VISITING THE WOUNDED
It was late the next morning when we awoke, for there were no guns to
disturb our slumbers. However, we were up in time for the last Mass.
Having breakfasted, we set to work to carry our parcels upstairs, and
to clean our shoes, which, owing to our peregrinations, were hardly
recognisable, being simply clotted with mire and dirt. This finished,
we made our first visit to the wounded soldiers in the ambulance.
What a scene of suffering met our eyes! If it made us realise, more
than ever, that we had left our beloved enclosure, still it gave us
an insight into human misery which we should never have had, had we
remained peacefully in our Abbey. The _ensemble_ was not yet organised,
only those downstairs having bedsteads--the poor soldiers upstairs
lying on straw on the floor. The impression made was ineffaceable. We
now saw what war really meant, and we left, after having distributed
little cakes, biscuits and sweets, with a promise to come back as often
as we could.
Mother Prioress was now called for, to see Edmund and the poor family
who had not been received in the convent, as the Superioress had been
threatened with a summons if she received any refugees. They had been
directed to the police station, where, having presented themselves,
they had been placed in an inn, and had passed the night in an attic on
some straw. They were also starving, having had nothing to eat. They
were quickly given some of our provisions, and Mother Prioress paid the
mason for his hard work of the day before. Being now a little consoled,
he said he would go off with his wife and children to a village close
by, to see if he would not be more successful in getting a lodging
there. Edmund remained, lamenting loudly over his misfortunes. The
chaplain of the community passing by, and hearing his sad tale, had
compassion on the poor man, and told him he might sleep at his house,
while the nuns arranged to give him his meals. After some days,
however, he found the priest’s house too far away from the convent, and
so managed to get a bed in a baker’s establishment just opposite.
Every morning we had the happiness of assisting at two or four Masses;
for besides the Director of the community, whose Mass Edmund served,
some French priests who were attached to the ambulance also requested
permission to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice. Reverend Mother arranged
with the Superioress that we might go to the chapel when we liked to
say our office, where--instead of stalls--turning the chairs to face
each other, we improvised a choir, and recited the Benedictine hours
with the usual ceremonies. We were, of course, obliged to advance the
night office, saying vespers and compline at 2.30 and matins and lauds
at 4.0, it being often necessary to bring the chairs close to the
window to have light to finish, if, as it sometimes happened, we were
unable to keep to the given hours.
On Sunday afternoon, eleven nuns from the Rue de Lille at Ypres came
to beg a refuge. They were expelled French nuns of the Sacred Heart
of Jesus, who had devoted themselves since the outbreak of the war in
our parts to tending the wounded soldiers. It was they who had had
such a narrow escape when the Germans came to Ypres, whilst they had
their convent full of Belgians. They told us afterwards how good their
wounded had been, and how the greater part, as soon as they were well
enough, used to come to Benediction and sing with the nuns.
Now, however, they brought sad news from the town, which was being
bombarded worse than ever. They had been obliged to fly for their
lives; one Sister had been killed by a bomb, a servant badly wounded,
and their Superioress had stopped behind with two nuns, compelling
the others to leave. They had at first taken the wrong road, going
straight to the scene of battle; but being sent back by the British
soldiers, they had made their way, as best they could, to Poperinghe.
They had lost six of their number, not knowing what had become of them;
seventeen had left the convent, and now only eleven had arrived at
Poperinghe.
The next day our servant-man came round to say that he had received
an invitation to go back to Ypres the following day with another man,
who was willing to run the risk of returning. Needless to say we
were delighted to have such a good chance of getting news about our
Monastery; and all prayed for his safety. We anxiously awaited the
result of this venture, hoping that he would be able to get into the
convent, and that, above all, no harm would happen to him. True enough,
he came back in triumph, dragging another huge parcel of things he had
managed to secure for himself. The dreadful account he gave of the
Monastery filled us with despair, for, according to his description,
half the building seemed to have been destroyed. Happily, the person
who had accompanied him called the next day, and told us that Edmund
had greatly exaggerated the mischief done; and he hoped that if the
Germans could be repulsed, we should be able to return in four or five
days.
Mother Prioress determined to ascertain the truth of the case for
herself. She accordingly made enquiries as to whether it would be
possible to go to Ypres in a motor-car. M. Vander Meersch, a solicitor
who lived near the Abbey, came to our help, and an officer was found
who was willing to take two nuns with him. We begged our dear Prioress
not to expose herself to such evident danger; but, as usual, she would
not listen, and it was decided that Dame Placid should accompany her.
