The Romance of the Red Triangle Part 4

CHAPTER X

CELLARS AND DUG-OUTS ON THE WESTERN FRONT

My son, who is somewhere in France, tells me what a great comfort your Y.M.C.A. has been to him from the time he started his training at ---- and all through his stopping-places almost up to the trenches.

UNLESS one has seen for oneself the ravages of war, it is impossible to conceive the horror and desolation of a place like Ypres. Before the war it was one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, to-day it is nothing more than a heap of ruins. It is enough to make even the most unemotional of men cry, to stand in that once beautiful Cloth Hall Square and see how complete is the destruction--not one house, not a single room left intact--everything destroyed beyond recognition. And what of the Y.M.C.A. in Ypres? There we found the Red Triangle standing erect amid the ruins, and following the hand that pointed down we came to a little cellar Y.M.C.A.--only a cellar and yet it had been a source of helpfulness and inspiration to tens of thousands of our brave men. It was wonderfully fitted up, contained a small circulating library, piano, and everything needed for the canteen side of things. Not only that, it was a centre to work from. Between the cellar and the enemy were nine dug-outs at advanced stations. As these were all evacuated by order of the Military during the German offensive in April 1918, there can be no objection to their location being indicated. The first consisted of a ruined house and a Nissen hut at the Asylum; the second was at 'Salvation Corner,' and the third at Dead End, on the Ca.n.a.l bank. There was a Y.M.C.A. at Wells Cross Roads, another at St. Jean and Wiel, and a sixth at Potyze Chateau. The seventh had a homely ring about it, for it was situated at 'Oxford Circus,' the eighth was at St. Julien, the ninth at Lille Gate (Ypres), and the tenth was the cellar Y.M.C.A. at the corner of Lille Road referred to above. For many months it was the centre of the social life of the stricken town, but in August 1917 it received a direct hit from an enemy sh.e.l.l, and was knocked in. This dug-out work is intensely interesting, though naturally it has its limitations. Large meetings are, of course, impossible; sometimes even the singing of a hymn would be sufficient to attract the attention of Fritz, but the man who is resourceful and courageous, and who can see an opportunity for Christian service in meeting the common everyday needs of men, will find endless opportunities of putting in a word for the Master--and the sordid dug-out under sh.e.l.l-fire, can easily be transformed into a temple to His praise, an inquiry-room where resolutions are made that change the lives of men, and help the soldier to realise that he is called to be a crusader.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CANADIAN Y.M.C.A. DUG-OUT IN A MINE CRATER ON VIMY RIDGE, 1917]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CANADIAN Y.M.C.A. DUG-OUT NEAR VIMY RIDGE]

In the Red Triangle dug-outs of the Ypres salient, from three to four thousand bloaters were supplied to the troops week by week; 1500 kilos of apples, and more than 100,000 eggs! It was a miracle how these latter were collected in the villages behind the line. Corps provided a lorry and two drivers for five months to bring them into Ypres, and also a.s.sisted us with thirty orderlies. It was that timely help that made our work possible. It would be difficult to overestimate the boon to the troops of this variety to their diet. Iron rations will keep body and soul together, but it is the little extra that helps so much in keeping up the health and spirits of the men. They would follow the egg lorry for a mile and gladly pay the threepence each that the eggs cost. In February 1918, the turnover from the Red Triangle centres round Ypres amounted to 245,000 francs, whilst in March it had risen to 260,000. For many weeks in this salient we gave away from five to six thousand gallons of hot drinks each week. All honour to the band of Y.M.C.A.

leaders who kept the Red Triangle flag flying under these difficult conditions. For six weeks one of our leaders was unable to leave his cellar home, owing to the incessant sh.e.l.ling and bombing of the immediate vicinity. These were men who 'counted not their own lives dear unto them,' but were ready to take any risk and to put up with any personal inconvenience that they might serve the country they loved--yes, and they too endured 'as seeing Him Who is invisible.'

The King, who is the patron of the Y.M.C.A., and very keenly interested in the work, visited our tiny centre at Messines. The dug-out at Wytschaete was knocked out, and the Red Triangle cellar at Meroc, just behind Loos, destroyed by a direct hit. The latter was approached by a long communication trench, and was fitted up in the ordinary way--a few tables and chairs, reading and writing materials, games, pictures on the walls, and, of course, the inevitable and always appreciated piano. A few days before we were there a dud sh.e.l.l from one of the German 'heavies' fell only two or three yards in front of the divisional secretary's car. The cellar was immediately under a ruined _bra.s.serie_, and in the grounds of the latter was a solitary German grave. The story goes that in the early days of the war enemy patrols pa.s.sed through Meroc, and a shot alleged to have been fired from a window of the _bra.s.serie_ found its billet in one of the Huns. In revenge, the Germans killed every man, woman, and child in the _bra.s.serie_. In striking contrast was the story told us by the matron of one of our British hospitals: 'Every one in this ward is desperately wounded, and too ill to travel. All in that row,' said she, pointing, 'are Germans.

