A SECOND ATTEMPT TO REVISIT YPRES
Were we, then, to leave Belgium without seeing our beloved monastery
again? The thought was too dreadful. This time Dame Placid begged to
be allowed to venture back, and asked Dame Columban and Dame Patrick
if they would go with her. They at once agreed; and having begged a
blessing from Mother Prioress, started off, accompanied by the two
servants of Madame Boone, poor Mother Prioress being still unwell and
quite unable to accompany them, to her great disappointment. Dame
Columban and Dame Patrick will again tell the story.
* * * * *
‘We were now _determined_ to succeed--it was our last chance.
‘We had not gone far, when the whirr of an aeroplane was heard
overhead. It flew too low to be an enemy, so we wished it good-speed,
and passed on. Shortly after, some fugitives met us, who, seeing the
direction we were taking, stared aghast, and told us that the Germans
were bombarding Ypres worse than ever. Should we turn back? Oh no!
it was our _last_ chance. We continued bravely. Soon, others stopped
us with the same story, but, turning a deaf ear to the horrors they
related, we pushed on. Over an hour had passed, when, after a brisk
walk, Vlamertinghe came in sight. More than half our journey was
accomplished. Just as we approached the railway station (we had again
taken the railway track) we heard the whirr of an aeroplane, then
a volley of shots flew up towards the aeroplane. We knew what that
meant. We could see the shots of the Allies bursting in the air, some
near the Taube, some far away; alas! none hit it. What should we do?
We determined to risk it; and passing under Taube, bombs, shots, and
all, we hastened through the railway station--soldiers, men, women and
children staring at “these strange Benedictine nuns!”
[Illustration:
D. Teresa. D. Placid. D. Columban. D. Patrick.
Mother Prioress.
THE MOTHER PRIORESS, DAME TERESA, AND THE THREE NUNS WHO REVISITED
YPRES. ]
‘Hurrying on, we met two priests coming from Ypres. We stopped to ask
advice. They told us that our undertaking was decidedly dangerous.
There was hardly a person left in the town; they had gone in in the
morning to see if they could be of any use, and were now leaving, not
daring to stop the night. They told us that there was still one priest
who remained in the establishment of the mad people, just outside
Ypres, and that we could always call on him, if we could not manage to
reach our convent; but they added that he also was leaving the next
day with all his poor protégés. We made up our minds to risk all; so,
asking the priests’ blessing, we went our way. Other people tried in
vain to make us turn back, especially two men who assured us we should
never be able to accomplish our project. We thanked them for the
interest they showed in our behalf, and asked them if they would be so
kind as to call at the convent at Poperinghe and tell Mother Prioress
not to be anxious if we did not return that night, and not to expect us
till the next day. We were now approaching the cross-roads which had
proved so fatal on Wednesday. A Belgian officer on a bicycle stopped
to ask where we were going. We told him. He said it was simple madness
to think of doing such a thing. He had been with his soldiers trying
to mend the roads a little farther on, and had been obliged to leave
off on account of the shells which were flying in all directions. We
thanked him, but said we would risk it all the same. Arriving on the
high road, we soon found ourselves in presence of a French policeman
who asked where we were going. “To Ypres!” was the determined reply.
“No one can pass. You must go back.” What were we to do? We determined
to go on. Were there no means of getting in by another way? While we
stood as though rooted to the ground, we caught sight of a French
Chasseur on the other side of the road, who seemed to have some
authority, and who was trying to console a woman and two weeping
children. We immediately applied to him, and told him our distress.
He answered kindly, but told us, all the same, that he was afraid we
should not be able to enter Ypres. We begged to be allowed to continue,
if only to _try_. He smiled and said: “If you _really_ wish it, then
pass on.” And on his writing down a passport, we went on triumphantly.
It seemed as though God were helping us.
‘We had been so taken up with all that had passed that we had thought
of nothing else, but now that we were in sight of the goal we realised
that it was freezing hard. The stars were shining brightly, from
time to time a light flashed in the distance, then a sinister whirr,
followed by an explosion, which told us that the Germans were not going
to let us pass as easily as did the French Chasseur. Wondering as to
how we should succeed, we came across an English sentinel, and so asked
his advice. He told us that he thought there was no chance whatever of
our getting into the town. He said that he himself had been obliged to
abandon his post on account of the shells, that the troops in the town
had been ordered to leave, and that those coming in had been stopped.
