the Lord.’
In eternity, lost in the blissful contemplation of God’s infinite
perfections, we shall understand the wisdom of those things which now
surpass our poor intelligence.
On Thursday morning, we arose at 4.30 from what might truly be styled
‘our humble couch,’ to be ready for the promised Mass at 5 o’clock.
During the night, we had harboured the Sisters of Providence, who were
leaving next day. Having waited half an hour, and no priest coming,
we recited lauds, prime, and tierce. We again waited in all patience,
but no one appeared. We could not miss Holy Mass and Communion--it
was the only source of consolation left to us; besides, we never knew
if, perhaps, we should live to see the following day. The regiment to
which the priests belonged had probably been ordered off during the
night--hence the reason of their non-arrival. At 7.30 Mother Prioress
assembled us all at the enclosure door, and, leaving Edmund in charge
of the convent, we put down our veils, and two by two, started for
the Carmelite Convent, situated a little way down the street. There
we learned that the nuns had left the day before. We were determined
not to miss Mass at any cost, so continued as far as the Church of St.
James, where we arrived in the middle of one Mass, after which we
received Holy Communion, and then had the happiness of assisting at
another Mass--celebrated also by a French chaplain, though not one of
those who had been at the Abbey the day before. On our way home, we
were met by a priest of the parish, who had served Mass for a long time
in our chapel, when he was a young boy, and, returning to Ypres years
after, had always remained attached to the community. He was touched to
see us thus obliged to break our beloved enclosure, and spoke words of
courage and consolation to us.
The day passed in great anxiety, relieved by one little incident,
which, in spite of all our perils and troubles, afforded us amusement.
Dame Columban, busy cooking in the kitchen, found no dishes coming from
the scullery, where Sister Winefride now presided at the washing up.
She looked in, asking when the things would be clean, and found the
Sister, bending over a tub of boiling water, looking very tired and
hot, and received an answer, that all would soon be finished. Some time
passed, but no dishes came. Being at a loss to know the cause of the
delay, she went once more to the scullery to enquire, and found things
in exactly the same state as before. On asking what was wrong, Sister
Winefride exclaimed, in a piteous tone of voice: ‘Do you _really_ think
we are going this morning?’--‘Of course not! who said so?’ ‘I don’t
know, but I thought perhaps we might; so, in order not to have too much
to carry, I have put on two habits, two scapulars, two petticoats, and
I _do_ feel so hot! If I may just go to our cell and change, I think
I’ll get on better!’ Having, as may easily be imagined, obtained the
permission, she soon came joyfully back to her work.
We no longer believed the assurance the British soldiers gave us, that
we were quite safe, and we now set to work to lighten our packages as
much as possible, only taking what was strictly necessary; it being
even decided that we should only take one breviary each, and leave the
other three behind. There still remained a good deal to carry; for we
were to take some provisions, not knowing if we should find refuge at
Poperinghe, or if we should have to go straight to England. It was
absolutely necessary to find some means of carrying our packages,
were it but a wheelbarrow. Mother Prioress now found a reward for her
charity, for the poor workman, whom she had so kindly received with his
family in the cellar, hearing of our distress, found a hand-cart, and,
what was more, promised to push it for us.
The next day, Friday, we went out again to Holy Mass in St. James’s,
having had very few people in the cellar, for all those who could
possibly leave the town had already done so. When we returned, Mother
Prioress announced her decision to go to the Headquarters, and set
off immediately, accompanied by Dame Patrick, without even taking
her breakfast. The rest of the community went about their different
occupations, until she should return. Nine o’clock struck, half-past
nine, ten, half-past ten, still no Mother Prioress! To say we were
anxious but feebly expresses our state of mind. The shells and bombs
were flying in all directions; and the explosions--joined to the firing
of the guns--resembled some huge machinery with its never-ceasing boom
and crash. We prepared the dinner, which consisted of salt herrings
and fried potatoes; but there was no account of the Mother Prioress as
yet. Each ring at the door made us crowd round in joyful expectation,
but each time a disconsolate ‘No’ was all the answer we received from
the portress. We recited Sext and None, but no Mother Prioress as
yet! We consulted together as to what should be done. Some thought
Reverend Mother must have been kept--others that she had perhaps found
a motor-car, and had seized the opportunity to go to Poperinghe to see
Lady Abbess. The dinner was spoiling on the fire, yet no one cared to
sit down to eat. The bell rang, but we scarcely had the heart to answer
it--we had been disappointed so often. We felt sure we should only
hear another ‘No.’ Suddenly a joyous ringing of the little hand-bell,
which had served alike to announce the Divine Office, and to warn us of
German Taubes passing overhead, brought everyone to their feet, and we
soon crowded round our dear Prioress to beg her blessing, asking all
together for an explanation of her long absence. For greater surety we
shall cite her own notes:--
‘The Headquarters had left the town, we had therefore a long way to
go. In town, there was ever the same movement of troops, but the
aspect seemed still more mournful. The shells had begun their work
of destruction on the Grand’Place. A corner of the Halles had been
struck. A house had received a bomb on the roof, which, penetrating
the building, carried away half of the front, making its way through
ceilings and floors, throwing the furniture to right and left,
carrying chairs down into the very cellar. The people standing around
were looking on aghast. We passed on, but soon a poor woman stopped
us: “And you Sisters, from where do you come?”--“We are the Irish
Dames of St. James’s Street.” “Oh yes! I know the convent well. Are
you also leaving?”--“I am afraid we shall be obliged to do so!”--and
we continued our walk. We had already turned off into another street,
when we heard hurried steps behind us, and some one crying out:
“Sisters, Sisters! Zusters, Zusters!” It was the good woman again,
with her kind face, her big handkerchief round her head, and her blue
Flemish apron. “Zuster! Don’t leave the town, come home with me, we
are poor, but still you can have my house and all I have.”--“Good
woman,” I said, taking her two hands, “thank you a thousand times,
do not be anxious for us. Our Lord will take care of us.” I could
have kissed the dear creature then and there. We could not stop. Soon
a crowd blocked our passage. “A shell struck here last night” they
explained to us--it was the Cercle Catholique--“and penetrated into
the cellar where a poor man had taken refuge with his three children,
thinking he would be more protected here than in his own home, and
there is his house (just two buildings farther on) untouched. The man
has his hand off, two children are killed, and the third, a girl, is
dying!”
