How I Filmed the War
by Geoffrey H. Malins · English · Gutenberg #30285 · 539,512 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: How I Filmed the War
Author: Geoffrey H. Malins
Editor: Low Warren
Release date: October 19, 2009 [eBook #30285]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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HOW I FILMED THE WAR
_When I was in France I made arrangements with my friend Mr.
Low Warren, at that time Editor of the_ Kinematograph
Weekly, _to arrange the manuscript I sent him for
publication in book form._
_The manuscript has in no way been altered in any material
respect, and is in the form in which I originally wrote it._
_GEOFFREY H. MALINS._
[Illustration: FILMING THE PRELIMINARY BOMBARDMENT OF THE BIG PUSH, JULY
1ST, 1916. A FEW MINUTES AFTER THIS PHOTOGRAPH WAS TAKEN A SHELL BURST
WITHIN SIX YARDS, SMASHING DOWN THE TRENCH WALLS AND HALF BURYING ME.
NOTE THE SANDBAG ON A WIRE IN FRONT OF MY CAMERA FOR "CAMOUFLAGE"]
HOW I FILMED
THE WAR
A RECORD OF THE EXTRAORDINARY
EXPERIENCES OF THE MAN WHO
FILMED THE GREAT SOMME BATTLES
ETC.
BY
LIEUT. GEOFFREY H. MALINS, O.B.E.
EDITED BY
LOW WARREN
HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED
YORK STREET, ST. JAMES'S
LONDON, S.W. 1 MCMXX
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER I
A FEW WORDS OF INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER II
WITH THE BELGIANS AT RAMSCAPELLE
PAGE
I Reach the First Line Belgian Trenches--And become a Belgian
Soldier for the Time Being--A Night Attack--An Adventure
whilst Filming a Mitrailleuse Outpost--Among the Ruins of
Ramscapelle--I Leave the Company and Lose my Way in the
Darkness--A Welcome Light and a Long Sleep--How Little
does the Public know of the Dangers and Difficulties a
Film Operator has to Face 6
CHAPTER III
WITH THE GOUMIERS AT LOMBARTZYDE
A Morning of Surprises--The German Positions Bombarded from
the Sea--Filming the Goumiers in Action--How these
Tenacious Fighters Prepare for Battle--Goumier Habits and
Customs--I Take the Chief's Photograph for the First
Time--And Afterwards take Food with Him--An Interesting
and Fruitful Adventure Ends Satisfactorily 15
CHAPTER IV
THE BATTLE OF THE SAND-DUNES
A Dangerous Adventure and What Came of It--A Race Across
the Sand-dunes--And a Spill in a Shell-hole--The Fate of
a Spy--A Battle in the Dunes--Of which I Secured Some
Fine Films--A Collision with an Obstructive Mule 22
CHAPTER V
UNDER HEAVY SHELL-FIRE
In a Trench Coat and Cap I again Run the Gauntlet--A Near
Squeak--Looking for Trouble--I Nearly Find It--A Rough
Ride and a Mud Bath--An Affair of Outposts--I Get Used to
Crawling--Hot Work at the Guns--I am Reported Dead--But
Prove Very Much Alive--And then Receive a Shock--A Stern
Chase 30
CHAPTER VI
AMONG THE SNOWS OF THE VOSGES
I Start for the Vosges--Am Arrested on the Swiss Frontier--And
Released--But Arrested Again--And then Allowed to Go My
Way--Filming in the Firing Zone--A Wonderful French
Charge Over the Snow-clad Hills--I Take Big Risks--And
Get a Magnificent Picture 40
PART II
CHAPTER I
HOW I CAME TO MAKE OFFICIAL WAR PICTURES
I am Appointed an Official War Office Kinematographer--And Start
for the Front Line Trenches--Filming the German Guns in
Action--With the Canadians--Picturesque Hut Settlement
Among the Poplars--"Hyde Park Corner"--Shaving by
Candlelight in Six Inches of Water--Filming in Full View
of the German Lines, 75 yards away--A Big Risk, but a
Realistic Picture 51
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 61
CHAPTER III
I GET INTO A WARM CORNER
Boxing Day--But No Pantomime--Life in the Trenches--A Sniper
at Work--Sinking a Mine Shaft--The Cheery Influence of an
Irish Padre--A Cemetery Behind the Lines--Pathetic
Inscriptions and Mementoes on Dead Heroes' Graves--I Get
Into a Pretty Warm Corner--And Have Some Difficulty in
Getting Out Again--But All's Well that Ends Well 65
CHAPTER IV
THE BATTLEFIELD OF NEUVE CHAPELLE
A Visit to the Old German Trenches--Reveals a Scene of Horror
that Defies Description--Dodging the Shells--I Lose the
Handle of My Camera--And then Lose My Man--The Effect of
Shell-fire on a Novice--In the Village of Neuve
Chapelle--A Scene of Devastation--The Figure of the
Lonely Christ 72
CHAPTER V
FILMING THE PRINCE OF WALES
How I Made a "Hide-up"--And Secured a Fine Picture of the Prince
Inspecting some Gun-pits--His Anxiety to Avoid the
Camera--And His Subsequent Remarks--How a German
Block-house was Blown to Smithereens--And the Way I
Managed to Film it Under Fire 76
CHAPTER VI
MY FIRST VISIT TO YPRES AND ARRAS
Greeted on Arrival in the Ruined City of Ypres by a Furious
Fusillade--I Film the Cloth Hall and Cathedral,
and Have a Narrow Escape--A Once Beautiful Town Now
Little More Than a Heap of Ruins--Arras a City of the
Dead--Its Cathedral Destroyed--But Cross and Crucifixes
Unharmed 80
CHAPTER VII
THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI
Filming Within Forty-five Yards of the German Trenches--Watching
for "Minnies"--Officers' Quarters--"Something" Begins to
Happen--An Early Morning Bombardment--Develops Into the
Battle of St. Eloi--Which I Film from Our First-Line
Trench--And Obtain a Fine Picture 85
CHAPTER VIII
A NIGHT ATTACK--AND A NARROW ESCAPE
A Very Lively Experience--Choosing a Position for the Camera
Under Fire--I Get a Taste of Gas--Witness a Night Attack
by the Germans--Surprise an Officer by My Appearance in
the Trenches--And Have One of the Narrowest Escapes--But
Fortunately Get Out with Nothing Worse than a Couple of
Bullets Through My Cap 93
CHAPTER IX
FOURTEEN THOUSAND FEET ABOVE THE GERMAN LINES
The First Kinematograph Film Taken of the Western Front--And
How I Took It Whilst Travelling Through the Air at Eighty
Miles an Hour--Under Shell-fire--Over Ypres--A Thrilling
Experience--And a Narrow Escape--A Five Thousand Foot
Dive Through Space 107
CHAPTER X
FILMING THE EARTH FROM THE CLOUDS
Chasing an "Enemy" Aeroplane at a Height of 13,500 Feet--And
What Came of It--A Dramatic Adventure in which the Pilot
Played a Big Part--I Get a Nasty Shock--But am
Reassured--A Freezing Experience--Filming the Earth as we
Dived Almost Perpendicularly--A Picture that would Defy
the Most Ardent Futurist to Paint 116
CHAPTER XI
PREPARING FOR THE "BIG PUSH"
The Threshold of Tremendous Happenings--General ----'s Speech
to His Men on the Eve of Battle--Choosing My Position for
Filming the "Big Push"--Under Shell-fire--A Race of
Shrieking Devils--Fritz's Way of "Making Love"--I Visit
the "White City"--And On the Way have Another Experience
of Gas Shells 121
CHAPTER XII
FILMING UNDER FIRE
The General's Speech to the Fusiliers Before Going Into
Action--Filming the 15-inch Howitzers--A Miniature
Earthquake--"The Day" is Postponed--Keeping Within "The
Limits"--A Surprise Meeting in the Trenches--A Reminder
of Other Days--I Get Into a Tight Corner--And Have An
Unpleasantly Hot Experience--I Interview a Trench
Mortar--Have a Lively Quarter of an Hour--And Then Get
Off 135
CHAPTER XIII
THE DAWN OF JULY FIRST
A Firework Display Heralds the Arrival of "The Day"--How the
Boys Spent Their Last Few Hours in the Trenches--Rats as
Bedfellows--I Make an Early Start--And Get Through a
Mine-shaft into "No Man's Land"--The Great Event Draws
Near--Anxious Moments--The Men Fix Bayonets--And Wait the
Word of Command to "Go Over the Top" 151
CHAPTER XIV
THE DAY AND THE HOUR
A Mighty Convulsion Signalises the Commencement of
Operations--Then Our Boys "Go Over the Top"--A Fine Film
Obtained whilst Shells Rained Around Me--My Apparatus is
Struck--But, Thank Goodness, the Camera is Safe--Arrival
of the Wounded--"Am I in the Picture?" they ask 162
CHAPTER XV
ROLL-CALL AFTER THE FIGHT
A Glorious Band of Wounded Heroes Stagger Into Line and
Answer the Call--I Visit a Stricken Friend in a
Dug-out--On the Way to La Boisselle I Get Lost in the
Trenches--And Whilst Filming Unexpectedly Come Upon the
German Line--I Have a Narrow Squeak of Being Crumped--But
Get Away Safely--And later Commandeer a Couple of German
Prisoners to Act as Porters 169
CHAPTER XVI
EDITING A BATTLE FILM
The Process Described in Detail--Developing the Negative--Its
Projection on the Screen--Cutting--Titling--Joining--Printing
the Positive--Building Up the Story--It is Submitted to the
Military Censors at General Headquarters--And After Being Cut
and Approved by Them--Is Ready for Public Exhibition 178
CHAPTER XVII
THE HORRORS OF TRONES WOOD
Three Times I Try and Fail to Reach this Stronghold of
the Dead--Which Has Been Described as "Hell on Earth"--At
a Dressing Station under Fire--Smoking Two Cigarettes at
a Time to Keep off the Flies--Some Amusing Trench
Conversations by Men who had Lost Their Way--I Turn in
for the Night--And Have a Dead Bosche for Company 183
CHAPTER XVIII
FILMING AT POZIÈRES AND CONTALMAISON
Looking for "Thrills"--And How I Got Them--I Pass Through
"Sausage Valley," on the Way to Pozières--You _May_ and
you _Might_--What a Tommy Found in a German Dug-out--How
Fritz Got "Some of His Own" Back--Taking Pictures in What
Was Once Pozières--"Proofs Ready To-morrow" 196
CHAPTER XIX
ALONG THE WESTERN FRONT WITH THE KING
His Majesty's Arrival at Boulogne--At G.H.Q.--General Burstall's
Appreciation--The King on the Battlefield of
Fricourt--Within Range of the Enemy's Guns--His Majesty's
Joke Outside a German Dug-out--His Memento from a Hero's
Grave--His Visit to a Casualty Clearing Station--The King
and the Puppy--Once in Disgrace--Now a Hospital Mascot 205
CHAPTER XX
KING AND PRESIDENT MEET
An Historic Gathering--In which King and President, Joffre and
Haig Take Part--His Majesty and the Little French Girl--I
Am Permitted to Film the King and His Distinguished
Guests--A Visit to the King of the Belgians--A
Cross-Channel Journey--And Home 214
CHAPTER XXI
THE HUSH! HUSH!--A WEIRD AND FEARFUL CREATURE
Something in the Wind--An Urgent Message to Report at
Headquarters--And What Came Of It--I Hear for the First
Time of the "Hush! Hush!"--And Try to Discover What It
Is--A Wonderful Night Scene--Dawn Breaks and Reveals a
Marvellous Monster--What Is It? 222
CHAPTER XXII
THE JUGGERNAUT CAR OF BATTLE
A Weird-looking Object Makes Its First Appearance Upon the
Battlefield--And Surprises Us Almost as Much as It
Surprised Fritz--A Death-dealing Monster that Did the
Most Marvellous Things--And Left the Ground Strewn with
Corpses--Realism of the Tank Pictures 230
CHAPTER XXIII
WHERE THE VILLAGE OF GUILLEMONT WAS
An Awful Specimen of War Devastation--Preparing for an
Advance--Giving the Bosche "Jumps"--Breakfast Under
Fire--My Camera Fails Me Just Before the Opening of the
Attack--But I Manage to Set it Right and Get Some Fine
Pictures--Our Guns "Talk!" Like the Crack of a Thousand
Thunders--A Wonderful Doctor 234
CHAPTER XXIV
FIGHTING IN A SEA OF MUD
Inspecting a Tank that was _Hors de Combat_--All that was
Left of Mouquet Farm--A German Underground Fortress--A
Trip in the Bowels of the Earth--A Weird and Wonderful
Experience 245
CHAPTER XXV
THE EVE OF GREAT EVENTS
A Choppy Cross-Channel Trip--I Indulge in a Reverie--And
Try to Peer Into the Future--At Headquarters
Again--Trying to Cross the River Somme on an Improvised
Raft--In Peronne After the German Evacuation--A Specimen
of Hunnish "Kultur" 250
CHAPTER XXVI
AN UNCANNY ADVENTURE
Exploring the Unknown--A Silence That Could be Felt--In
the Village of Villers-Carbonel--A Cat and Its Kittens in
an Odd Retreat--Brooks' Penchant for "Souvenirs"--The
First Troops to Cross the Somme 259
CHAPTER XXVII
THE GERMANS IN RETREAT
The Enemy Destroy Everything as They Go--Clearing Away
the Débris of the Battlefield--And Repairing the Damage
Done by the Huns--An Enormous Mine Crater--A Reception by
French Peasants--"Les Anglais! Les Anglais!"--Stuck on
the Road to Bovincourt 266
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE STORY OF AN "ARMOURED CAR" ABOUT WHICH
I COULD A TALE UNFOLD
Possibilities--Food for Famished Villagers--Meeting the
Mayoress of Bovincourt--Who Presides at a Wonderful
Impromptu Ceremony--A Scrap Outside Vraignes--A Church
Full of Refugees--A True Pal--A Meal with the Mayor of
Bierne 275
CHAPTER XXIX
BEFORE ST. QUENTIN
The "Hindenburg" Line--A Diabolical Piece of
Vandalism--Brigadier H.Q. in a Cellar--A Fight in
Mid-air--Waiting for the Taking of St.