(We now remembered having seen a regiment of French soldiers setting
out from Poperinghe at the same time as we had done, and then they were
suddenly stopped, while we went on and saw them no more.) Despite what
the sentinel told us, we remained unpersuaded. Seeing several soldiers
going in and out of a house just opposite, we thought it would be as
well to ask a temporary shelter till the bombardment should lessen. We
ventured to ask admission, when what was our surprise to receive the
warmest of welcomes and the kindest offers of hospitality. We could
not have found a better spot. The family was thoroughly Christian;
and, in this time of distress, the door of the house stood open day
and night for all who were in need. How much more for nuns, and more
especially enclosed nuns like ourselves! They had seen us passing on
our way to Poperinghe, just a fortnight before, and had accompanied
our wanderings with a prayer. A few days ago they had also given
refreshment to the Poor Clares who had taken refuge at Vlamertinghe;
and now their only desire was that God would spare their little house,
that they might continue their deeds of mercy and true charity. To
give us pleasure, they introduced an Irish gentleman who was stopping
with them, since the Germans had chased him out of Courtrai. A lively
conversation soon began, while the good woman of the house prepared us
a cup of hot coffee and some bread and butter. After this, the Irish
gentleman, whose name was Mr. Walker, went out to investigate, to see
if it would not be possible for us to continue our walk. After about
half an hour’s absence, during which we were entertained by our host
(M. Vanderghote, 10 Chaussée de Poperinghe, Ypres), who made his five
children and two nieces come in to say good-night to us before going to
bed, Mr. Walker returned, saying it was a sheer impossibility to enter
the town that evening, as the shells were falling at the rate of two
every three minutes. He had called on M. l’Abbé Neuville, the priest
above mentioned, Director of the Asylum, who said he would give us
beds for the night, and then we could assist at his Mass at 6.30 next
morning. The latter part of the proposition we gladly accepted; but as
to the first, we were afraid of abusing his goodness, and preferred,
if our first benefactor would consent, to remain where we were until
morning. Our host was only too pleased, being sorry that he could not
provide us with beds. He then forced us to accept a good plate of warm
butter-milk; after which, provided with blankets and shawls, we made
ourselves as comfortable as we could for the night. Needless to say,
we did not sleep very well and were entertained, till early morning,
with explosions of bombs and shells, and the replying fire of the
Allies’ guns. Once a vigorous rattling of the door-handle aroused us,
but we were soon reassured by hearing M. Vanderghote inviting the poor
half-frozen soldier, who had thus disturbed us, to go to the kitchen
to take something warm. Before 6, we began to move, and performed our
ablutions as best we could. The eldest son of the family now came to
fetch us, to show us the way to the church of the asylum, where we
had the happiness of hearing Holy Mass and receiving Holy Communion.
When Mass was over we wound our way once more through the dimly-lit
cloisters of the asylum, while we could not help smiling at the
apparent appropriateness of the place we had chosen with the foolhardy
act we were undertaking--of risking our lives in thus entering a town
which even our brave troops had been obliged to evacuate.
‘Once outside the asylum, we found Mr. Walker waiting for us, with the
eldest daughter and three sons of M. Vanderghote, who were pushing a
hand-cart. We set off at a brisk pace along the frozen road. Passing
by a few French soldiers, who looked amazed at our apparition, we
soon entered the doomed town. There, a truly heart-breaking sight
awaited us. Broken-down houses, whose tottering walls showed remains
of what had once been spacious rooms--buildings, half-demolished,
half-erect,--met our wondering gaze everywhere. Windows, shattered
in a thousand pieces, covered the ground where we walked; while, in
the empty casements, imagination pictured the faces of hundreds of
starving, homeless poor, whose emaciated features seemed to cry to
heaven for vengeance on the heartless invaders of their peaceful native
land.
