How I Filmed the War Part 6

What an awful spectacle! A repet.i.tion of the horrors of Ypres on a smaller scale. Nothing left, only the bare skeletons of the houses and the church. With great difficulty, I managed to climb to the top of the ruined tower, and filmed the town from that point. I was told by an observation officer to keep low, as the Germans had the church still under fire. Naturally I did so, not wis.h.i.+ng for a sh.e.l.l that might bring the tower down, and myself with it.

Remarkable to relate, the figure of Christ upon the Cross was untouched in the midst of this terrible scene of devastation. Subsequently the tower was completely destroyed by German sh.e.l.ls.

Hearing that the Canadian guns were going to bombard Pet.i.te Douve, a large farmstead which the Germans had fortified with machine-guns and snipers, I started off from headquarters in the company of a lieutenant-colonel and a captain. A few pa.s.sing remarks on the conditions of the road as we went along to Hill 63 will be interesting.

No matter where one looked there was mud and water. In several places the roads were flooded to a depth of six inches, and our cars several times sank above the front axle in hidden sh.e.l.l-holes. The whole district was pitted with them. Entire sections of artillery were stuck in the mud on the roadside, and all the efforts of the men failed to move them.

All around us hidden guns, 4.5 and 9.2, were hurtling their messengers of death with a monotonous regularity. Pa.s.sing a signpost, marked "Hyde Park Corner," which looked incongruous in such a place, we entered Ploegsteert Wood. But what a change! It was as if one had suddenly left France and dropped unceremoniously into the western woods of America, in the times of the old pioneers. By the wood-side, as far as one could see, stretched a series of log-huts. To the right the same scene unfolded itself. Our cars came to a stop. Then I had a chance to study the settings more closely.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHOOSING A POSITION FOR MY CAMERA IN THE FRONT LINE TRENCH AT PICANTIN, WITH THE GUARDS. WINTER, 1915-16]

What a picture! Amidst all the glamour of war, these huts, surrounded by tall poplars, which stood grim, gaunt and leafless--in many places branchless, owing to the enemies' sh.e.l.ls, which tore their way through them--presented the most picturesque scene I had come across for many a long day. Upon the boards fixed over the doorposts were written the names of familiar London places. As the time of the bombardment was drawing near I could not stay at the moment to film anything, but decided to do so at an early opportunity.

Sharing my apparatus with two men, we started climbing through eighteen inches of slimy mud towards the top of Hill 63. The effort was almost backbreaking. At last we got through and paused, under cover of the ruins of an old chateau, to gain breath. To negotiate the top needed care as it was in full view of the German front. I went first with the Captain, and both of us kept practically doubled up, and moved on all fours. The men behind us waited until we had covered about one hundred yards, then they followed. We decided to make for a point in the distance which was at one time a grand old chateau. Now it was nothing more than a heap of rubble. We waited for the remainder of the party to come up before proceeding, the idea being that in case either of us was. .h.i.t by shrapnel, or picked off by a sniper, no time would be lost in rendering a.s.sistance.

Resting awhile, we again proceeded in the same order as before. We were held up by a sentry, and warned to take to the communication trenches down the hill, as German snipers had been picking off men in the working parties the whole of the morning, and shrapnel was continually bursting overhead. We entered the trench, and as usual sank up to our knees in mud.

How in the world we got through it I don't know! Every time I lifted my foot it seemed as though the mud would suck my knee-boot off. After going along in this way for about three hundred yards, and occasionally ducking my head to avoid being hit by bursting sh.e.l.ls, we came to a ruined barn. The cellars had been converted, with the aid of a good supply of sandbags, into a miniature fort. A sloping tunnel led to the interior, and the Captain going in front, we entered.

There by the light of a candle, and standing in a good six inches of water, was a captain shaving himself. This officer the previous week had led his party of bombers into the German trenches, killed over thirty and captured twelve, and only suffered one casualty. For this action he was awarded the D.S.O. I was introduced, and sitting on the edge of a bench we chatted until the others came up. A few minutes later the Colonel entered.

We then started off in single file down the other side of Hill 63. I had to take advantage of any bit of cover that offered itself during the descent. At one point we had to cross an open s.p.a.ce between a ruined farm and a barn. The Germans had several snipers who concentrated on this point, and there was considerable risk in getting across. Bending low, however, I started, and when half-way over I heard the whistle of a bullet overhead. I dropped flat and crawled the remainder of the distance, reaching cover in safety.

