FLIGHT
During dinner the bombardment had been at its height. In that short
half-hour almost twenty shells had burst quite close to us. It was our
side of the town that was being attacked--already a poor woman, begging
for something to eat, had told the portress that the roof of the
college was struck. Mother Prioress, deaf to all entreaties, said that
everyone without exception was to be ready at 2 o’clock. We went about,
looking--perhaps for the last time--at the dear old scenes, which we
had thought to leave only when death should knock at our door.
We had already placed on every window of the convent a paper badge of
the Sacred Heart, and lastly erected a niche outside one of the garret
windows, in which we put the miraculous statue of Our Lady of the
Angels, which had remained unhurt outside the Monastery in the siege
of Ypres, in 1744. We had done all we could and must now abandon all,
leaving everything under the double protection of the Mother and the
Son.
A little after 2 o’clock the hand-cart came round to the door. All the
packages could not fit in it, in spite of Reverend Mother having made
us take out nearly all we had gathered together; for she had learnt by
experience, in carrying the things she had prepared for Lady Abbess as
far as Vlamertinghe, three days before, the difficulties of walking
so far, and carrying a heavy parcel at the same time. The enclosure
door was then fastened on the inside, and all other important rooms or
cupboards being likewise locked, we passed with a last farewell through
the long-loved choir, which had known the joys and sorrows of our whole
religious life.
We then went through the outer church into the sacristy, locking
the door of the grille behind us. There was but one more door which
separated us from the outside world--one door more! and we should be
out of our enclosure, perhaps never more to return! There was a pause
in our sad procession--the key was not there. Our Lord watched over
us once more; for, had we then continued in our procession, some of
us would inevitably have been badly hurt, if not indeed killed. After
a few minutes’ waiting, the key was brought, and already placed in
the key-hole, when a loud explosion, accompanied by a terrific crash
which shook the entire building, laid us all prostrate.... Bewildered,
rather than afraid, we arose, and saw, through the window, a shower of
bricks and glass falling into the garden. The first--though not the
last--shell had struck our well-loved Abbey.
We now realised that there was no time to waste. Already Edmund was
screaming out from the other side of the still-locked door. ‘Why don’t
you come? I told you, you should have left long ago. The convent is
struck! We shall all be killed if you don’t make haste!’ The door was
opened, and with an indescribable feeling of horror, mingled with
uncertainty, we went out. In the street we raised our eyes in one sad
farewell to our beloved Monastery; and there, out of the cell windows,
principally that of Mother Prioress, a cloud of vapour and smoke told
us of the passage of the shell; while the remains of the garret windows
overhead and other débris of slates, bricks, wood and glass, strewn
on the pavement, proved without a doubt, that Divine Providence had
truly intervened in allowing the little delay in the sacristy, but for
which we should have been just on the spot when all this had happened.
A cry of anguish arose from our hearts as, hurrying along the deserted
street, we saw our convent thus apparently burning.
Half-way down the street, another explosion behind us made us look
round to see if the Abbey had again been struck, but no! this time it
was the Institut Saint-Louis, just in front. Turning the corner, we saw
some ‘Tommies’ scrambling out of a house which had also been shelled.
As we stumbled over the bricks which covered the road, Edmund hurrying
us on for bare life, one of the soldiers caught sight of us, and
calling out to another to come to help ‘the Sisters’ he threw down the
bundle he was carrying, and seizing two of ours, he walked along with
us, his comrade doing the same. We shall continue the narrative from
the notes of Dame Patrick:--
‘As we were nearing the Rue de Lille, where the shells were falling
thickly, two soldiers came forward to help us with our packages. We
chatted as we hurried along, stopping every one or two minutes, to
avoid a shower of bricks, as we heard a shell hiss over our heads and
fall on one of the houses by us. One of us remarked to the soldiers:
“It is very kind of you to help us.” To our delight they answered,
“It is our same religion, and our same country.” They were both Irish
Catholics--one from Kerry, the other from Belfast. When we reached the
outskirts of the town they were both obliged to turn back, not having
leave to quit Ypres. The Kerry man left us hurriedly; but our man
from Belfast ventured a little farther, though in the end he thought
it wiser to return to his regiment. So we shook hands with him, and
thanked him heartily, wishing him good luck and a safe return to dear
old Ireland! Our good Mother Prioress had a bag of pears in her hand,
so she said to him: “Here, take these pears and eat them, and we will
pray for you.” But he turned away, and said, “No, no, keep them for
yourselves.” Here the poor fellow broke down and cried. He hurried
away, waved his hand, and wished us God-speed. I happened, during this
little scene, just to have moved on, thinking Mother Prioress was by
me. However, on looking round, I saw she was some distance behind,
so I walked back to join her. To my surprise, I found her weeping. I
felt very shaky myself, but did not want to seem so. I jokingly said,
“Oh! Mother Prioress, what is the matter?” Then she told me what had
happened, and said, “I could keep up no longer when I saw that dear,
kind, genuine Irish-hearted man break down--how I wish I could know
his name!” “Come along,” I said, “let us hope that one day we shall
find it out, but don’t cry any more or you’ll have me joining in too.”