Quentin--_L'Envoi_ 292
ILLUSTRATIONS
FILMING THE PRELIMINARY BOMBARDMENT OF THE "BIG PUSH,"
JULY 1ST, 1916 _Frontispiece_
TO FACE PAGE
WITH A GROUP OF BELGIAN OFFICERS AT FURNES, BELGIUM, 1914 12
ON SKIS IN THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS JUST BEFORE THE FRENCH
ATTACK, FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1915 12
USING MY AEROSCOPE IN BELGIUM, 1914-15 22
HOW I CARRIED MY FILM IN THE EARLY DAYS OF THE WAR IN
BELGIUM AND THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS 40
THE STATE OF THE TRENCHES IN WHICH WE LIVED AND SLEPT (?)
FOR WEEKS ON END DURING THE FIRST AND SECOND WINTER
OF WAR 52
OUR DUG-OUTS IN THE FRONT LINE AT PICANTIN IN WHICH WE
LIVED, FOUGHT, AND MANY DIED DURING 1914-15, BEFORE
THE DAYS OF TIN HATS 52
CHOOSING A POSITION FOR MY CAMERA IN THE FRONT LINE TRENCH
AT PICANTIN. WITH THE GUARDS. WINTER, 1915-16 56
THE PRINCE OF WALES TRYING TO LOCATE MY "CAMOUFLAGED
CAMERA" 62
THE PRINCE OF WALES LEAVING A TEMPORARY CHURCH AT LA
GORGUE, XMAS DAY, 1915 62
ON THE WAY TO THE "MENIN GATE" WITH AN ARTILLERY OFFICER
TO FILM OUR GUNS IN ACTION 76
TAKING SCENES IN DEVASTATED YPRES, MAY, 1916 80
IN YPRES, WITH "BABY" BROOKS, THE OFFICIAL STILL
PHOTOGRAPHER, MAY, 1916 84
WITH MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA AFTER FILMING THE BATTLE OF
ST. ELOI 90
IN THE MAIN STREET OF CONTALMAISON THE DAY OF ITS CAPTURE 96
LAUNCHING A SMOKE BARRAGE AT THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI 96
IN THE TRENCHES AT THE FAMOUS AND DEADLY "HOHENZOLLERN
REDOUBT," AFTER A GERMAN ATTACK 109
IN A SHELL-HOLE IN "NO MAN'S LAND" FILMING OUR HEAVY
BOMBARDMENT OF THE GERMAN LINES 122
GEOFFREY H. MALINS, O.B.E., OFFICIAL KINEMATOGRAPHER
TO THE WAR OFFICE 132
BOMBARDING THE GERMAN TRENCHES AT THE OPENING BATTLE
OF THE GREAT SOMME FIGHT, JULY 1ST, 1916 138
MY OFFICIAL PASS TO THE FRONT LINE TO FILM THE BATTLE OF
THE SOMME, JULY 1ST, 1916 138
THE PLAN OF ATTACK AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 146
OVER THE TOP OF BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 146
IN THE SUNKEN ROAD AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JUST BEFORE ZERO
HOUR, JULY 1ST, 1916 154
IN A TRENCH MORTAR TUNNEL, DURING THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME,
AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 154
THE OPENING OF THE GREAT BATTLE OF THE SOMME, JULY 1ST,
1916 162
THE ROLL CALL OF THE SEAFORTHS AT "WHITE CITY," BEAUMONT
HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 168
FAGGED OUT IN THE "WHITE CITY" AFTER WE RETIRED TO OUR
TRENCHES, JULY 1ST, 1916 168
THE GERMANS MAKE A BIG COUNTER ATTACK AT LA BOISSELLE AND
OVILLERS, JULY 3RD AND 4TH, 1916 176
MEN OF SCOTLAND RUSHING A MINE CRATER AT THE DEADLY
"HOHENZOLLERN REDOUBT" 176
FILMING THE KING DURING HIS VISIT TO FRANCE IN 1916. HE IS
ACCOMPANIED BY PRESIDENT POINCARÉ, SIR DOUGLAS HAIG,
GENERAL JOFFRE AND GENERAL FOCH 184
HIS MAJESTY THE KING, WITH PRESIDENT POINCARÉ, IN FRANCE,
1916 206
HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN OF THE BELGIANS, TAKING A SNAP OF
ME AT WORK WHILE FILMING THE KING 218
THE PRINCE OF WALES SPEAKING WITH BELGIAN OFFICERS AT LA
PANNE, BELGIUM 218
THE FIRST "TANK" THAT WENT INTO ACTION, H.M.L.S. "DAPHNE."
SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1916 222
THE BATTLEFIELD OF "GINCHY" 224
RESERVES WATCHING THE ATTACK AT MARTINPUICH, SEPTEMBER
15TH, 1916 224
OVER THE TOP AT MARTINPUICH, SEPT. 15TH, 1916 228
TWO MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR AT MARTINPUICH, SEPT. 15TH, 1916 228
THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE GOING OVER THE TOP AT MARTINPUICH,
SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1916 234
LORD KITCHENER'S LAST VISIT TO FRANCE 256
FILMING OUR GUNS IN ACTION DURING THE GREAT GERMAN RETREAT
TO ST. QUENTIN, MARCH, 1917 268
THE QUARRY FROM WHICH I CRAWLED TO FILM THE GERMAN
TRENCHES IN FRONT OF ST. QUENTIN, 1917 290
OUR OUTPOST LINE WITHIN 800 YARDS OF ST. QUENTIN 302
PART I
HOW I FILMED THE WAR
CHAPTER I
A FEW WORDS OF INTRODUCTION
Fate has not been unkind to me. I have had my chances, particularly
during the last two or three years, and--well, I have done my best to
make the most of what has come my way. That and nothing more.
How I came to be entrusted with the important commission of acting as
Official War Office Kinematographer is an interesting story, and the
first few chapters of this book recount the sequence of events that led
up to my being given the appointment.
Let me begin by saying that I am not a writer, I am just a "movie man,"
as they called me out there. My mind is stored full to overflowing with
the impressions of all I have seen and heard; recollections of
adventures crowd upon me thick and fast. Thoughts flash through my mind,
and almost tumble over one another as I strive to record them. Yet at
times, when I take pen in hand to write them down, they seem to elude me
for the moment, and make the task more difficult than I had anticipated.
In the following chapters I have merely aimed at setting down, in simple
language, a record of my impressions, so far as I can recall them, of
what I have seen of many and varied phases of the Great Drama which has
now been played to a finish on the other side of the English Channel.
Most of those recollections were penned at odd moments, soon after the
events chronicled, when they were still fresh in mind, often within
range of the guns.
It was my good fortune for two years to be one of the Official War
Office Kinematographers. I was privileged to move about on the Western
Front with considerable freedom. My actions were largely untrammelled; I
had my instructions to carry out; my superiors to satisfy; my work to
do; and I endeavoured to do all that has been required of me to the best
of my ability, never thinking of the cost, or consequences, to myself of
an adventure so long as I secured a pictorial record of the deeds of our
heroic Army in France. I have striven to make my pictures worthy of
being preserved as a permanent memorial of the greatest Drama in
history.
That is the keynote of this record. As an Official Kinematographer I
have striven to be, and I have tried all the time to realise that I was
the eyes of the millions of my fellow-countrymen at home. In my pictures
I have endeavoured to catch something of the glamour, as well as the
awful horror of it all. I have caught a picture here, a picture there; a
scene in this place, a scene in that; and all the time at the back of my
mind has always been the thought: "That will give them some idea of
things as they are out here." My pictures have never been taken with the
idea of merely making pictures, nor with the sole idea, as some people
think, of merely providing a "thrill." I regarded my task in a different
light to that. To me has been entrusted the task of securing for the
enlightenment and education of the people of to-day, and of future
generations, such a picture as will stir their imaginations and thrill
their hearts with pride.
This by way of introduction. Now to proceed with my task, the telling
of the adventures of a kinematograph camera man in war-time.