At that moment our big guns started sh.e.l.ling the German trenches, and knowing that the diversion would momentarily occupy the snipers'

attention the others raced safely across in a body. The remainder of the journey was made in comparative safety, the only danger being from exploding shrapnel overhead. But one does not trouble very much about that after a time. Reaching the front trenches, I made my way along to a point from which I could best view the Pet.i.te Douve. Obtaining a waterproof sheet we carefully raised it very, very slowly above the parapet with the aid of a couple of bayonets. Without a doubt, I thought, the Germans would be sure to notice something different on that section after a few seconds. And so it proved. Two rifle-shots rang out from the enemy trench, and right through the sheet they went.

Our object in putting up this temporary screen was to hide the erection of my tripod and camera, and then at the moment the bombardment began it was to be taken away, and I would risk the rest.

Just when the bullets came through I was bending to fasten the tripod legs. A few seconds earlier and one or other of them would have surely found my head. Getting some sandbags, we carefully pushed them on to the parapet, in order to break the contact as much as possible, and we put one in front of the camera in a direct line to cover the movement of my hand while exposing. I was now ready. Raising my head above the parapet for a final look, I noticed I was fully exposed to the right German trenches, and was just on the point of asking Captain ---- if there was any possibility of getting sniped from that direction when with a "zipp"

a bullet pa.s.sed directly between our heads. Having obtained such a practical and prompt answer to my enquiry, though not exactly the kind I had expected, I had some more sandbags placed, one on top of the other, to shelter my head as much as possible.

All I had to do now was to focus, and to do that I lifted the bottom edge of the screen gently. In a few seconds it was done, and dropping the screen, I waited for the first shot. I was warned by an observing officer that I had still five minutes to spare. They were not bombarding until 2.15. German sh.e.l.ls were continually dropping all round. The part of the hill down which we came was getting quite a lively time of it.

The enemy seemed to be searching every spot. On the right a Canadian sniper was at work, taking careful aim. Turning to me, he said:

"Wall, sir, I bet that chap won't want any more headache pills."

The remark caused a good deal of laughter.

Boom--boom--boom. In rapid succession came two sh.e.l.ls from our guns.

Everyone was alert. I sprang to my camera. Two men were standing by me, ready to take down the screen. Boom came another sh.e.l.l, and at a sign the men dropped the screen.

I was exposed to the full view of the German lines, from my shoulders upwards.

I started exposing; the sh.e.l.ls came in rapid succession, dropping right in the middle of the Pet.i.te Douve. As they fell clouds of bricks and other debris were thrown in the air; the din was terrific. Nothing in the world could possibly have lived there. After about thirty sh.e.l.ls had been dropped there was a slight pause for about half a minute, during which I continued turning the handle. The Germans were too occupied in getting under cover to notice the fine target my head offered, for not a single shot was fired at me.

Once more our guns rang out, and in as many seconds--at least so it seemed to me--another thirty sh.e.l.ls dropped into the buildings and tore them wall from wall. Word was then pa.s.sed to me that this was the finis.h.i.+ng salvo.

With the same suddenness as it had begun, the firing ceased. Dropping quickly, and dragging the camera after me, I stood safely once more in the bottom of the trench and, to tell the truth, I was glad it was over.

To put one's head above the parapet of a trench, with the Germans only seventy-five yards away, and to take a kinematograph picture of a bombardment, is not one of the wisest--or safest--things to do!

CHAPTER II

CHRISTMAS DAY AT THE FRONT

Leave-taking at Charing Cross--A Fruitless Search for Food on Christmas Eve--How Tommy Welcomed the Coming of the Festive Season--"Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men" to the Boom of the Big Guns--Filming the Guards' Division--And the Prince of Wales--Coming from a Christmas Service--This Year and Next.

On December 23rd I met an officer, a captain, at Charing Cross Station.

We were leaving by the 8.50 train, and we were not the only ones to leave Christmas behind, for hundreds of men were returning to the Front.

Heartbreaking scenes were taking place, and many of the brave women-folk were stifling their sobs, in order to give their men a pleasant send-off, possibly for the last time.

Amidst hurried good-byes and fond kisses from mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, and with shouts of good luck from hundreds of throats, the train started off. Handkerchiefs were waved from many windows, cheerful heads were thrust out, and not until the train had cleared the platform, and the "hurrahs" had faded away in the distance, did we take our seats. Then with set faces, grim with determination, we resigned ourselves to the fate that awaited us on the battlefields of France. Reaching Boulogne, after a rather choppy voyage, our car conveyed us to G.H.Q., which we reached late in the evening.