God, Who ever protects those who put their trust in Him, arranged
otherwise, and the motor-car was prevented from leaving Poperinghe. We
heard afterwards that at the very time that they should have arrived, a
bomb had fallen on another motor, and killed five officers.
During the next days, news poured in from Ypres. At one time, we heard
that the Germans had been repulsed, and their guns captured, and that
Ypres would soon be quite safe again; shortly afterwards, it was
announced that the enemy was mercilessly bombarding the town, some
houses were falling, others burning. We were more than ever convinced
that we could believe nothing that we heard and must necessarily see
for ourselves. Besides, the guns which we had only heard feebly in
the distance, on our arrival at Poperinghe, could certainly be heard
far more distinctly now; were we going to be bombarded a second time?
It really seemed probable, for German aeroplanes appeared in sight,
apparently scrutinising the movements of the Allies, and had not that
been the beginning of the hostilities at Ypres?
In the streets, the regiments passed and repassed--the poor, brave
fellows marching off to the battle, and the others coming back from the
trenches to have a well-merited repose. It was often touching to see
how those who had not been ordered out would await the return of the
troops, anxiously scanning the lines as they passed, and on perceiving
a comrade, perhaps a ‘chum,’ coming back unhurt, they would run forward
and give a hand-shake with a joyful greeting, as the horses trotted by.
But alas! there were always a number of empty saddles, belonging to
those who had been taken to the ambulance, or--worse still--left dead
on the battle-field. The horses themselves seemed mournful, as they
followed mechanically after the others, as though they felt it must be
partially their fault that their dear masters were no longer there.
Often, also, numbers of German prisoners would march past between two
files of British or French soldiers on their way to the station.
Our poor wounded French soldiers were not forgotten. By this time
things were arranged better; nearly all had beds now, some even
sheets. And this was due to the unflagging devotion of three priests
attached to the ambulance as infirmarians. They certainly preached to
us a silent sermon of self-forgetfulness and heroic charity; and our
greatest pleasure was to hear them relate all they had gone through
since the War broke out. In the French army alone, 40,000 priests
mixed with the common soldiers, the greater number being combatants.
The brave wounded also gave us many a lesson, never finding fault
with anything, never complaining of their dreadful wounds. And yet
how horribly some of them were mutilated! A great number were obliged
to have an arm or leg amputated--one had his lower jaw carried
away--another, his whole face from below the eyes. Most of them
were wounded in the head, which made them suffer dreadfully, some
even being delirious. There were some who belonged to the highest
aristocracy--Counts and Barons were there, lying on straw or hard
stretchers; others again were quite young, only twenty or twenty-one.
Yet all were patient, all courageous, all _sure_ that in the end the
Allies would win, and the Germans be defeated. The unfortunate victims
who died of their wounds were carried out to a little hut or tent
erected in the garden. As we passed by, we would lift up the curtain
which hid them from view, and say a ‘De profundis’ for the repose of
their souls. Sometimes as many as eleven or twelve lay there, awaiting
the coffins which could not be made quickly enough. One poor Zouave,
who had probably been dead some time before it was found out, lay there
with his arms uplifted, as though he still held the gun, with which he
would, even in death, lay low his enemy.
But we cannot do better than take from the notes of Dame Teresa, who
was so devoted in visiting the ambulance:--
‘At Poperinghe we spent all our time making badges of the Sacred Heart
for the wounded soldiers. Almost every day we went to visit them. This
gave us the greatest joy. The first time we entered the large room No.
1, where they lay, some on beds, others on stretchers, we were struck
with horror and pity. There they were, young men and middle-aged, from
every department of France; some had been struck on the head, others
on the chest, back, or shoulders, or else wounded in the legs. And
yet not one complaint escaped their lips--only one poor fellow, who
was delirious, called out as we passed by: “My head, my head! oh, if
you only knew what it is to have such a headache.” Another soldier,
just twenty-one, said to us in the patois of the South of France,
“Franche! Franche! shall I ever see thee again!” We went from one
room to another, speaking to each, and cheering them up. We gave them
pears, and it used to be our greatest pleasure to peel them, cut them
in small bits, and now and again we would put them in their mouths,
when they were unable to move. They were as simple as children, and
loved our visits. “Sister, you’ll come back to-morrow won’t you? It is
so nice to see you, it cheers us up!” I remember one incident, which
shows their simplicity. Dame Walburge and I had been going round,
distributing small bits of pear, which they much relished as very
comforting to their parched lips; but there came a time when we had
exhausted our last pear, and still many soldiers had not had a bit.