From my early days I was always interested in photography, and boyish
experiments eventually led me along the path to my life's vocation. In
time I took up the study of kinematography, and joined the staff of the
Clarendon Film Company (of London and Croydon), one of the pioneer firms
in the industry. There I learned much and made such progress that in
time I was entrusted with the filming of great productions, which cost
thousands of pounds to make. From there I went to the Gaumont Company,
and I was in the service of this great Anglo-French film organisation
when war broke out.
During the early days of the autumn of 1914 I was busily occupied in
filming various scenes in connection with the war in different parts of
the country. One day when I was at the London office of the Company I
was sent for by the Chief.
"We want a man to go out to Belgium and get some good 'stuff.' [Stuff,
let me say, is the technical or slang term for film pictures.] How would
you like to go?"
"Go?" I asked. "I'm ready. When? Now?"
"As soon as you like."
"Right, I'm ready," I said, without a moment's hesitation, little
thinking of the nature of the adventure upon which I was so eager to
embark.
And so it came about. Provided with the necessary cash, and an Aeroscope
camera, I started off next day, and the following chapters record a few
of my adventures in search of pictorial material for the screen.
CHAPTER II
WITH THE BELGIANS AT RAMSCAPELLE
I Reach the First Line Belgian Trenches--And become a
Belgian Soldier for the Time Being--A Night Attack--An
Adventure whilst Filming a Mitrailleuse Outpost--Among the
Ruins of Ramscapelle--I Leave the Company and Lose my Way in
the Darkness--A Welcome Light and a Long Sleep--How Little
does the Public know of the Dangers and Difficulties a Film
Operator has to Face.
Leaving London, I crossed to France. I arranged, as far as possible, to
get through from Calais to Furnes, and with the greatest of good luck I
managed it, arriving at my destination at eleven o'clock at night. As
usual, it was raining hard.
Starting out next day for the front line, I reached the district where a
battalion was resting--I was allowed in their quarters. Addressing one
of the men, I asked if he could speak English. "Non, monsieur," and
making a sign to me to remain he hurried off. Back came the fellow with
an officer.
"What do you want, monsieur?" said he in fine English.
"You speak English well," I replied.
"Yes, monsieur, I was in England for four years previous to the war." So
I explained my position. "I want to accompany you to the trenches to
take some kinema films."
After exchanging a few words he took me to his superior officer, who
extended every courtesy to me. I explained to him what I was desirous of
doing. "But it is extraordinary, monsieur, that you should take such
risks for pictures. You may in all probability get shot."
"Possibly, sir," I replied, "but to obtain genuine scenes one must be
absolutely in the front line."
"Ah, you English," he said, "you are _extraordinaire_." Suddenly taking
me by the arm, he led me to an outhouse. At the door we met his Captain.
Introducing me, he began to explain my wishes. By the looks and the
smiles, I knew things were going well for me.
Calling the interpreter, the Captain said, "If you accompany my men to
the trenches you may get killed. You must take all risks. I cannot be
held responsible, remember!" And with a smile, he turned and entered the
house.
Hardly realising my good fortune, I nearly hugged my new friend, the
Lieutenant.
"Monsieur," I said, saluting, "I am un Belge soldat _pro tem_."
Laughingly he told me to get my kit ready, and from a soldier who could
speak English I borrowed a water-bottle and two blankets. Going round to
the back of the farm, I came upon the rest of the men being served out
with coffee from a copper. Awaiting my turn, I had my water-bottle
filled; then the bread rations were served out with tinned herrings.
Obtaining my allowance, I stowed it away in my knapsack, rolled up my
blanket and fixed it on my back, and was ready. Then the "Fall in" was
sounded. What a happy-go-lucky lot! No one would have thought these men
were going into battle, and that many of them would probably not return.
This, unfortunately, turned out to be only too true.
In my interest in the scene and anxiety to film it, I was forgetting to
put my own house in order. "What if I don't come back?" I suddenly
thought. Begging some paper, I wrote a letter, addressed to my firm,
telling them where I had gone, and where to call at Furnes for my films
in the event of my being shot. Addressing it, I left it in charge of an
officer, to be posted if I did not return, and requested that if
anything happened to me my stuff should be left at my café in Furnes.
Shaking me by the hand, he said he sincerely hoped it would not be
necessary. Laughingly I bade him adieu. Falling in with the other men we
started off, with the cheers and good wishes of those left behind
ringing in our ears.
It was still raining, and, as we crossed the fields of mud, I began to
feel the weight of my equipment pressing on my shoulders, which with my
camera and spare films made my progress very slow. Many a time during
that march the men offered to help me, but, knowing that they had quite
enough to do in carrying their own load, I stubbornly refused.
On we went, the roar of the guns getting nearer: over field after field,
fully eighteen inches deep in mud, and keeping as close to hedges as
possible, to escape detection from hostile aeroplanes. Near a bridge we
were stopped by an officer.
"What's the matter?" I asked of my interpreter. Not knowing, he went to
enquire.
An order was shouted. The whole regiment rushed for cover to a hedge
which ran by the roadside. I naturally followed. My friend told me that
the Germans had sent up an observation balloon, so we dare not advance
until nightfall, or they would be sure to see us and begin shelling our
column before we arrived at the trenches. In the rain we sat huddled
close together. Notwithstanding the uncomfortable conditions, I was very
thankful for the rest. Night came, and we got the word to start again.
Progress was becoming more difficult than ever, and I only kept myself
from many a time falling headlong by clinging on to my nearest
companion; he did likewise.
Ye gods! what a night, and what a sight! Raining hard, a strong wind
blowing, and the thick, black, inky darkness every now and then
illuminated by the flash of the guns. Death was certainly in evidence
to-night. One felt it. The creative genius of the weirdest, imaginative
artist could not have painted a scene of death so truthfully. The odour
arising from decaying bodies in the ground was at times almost
overwhelming.
We had been conversing generally during the march, but now word was
passed that we were not to speak under any circumstances, not until we
were in the trenches. A whispered order came that every man must hold on
to the comrade in front of him, and bear to the left. Reaching the
trench allotted to us, we went along it in single file, up to our knees
in water. Sometimes a plank had been thrown along it, or bricks, but
generally there was nothing but mud to plough through.
"Halt!" came the command to the section I was with. "This is our
shelter, monsieur," said a voice.
Gropingly, I followed the speaker on hands and knees. The shelter was
about 12 feet long, 3 feet 6 inches high, the same in width, and made of
old boards. On the top, outside, was about 9 inches of earth, to render
it as far as possible shrapnel-proof. On the floor were some boards,
placed on bricks and covered with soddened straw. There was just enough
room for four of us.
Rolling ourselves in our blankets we lay down, and by the light of an
electric torch we ravenously ate our bread and herrings. I enjoyed that
simple meal as much as the finest dinner I have ever had placed before
me. Whilst eating, a messenger came and warned us to be prepared for an
attack. Heavy rifle-fire was taking place, both on the right and left
of our position.
"Well," thought I, "this is a good start; they might have waited for
daylight, I could then film their proceedings." At any rate, if the
attack came, I hoped it would last through the next day.
Switching off the light, we lay down and awaited events. But not for
long. The order came to man the trench. Out we tumbled, and took up our
positions. Suddenly out of the blackness, in the direction of the German
positions, came the rattle of rifle-fire, and the bullets began to
whistle overhead. Keeping as low as possible, we replied, firing in
quick succession at the flashes of the enemy rifles. This continued
throughout the night.
Towards morning a fog settled down, which blocked out our view of each
other, and there was a lull in the fighting. At midday the attack
started again. Taking my apparatus, I filmed a section of Belgians in
action. Several times bullets whistled unpleasantly near my head.
Passing along the trench, I filmed a mitrailleuse battery in action,
which was literally mowing down the Germans as fast as they appeared.
Then I filmed another section of men, while the bullets were flying all
around them. Several could not resist looking round and laughing at the
camera.
Whilst thus engaged, several shells fell within thirty feet of me. Two
failed to explode; another exploded and sent a lump of mud full in my
face. With great spluttering, and I must admit a little swearing, I
quickly cleaned it off. Then I filmed a large shell-hole filled with
water, caused by the explosion of a German "Jack Johnson."
The diameter was 28 feet across, and, roughly, 6 feet deep in the
centre. At the other end of the line I filmed a company damming the
Canal, to turn it into the German trenches.
Then I cautiously made my way back, and filmed a section being served
with hot coffee while under fire. Coming upon some men warming
themselves round a bucket-stove, I joined the circle for a little
warmth. How comforting it was in that veritable morass. Even as we
chatted we were subjected to a heavy shrapnel attack, and the way we all
scuttled to the trench huts was a sight for the gods. It was one mad
scramble of laughing soldiers. Plunk--plunk--plunk--came the shells, not
20-25 feet from where we were sitting by the fire. Six shells fell in
our position, one failed to explode. I had a bet with a Belgian officer
that it was 30 feet from us. He bet me it was 40 feet. Not to be done, I
roughly measured off a yard stick, and left the shelter of the trench to
measure the distance. It turned out to be 28 feet. Just as I had
finished, I heard three more shells come shrieking towards me. I simply
dived for the trench, and luckily reached it just in time.
Towards evening our artillery shelled a farm-house about three-quarters
of a mile distant, where the Germans had three guns hidden, and through
the glasses I watched the shells drop into the building and literally
blow it to pieces. Unfortunately, it was too far off to film it
satisfactorily.
That night was practically a repetition of the previous one. The trench
was attacked the greater part of the time, and bullets continually
spattered against the small iron plate.
Next morning I decided to try and film the mitrailleuse outpost on a
little spot of land in the floods, only connected by a narrow strip of
grass-land just high enough to be out of reach of the water. Still
keeping low under cover of the trenches, I made my way in that
direction. Several officers tried to persuade me not to go, but knowing
it would make an excellent scene, I decided to risk it. On the side of
the bank nearest our front line the ground sloped at a more abrupt
angle, the distance from the trench to the outpost being about sixty
yards. Rushing over the top of the parapet, I got to the edge of the
grass road and crouched down. The water up to my knees, I made my way
carefully along. Twice I stumbled over dead bodies. At last I reached
the outpost safely, but during the last few yards I must have raised
myself a little too high, for the next minute several bullets splashed
into the water where I had been.
The outpost was very surprised when I made my appearance, and expressed
astonishment that I had not been shot. "A miss is as good as a mile," I
laughingly replied, and then I told them I had come to film them at
work. This I proceeded to do, and got an excellent scene of the
mitrailleuse in action, and the other section loading up. The frightful
slaughter done by these guns is indescribable. Nothing can possibly live
under the concentrated fire of these weapons, as the Germans found to
their cost that day.
After getting my scenes, I thanked the officer, and was about to make my
way back; but he forbade me to risk it, telling me to wait until night
and return under cover of the darkness. To this I agreed, and that night
left the outpost with the others when the relief party came up.
Shortly after news was received that we were to be relieved from duty in
the trenches for the next forty-eight hours; the relief column was on
its way to take our places. I was delighted, for I had been wet through
during the days and nights I had been there, but was fully satisfied
that I had got some real live films. Hastily packing up my equipment, I
stood waiting the signal to move off. At last the relief came up.
Holding each other's hands, we carefully made our way in Indian file
along the trench, on to the road, and into Ramscapelle.