I then thought on my brave, tender-hearted countrymen who had left
home and country to serve in the British army as Belgium’s friends
and protectors, and I felt proud and happy that we Irish Benedictines
should have fallen in so often with Irishmen, always meeting with the
same kind-heartedness.’
We had left the town in a terrible state. Through several streets which
we passed, we could not see the other side on account of the clouds
of smoke and dust, occasioned by the bursting of the shells and the
falling buildings. Several telegraph posts lay across the road, with
the wires hopelessly twisted and broken. Soldiers were running to
and fro, propping up walls which had been shaken by an explosion in
the vicinity, or making for some new ruin to see if they could be of
any use. At last leaving the terrible sight behind us, we passed by
the Rue d’Elverdinghe, on to the road leading to Poperinghe. Here we
picked up the good fellow who was pushing the hand-cart. He took some
more packages, tying them all together with a stout rope to prevent
them falling off. His wife and little children were also there, for
they dared not remain in the town. How glad were we now that Reverend
Mother had listened to our chaplain, when he told her not to wait till
the last moment to place dear Lady Abbess in safety. What would she
have done in the midst of those dreadful shells, which, although we
had left the town far behind us, still continued--though we heard them
not so loudly now--to fly on their errand of destruction towards poor,
unfortunate Ypres.
There is no need to describe the marching of the troops as they
passed us on the way, as Mother Prioress has already mentioned it in
her notes. What left the deepest impression on our memories was the
thick slimy mire we had to wade through. In some places it was so bad
that it was almost impossible to get on--we seemed to slide back two
steps for every one that we made forward. We trudged bravely on, but
before we had gone a quarter of the way some of us were already _au
bout_. We, who for years had not walked more than six or seven times
round our little garden, were certainly little fitted to go some nine
miles in that dreadful mud, and carrying parcels which, by this time,
seemed to weigh tons. At last Vlamertinghe came in sight. If only it
had been Poperinghe! We were not even quite half-way. We could hardly
push through the crowds of fugitives, each with his or her bundles of
different colour, shape, and size. Some men had four packages, two in
front and two behind, slung over their shoulders; others were bent
in two with huge sacks on their backs; others pushed wheelbarrows or
perambulators in front of them; while some were content with a little
bundle tied up in a pocket-handkerchief. One respectable-looking
man carefully hugged two umbrellas--were they his only treasures?
We passed through the village, and on, on, on! always in company of
troops, motor-cars, and refugees. The latter accosted us from time
to time to ask who we were and where we came from. They nearly all
seemed to know the Iersche Van Damen von S. Jacob’s Straat! Several
officers and soldiers saluted us also as we passed. If only the driver
of some motor-car would have given us a lift, but they flew past so
quickly--they probably did not even see us. The mason’s little children
took turn by turn to have a ride on the hand-cart, seated on the top of
all the bundles, while the others hung out of the poor mother’s arms,
who cheered them on, and told them wonderful tales in Flemish. One
little boy was squeezing an almost imperceptible black puppy, which
he would not let go for all the world. While the young gentleman was
having his turn for a ride there was a sudden halt on the way. The wee
doggie had managed to wriggle out of his master’s tight embrace and,
making good use of his long-sighed-for liberty, had fallen out of the
cart. Luckily, no bones were broken, owing to the soft carpet of mud
into which he sank. Indeed, the poor cart was obliged to stop more
than once, either to make way for two regiments who were marching in
different directions, or for two or three motor-cars passing all at
once, and, often enough, getting literally ‘stuck in the mud,’ or to
give a rest to Edmund and the workman, who had a hard time of it.