The following morning I was told to leave for La Gorgue, to film scenes connected with the Guards' Division. Late that afternoon, the Captain and I set out for our destination, reaching there about 8 o'clock. I was billeted in a private house, and immediately enquired for some food, but it was impossible to obtain any there. Going out I walked through the town, in the hope of finding a place to get something. But none could be found. Feeling very tired, I began to retrace my steps, with the intention of going to bed.

On my way back I had reason to change my mind. Quite an interesting scene unfolded itself. The boom of the guns rang out sharp and clear.

The moon was s.h.i.+ning brightly, and at intervals there flashed across the sky the not-far-distant glare of star-sh.e.l.ls. In the houses, lining both sides of the road, there was music, from the humble mouth-organ to the piano, and l.u.s.ty British voices were singing old English tunes with the enthusiasm of boyhood.

On the pavement cl.u.s.ters of our Tommies were proceeding towards their billets, singing heartily at the top of their voices. Some batches were singing carols, others the latest favourites, such as "Keep the Home Fires Burning."

No matter where one went, the same conditions and the same sounds prevailed; just happy-go-lucky throngs, filled with the songs and laughter born of the spirit of Christmas. And yet as I reached my room, despite the scenes of joyousness and hilarity rampant, I could still hear the crash of the guns.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PRINCE OF WALES TRYING TO LOCATE MY "CAMOUFLAGED CAMERA"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PRINCE OF WALES LEAVING A TEMPORARY CHURCH AT LA GORGUE, XMAS DAY, 1915]

This was my second Christmas at the Front, although not in the same district. Last year I was with the brave Belgian army. This year was certainly very different in all respects except the weather, and that was as poisonous as ever. A miserable, misty, drifting rain, which would soak through to the skin in a few minutes anyone not provided with a good rainproof. Donning my Burberry, I proceeded towards a small chapel, or rather to a building which is now used as one. It was originally a workshop. On three sides it was entirely surrounded by the floods. The front door was just clear, but I had to paddle through mud half-way up to my knees to get there. I intended to obtain a film of the Guards'

Division attending the Christmas service.

Fixing up my camera, I awaited their arrival. After a short time they came along, headed by their band. What a fine body of men! Swinging along with firm stride, they came past. Thinking I had got sufficient I packed my camera, when, to my astonishment, I saw the Prince of Wales, with Lord Cavan, coming up at the rear. Rus.h.i.+ng back to my old position, I endeavoured to fix up again, to film them coming in, but I was too late. "Anyway," I thought, "I will get him coming out."

Fixing up my machine at a new and advantageous point of view, I waited.

The service began. I could hear the strains of the old, old carols and Christmas hymns. Surely one could not have heard them under stranger conditions, for as the sound of that beautiful carol, "Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men!" swelled from the throats of several hundreds of our troops, the heavy guns thundered out round after round with increasing intensity. Strange that at such a moment so terrific a bombardment should have taken place. It seems as if some strange telepathic influence was at work, commanding all the guns in the vicinity to open fire with redoubled fury. And high in the air, our steel "birds" were hovering over the enemy lines, directing the fire, and flecked all round them, like flakes of snow, was the smoke from the shrapnel sh.e.l.ls fired on them by the Germans.

"Peace on earth, good will to men," came the strains of music from the little church. Cras.h.!.+ went the guns again and again, throwing their shrieking ma.s.s of metal far overhead. I fell into a deep reverie, and my thoughts naturally strayed to those at home.

Returning to my room. I donned my thick woollen coat, as I intended to rush off to G.H.Q. to see Tong, who had got a bad attack of dysentery, and try and cheer him up. Getting into my car, I told the chauffeur to drive like the wind. I had fifty kilometres to go. Away we rushed through the night, and as we went through villages where our Tommies were billeted, the strains of the old home songs--Irish, Scotch and English--were wafted to my ears. Except for the incessant sh.e.l.ling, the flash of guns, and the distant glare from the star-sh.e.l.ls, it was almost impossible to believe we were in the terrible throes of war. I arrived at G.H.Q. about 8.30 p.m.

Poor Tong was very queer and feeling dejected. Not being able to speak French, he could not let the people of the hotel know what he wanted. I soon made him as comfortable as possible, and sat beside his bed chatting about this, the strangest Christmas Day I had ever experienced.

After remaining with him for about an hour and a half, I again started for the front line, where I arrived about 1 a.m., dog-tired, and at once turned in.

So ended my second Christmas Day at the Front, and, as I dozed off to sleep, I found myself wondering whether the next Christmas would find me still in France. Should I be listening to carols and guns at the Front, or would the message of the bells peal from a church in an adjacent street at home, and announce the coming of another Christmas to me and mine?

CHAPTER III