Of course next day we would serve them the first; but Dame Walburge
whispered to tell me one poor fellow had been watching me so anxiously
for some time. I turned towards him to say a little word of comfort,
but he interrupted me, saying in a fretful, childish way: “Oh, Sister,
and you have given me no pear, and I wanted one so badly!” In vain we
searched our pockets, all the while promising he should be served the
first next day. He repeated: “It’s to-night I wanted it.” We left the
room sadly, wishing, for once in our religious lives, that we had a
penny to buy him a pear. But Almighty God, Who is all-powerful, heard
the prayer of His children; for hardly had I told this story to one of
the nuns of La Sainte Union, than she gave me a pear, and though it
was already dark, we ran back joyfully to our poor wounded soldier,
who seemed dumb for joy, but his happy face rewarded us beyond words.
‘The unselfishness of the soldiers towards each other was marvellous;
once, while peeling a pear for a soldier--one who was eating a piece
of bread--he said to me: “Sister, I am sure my neighbour would also
like a piece.” I turned to the other, who answered timidly: “Yes, I
should like it; but see, Sister, I have a little bit of meat on my
bread, and he has none, so give it to him!” Needless to say, I divided
it between them.
‘Sometimes they would give us a little money out of their purses to
buy biscuits, or cheese, or, as they said, “something to eat.” One
Zouave asked us to buy him a pair of socks.
‘At this French Ambulance we also had the joy of making the
acquaintance of three soldier-priests, who daily said Mass at the
convent, thus giving us the happiness of sometimes hearing five Masses
a day. I do not quite remember the names of the priests. I think one
was called M. l’Abbé Tecq, another M. l’Abbé Couq of Dijon, and the
third was M. l’Abbé Louis Charbonnel of Avignon. This latter was very
fond of Benedictines, and gave us a special blessing before leaving,
assuring us that we should immediately feel “at home” among our
Sisters at Oulton.
‘These priests were more than devoted to the soldiers, administering
the last sacraments, and bringing Holy Communion to them, no matter at
what time of the day. The little badges of the Sacred Heart also did
their work; all the soldiers asked to have them, and insisted on our
pinning them ourselves on their clothes; the priests wore them, and
distributed hundreds, so that we could scarcely keep pace with their
fervour, except by working at them every free minute we had. Some
of the infirmarians even asked to have a few to send away in their
letters.
‘They wrought many conversions--the soldiers all wanted to have them.’
Again there was dreadful news from Ypres. The hospital was entirely
destroyed. The British soldiers had gone with their motor-cars to take
away the four nuns, who still risked their lives by staying to tend the
poor victims, who were daily struck down in or about the town. Four
other nuns had been killed in their cellar. A priest carrying the holy
oils to a dying person had been struck down in the street. The Germans
had even made new bombs, bigger and more destructive than those used
before. What should we do? Would it not be wiser to accept Lady Abbess
of Oulton’s kind invitation, and go straight on to England while there
was yet time? But our Abbey! Why leave it, if we could possibly return?
We found ourselves surrounded at Poperinghe by every attention which
charity could suggest; and although the community of La Sainte Union
had often the greatest difficulty to provide for the increased number
of fugitives, there being two other communities as well as ourselves,
still we received everything that was possible in the circumstances.
However, as the officer in charge of the ambulance demanded one thing
after another for his soldiers, he came at last to claim the room
which had been placed at our disposal. The Superioress was obliged to
yield, and the ‘chef’ soon established the supplies of food in what
had been our refectory. We were now forced to take possession of the
nuns’ refectory, going to our meals before or after theirs. We thus
found ourselves at table not only with the two other communities
above mentioned, but also with the servants of one of our old pupils,
who were also stopping in the convent to help at the ambulance. We
managed as best we could, and still kept up our tradition of entering
in procession, saying the ‘De profundis,’ and then reciting the
Benedictine grace before and after meals. This was not all. There was
a door at one end, which led into the room given up to the soldiers;
consequently, at any moment, one would appear in the refectory to
fetch a loaf of bread, or some meat, &c., and then repass again on his
way out. Once, when a priest came, Mother Prioress gave him a pear,
as also to the soldier who came after him; but soon the Superioress
put up a large screen, which enabled them to enter without disturbing
the community. They had a very hard life. Often we saw their shadows
through the mat glass as they stood at the windows, eating their
dinners in the rain and snow.
And now Our Lord was preparing a cross which we had not counted on,
and which added to the grief that already weighed down our hearts. Our
poor dear Dame Josephine, already fifty-two years professed, now left
us. Feeble and infirm, the shock had been too much for her. The want of
good nourishment had also told on her--she was soon obliged to keep her
bed, having caught cold. The doctor, on seeing her, declared the case
dangerous, and proposed that she should receive the last sacraments.