Yesterday a man occupying one of those beds lay dying, and could not make his head comfortable. I went into the next ward, and said to the Tommies "There's a German dying, will one of you lend him your pillow?"

Without a moment's hesitation,' said she, 'every one of those dangerously wounded Britishers whipped out his pillow to help his dying enemy.' That is the spirit of our men, and that accounts, quite as much as their valour, for the fact that they have won the respect even of an enemy trained from infancy to regard the British soldier as an object of scorn and derision.

CHAPTER XI

CAMEOS FROM FRANCE

The work of this Young Men's Christian a.s.sociation has sunk so deep into the minds and into the lives of our fellow countrymen that its work in the future can never be diminished, and must be extended. And it is going to do more to my mind, than simply minister to the wants of the men in camp; it is going to be a bond between this country and the Great Englands beyond the sea.--THE RT. HON. THE EARL OF DERBY, K.G., G.C.V.O.

A STRIKING feature of the war work of the Y.M.C.A. has been the promptness with which a new situation has been seized and a new opening entered. There has been an utter absence of red tape, and freedom of action has been given to all accredited representatives of the a.s.sociation. The Red Triangle has always been first in the field, and has been likened to a tank in its knack of overcoming apparently insuperable obstacles. The day after the British troops first entered Bapaume a Y.M.C.A. man appeared leading a packhorse loaded up with cigarettes, biscuits, and dolly cakes, which he distributed amongst the troops. He had got a foothold for the a.s.sociation, and that foothold was retained until Bapaume was evacuated.

In the British offensive in the early days of August 1918 a noted war correspondent at the Front wrote:--

'In one part of the line three hours after the troops reached their final objective they were eating a hot breakfast as part of the programme of the day. The familiar, ever-welcome sign of the "Y.M.C.A." blossomed on a roofless French cafe six miles within the crumpled German line, before the tanks had finished chasing the 11th Corps staff out of Framerville and down the Peronne road.

Food, and even books and papers, were set out under the Red Triangle for tired and hungry fighting men as they trooped into the rickety building to eat and be refreshed in a room carpeted with German papers.'

What thrilling memories the name of Arras will always conjure up in the minds of Y.M.C.A. workers who served in that city of ruins! One wrote home the day after a strong attack by the British on the enemy lines. He wrote the letter from a dug-out which only the day before was occupied by the Huns, in which he was carrying on for the Y.M.C.A. So precipitate was their flight that he partook of the repast served up by German cooks for German officers. At one time the rival trenches were, in places, less than ten yards apart! It was here that Sir Douglas Haig personally complimented the a.s.sociation on the work its representatives were doing on the field of battle.

The most memorable motor run we ever had was from Souastre to Arras in 1916. The hut was closed when we reached Souastre in the morning, the leader having received a letter from the Town Major politely requesting him to close it from 7.30 A.M. as it was expected that the Huns would strafe the village at 8 A.M., and again at 4.30, and so it happened.

This seemed strange, as the village had not been strafed of late. How could the British have known when Fritz would fire again? It seemed uncanny, until a strange unwritten reciprocal working arrangement between friend and foe was explained, which means in effect that Fritz refrains from bombing or bombarding 'A----' three or four miles behind the British lines if Tommy leaves village 'B----' behind his lines alone, and _vice versa_. As both villages are used as billets for the rival armies, both have been glad at times to honour this understanding.

The run from Souastre to the railhead at Saulty was uneventful. Night was closing in as we left for Arras and there was no moon. For twenty kilos or more we had to travel with lights extinguished. We were less than a mile from the enemy trenches, which ran parallel to the road we were traversing. 'Verey' lights or star-sh.e.l.ls sent up by the enemy continually made everything as light as day for the few seconds they were in the air. There were mysterious noises from the gun emplacements that run along the roadside, and mysterious shapes loomed up ahead of us from time to time as we overhauled and pa.s.sed transport wagons and the like. At last we reached our destination, and it was the writer's first visit to a town of considerable size that had been wrecked by bombardment. There were barricades in the streets, sh.e.l.l-holes and ruins everywhere. We motored through the famous Grande Place and pa.s.sed through street after street in that city of the dead, until, turning a corner, we entered a narrow street near the ruined cathedral, and hearing a piano playing rag-time, it was obvious that we were near the Y.M.C.A. The memory of that old chateau in the narrow street will always remain with us as we saw it then--the entrance hall, where free hot drinks were being dispensed; the canteen crammed with British soldiers, including many 'Bantams,' who were then stationed at Arras; the little concert-room, with possibly a hundred men gathered round a piano singing choruses and s.n.a.t.c.hes of songs or listening to the rag-time, accompanying it at times by whistling the refrain or stamping on the floor. Another crowd upstairs had been entertained to a lantern lecture, and the day's programme was being concluded with family prayers. As we lay awake that night we heard many familiar noises that sounded strange there--a cat call, the cry of a baby, whilst ever and anon a sh.e.l.l would go shrieking over the town. In the morning we visited the ruined cathedral, which was a sight to make men or angels weep, but even there one saw erect amid the ruins, at the highest point, the Cross, the emblem of our Christian faith, and one knew that though it might be by way of the Cross, yet truth and freedom would triumph in the end.