It was now getting dark, and a thick mist was rising. The sound of the
firing was getting more and more feeble as we left Ypres farther and
farther behind. From time to time, a dead horse, stretched out in the
ditch or in a field close by, would make us turn away from the mournful
sight. We walked and walked--would we never arrive at our destination?
It became darker at every moment--we were obliged to keep well
together, for fear of being left behind. The trees which lined the road
loomed out as though they had been some unearthly spectres, with their
leafless branches like gaunt arms uplifted towards the sky to call down
vengeance on the earth; while, magnified through the thick mist, the
moon tinged with red seemed to reflect the bloodshed and carnage of the
battle-field.
At last we caught sight of a feeble glimmer which--unlike the lights
of the motor-cars, as they sped along, throwing an electric flash
into our dazzled eyes and then vanishing, leaving the darkness more
intense--grew brighter and brighter as we advanced. Could it really
be Poperinghe? We hastened on, almost forgetting our fatigue. Yes, we
were truly there--it was Poperinghe! But where were we to turn our
steps? Soon we were surrounded by a crowd. Soldiers and civilians, men
and women, looked with commiseration on this new group of fugitives
who added to the number of those who already filled the town. Reverend
Mother asked to be directed to the Carmelites, remembering the
recommendation of Mr. Tack. Two girls offered to conduct us there.
At this moment a gentleman came forward asking what we desired (we
only discovered later that it was the Judge). In a few words, Mother
Prioress explained the situation. On hearing mention made of La
Sainte Union, where Lady Abbess had taken refuge, he informed us it
was quite close at hand, that if we wished he would conduct us there
first; and in case there should not be room for us all, he would
undertake to find us lodgings. Needless to say, we willingly accepted
the proposal, and in a few minutes we found ourselves in a cheery
little parlour, awaiting the Superioress’ decision. The permission was
accorded at first rather hesitatingly, and for one night only. Was it
astonishing? The poor nuns had just given up the school premises to
the French Ambulance; they had also given refuge to a community from
Oostnienukerke, who were afterwards rejoined by their Sisters from
Passchendaele, and now we arrived also! However, when they discovered
that we really were what we made ourselves out to be, and not German
spies, or vagrants--and especially as, during the conversation, one of
the elder nuns found that she had formerly been the mistress of Mother
Prioress when she had been to the convent at Hazebrouck in preparation
for her first Communion, the community having been expelled from France
eleven years before--they soon changed, and for a whole fortnight
showed us every kind of hospitality.
Now Dame Placid and Sister Romana heard the news, and came running
down to welcome us, then Sister Magdalen and dear Dame Josephine. The
meeting was a happy one, which however soon changed to sadness, when we
related what had happened to the old Abbey. We were impatient to see
our beloved Lady Abbess. Soon our dear Prioress, who had gone first to
break the news gently, reappeared, and we all trooped upstairs, little
dreaming of the sad scene which that very little parlour would witness
in less than a fortnight’s time. Lady Abbess was at once both anxious
and pleased; so, after an exchange of greetings, and having received
her blessing, we retired. We now began to realise what we had done.
It was all so strange; we were now truly poor, not knowing what would
befall us. ‘Sacré Cœur de Jésus, j’ai confiance en Vous!’ We were
really and truly destitute of all human aid, and depended solely on our
loving Father in Heaven for everything.
Soon the good nuns had prepared supper for us, after which we made a
visit to the church, and then were not sorry to be shown the way to the
dormitory. It had belonged to the children, who, owing to the war, had
not returned after the holidays. Oh dear! Where were our cells? Here
there were not even alcoves, but some pretty-looking curtains covering
two sides of each bed. We were not even alone in the dormitory,
several beds being already occupied. Suddenly, to our great surprise,
Antoinette Doone, one of our old pupils, who had always remained
especially attached to Mother Prioress, threw herself into Reverend
Mother’s arms saying that she also was stopping at La Sainte Union
with her two servants. She was delighted at the idea of sharing the
dormitory with her old mistresses. Truly the war brought about strange
coincidences, and made us meet with devoted friends when we least
expected it. Soon we were reposing on a soft mattress and spring bed,
and unaccustomed to such luxury, as well as worn out by the fatigues of
the day, we were not long in falling asleep.