This took place on Friday, November 13, Feast of all the Saints of the
Benedictine Order. Alas! we little expected that another one would so
soon increase their happy company. Saturday, our dear patient seemed to
rally a little, and none of us believed the infirmarian, when, in the
evening, she told us she was dying. However, Mother Prioress remained
some time alone with Dame Josephine, helping her to renew her vows,
and offer up holy aspirations. She herself did not think she was so
bad; but, always ready to obey, she followed the prayers suggested
by her whom she had known when she had been Sister Maura--a lively,
fervent, eighteen-year-old postulant, and whom she had always cared for
as a mother. Now that her dearly-loved little novice had grown into her
Superioress, she submitted herself with child-like simplicity, asking
her blessing morning and evening, thus edifying greatly the whole
community. She therefore now made, when Dame Maura proposed it, her act
of resignation, should God demand the sacrifice of her life.
Two of us offered to divide the night between us to watch by her
bedside. After 1 A.M. she slept a little, though her breathing was
difficult. At 2.30 she awoke, and seemed rather restless. Before going
down in the morning, Mother Prioress paid Dame Josephine another visit;
but we could no longer distinguish what she said. We replaced each
other during the Masses; but about 7.30 everyone was called out of
church, there being now no more doubt. The Superioress of the house
knelt with Mother Prioress close by the bed, and several nuns of both
communities joined their prayers to ours, during which our dearest
jubilarian breathed forth her innocent soul. It was the Feast of the
Dedication of the Churches. Our Lord had chosen the day Himself, for
had she not passed her whole religious life in the service of the
altar as sacristine? And by a curious coincidence, in which we may
again detect the loving attention of the Divine Master, the burial,
settled at first for Tuesday, was put off till Wednesday, Feast of the
Dedication of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. Sad at any time, the loss
of our dear Dame Josephine now appeared doubly so--in exile, and in
the midst of so many other trials. She had truly ‘chosen the better
part,’ and we felt a sort of relief to know that she had been spared
the horrors which we should, in all probability, live to see. Every
one showed us the kindest sympathy in our loss. Dame Aloysius and Dame
Columban performed the last duties to the dear departed one, and laid
her out in the same little parlour where she had come to welcome us,
just nine days before, on the evening of our arrival. Every one came
to pray by her corpse, all the nuns, the chaplain, even several of our
old pupils, who, having taken refuge in Poperinghe, heard of our sad
loss--and last of all, poor old Edmund who for a moment forgot his own
troubles to grieve over dear Dame Josephine whom, like everyone else,
he had esteemed and respected. Each, as they left the little room,
where such a peaceful silence reigned, declared they had never before
seen such a holy and happy death.
Thanks to the intervention of M. Vander Meersch, already mentioned,
and who was a personal friend of the burgomaster of Poperinghe, Mother
Prioress obtained permission to place the dead body, having previously
secured it in a double coffin, in a private vault in the cemetery;
so that if--which God grant--we are able to rebuild our Monastery at
Ypres, we shall then lay dear Dame Josephine with her other religious
Sisters.
We recited the Office of the Dead round the holy remains, in the
convent chapel, and sang the Requiem Mass at the funeral. This latter
should have really taken place in the parish church, but the Curé,
kindly sympathising with our numerous trials, offered to perform it at
the convent so that we should be thus enabled to keep our enclosure
as much as possible. We sang the Mass (at which all attended) with
great devotion, in spite of the severe colds we had all caught. At the
moment of consecration, when, in deepest recollection, we adored ‘Our
Lord and our God,’ Who thus deigned to come down from Heaven among
His sorrowing children, the well-known hiss of a descending bomb made
itself heard, and in the same moment a formidable explosion took place
quite close to us. The Holy Sacrifice continued without interruption.
It was only afterwards we heard that the Germans had aimed at the
ambulance established, as has been said, in La Sainte Union. Missing us
by a few yards only, the bomb had struck the house next door, doing,
however, but little damage. Four girls of the Congregation of Our
Blessed Lady carried the coffin to the cemetery, while the nuns of the
house accompanied our community. The sad little procession wound its
way along the muddy streets, amidst troops of civilians and soldiers.
Nearly all saluted as it passed. The prayers being sung at the grave,
the coffin was deposited in the vault, and we returned silently,
stopping to recite ‘De profundis’ at the little portion of ground
allotted to the dead nuns of La Sainte Union.