‘By this time we had made our way through the crowd. The fugitives
were continually passing, leaving homes and all behind. At length
we arrived at the residence of the staff officers. We explained our
case to one of them, who received us very courteously, and who told
us the best thing to do would be to address ourselves to General Sir
Douglas Haig. An orderly informed him that Sir Douglas had left for
Brielen. The officer advised us to go there. It was already 8.30, and
we had still a good hour’s walk before us. The road resembled that
to Poperinghe. One must have seen the continual passage of troops,
motor-cars, horses, fugitives, in the narrow lanes, the roads inches
thick with mud, to have a true idea of it. Here and there a house
struck by a shell, or bespattered with mud almost to the roof, gave an
indescribable air of sadness to the surroundings; while a bouquet of
flowers, or an odd _bibelot_ discarded in a shop-window, remained as a
last souvenir of the joys and prosperity of our brave little Belgium.
Brielen now came in sight. We stopped before the Calvary, erected at
the entrance to the cemetery, and then paid a visit to the church. On
coming out, we met the Curé of the village, who interested himself in
our trials and sorrows. We then asked the way to the Headquarters,
where we found it was impossible to see Sir Douglas. His aide-de-camp
gave us some rather vague information, but kindly offered to get us
seats in a motor-car that was leaving for Poperinghe. It did not
start, however, till midday, and even then I could not go without
telling the community at Ypres. We set out on our way back to Ypres.
Just outside the village a poor woman, all in tears, stopped us,
showing us a big cavity which a shell had just made in the ground by
her farm. “I should have been killed,” she exclaimed, “except for the
brave English soldiers, who, seeing the shell coming in my direction,
had just the time to take me up and push me into the farm, but my cow
is gone! Our little farm was all our fortune!” and she wiped away the
tears with a corner of her apron. Poor dear! How many are there still
more unfortunate than she! As we approached the town, the whistling
shriek of the shells became more distinct; the Germans were bombarding
Ypres as hard as they could. We found ourselves almost alone in the
streets. Here and there a few soldiers remained in the doorways of the
houses. A shell flew straight over us! What a protection of Divine
Providence! A few steps off a building was struck, and we just escaped
getting a shower of bricks and glass on top of us. “Come to the other
side!” Dame Patrick called out. We crossed over, murmuring aspirations
all the time. A little farther on another shell burst, and the house
we had just passed fell a heap of shapeless ruins. We hastened our
steps to get out of the street, which seemed to be the chief point
of attack. We then breathed more freely, till--arrived at the Grand’
Place--we were welcomed by a regular shower of shells which flew in
all directions. Happily we had almost reached our destination, though,
had it not been for Dame Patrick, I should never have known my way,
but should probably have passed by the Monastery. At the door we met
two brave Britishers whom I told to come into the parlour, where they
would be more out of danger. They did not feel afraid, and said they
were sent to search for some bread; for they could not get any in
the town. I gave them some of the provisions which we were to take
with us, with a little pot of butter, and--what I knew they liked so
much--as many pears as they could carry. They were delighted, and so
were we. We then talked of the war, and the old story came back again,
the hope so cherished by all, and yet also not realised: “Oh! it will
soon be over. We’ll be home for Christmas!”’
Our poor dinner was now served, the last we were to take in the dear
old home. The reading was made aloud as usual. The subject was ‘Holy
Poverty’--truly appropriate for the times and surroundings. The last
words which the reader pronounced before the signal was given, were:
‘The Lord has given, the Lord has taken away! May His Holy Name be
blessed!’ Had we prepared the reading beforehand, it could not have
been better chosen. Our dear Lord had truly given us our Abbey, and
had made it withstand the course of years, with all the changes of
government, wars, and revolutions, which had swept over Belgium,
especially Flanders--and now He was taking it away. May His Holy Name
be blessed!