A well-known war correspondent writing from British Headquarters in France to the _Daily Mail_, on August 13, 1918, told the story of a village under sh.e.l.l-fire and still within reach of machine-gun bullets, in which was a German notice-board pointing to an incinerator, and wrote:--'I hear from an officer who visited the spot again a day later that another notice, "This way to the Y.M.C.A." was added. A das.h.i.+ng cavalry officer, very much of the old school, possessing a voice that would carry two miles, begged me with great earnestness to do him one service, "Would I mention the Y.M.C.A.? It had provided his men with hot coffee before riding out."' That is the kind of service the Red Triangle has the privilege of rendering to our fighting men in the course of practically every battle.

The Bois Carre in 1916 was a very unhealthy spot. At the edge of a wood in a tiny natural amphitheatre the Y.M.C.A. had one of its outposts. An orderly was usually in charge, and day and night he kept up a good supply of hot drinks for free distribution to the troops. There they could buy biscuits, cigarettes, soap, and other necessaries, or receive free of charge the ever-welcome writing-paper and materials. The supervising secretary visiting the dug-out one day in the course of his rounds found it had been blown in by a big sh.e.l.l. The orderly was terribly wounded, part of his side having been blown away, but smiling amid his agony, he said, 'The money's safe here, sir!' Careless of himself, the brave fellow's first consideration was to safeguard the money in the Y.M.C.A. till.

We have vivid recollections of our visit to the Bois Carre in 1916. Late in the evening we reached d.i.c.kebusch. The Y.M.C.A. was there in the main street of the little Belgian village, and immediately behind it was the ruined church. It was only a small strafed building in a ruined street when the Red Triangle first made its appearance in d.i.c.kebusch, but the secretary held that to be the most convenient type of Y.M.C.A. building, 'for,' said he, 'if it becomes too small, all you have to do is to knock a hole through the wall on either side, and take in additional houses.' This was exactly what we had done and, unattractive as it was, the place drew crowds of men. At the d.i.c.kebusch Y.M.C.A. we were provided with shrapnel and gas helmets and instructed in the use of the latter. A two-mile trudge across a duck-walk over 'b----y meadow'

brought us to the famous Ridgewood Dug-outs. It was here that the Canadians lost their guns in the early days of the war, and afterwards so gloriously regained them. We entered the wood at midnight. A huge rat crossed our path, and as we entered the first of the Y.M.C.A. dug-outs where free cocoa was being dispensed in empty jam tins, we remembered a yarn told us the day before by one of our workers. He had come to Ridgewood as a special speaker, and after the evening meeting lay down on the floor of the dug-out to sleep, but as he was beginning to feel drowsy, a huge rat ran over his legs, and later one pa.s.sed across his face. With an electric flash-lamp he scared them away, but soon getting used to it they came on 'in close formation.' He lit a candle, and a few minutes later the rat ran away with the candle--so he said! From the Ridgewood we went on to the Bois Carre. Sh.e.l.ls were screaming overhead all the time, but it was not a long walk though it provided many thrills. For a couple of hundred yards we were on open ground, and within easy reach of the Hun snipers. Only two of us were allowed to pa.s.s at a time, and my guide and I had to keep fifty yards apart, and when a 'Verey' light went up, had to stand absolutely still until it fell to earth, and its light was extinguished. Weird things those star sh.e.l.ls! They shoot up to a good height like rockets, burst into brilliant light, poise in mid-air and gradually s.h.i.+mmer down and out. A few minutes brought us to the shelter of a ruined _bra.s.serie_, and from its further side we entered the communication trenches, and thus pa.s.sed to the Bois Carre. Standing back to visualise the scene, the orderly caught my arm and pulled me into the shelter of the dug-out--a second later came the patter of machine bullets on the sand-bags where we had stood not ten seconds before. There was something fascinating about that little dug-out Y.M.C.A., with its caterer's boiler, urns and stores, and it is sad to think that since then it has been destroyed by sh.e.l.l-fire, even though other dug-outs have been opened to take its place.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A GREAT BOON TO BRITISH TOMMY--A Y.M.C.A. WELL UNDER Sh.e.l.l-FIRE]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CAMBRIDGE DUG-OUT]

