THE RETURN JOURNEY TO POPERINGHE
‘The hand-cart being overloaded, we had to carry some of the things
ourselves; and we must have looked a strange sight, carrying books and
clothes, stuffed in white pillow-cases--even Mr. Walker had one, which
he hoisted on his shoulder. We did not trouble about this, but silently
made our way back, through the deserted streets. We left the town by
a different way from that by which we had entered it, as a sinister
boom from the station warned us of the presence of the enemy. Our
road took us this time through the Grand’ Place. The whole back part
of the hospital was destroyed; and although the walls of the façade
were still standing, one could see, through the empty windows, that
the interior was almost entirely demolished. The Cloth Hall, also, had
not been spared, one corner being severely damaged, and the greater
number of the statues maimed and mutilated. If it could have remained
so, there might have been some consolation; but now everyone knows the
ruthless barbarity which has prompted the Huns of the twentieth century
to utterly destroy this wonderful monument of medieval architecture,
of which Ypres had been so justly proud during hundreds of years. It
appears that the belfry, the chimes of which were only surpassed by
those of Bruges and Antwerp, was struck just twenty-four hours after we
had passed it on our exit from the town. St. Martin’s, too, had also
been struck. We would, nevertheless, have entered, but Mr. Walker was
afraid to let us prolong our stay, as the shells were already flying
over us. Our thoughts naturally turned to the much revered and esteemed
M. le Doyen, who, victim of his heroic courage, had remained at his
post to the last, tending the wounded, and even helping to extinguish
the fires which the incendiary bombs caused in so many places; till at
last, seeing the interior of his beloved church already in flames, he
had fallen, struck down by a cerebral congestion, and had been carried
to the Dean of Poperinghe in the ambulance car. (Since, we have heard
that he is better, D. G., one of our old pupils having seen him in the
church at Poperinghe.)
‘On emerging from the town, a little incident occurred.
‘We came up with a British cavalry regiment. They were coming from the
trenches. They looked at us and shouted: “Who are you, Sisters, and
where do you come from?” Dame Columban answered: “We are English nuns
from the Benedictine Convent of the Rue St. Jacques.” This was too much
for Dame Patrick, who called out: “We are no such thing. We are _Irish_
Benedictines!” “Irish!” shouted half a dozen of them, “and so are we,”
and they all began singing, “It’s a long way to Tipperary,” and, thus
escorted, we took a long, last look at the dear old town. Needless to
say, it was an Irish regiment--every man wore the harp and shamrock on
his collar and cap.
‘We soon arrived at the house where we had taken refuge during the
night, and were not sorry to have a good cup of coffee and some bread
and butter and jam. Mr. Walker had told us of some of his experiences,
among which was the burning of Madame la Baronne Coppens’ house, this
lady being the mother of one of our former pupils. M. Vanderghote’s
eldest son had been left in charge of their house, sleeping in the
cellar at night. On one occasion when the bombardment was raging
fiercely, Mr. Walker had offered to accompany him. They kept watch in
turns. As Mr. Walker was sleeping, the son woke him suddenly crying
out, “Quick! get up! the house is on fire!” Half-dazed, he had seized
hold of his candlestick and followed the son to the door. All was in
flames. They turned back, half-stifled with the smoke, but could find
no exit. At last they managed to break the glass of the window, and
jumping out, just escaped from the place as, with a loud crash, the
roof fell in. Mr. Walker had his candlestick still in his hand, which
he showed us among pieces of shrapnel and shells, all souvenirs of the
war. They had also saved the dog, which was slightly burnt.