[Illustration: WITH A GROUP OF BELGIAN OFFICERS AT FURNES, BELGIUM,
1914. ONE OF THEM USED TO ACT AS MY COURIER]
[Illustration: ON SKIS IN THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS JUST BEFORE THE FRENCH
ATTACK, FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1915]
What a terrible sight it was! The skeletons of houses stood grim and
gaunt, and the sound of the wind rushing through the ruins was like the
moaning of the spirits of the dead inhabitants crying aloud for
vengeance. The sounds increased in volume as we neared this scene of
awful desolation, and the groans became a crescendo of shrieks which,
combined with the crash of shell-fire, made one's blood run cold.
Leaving the ruins behind we gained the main road, and on arriving at the
bridge where we had stopped on our journey out, I parted with the
company, thinking to make my way to a café by a short cut over some
fields. I wished to heaven afterwards that I had not done so. I cut
across a ditch, feeling my way as much as possible with a stick. But I
had not gone far before I knew I had lost my way. The rain was driving
pitilessly in my face, but I stumbled on in the inky darkness, often
above my knees in thick clay mud. Several times I thought I should never
reach the road. It was far worse than being under fire.
I must have staggered along for about two miles when I perceived a light
ahead. Never was sight more welcome. Remember, I had about fifty to
sixty pounds weight on my back, and having had little or no sleep for
five nights my physical strength was at a low ebb. It seemed hours
before I reached that house, and when at last I got there I collapsed on
the floor.
I struggled up again in a few minutes, and asked the bewildered
occupants to give me hot coffee, and after resting for an hour, I made
again for Furnes reaching it in the early hours of the morning.
Going to my café, I went to bed, and slept for eighteen hours; the
following day I packed up and returned to London.
A day or two afterwards I was sitting comfortably in a cushioned chair
in the private theatre at our London office watching these selfsame
scenes being projected upon the screen. Ah! thought I, how little does
the great public, for whom they are intended, know of the difficulties
and dangers, the trials and tribulations, the kinematograph camera man
experiences in order to obtain these pictures.
CHAPTER III
WITH THE GOUMIERS AT LOMBARTZYDE
A Morning of Surprises--The German Positions Bombarded from
the Sea--Filming the Goumiers in Action--How these Tenacious
Fighters Prepare for Battle--Goumier Habits and Customs--I
Take the Chief's Photograph for the First Time--And
Afterwards take Food with Him--An Interesting and Fruitful
Adventure Ends Satisfactorily.
Once more I went to Furnes, and while sipping my coffee at the café I
heard a remark made about the Goumiers (the Arab horsemen employed by
the French as scouts). Quickly realising the possibilities in a film of
such a body of men, I made enquiries of the speakers as to their
whereabouts.
"Ah, monsieur, they are on the sand-dunes near Nieuport. They are
veritable fiends, monsieur, with the Bosches, who run away from them
like cats. They are terrible fighters."
After such a glowing account, I thought the sooner I interviewed these
fighters the better.
Starting out next morning, I made a bee-line for the coast.
I soon began to hear the sharp crackle of rifle-fire, and artillery on
my right opened fire on the German position, and then the heavy boom,
boom of the guns from the sea. Looking in that direction, I discerned
several of our battleships opening fire, the shells giving a fearful
shriek as they passed overhead. The Germans were certainly in for it
that day.
Keeping along the bottom of the dunes, I observed a Goumier encampment
in the distance. At that moment there came a rasping voice on my right.
"Halt!" This certainly was a morning of surprises.
"Ah," I said, with a laugh, "you startled me."
"I am sorry, monsieur," he said. "The password, if you please?"
"It is not necessary," I replied. "I wish to speak to your officer. I
will go by myself to the officer in charge, it is not necessary for you
to leave your post. Direct me to Headquarters, and tell me your
captain's name."
"Captain ----, monsieur. He is billeted in that house which is half
destroyed by shell-fire. Be careful, monsieur, and keep low, or you will
draw the fire on you." He saluted, and turned back to his post.
Making straight for the ruined house in question, I observed a sentry on
guard at the door. This, I perceived, led to a cellar. I asked to see
the Captain. The man saluted and entered the house, appearing in a few
minutes with his chief. I saluted, and bade him "good morning,"
extending my hand, which he grasped in a hearty handshake. I straightway
explained my business, and asked him for his co-operation in securing
some interesting films of the Goumiers in action.
He replied that he would be glad to assist me as far as possible.
"You will greatly help me, sir," I said, "if you can roughly give me
their location."
"That I cannot do," he replied, "but follow my directions, and take your
chance. I will, however, accompany you a short distance."
We started out, keeping as much to the seashore as possible.
"Keep low," the Captain said, "the place is thick with Bosche snipers."
I certainly needed no second warning, for I had experienced those
gentry before. "Our Goumiers are doing splendid work here on the dunes.
It is, of course, like home to them among the sand-heaps."
Our conversation was suddenly cut short by the shriek of a shell coming
in our direction. Simultaneously we fell flat on the sand, and only just
in time, for on the other side of the dune the shell fell and exploded,
shaking the ground like a miniature earthquake and throwing clouds of
sand in our direction.
"They have started on our encampment again," the Captain said, "but our
huts are quite impervious to their shells; the sand is finer than
armourplate."
Several more shells came hurtling overheard, but fell some distance
behind us. Looking over the top of the dune, I expected to see an
enormous hole, caused by the explosion, but judge my surprise on seeing
hardly any difference. The sides of the cavity had apparently fallen in
again. A short distance further on the Captain said he would leave me.
"You can start now," and he pointed in the distance to a moving object
in the sand, crawling along on its stomach for all the world like a
snake. "I will go," he said, "and if you see the Chief of the Goumiers,
tell him I sent you." With a handshake we parted. I again turned to look
at the Goumier scout, his movements fascinated me. Keeping low under the
top of the dune, I made for a small hill, from which I decided to film
him. Reaching there, I did so.
I then saw, going in opposite directions, two more scouts, each
proceeding to crawl slowly in the same fashion as the first.
"This film certainly will be unique," I thought. Who could imagine that
within half an hour's ride of this whirling sand, with full-blooded
Arabs moving about upon it, the soldiers of Belgium are fighting in two
feet of mud and water, and have been doing so for months past. No one
would think so to look at it.
A rattle of musketry on my right served as a hint that there were other
scenes to be secured. Making my way in the direction of the sound, I
came upon a body of Goumiers engaged in sniping at the Germans. I filmed
them, and was just moving away when the interpreter of the company
stopped and questioned me. I told him of my previous conversation with
the Captain, which satisfied him.
"Well," he said, "you are just in time to catch a troop going off on a
scouting expedition," and he led the way to a large dune looking down on
the sea, and there just moving off was the troop.
What a magnificent picture they made, sitting on their horses. They
seemed to be part of them. Veritable black statues they looked, and
their movements were like a finely tensioned spring. Hastily filming the
troop, I hurried across and succeeded in obtaining some scenes of
another detachment proceeding further on the flank, and as they wound in
and out up the sand-hills, I managed to get into a splendid point of
vantage, and filmed them coming towards me. Their wild savage huzzas, as
they passed, were thrilling in the extreme. Looking round, I perceived a
curious-looking group a short distance away, going through what appeared
to be some devotional ceremony.
Hastening down the hill, I crossed to the group, which turned out to be
under the command of the Chief of the Goumiers himself, who was going
through a short ceremony with some scouts, previous to their meeting the
Germans. It was quite impressive. Forming the four men up in line, the
Chief gave each of them instructions, waving signs and symbols over
their heads and bodies, then with a chant sent them on their journey.
The actual obeisance was too sacred in itself to film. I was told by the
interpreter afterwards that he was glad I did not do so, as they would
have been very wrath?
A few words about the customs of the Goumiers may not be out of place.
These men are the aristocracy of the Algerian Arabs; men of independent
means in their own land. At the outbreak of war they patriotically
combined under their chief, and offered themselves to the French
Government, which gladly accepted their services for work on the
sand-dunes of Flanders. The troop bore the whole cost of their outfit
and transport. They brought their own native transport system with them.
The men obey none but their chief, at whose bidding they would, I
believe, even go through Hell itself. All arguments, quarrels, and
discussions in the troop are brought before the Chief, whose word and
judgment is law.
On the dunes of Northern Flanders they had their own encampment,
conducted in their own native style. They looked after their horses with
as much care as a fond mother does her child. The harness and trappings
were magnificently decorated with beautiful designs in mother-of-pearl
and gold, and the men, when astride their horses and garbed in their
long flowing white _burnouses_, looked the very personification of
dignity. The Chief never handles a rifle, it would be beneath his
position to do so. He is the Head, and lives up to it in every respect
possible.
I filmed him by the side of his horse. It was the first time he had been
photographed.
Returning to the point where the scouts were leaving, I decided to
follow close behind them, on the chance of getting some good scenes.
Strapping my camera on my back, and pushing a tuft of grass under the
strap, to disguise it as much as possible if viewed from the front, I
crawled after them. One may think that crawling on the sand is easy;
well, all I can say to those who think so is, "Try it." I soon found it
was not so easy as it looked, especially under conditions where the
raising of one's body two or three inches above the top of the dune
might be possibly asking for a bullet through it, and drawing a
concentrated fire in one's direction.
I had crawled in this fashion for about 150 yards, when I heard a shell
come shrieking in my direction. With a plunk it fell, and exploded about
forty feet away, choking me with sand and half blinding me for about
five minutes. The acrid fumes, too, which came from it, seemed to
tighten my throat, making respiration very difficult for some ten
minutes afterwards. Cautiously looking round, I tried to locate the
other scouts, but nowhere could they be seen. I crawled for another
thirty yards or so, but still no sign of them. Deciding that if I
continued by myself I had everything to lose and nothing to gain, I
concluded that discretion was the better part of valour. Possibly the
buzzing sensation in my throat, and the smarting of my eyes, helped me
in coming to that decision, so I retraced my steps, or rather crawl.
Getting back to the encampment, I bathed my eyes in water, which quickly
soothed them.
In a short time news came in that the scouts were returning. Hurrying to
the spot indicated, I was just in time to film them on their arrival.
The exultant look on their faces told me that they had done good work.
I then filmed a general view of the encampment, and several other
interesting scenes, and was just on the point of departing when the
Chief asked me to partake of some food with him. Being very hungry, I
accepted the invitation, and afterwards, over a cup of coffee and
cigarettes, I obtained through an interpreter some very interesting
information.
The night being now well advanced, I bade the Chief adieu, and striking
out across the dunes I made for Furnes. The effect of the star-shells
sent up by the Germans was very wonderful. They shed a vivid blue light
all round, throwing everything up with startling clearness.
After about a mile I was suddenly brought up by the glitter of a
sentry's bayonet. "Password, monsieur." Flashing a lamp in my face, the
man evidently recognised me, for he had seen me with his officer that
day, and the next moment he apologised for stopping me. "Pardon,
monsieur," he said. "Pass, Monsieur Anglais, pardon!"
Accepting his apologies, I moved off in the direction of Furnes, where,
after reviewing the events of the previous days, I came to the
conclusion that I had every reason to be thankful that I had once more
returned from an interesting and fruitful adventure with a whole skin.