A year later we revisited that old _bra.s.serie_. There was little of it left. The central hall remained, and the Red Triangle was on it, marking it out as a centre for walking wounded. A dressing station had been rigged up in the cellar underneath. A distinguished preacher serving with the Y.M.C.A. conducted a memorable Watch-night service in the Ridgewood. Two or three hundred men gathered round and listened with marked attention. A sh.e.l.l burst quite close during the prayer, and every man instinctively glanced up to see the effect on the padre. He carried on exactly as if nothing had happened, and won his way to every heart.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A REFUGE FOR THE WALKING WOUNDED]

CHAPTER XII

STORIES OF 'LE TRIANGLE ROUGE'

It is with very great pleasure I send a small contribution (3s.) to the Y.M.C.A. funds, and only wish it could match my inclination. Few things have brought so much comfort to the parents at home as the knowledge of the splendid work done by your organisation. As one boy puts it, 'When we get inside the Y.M.C.A. hut, we feel as if we are home again.'

AT the close of a Y.M.C.A. Conference held in the Hotel McMahon in Paris, a French lady came timidly forward with a lovely bouquet of red roses, and in a pretty little speech presented them as a thankoffering for the war work of the Y.M.C.A. It was the gift of a mother who had four sons serving with the Army. Those flowers have long since faded, but the kind thought that prompted them will always remain a gracious memory.

A soldier home on leave brought an interesting souvenir of the first 'Threapwood' hut, which did such good work in the Ploegsteert Woods, but was ultimately destroyed by sh.e.l.l-fire--a 2 franc and a 50 centimes piece which had become welded together in the heat of the conflagration.

Another Tommy saw a fierce fight take place between British and Germans, actually inside the hut at Neuve eglise. The incident that seemed to have appealed most strongly to his imagination was the fact that the pictures were still hanging on the walls. It is interesting to notice the curious freaks of dud sh.e.l.ls. Outside the hut at Tilloy we saw one which had pierced its way through the trunk of a tree without exploding--the nose of the sh.e.l.l protruded at the other side of the trunk, the sh.e.l.l itself remaining firmly embedded in the tree.

An Australian officer one day sauntered into the 'Crystal Palace,' an important Y.M.C.A. centre in Havre. He was interested, and well he might be. It is a huge building, and swarms of men a.s.semble there in the evenings. The Australian's interest took a practical form. Before leaving he handed two one-pound notes to the leader, expressing regret that he could not make it more, and adding, 'I think you Y.M.C.A. people will make a religious man of me before the war is over.' 'What do you mean?' said the secretary. 'Well,' said he, 'I have never had any use for religion, but at the battle of ---- I felt down and out. I didn't care much if the Boche killed me. I had had nothing to eat for days--when suddenly a Y.M.C.A. man appeared, heaven knows where he came from, but he was there right enough, and he handed me a good hot drink, a packet of biscuits, and some cigarettes. Yes,' said he, 'I believe you Y.M.C.A. men will make a religious man of me before you have finished.'

In war-time people often forget their differences, and in Paris one of our splendid British soldiers, who was a Roman Catholic, lay badly wounded and terribly ill. He wanted to confess, but there was no English priest near. Ultimately a French priest confessed and absolved him through an American Y.M.C.A. lady--a Protestant--who acted as interpreter.

In the early days of the war a valued worker on Salisbury Plain was the grandson of a famous Cornish revivalist. He was an ordained man and a very strong Protestant. He went out to France later on as a chaplain of the United Board. Returning home on furlough, he called at Headquarters and told his experiences on the battlefield. 'You will be surprised,'

said he, 'when I tell you that my greatest friend in Flanders was a Roman Catholic padre. He was one of the best men I ever knew, and we had an excellent working arrangement. On the battlefield if I came across any of his men, I would hand them on to him, and he would pa.s.s my men on to me. If he were not at hand, I would try my best to help the dying Roman Catholic soldier as I thought my friend would have helped him had he been there, and _vice versa_. I shall never forget,' said he, 'my last night in Flanders and our affectionate farewell. You know how strong a Protestant I have always been, and my convictions have never been stronger than they are to-day, but see this,'--and he unb.u.t.toned his tunic and brought out a Crucifix which was hanging from his neck--'this was the parting gift of my Roman Catholic friend, and as long as I live I shall keep it as one of my most treasured possessions.'