‘We now hurried the preparations for our departure, as time was
passing quickly, and we had still a long walk before us. Our kind
host accompanied us as far as the cross-roads where the French
police mounted guard, for he was not allowed farther. By a strange
coincidence we met once more the Belgian officer who had seen us the
evening before. He was more than astonished at what we had done, and
was very pleased that all had succeeded so well. We thanked Monsieur
Vanderghote warmly for all that he had done for us, promising that,
if it were possible, we should assuredly call on him on our return to
Ypres. We then set off, two of us pushing the cart. We had taken but
a few steps, when a French official stopped us once more, saying that
no carts were allowed on the high-road, except those belonging to the
army. We had therefore to take a country lane, which had the double
inconvenience of being twice as long as the straight road and, indeed,
of being also almost impassable. However, there was nothing to be done
but to go forward as best we could; so off we went. Oh dear! One wanted
Goliath’s strength to push the cart over the stones and ruts. After a
few yards we came to a dead stop. The cart was stuck. We pushed and
pushed with might and main--vain efforts. We could not move it. We
were finally obliged to pull backwards, and thus managed to extricate
it. Taught by experience, we took more care next time, looking where we
were going to; so things went pretty well for about a hundred paces,
when, glancing behind us, what was our dismay to see a number of French
soldiers coming by the same road, some on horseback, others on foot,
others driving carts. There was only the narrow lane in front of us,
with no means of turning visible to the right or left. What _was_ to
be done? We hurried on as best we could, but what was the use?--in ten
minutes they would surely overtake us. At last, turning round a corner,
what was our relief to see an open gateway leading into a farmyard. We
boldly pushed our precious load in, thus leaving room for the soldiers
to pass. We then tried if it were possible to find some one to help us;
because, judging from the difficulties we had met with so far, it was
really questionable if we should arrive at Poperinghe before evening.
After grumbling a bit, two men offered to come with us as far as
Vlamertinghe. This was better than nothing; and, as we followed them,
we fervently prayed that we should meet with some one else later on.
‘On we trudged, wondering what had happened in the convent since our
departure. What if the Belgian Commandant had found a train, and
everyone had been obliged to leave without us! No, surely that was not
possible. We passed soldiers, men, women, children, wading through
pools of mud and water, and lamenting our long detour, which had made
us waste so much precious time. Vlamertinghe at last--still five long
miles to Poperinghe--should we _ever_ get there? On arriving at the
village, our two good fellows set about finding some one else to push
our cart, and finally succeeded. Having paid them, we set off once more
on our journey, when behold! a barrier was placed across the road, and
we had to come to a standstill. They told us a train was coming. We
looked and looked, but saw no sign of it in either direction. Meanwhile
a crowd of people assembled, who, accustomed to such proceedings,
pushed past, right up to the railing, to be the first to pass, and we
were left at the back. We waited and waited, still no train. What a
waste of time! Then came the sound of horses’ hoofs, and up trotted a
whole regiment of soldiers, who, of course, rode to the front, pushing
the crowd back, and us along with them. Still no train! We now happened
to look across to the other side of the barrier, and discovered another
regiment, waiting on the opposite side, with again a crowd of people
behind them. Should we ever get through? Still no train! Decidedly, the
good man’s watch must have been considerably in advance, or else he
possessed the virtue of prudence in its highest perfection. At length
a feeble whistle told us that the long-expected locomotive was coming.
But it must have been a train of wounded soldiers; for first it moved
forward at a snail’s pace, and secondly it seemed, to our worn-out
patience, to be at least one mile in length. However, it passed at
last; and, the barriers being withdrawn, the two regiments crossed
four abreast, then the crowds pushed through, and last but not least
came the representatives of the Irish Benedictine Abbey, with their
stylish-looking hand-cart. Once more, on we pushed; but the five miles
must have been German ones, which, like their dreadful soldiers, never
come to an end.
‘Our guide kept bravely on, from time to time stopping to wipe the
perspiration off his face; for, although it was freezing, the poor
fellow had no light work to try to advance through the mud and dirt.
At last, passing by some houses, he left the cart in the middle of
the road, and vanished. The reason soon became evident, for a moment
afterwards he came out with a glass of foaming beer, wherewith to
refresh himself. Once again, on we went. Would the road ever come
to an end? Would we ever arrive at our destination? We scanned the
horizon to find some vestige of our approaching goal, but could
discover nothing but an endless succession of trees, hop-gardens,
fields. Finally, however, some houses came in sight, so plucking up
our courage, we pushed forward, and soon reached the convent door.
At last we should get a rest. Alas, how we were deceiving ourselves!
Once inside, we were soon surrounded by our Sisters, one more anxious
than the other to know what had happened, and to tell us what had been
decided during our absence. Parcels of every shape and dimension next
met our eyes. Arrived at the room which we generally occupied, what
was our astonishment to find dear Lady Abbess downstairs, surrounded
by the nuns of both communities. On catching sight of us, she was more
than delighted. We knelt for her blessing, and to tell her some of our
adventures, and then learnt the reason of all this excitement.’