CHAPTER IV
THE BATTLE OF THE SAND-DUNES
A Dangerous Adventure and What Came of It--A Race Across the
Sand-dunes--And a Spill in a Shell-Hole--The Fate of a
Spy--A Battle in the Dunes--Of which I Secured Some Fine
Films--A Collision with an Obstructive Mule.
I arrived at Oost-Dunkerque, which place I decided to use as a base for
this journey, chiefly because it was on the main route to Nieuport Bain.
Having on my previous visit proceeded on foot, and returned
successfully, I decided that I should go by car. To get what I required
meant that I should have to pass right through the French lines.
Finding out a chauffeur who had previously helped me, I explained my
plans to him.
"Well, monsieur," he said, "I will try and help you, but for me it is
not possible to get you through. I am stationed here indefinitely, but I
have a friend who drives an armoured car. I will ask him to do it." We
then parted; I was to meet him with his friend that night.
I packed my things as close as possible, tying two extra spools of film
in a package round my waist under my coat, put on my knapsack, and drew
my Balaclava helmet well down over my chin.
Anxiously I awaited my friends. Seven o'clock--eight o'clock--nine
o'clock. "Were they unable to come for me?" "Was there some hitch in the
arrangement?" These thoughts flashed through my mind, when suddenly I
heard a voice call behind me.
"Monsieur, monsieur!"
[Illustration: USING MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA IN BELGIUM, 1914-15]
Turning, I saw my chauffeur friend beckoning to me. Hurrying forward, I
asked if all was well.
"Oui, monsieur. I will meet you by the railway cutting."
This was the beginning of an adventure which I shall always remember. I
had been up at the bridge some two minutes, when the armoured car glided
up. "Up, monsieur," came a voice, and up I got. Placing my camera by the
side of the mitrailleuse, I sat by my chauffeur, and we started off for
the French lines.
Dashing along roads covered with shell-holes, I marvelled again and
again at the man's wonderful driving. Heaps of times we escaped a
smash-up by a hair's-breadth.
On we went over the dunes; the night was continuously lighted up by
flashes from the big guns, both French and German. We were pulled up
with a jerk, which sent me flying over the left wheel, doing a
somersault, and finally landing head first into a lovely soft sandbank.
Spluttering and staggering to my feet, I looked round for the cause of
my sudden exit from the car, and there in the glare of the headlight
were two French officers. Both were laughing heartily and appreciating
the joke. As I had not hurt myself, I joined in. After our hilarity had
subsided they apologised, and hoped I had not hurt myself. Seeing that I
was an an Englishman, they asked me where I was going. I replied, "to
Nieuport Bain." They asked me if my chauffeur might take a message to
the Captain of the ---- Chasseurs. "Yes, yes," I replied, "with
pleasure."
Thinking that by staying every second might be dangerous, I asked the
officers to give the message, and we would proceed. They did so, and
again apologising for their abrupt appearance, they bade us "good
night."
I hurriedly bade the driver start off, and away we went. He evidently
had not got over his nervousness, for, after going about three-quarters
of a mile, we ran into a large, partially filled shell-hole, burying the
front wheels above the axle. To save myself from a second dive I
clutched hold of the mitrailleuse.
This was a position indeed! Scooping away as much sand as possible from
the front wheels, we put on full power, and tried to back the car out of
it. But as the rear wheels were unable to grip in the sand it would not
budge.
While there the Germans must have seen our light, for suddenly a
star-shell shot up from their position, illuminating the ground for a
great distance. I swiftly pinched the tube of our headlight, so putting
it out, then dropped full length on the sand. I observed my companion
had done the same.
We lay there for about ten minutes, not knowing what to expect, but
luckily nothing happened. It was obvious that we could not move the car
without assistance, so shouldering my apparatus we started to walk the
remaining distance. Twice we were held up by sentries, but by giving the
password we got through. Enquiring for the headquarters of Captain ----,
we were directed to a ruined house which had been destroyed by German
shell-fire. "Mon Capitaine is in the cellar, monsieur."
Thinking that it would be a better introduction if I personally
delivered the message to the Captain, I asked my chauffeur to let me do
so. Asking the sentry at the door to take me to his Captain, we passed
down some dozen steps and into a comfortably furnished cellar. Sitting
round a little table were seven officers. I asked for Captain ----.
"He is not here, monsieur," said one. "Is it urgent?"
"I do not know," I replied. I was trying to form another reply in
French, when an officer asked me in English if he could be of any
service. I told him that an officer had given me a message to deliver on
my journey here, but owing to an accident to the car I had had to walk.
Taking the letter, he said he would send a messenger to the Captain with
it.
"You must be hungry, monsieur. Will you share a snack with us?" Gladly
accepting their hospitality, I sat down with them. "Are you from
London?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Do you know it?"
"Yes, yes," he replied. "I was for three years there. But are you
_militaire_?" he enquired.
"Well, hardly that," I confess. "I am here to take kinema records of the
war. I have come in this direction to film an action on the sand-dunes.
Will you help me?"
"I will do what I can for you," he replied. "We expect to make a sortie
to-morrow morning. It will be very risky for you."
"I will take my chance," I replied, "with you."
Whilst our conversation proceeded, I noticed a scuffling on the cellar
steps, then into the room came four soldiers with a man in peasant's
clothes. He turned out to be a spy caught signalling in the dunes. They
brought him in to have a cup of coffee before taking him out to be shot.
He was asked if he would take sugar; his reply was "No."
Presently there was a shot outside, and there was one spy the less.
The Captain returned and, after explanations, made me understand that he
would accept no responsibility for my safety. Those conditions I did not
mind a scrap. Rolling myself in a blanket, I tumbled in. "What would the
morrow bring forth?" I wondered.
I was up next morning at four o'clock. Everywhere there was a state of
suppressed excitement. Outside the men were preparing, but there was
not the least sign of confusion anywhere. To look at them one would not
imagine these men were going out to fight, knowing that some of them at
least would not return again. But it is war, and sentiment has no place
in their thoughts.
The order came to line up. Hours before the scouts had gone out to
prepare the ground. They had not returned yet. Personally, I hoped they
would not turn up till the day was a little more advanced. Eight
o'clock; still not sufficient light for filming. A lieutenant came to
me, and said if I would go carefully along the sand-dunes in the
direction he suggested, possibly it would be better; he would say no
more. I did so; and I had only gone about half a kilometre when,
chancing to turn back, I spied coming over the dunes on my right two
scouts, running for all they were worth.
Quietly getting my camera into position, I started exposing, being
certain this was the opening of the attack. I was not mistaken, for
within a few minutes the advance guard came hurrying up in the distance;
the attack was about to begin. Suddenly the French guns opened fire;
they were concealed some distance in the rear. Shells then went at it
thick and fast, shrieking one after the other overhead.
The advance guard opened out, clambered up the dunes, and disappeared
over the top, I filming them. I waited until the supporting column came
up, and filmed them also. I followed them up and over the dunes.
Deploying along the top, they spread out about six metres apart, with
the object of deceiving the Germans as to their numbers, until the
supporting column reached them. The battle of musketry then rang out.
Cautiously advancing with a company, I filmed them take the offensive
and make for a large dune forty yards ahead. Successfully reaching it
they lay down and fired in rapid succession. Crawling up, I managed to
take a fine scene of the attack, showing the explosion of two French
shells over the ruins of the town. The Germans evidently found our
range, for several shells came whistling unpleasantly near me.
What followed was a succession of scenes, showing the covering columns
advancing and others moving round on the flank. The Germans lost very
heavily in this engagement, and great progress was made by the gallant
French. While filming a section of the flanking party, I had the nearest
acquaintance with a shell that I shall ever wish for. I don't think it
would have been the good fortune of many to have such an experience and
come scathless out of it.
I was kneeling filming the scene, when I heard a shell hurtling in my
direction. Knowing that if I moved I might as likely run into it as not,
I remained where I was, still operating my camera, when an explosion
occurred just behind me, which sounded as if the earth itself had
cracked. The concussion threw me with terrific force head over heels
into the sand. The explosion seemed to cause a vacuum in the air for
some distance around, for try as I would I could not get my breath. I
lay gasping and struggling like a drowning man for what seemed an
interminable length of time, although it could have only been a few
seconds.
At last I pulled round; my first thought was for my camera. I saw it a
short distance away, half buried in the sand. Picking it up, I was
greatly relieved to find it uninjured, but choked with sand round the
lens, which I quickly cleared. The impression on my body, caused by the
concussion of the exploding shell, seemed as if the whole of one side of
me had been struck with something soft, yet with such terrible force
that I felt it all over at the same moment. That is the best way I can
describe it, and I assure you I don't wish for a second interview.
Noticing some blood upon my hand, I found a small wound on the knuckle.
Whether or no it was caused by a small splinter from the shell, I cannot
say; in all probability it was, for I do not think striking the soft
sand would have caused it.
Turning back, I made for the sea road, and filmed the reserves coming up
to strengthen the positions already won. Hurrying across in the
direction of another column, I filmed them steadily advancing, while
their comrades kept the Germans employed from the top of a large dune.
The main body then came up and lined the top for a considerable
distance, and at the word of command the whole body arose as one man.
For the fraction of a second they were strikingly silhouetted against
the sky-line; then with a cheer they charged down the other side.
Darkness was now closing in, making it impossible for me to film any
further developments, so I proceeded back to the cellar with an officer
and some men. After resting awhile, I decided to go back to Furnes that
night with my films and get home with them as quickly as possible.
Meeting a small transport car going in the desired direction after some
stores, I begged a ride, and getting up beside the driver, we started
off. Owing to the enormous shell-holes it was impossible to proceed
along the road without a light.
What a magnificent sight it was. Magnesium star-shells were continually
being sent up by the Germans. They hung in the air alight for about
thirty seconds, illuminating the ground like day. When they disappeared
the guns flashed out; then the French replied; after that more
star-shells; then the guns spoke again, and so it continued. We were
suddenly stopped by an officer warning us to put out our lamp
immediately, and proceed cautiously for about three hundred yards.
While doing so a shell came screaming by. We knew then that the Germans
had seen our light. We immediately rushed to a shell-proof shelter in
the sand. I had barely reached it when a shell exploded close by the
car, half destroying the body of it. That was the only one that came
anywhere near. Running to see what damage was done, I was pleased to
see, by the aid of a covered light, that the chassis was practically
uninjured. So starting up we once more proceeded on our journey.
We had several narrow squeaks in negotiating corners and miniature
sand-banks, and once we bumped into a mule that had strayed on to the
road--but whether it will do so again I don't know, for after the bump
it disappeared in a whirl of sand, making a noise like a myriad of
fiends let loose. But the remainder of the journey was uneventful, and
after a long night's rest I left for Calais.
CHAPTER V
UNDER HEAVY SHELL-FIRE
In a Trench Coat and Cap I again Run the Gauntlet--A Near
Squeak--Looking for Trouble--I Nearly Find It--A Rough Ride
and a Mud Bath--An Affair of Outposts--I Get Used to
Crawling--Hot Work at the Guns--I am Reported Dead--But
Prove Very Much Alive----And then Receive a Shock--A Stern
Chase.
Time after time I crossed over to France and so into Belgium, and
obtained a series of pictures that delighted my employers, and pleased
the picture theatre public. But I wanted something more than snapshots
of topical events.