‘But we durst not stop; the thought ever uppermost in our hearts was
our own beloved Abbey. How should we find it? We pushed on as quickly
as we could, but the loose stones, bricks, beams and glass made
walking a difficult matter, and twice, having passed half-way down a
street, we were obliged to retrace our steps, owing to the road being
entirely blocked by overthrown buildings. Here and there, we saw some
poor creature looking half-frightened, half-amazed at seeing us, while
suddenly turning a corner we came to a pool of frozen water, where
three street boys were amusing themselves sliding on the ice. Their
mirth seemed almost blameful among so many trophies of human misery! We
now came in sight of St. Peter’s Church, which at first glance appeared
untouched; but coming round, past the calvary, we saw that the porch
had been struck.
‘One moment more, and we were in La Rue St. Jacques--nay, in front
of our dear old home. The pavements were covered with débris of all
kinds, but the other buildings had largely contributed to the pile.
We hardly dared to raise our eyes; yet the Monastery was there as
before, seemingly untouched, save for the garrets over the nuns’ cells,
where the shell had burst before we had left. We were now greeted by
a familiar voice, and looking round found the poor girl, Hélène, who
was anxiously enquiring if we were returning to the convent. But there
was no time to waste. The Germans, who had stopped bombarding Ypres
at about 3 A.M., might recommence at any moment, and then we should
have to fly; so we went to the door of the Director’s house to try
to get into the Abbey. What was our astonishment to find Oscar, our
old servant-man, there. Probably he was still more astonished than
we, for he had never dared to come to the convent since he had left,
and would surely feel, at the least, uncomfortable at our unexpected
arrival. However, it was certainly not the moment to think of all these
things, so we went in. The whole building seemed but one ruin. In the
drawing-room, where the priest’s breakfast things--laid a fortnight
before--were still on the table, the ceiling was literally on the
floor; the staircase was quite blocked with cement, mortar, wall-paper,
and bricks; the sacristy, where we were assembled when the first shell
fell, was untouched. The church, except for some five or six holes
in the roof, was as we left it; but the altar, stripped of all that
had once made it so dear to us, spoke volumes to our aching hearts.
Mounting the seven steps which led into the choir, we found ourselves
once more in that beloved spot. The windows on the street side were
in atoms; otherwise, all was intact. Our dearest Lord had watched
over His House, His Royal State Chamber, where He was always ready to
hold audience with His Beloved Spouses. We tore ourselves away, and
flew to secure our breviaries, great-habits, and other things which
the other nuns had recommended to us. Everywhere we went, dust and
dirt covered the rooms, while a great many windows were broken. The
statues of Our Blessed Lady and St. Joseph were unharmed, as also those
of Our Holy Father St. Benedict and our Holy Mother St. Scholastica.
Little Jesus of Prague had His crown at His feet, instead of on His
head; one crucifix was broken in two! The cells were almost quite
destroyed, big holes in the ceilings, the windows broken, the plaster
down, frozen pools of water on the floor. We hastened to the garrets,
where things were still worse. The roof in this part was completely
carried away, leaving full entrance to hail, snow, and rain; strong
rafters and beams, which seemed made to last unshaken till the end of
the world, were rent asunder or thrown on the floor; the huge iron
weights of the big clock had rolled to the other end of the garrets;
the scene of destruction seemed complete. We turned away; the other
part looked secure, the apples and pears lying rotting away on the
floors, where we had put them to ripen. In the noviceship, the ceiling
was greatly damaged; whilst down in the cloisters, by the grotto of our
Lady of Lourdes, a bomb had perforated the roof, the grotto remaining
untouched. These seemed to be the principal effects of the invaders’
cruelty, as far as our Abbey was concerned.
‘We now came across our old carpenter, who had also come into the house
with Oscar, and who had already put up planks on the broken windows in
the choir, promising to do all he could to preserve the building. He
also told us that one of the biggest German bombs had fallen in the
garden, but had not exploded, so the French police had been able to
take it away--another mark of God’s loving care over us; for, had the
bomb burst, it would have utterly destroyed our Monastery. We were now
obliged to leave. When should we see the dear old spot again? and in
what state would it be if we ever did return?’