* * * * *
Mother Prioress will now tell what happened during the absence of Dame
Columban, Dame Patrick, and Dame Placid.
* * * * *
‘As soon as the three nuns had set out for Ypres, we went to the chapel
to recommend them to the protection of God, and by a fervent “Sub tuum”
we commended them to the care of the Blessed Virgin. They had promised
me to be back if possible that night, or at least the next morning,
if they could remain in the convent cellars without too much danger.
At 3 P.M. I was called to see Captain Liddell, who told me that the
British Headquarters would place two ambulance cars at our disposal to
conduct Lady Abbess and the community to St. Omer. The cars would be
ready between ten and eleven next morning. He also said that, once at
St. Omer, I had only to address myself to the mayor, or to the general
staff. I thanked him profusely, and told him of my anxiety for the
three nuns who had gone to Ypres. “It was a very imprudent thing to
attempt,” he answered. “I trust they will not be allowed to enter the
town, for it is being fiercely shelled.” I was very alarmed, as were
the rest of the community, to whom I related what the captain had said.
In the evening, we were assembled with the nuns from Oostmieunkerke
in the big parlour, which the Superioress had kindly allotted for our
use. The gas being cut off, we had only one pétrole lamp between us. We
spent our time working and praying.
‘From time to time, on hearing a ring at the bell, we would ask if
the nuns had yet come back; one of the younger nuns would go and
enquire, but always returned disappointed. We looked at each other
anxiously. What would become of them this night? We could only
recommend them to God. Suddenly I had an inspiration. “Let us put
them under the protection of St. Raphael,” I said, “and promise him
a Mass to-morrow--there are several priests at the ambulance, one of
them will surely be free to say it.” Everyone was pleased with the
idea, and Dame Teresa went to make enquiries. She soon came back in
triumph, saying that the priest from Avignon was outside. We told him
our distress, and respectfully begged him to be so kind as to say the
Mass in honour of St. Raphael for the safe return of our three absent
ones. He willingly agreed. At the same moment the appearance of the
portress brought the cry to our lips: “They are there!” “No! it is
the Commandant Delporte, of the Belgian police, who wishes to speak
to Mother Prioress.” I went to the parlour, fear and hope alternately
taking possession of my heart. He came to ask if Captain Liddell had
called, and if the decision of the Headquarters suited us. I told him
of the arrangement and added, “Once at St. Omer, what shall I do with
our honoured Lady Abbess? May she remain in the motor, which they
say must return to Poperinghe that evening, while I go to the mayor
and general staff?” He reflected a moment, and then, taking one of
his cards, he wrote a few words recommending us to Major Kirke. “Take
this,” he said, rising, “and give it to the major, who is a great
friend of mine, and rest assured that all will be well.” I could not
thank him enough, and conducted him to the door. There I found myself
in presence of two men, who asked to see me. They brought me a message
from our nuns, telling me not to be anxious; they would not return
that night, but the next day, as soon as possible. I felt a little
relieved, but again the question presented itself, at what hour would
they arrive? Would they be in time? The next morning we arranged our
modest parcels, which--thanks to the dexterity of Dame Aloysius--were
soon ready, thinking all the time of our missing Sisters. For my part,
I went to prepare Lady Abbess for our departure, for the hour was fast
approaching. We must come to a decision--the three must remain at La
Sainte Union until the opportunity of joining us in England should
present itself. We had now to get Lady Abbess down the stairs which
were narrow and steep, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we
succeeded. We made her as comfortable as we could in an arm-chair in
the big parlour, where the nuns of the three communities gathered round
her, for everyone was filled with an affectionate respect for her,
mingled with compassion for her age and infirmity. We tried to hide
our perplexity and anxiety from her. It was now time to start, and the
three were not yet back. At this moment the portress entered the room
smiling--what was it? Captain Liddell had just called to say the motors
would not be round till 1.30. “Deo gratias!” To complete our happiness,
the absent ones soon arrived, covered with dust and mud, but producing
in triumph the great-habits and breviaries they had been able to save.’