Unfortunately, I had been unable to make previous arrangements for a car
to take me into Belgium. The railroad was barred to me, and walking
quite out of the question. A motor-car was the only method of
travelling. After two days of careful enquiries, I at last found a man
to take me. He was in the transport department, taking meat to the
trenches. I was to meet him that evening on the outskirts of Calais. And
I met him that night at an appointed rendezvous, and started on our
journey.
Eventually we entered Furnes. Making my way into a side street, I told
my chauffeur to call at a certain address whenever he passed through the
town, and if I should require his services further, I would leave a
letter to that effect.
I was awakened next morning by being vigorously shaken by my Belgian
friend, Jules.
"Quick, monsieur, the Germans are bombarding us," he cried.
Jumping out of bed, I rushed to the window. The next second I heard the
shriek of shells coming nearer. With a crash and a fearful explosion
they burst practically simultaneously on the houses opposite, completely
demolishing them, but luckily killing no one. Hastily dressing, I
grabbed my camera and went out into the square and waited, hoping to
film, if possible, the explosion of the shells as they fell on the
buildings. Two more shells came shrieking over. The few people about
were quickly making for the cover of their cellars. Getting my camera
into position, ready to swing in any direction, I waited. With deafening
explosions the shells exploded in a small street behind me. The Germans
were evidently trying to smash up the old Flemish town hall, which was
in the corner of the market-place, so I decided to fix my focus in its
direction. But though I waited for over an hour, nothing else happened.
The Germans had ceased firing for that morning at least. Not till I had
gone to my café did I realise the danger I had exposed myself to, but
somehow I had seemed so confident that I should not get hit, that to
film the explosions entirely absorbed all my thoughts.
Next morning I decided to tour the front line, if possible from Dixmude
to Nieuport, making Ramscapelle a centre. I hoped to drop in with an
isolated action or a few outpost duels, for up to the present things
were going exceedingly slow from my point of view.
Arranging for a dispatch rider to take me along to Ramscapelle, away I
went. The roads were in a frightful condition after months of rain, and
shell-holes were dotted all over the surface. It is marvellous these men
do not more frequently meet death by accident, for what with the back
wheel sliding and skidding like an unbroken mule, and dodging round
shell-holes as if we were playing musical chairs, and hanging round the
driver's waist like a limpet to keep our balance, it was anything but a
comfortable experience. In the end one back wheel slipped into a
shell-hole and pitched me into a lovely pool of water and mud. Then
after remounting, we were edged off the road into the mud again by a
heavy transport lorry, and enjoyed a second mud-bath. After that I came
to the conclusion that I would rather film a close view of a bayonet
charge than do another such journey.
By now I was the most abject-looking specimen of humanity imaginable. My
camera in its case was securely fastened on my shoulders as a knapsack,
and so, with the exception of a slight derangement, which I soon
readjusted, no damage was done. But the motor-cycle suffered
considerably, and leaving it alongside the road to await a breakdown
lorry to repair it--or a shell to finish it--I proceeded on foot to
Ramscapelle.
Within a hundred yards of the ruined town, from the shelter of a wrecked
barn came the voice of a Belgian soldier peremptorily ordering me to
take cover. Without asking questions, I did so by sprawling full length
in a deep wheel-rut, but as I had previously had a mud-bath, a little
more or less did not matter. I wriggled myself towards the cover of the
barn, when a sharp volley of rifle-fire broke out on my left. Gaining
shelter, I asked the soldier the reason of the fusillade.
"Uhlan outposts, monsieur," replied the man laconically.
Keeping under cover, I crawled towards the back of the barn, and
ensconced behind some bales of straw, on a small bridge, I filmed this
Belgian outpost driving off the Uhlans, and peeping through one of the
rifle slots, I could see them showing a clean pair of heels, but not
without losing one of their number. He was brought into our lines later,
and I was lucky enough to secure the pennon from his lance as a
souvenir.
I made my way by various means into the town. The place was absolutely
devoid of life. It was highly dangerous to move about in the open. To be
seen by the German airmen was the signal for being shelled for about
three hours.
Whilst filming some of the ruins, I was startled by a sharp word of
command. Turning round, I saw a Belgian soldier, with his rifle pointing
at me. He ordered me to advance. I produced my permit, and giving the
password, I quite satisfied him. Bidding me come inside he indicated a
seat, and asked me to have some soup. And didn't it smell appetising! A
broken door served as a table; various oddments, as chairs and the
soup-copper, stood in the centre of the table. This proved one of the
most enjoyable meals of the campaign.
The soldier told me they had to be very careful to guard against spies.
They had caught one only that morning, "but he will spy no more,
monsieur," he said, with a significant look.
I rose, and said I must leave them, as I wanted to take advantage of the
daylight. I asked my friend if he could give me any information as to
the whereabouts of anything interesting to film, as I wanted to take
back scenes to show the people of England the ravages caused in Belgium
by the Huns, and the brave Belgians in action. He was full of regrets
that he was not able to accompany me, but being on duty he dare not
move.
With a hearty shake of the hand and best wishes we parted, and, keeping
under cover of the ruined buildings as much as possible, I made my way
through Ramscapelle. Hardened as I was by now to sights of devastation,
I could not help a lump rising in my throat when I came upon children's
toys, babies' cots, and suchlike things, peeping out from among the
ruins caused by the German guns.
These scenes caused me to wander on in deep thought, quite oblivious to
my immediate surroundings. This momentary lapse nearly proved
disastrous. By some means I had passed the sentries, and wandered
practically on top of a Belgian concealed heavy gun battery. I was
quickly brought to my senses by being dragged into a gun trench,
absolutely invisible both from the front and above.
Compelled to go on hands and knees into the dug-out, I was confronted by
a rather irate Belgian officer, who demanded why I was there walking
about and not taking cover. Did I know that I had drawn the enemy's
fire, which was very nearly an unpardonable offence?
Quickly realising the seriousness of my position, I thought the best
thing to do was to tell him my mission, and so I explained to the
officer that I had unconsciously wandered there.
"There, monsieur," he said, "that is what you have done," and at that
moment I heard two shells explode fifteen yards behind us. "We dare not
reply, monsieur," he said, "because this is a secret battery. Mon Dieu!"
he exclaimed, "I hope they cease firing, or they may destroy our
defences." Fortunately, the Germans seeing no further sign of life,
evidently thought it was a case of an isolated soldier, and so ceased
their fire. Imagine my thankfulness.
I enquired if there was anyone there who could speak English. A
messenger was sent out and returned with a Belgian, who before the war
broke out was a teacher of languages in England. With his aid I gave the
chief officer full explanation, and pledged my word of honour that
neither names, districts, nor details of positions should ever be
mentioned.
Wishing to film some scenes of big guns in action, I enquired whether he
was going to fire. He was expecting orders any minute, so making myself
as comfortable as possible in the dug-out, I waited. But nothing
happened, and that night, and the one following, I slept there.
Early next morning (about 3 a.m.) I was awakened by the noise of a
terrific cannonading. Together with the officer I crawled out on to the
top of our embankment and viewed the scene. The Germans had started a
night attack, the Belgian guns had caught them in the act and were
shelling them for all they were worth.
As soon as it was daylight I strapped my camera on my back, and, lying
flat in the mud, I edged away in the direction of the battery. Before
leaving, the officer gave me a final warning about drawing the Germans'
fire. Alternately crawling and working my way on hands and knees, and
taking advantage of any little bit of cover, I drew nearer to the guns.
While I was lying here, there crashed out a regular inferno of
rifle-fire from the German trenches. The bullets sang overhead like a
flight of hornets. This certainly was a warm corner. If I had filmed
this scene, all that would have been shown was a dreary waste of
mud-heaps, caused by the explosion of the shells, and the graves of
fallen soldiers dotted all over the place. As far as the eye could see
the country was absolutely devoid of any living thing.
Thousands of people in England, comfortably seated in the picture
theatre, would have passed this scene by as quite uninteresting except
for its memories. But if the sounds I heard, and the flying bullets that
whizzed by me, could have been photographed, they might take a different
view of it.
Death was everywhere. The air was thick with it. To have lifted my head
would have meant the billet for a bullet. So there I had to lie soaked
through to the skin, and before I had been there twenty minutes I was
literally lying in water. The German fusillade seemed interminable.
Suddenly with a roar the Belgian guns spoke. About fifty shells were
fired, and gradually the rifle-fire ceased. With a sigh of relief I drew
myself out of the hole which my body had made, and on my elbows and
knees, like a baby crawling, I covered the intervening ground to the
battery. Getting up, and bending nearly double, I ran under cover of the
barricades.
The men were astounded to see me run in. I went in the direction of a
group of officers, who looked at me in amazement. Saluting me, one of
them came forward and asked who I wanted. Explaining my business, I told
him I had permission from headquarters to film any scenes of interest.
The officer then introduced me to his friends, who asked me how in the
world I had crossed the district without getting hit. I described my
movements, and they all agreed that I was exceedingly lucky.
Once more the guns started, so getting my camera ready I commenced
filming them in action, one scene after another. I changed from the
firing of one gun to the full battery in action. The men were working
like mad. All the time they were baling water out of the gun trenches
with buckets. In some cases after the gun had fired it sank back about
eighteen inches in the mud, and had to be dug out and set again. These
poor devils had been doing this for nearly four months, every man of
them was a hero.
While taking these scenes, my compressed air cylinders ran out. Looking
round for somewhere solid on which to put my machine and foot-pump, I
found some bricks, and made a little foundation. Then I started to pump
up. At every six strokes of the pump, it was necessary to pack under it
more bricks, and still more, for the ground was a veritable morass. In
the ordinary way my camera takes ten minutes to refill. On this occasion
it took me forty-five minutes, and all the time guns were thundering
out.
Making my way in a semi-circle, under cover of the communication
trenches, to the most advanced outpost, I filmed a party of Belgian
snipers hard at work, cheerfully sniping off any German unwise enough to
show the smallest portion of his head. Several times while I was
watching, I noticed one of the men mark upon his rifle with the stub of
a pencil. I asked why he did it.
"That, monsieur," he replied, "is a mark for every Bosche I shoot. See,"
he said, holding the butt-end for me to look at, and I noticed
twenty-eight crosses marked upon it. Snatching it up to his shoulder he
fired again, and joyfully he added another cross.
By this time it was getting dark, and quite impossible to take any more
scenes, so I returned to the battery, where the officer kindly invited
me to stay the night. Getting some dry straw from a waterproof bag, we
spread it out on the boards of the trench-hut, rolled our blankets round
our shoulders, and lighted our cigarettes. Then they asked me about
England. They told me that as long as Belgium existed they would never
forget what England had done for her people. While talking our candle
went out, and as we had no other we sat in the darkness, huddled
together to keep warm. Heavy rain again came on, penetrating through the
earth roof and soaking into my blanket.
I must have dozed off, for after a little while I awoke with a start
and, looking towards the entrance, I noticed a blue-white glare of
light. As my companions were getting out, I followed them, in time to
see the Germans sending up star-shells, to guard against any attack on
our part.
The following day I filmed several scenes connected with the Belgian
artillery and outposts. I waited during the remainder of the day to
catch, if possible, some scenes of German shells exploding, but again I
was doomed to disappointment, for, with the exception of a few at a
distance, I was never able to get the close ones in my field of view.
Having exhausted my stock of film, I decided to return to my base, but
on bidding adieu to the Commandant he begged me to return under cover of
darkness. That night I set out for Furnes, and after walking about an
hour, I was lucky enough to get a lift in an ambulance waggon, which set
me down in the market-place.
Entering the café by a side door, my Belgian friend seemed to me to be
astounded at my appearance. He immediately rushed up to me, shook my
hands and pummelled my back. His friends did the same. After I had got
over my astonishment, I ventured to ask the reason for this jubilation.
"We thought you were dead," he cried; "we heard you had been shot by the
Germans, and as you had not turned up for the last five days, we came to
the conclusion that it was true. But, monsieur, we cannot tell you how
pleased we are to see you again alive and well."
Seeing the condition I was in, they heated water for a bath, and
assisted me in every way possible. When I was once more comfortable, I
asked my friend, over a cup of coffee, to tell me the exact report, as
it highly amused me.
"Well, monsieur," he said, "your motor cyclist came rushing in the other
evening, saying that Monsieur Malins, the Englishman, had been shot
while crossing ground between the two batteries. He told us that you had
been seen attempting the crossing; that you suddenly threw up your
arms, and pitched forward dead. And, monsieur, we were preparing to send
your bag to London, with a letter explaining the sad news. The Colonel
was going to write the letter."
"Well," I replied with a laugh, "I am worth a good many dead men yet. I
remember crossing the ground you mention--but, anyway, the 'eye-witness'
who saw my death was certainly 'seeing things.'"
CHAPTER VI
AMONG THE SNOWS OF THE VOSGES
I Start for the Vosges--Am Arrested on the Swiss
Frontier--And Released--But Arrested Again--And then Allowed
to Go My Way--Filming in the Firing Zone--A Wonderful French
Charge Over the Snow-clad Hills--I Take Big Risks--And Get a
Magnificent Picture.
The man who wants to film a fight, unlike the man who wants to describe
it, must be really on the spot. A comfortable corner in the Hôtel des
Quoi, at Boulogne, is no use to the camera man.
"Is it possible to film actual events with the French troops in the
Vosges and Alsace?" I was asked when I got back after my last adventure.
"If the public wants those films," I replied, "the public must have
them." And without any previous knowledge of the district, or its
natural difficulties, apart from the normal military troubles to which
by that time I was hardened, I set out for Paris, determined to plan my
route according to what I learned there. And for the rest I knew it
would be luck that would determine the result, because other camera men
had attempted to cover the same district, men who knew everything there
was to be known in the way of getting on the spot, and all had been
turned back with trifling success.
[Illustration: HOW I CARRIED MY FILM IN THE EARLY DAYS OF THE WAR IN
BELGIUM AND THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS]
For various reasons, among them the claims of picturesqueness, St. Dié
struck me as the best field, and to get there it is necessary to make a
detour into Switzerland. From Geneva, where I arranged for transport of
my films in case of urgent need, much as an Arctic explorer would
leave supplies of food behind him on his way to the Pole, I arranged in
certain places that if I was not heard from at certain dates and certain
times, enquiries were to be made, diplomatically, for me.
From Basle I went to the Swiss frontier, and had a splendid view of the
Alsace country, which was in German possession. German and Swiss guards
stood on either side of the boundary, and they made such a picturesque
scene that I filmed them, which was nearly disastrous. A gendarme
pounced on me at once, took me to general headquarters and then back to
Perrontruy, where I was escorted through the streets by an armed guard.
At the military barracks I was thoroughly examined by the chief of the
staff, who drew my attention to a military notice, prohibiting any
photographing of Swiss soldiery. He decided that my offence was so rank
that it must go before another tribunal, and off I was marched to
Delemont, where a sort of court-martial was held on me. My film, of
course, was confiscated; that was the least I could expect, but they
also extracted a promise in writing that I would not take any more
photographs in Switzerland, and they gave me a few hours to leave the
country, by way of Berne.
That didn't suit me at all. Berne was too far away from my intended
destination, and, after a hurried study of the map, I decided to chance
it, and go to Biel. I did. So did the man told off to watch me. And when
I left the train at Biel he arrested me. I am afraid I sang "Rule
Britannia" very loudly to those good gentlemen before whom he took me,
claiming the right of a British citizen to do as he liked, within
reason, in a neutral country.
In the result they told me to get out of the country any way I liked, if
only I would get out, and, as my opinion was much the same, we parted
good friends.
I had lost a week, and many feet of good film, which showed me that the
difficulties I should have to face in my chosen field of operations were
by far the greatest I had up to then encountered in any of my trips to
the firing line. I pushed on through Besançon on the way to Belfort.
Now Belfort, being a fortified town, was an obviously impossible place
for me to get into, because I shouldn't get out again in a hurry. So I
took a slow train, descended at a small station on the outskirts,
prepared to make my way across country to Remiremont. This I achieved,
very slowly, and with many difficulties, by means of peasants' carts and
an occasional ride on horseback.
This brought me into the firing zone, and the region of snow. My danger
was increased, and my mode of progress more difficult, because for the
first time in my life I had to take to skis. So many people have told
the story of their first attempts with these that I will content myself
with saying that, after many tumbles, I became roughly accustomed to
them, and that when sledge transport was not available, I was able to
make my way on ski. I don't suppose anyone else has ever learned to ski
under such queer conditions, with the roar of big guns rumbling round
all the time, with my whole expedition trembling every moment in the
balance.
The end of my journey to St. Dié was the most dramatic part of the whole
business. Tired out, I saw a café on the outskirts of the village, which
I thought would serve me as a reconnoitring post, so I went in and
ordered some coffee. I had not been there five minutes when some
officers walked in, and drew themselves up sharply when they saw a
stranger there, in a mud-stained costume that might have been a British
army uniform. I decided to take the bold course. I rose, saluted them,
and in my Anglo-French wished them good evening. They returned my
greeting and sat down, conversing in an undertone, with an occasional
side-flung glance at me. I saw that my attack would have to be pushed
home, especially as I caught the word "_espion_," or my fevered
imagination made me think I did.
I rose and crossed to their table, all smiles, and in my best French
heartily agreed with them that one has to be very careful in war time
about spies. In fact, I added, I had no doubt they took me for one.
This counter-attack--and possibly the very noticeable Britishness of my
accent--rather confused them. Happily one of them spoke a little
English, and, with that and my little French, satisfactory explanations
were made.
I affected no secrecy about my object, and asked them frankly if it
would be possible for pictures of their regiment to be taken. One of
them promised to speak to the Commandant about it. I begged them not to
trouble about it, however, as really all I wanted was a hint as to when
and where an engagement was probable, and then I would manage to be
there.
They shrugged their shoulders in a most grimly expressive way.
"If you do that it will be at your own risk," they said.
I gladly accepted the risk, and they then told me of one or two vantage
points in the district from which I might manage to see something of the
operations, taking my chance, of course, of anything happening near
enough to be photographed, as they could not, and quite rightly would
not, say anything as to the plans for the future.
It was not quite midday. I had at least four hours of daylight, and I
determined not to lose them. It was obvious that my stay in St. Dié
would be very brief at the best. I hired a sledge and persuaded the
driver to take me part of the way at least to the nearest point which
the officers had mentioned.
But neither he nor his horse liked the way the shells were coming
around, and at last even his avarice refused to be stimulated further at
the expense of his courage. So I strapped on my skis, thankful for my
earlier experience with them, and sped towards a wood which French
soldiers were clearing of German snipers. I managed to get one or two
good incidents there, though occasional uncertainty about my skis
spoiled other fine scenes, and in my haste to move from one spot to
another, I once went head over heels into a snowdrift many feet deep.
The ludicrous spectacle that I must have cut only occurred to me
afterwards, and the utterly inappropriate nature of such an incident
within sight of men who were battling in life and death grip was a
reflection for calmer moments. I do not mind confessing that my sole
thought during the whole of that afternoon was my camera and my films.
The lust of battle was in me too. I had overcome great difficulties to
obtain not merely kinema-pictures, but actual vivid records of the Great
War, scenes that posterity might look upon as true representations of
the struggle their forefathers waged. Military experts may argue as to
whether this move or that was really made in a battle: the tales of
soldiers returned from the wars become, in passing from mouth to mouth,
fables of the most wondrous deeds of prowess. But the kinema film never
alters. It does not argue. It depicts.
The terrific cannonade that was proceeding told me that beyond the crest
of the hill an infantry attack was preparing. It was for me a question
of finding both a vantage point and good cover, for shells had already
whizzed screaming overhead and exploded not many yards behind me. There
were the remains of a wall ahead, and I discarded my skis in order to
crawl flat on my stomach to one of the larger remaining fragments, and
when I got behind it I found a most convenient hole, which would allow
me to work my camera without being exposed myself.
In the distance a few scouts, black against the snow, crawled crouching
up the hill.
The attack was beginning.
The snow-covered hill-side became suddenly black with moving figures
sweeping in irregular formation up towards the crest. Big gun and rifle
fire mingled like strophe and antistrophe of an anthem of death. There
was a certain massiveness about the noise that was awful. Yet there was
none of the traditional air of battle about the engagement. There was no
hand to hand fighting, for the opponents were several hundred yards
apart. It was just now and then when one saw a little distant figure
pitch forward and lie still on the snow that one realised there was real
fighting going on, and that it was not manoeuvres.
The gallant French troops swept on up the hill, and I think I was the
only man in all that district who noted the black trail of spent human
life they left behind them.
I raised myself ever so little to glance over the top of my scrap of
sheltering wall, and away across the valley, on the crest of the other
hill, I could see specks which were the Germans. They appeared to be
massing ready for a charge, but the scene was too far away for the
camera to record it with any distinctness.
I therefore swept round again to the French lines, to meet the splendid
sight of the French reserves dashing up over the hill behind me to the
support. Every man seemed animated by the one idea--to take the hill.
There was a swing, an air of irresistibility about them that was
magnificent. But even in the midst of enthusiasm my trained sense told
me that my position must have been visible to some of them, and that it
was time for me to move.
I edged my way along the broken stumps of wall to the shelter of a wood,
and there, with bullets from snipers occasionally sending twigs, leaves,
and even branches pattering down around me, with shells bursting all
round, I continued to film the general attack until the spool in the
camera ran out. To have changed spools there would have been the height
of folly, so I plunged down a side path, where in the shelter of a dell,
with thick undergrowth, I loaded up my camera again, and utterly
careless of direction, made a dash for the edge of the wood again,
emerging just in time to catch the passage of a French regiment
advancing along the edge of the wood to cut off the retreat of the
little party of Germans who had been endeavouring to hold it as an
advanced sniping-post.
Snipers seemed to be in every tree. Bullets whistled down like acorns in
the autumn breeze, but the French suddenly formed a semi-circle and
pushed right into the wood, driving the enemy from their perches in the
trees or shooting them as they scrambled down.
Through the wood I plunged, utterly ignoring every danger, both from
friend or foe, in the thrill of that wonderful "drive." Luck, however,
was with me. Neither the French nor the Germans seemed to see me, and we
all suddenly came out of the wood at the far side, and I then managed to
get a splendid picture of the end of the pursuit, when the French, wild
with excitement at their success in clearing the district of the enemy,
plunged madly down the hill in chase of the last remnants of the sniping
band.
A few seconds later I darted back into the cover of the trees.
My mission was accomplished. I had secured pictures of actual events in
the Vosges. But that was the least part of my work. I had to get the
film to London.
The excitement of the pursuit had taken me far from my starting-point,
and with the reaction that set in when I was alone in the wood, with all
its memories and its ghastly memorials of the carnage, I found it
required all my strength of nerve to push me on. I had to plough through
open spaces, two feet and more deep in snow, through undergrowth, not
knowing at what moment I might stumble across some unseen thing. Above
all, I had but the barest recollection of my direction. It seemed many
hours before I regained my stump of wall and found my skis lying just
where I had cast them off.
It was a race against time, too, for dusk was falling, and I knew that
it would be impossible to get out of St. Dié by any conveyance after
dark.
I had the luck to find a man with a sledge, who was returning to a
distant village, some way behind the war zone, and he agreed for a
substantial consideration to take me. We drove for many hours through
the night, and it was very late when at last, in a peasant's cottage, I
flung myself fully dressed on a sofa, for there was no spare bed, and
slept like a log for several hours.
It was by many odd conveyances that I made my way to Besançon, and
thence to Dijon. I had managed to clean myself up, and looked less like
an escaped convict than I had done; but I was very wary all the way to
Paris, where I communicated with headquarters, and received orders to
rush the films across to London as fast as ever I could.
Having overcome the perils of the land, I had to face those of the sea,
for the German submarines were just beginning their campaign against
merchant shipping, and cross-Channel steamers were an almost certain
mark. So the boat service was suspended for a day or two, and there was
I stranded in Dieppe with my precious films, as utterly shut off from
London as the German army.
I was held up there for three days, during which time I secured pictures
of the steamer _Dinorah_, which limped into port after being torpedoed,
of a sailing vessel which had struck a mine, and some interesting scenes
on board French torpedo boat destroyers as they returned from patrolling
the Channel.
I spent most of my time hanging around the docks, ready to rush on board
any steamer that touched at an English port. At last I heard of one that
would start at midnight. My films were all packed in tins, sealed with
rubber solution to make them absolutely watertight, and the tins were
strung together, so that in the event of the ship going down I could
have slipped them round my waist. If they went to the bottom I should go
too, but if I was saved I was determined not to reach London without
them.
As it happened, my adventures were at an end. We saw nothing of any
under-water pirates, and my trip to the fighting line ended in a prosaic
taxi-cab through London streets that seemed to know nothing of war.
PART II
CHAPTER I
HOW I CAME TO MAKE OFFICIAL WAR PICTURES
I am Appointed an Official War Office Kinematographer--And
Start for the Front Line Trenches--Filming the German Guns
in Action--With the Canadians--Picturesque Hut Settlement
Among the Poplars--"Hyde Park Corner"--Shaving by
Candlelight in Six Inches of Water--Filming in Full View of
the German Lines, 75 yards away--A Big Risk, but a Realistic
Picture.
During the early days of the war I worked more or less as a free lance
camera man, both in Belgium and in France, and it was not till the
autumn of 1915 that I was appointed an Official Kinematographer by the
War Office, and was dispatched to the Front to take films, under the
direction of Kinematograph Trade Topical Committee. When offered the
appointment, I did not take long to decide upon its acceptance. I was
ready and anxious to go, and as I had had considerable experience of the
work, both in Belgium and in the Vosges, I knew pretty well what was
expected of me. Numerous interviews with the authorities and members of
the Committee followed, and for a few days I was kept in a fever of
expectation.
Eventually arrangements were completed, and the announcement was then
made that Mr. Tong (of Jury's Imperial Pictures) and myself had been
appointed Official War Office Kinematographers. I was in the seventh
heaven of delight, and looked forward to an early departure for the
Front in my official capacity. This came soon enough, and on the eve of
our going Tong and I were entertained to dinner by the members of the
Topical Committee, and during the post-prandial talk many interesting
and complimentary things were said.
We left Charing Cross on an early morning in November, and several
members of the Committee were there to see us off, and wish us
God-speed. We reached the other side safely, after a rather choppy
crossing, and soon I was on my way to the Front--and the front line
trenches, if possible.
Passing through Bailleul, Armentières and Ploegsteert, I was able to
film some hidden batteries in action. As the whole road was in full view
of the German lines we had to go very carefully. Several shells dropped
close by me when running across the open ground. I managed at last to
get into a house, and from a top window, or rather what was once a
window, filmed the guns in action.
While doing so an artillery officer came and told me not to move too
much as the Germans had been trying to find this battery for some
considerable time, and if they saw any movement they would undoubtedly
start to shell heavily. Not wishing to draw a cloud of shells on me,
needless to say, I was very careful. Eventually I obtained the desired
view, and making my way through the communication trenches to the front
of the guns, I obtained excellent pictures of rapid firing. I had to
keep very low the whole of the time. About forty yards on my right a
small working party of our men had been seen, and they were immediately
"strafed."
During the next few days it rained the whole of the time, and there was
little opportunity for photography; but I obtained some excellent
scenes, showing the conditions under which our men were living and
fighting, and their indomitable cheerfulness.
[Illustration: THE STATE OF THE TRENCHES IN WHICH WE LIVED AND SLEPT (?)
FOR WEEKS ON END DURING THE FIRST AND SECOND WINTER OF WAR]
[Illustration: OUR DUG-OUTS IN THE FRONT LINE AT PICANTIN IN WHICH WE
LIVED, FOUGHT, AND MANY DIED DURING 1914-15, BEFORE THE DAYS OF TIN
HATS]
About this time I arranged to go to the Canadian front trenches, in
their section facing Messines. Arriving at the headquarters at Bailleul,
I met Lieutenant-Colonel ----, and we decided to go straight to the
front line. Leaving in a heavy rain, we splashed our way through one
continuous stream of mud and water. Mile after mile of it. In places the
water covered the entire road, until at times one hardly knew which was
the road and which was the ditch alongside. Several times our car got
ditched. Shell-holes dotted our path everywhere.
Apart from the rotten conditions, the journey proved most interesting;
vehicles of all kinds, from motor-buses to wheelbarrows, were rushing
backwards and forwards, taking up supplies and returning empty.
Occasionally we passed ambulance cars, with some poor fellows inside
suffering from frost-bite, or "trench-foot" as it is generally called
out here. Though their feet were swathed in bandages, and they were
obviously in great pain, they bore up like true Britons. Line after line
of men passed us. Those coming from the trenches were covered in mud
from head to foot, but they were all smiling, and they swung along with
a word and a jest as if they were marching down Piccadilly. Those going
in to take their places: were they gloomy? Not a bit of it! If anything
they were more cheerful, and quipped their mud-covered comrades on their
appearance.
We drew up at a ruined farm-house, which the Colonel told me used to be
their headquarters, until the position was given away by spies. Then the
Germans started shelling it until there was hardly a brick standing.
Luckily none of the staff were killed. Leaving the farm, we made our way
on foot to Ploegsteert Wood. A terrible amount of "strafing" was going
on here. Shells were exploding all round, and our guns were replying
with "interest." As we made our way cautiously up to the side of the
wood, with mud half way up to our knees, we scrambled, or rather
waddled, round the base of the much-contested hill, which the Germans
tried their hardest to keep, but which, thanks to the Canadians, we
wrested from them.
Under cover of canvas screens, which in many places were blown away by
shell-fire, and bending low to save our heads from the snipers' bullets,
we gained the communication trenches. Again wading knee-deep in mud and
water, we eventually reached the firing trench.
The German front line was only sixty-five yards away, and the town of
Messines could be seen in the distance.
Staying in this section of trench, I filmed several scenes of the men at
work repairing and rebuilding the sides which the night previous had
been destroyed by shell-fire and the heavy rains. Then followed scenes
of relief parties coming in, and working parties hard at it trying to
drain their dug-outs. This latter seemed to me an almost superhuman
task; but through it all, the men smiled. Bending low, I raced across an
open space, and with a jump landed in an advanced sniper's post, in a
ruined farm-house. I filmed him, carefully and coolly picking off the
Germans foolish enough to show their heads.
Then I set my camera up behind what I thought quite a safe screen, to
film a general view of our front line, but I had hardly started exposing
when, with murderous little shrieks, two bullets whizzed close by my
head--quite as near as I shall ever want them. Dropping as low as
possible, I reached up, and still turning the handle finished the scene.
Then followed several pictures of scouts and snipers making their way
across the ground, taking advantage of any slight cover they could get,
in order to take up suitable positions for their work.
By this time the light was getting rather bad, and as it was still
raining hard I made my way back. During the return journey, an officer
who accompanied me showed himself unknowingly above the parapet, and
"zipp" came a bullet, which ripped one of the stars off his coat.
"Jove!" said he, with the greatest of _sang-froid_, "that's a near
thing; but it's spoilt my shoulder-strap": and with a laugh we went on
our way.
Again we had to cross the open ground to the covered way. Accordingly we
spread out about fifty yards apart, and proceeded. Careful as we were,
the Germans spotted us, and from thence onwards to the top of the hill
shrapnel shells burst all round us and overhead. Several pieces fell
almost at my feet, but by a miracle I escaped unscathed.
For some minutes I had to lie crouching in a ditch, sitting in water. It
was a veritable inferno of fire. I cautiously worked my way along. Where
the rest of the party had gone I did not know. I hugged my camera to my
chest and staggered blindly on. In about half an hour I gained the cover
of some bushes, and for the first time had a chance to look about me.
The firing had momentarily ceased, and from various ditches I saw the
heads of the other officers pop out. The sight was too funny for words.
With a hearty laugh they jumped up and hurried away. My chauffeur, who
incidentally used to carry my tripod, was the most sorry spectacle for
he was absolutely covered from head to foot with clay, and my tripod was
quite unrecognisable. Hurrying over the top of the hill we gained our
cars, and rapidly beat a retreat for headquarters.
The following day I went to film the ruins of Richebourg St. Vaaste.
What an awful spectacle! A repetition 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 wishing for a shell 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 shells.
Hearing that the Canadian guns were going to bombard Petite 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 passing 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 shell-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. Passing 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.
[Illustration: 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' shells, 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 château, 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 château. 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
hit by shrapnel, or picked off by a sniper, no time would be lost in
rendering assistance.
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 shells, 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 space 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 shelling 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 Petite 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 passed 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 shells 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 shells 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 shell, 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 shells came in rapid succession, dropping right
in the middle of the Petite Douve. As they fell clouds of bricks and
other débris were thrown in the air; the din was terrific. Nothing in
the world could possibly have lived there. After about thirty shells 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 shells dropped into the buildings and tore
them wall from wall. Word was then passed to me that this was the
finishing 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 shining brightly, and at intervals there flashed across the
sky the not-far-distant glare of star-shells. In the houses, lining both
sides of the road, there was music, from the humble mouth-organ to the
piano, and lusty British voices were singing old English tunes with the
enthusiasm of boyhood.
On the pavement clusters 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.
[Illustration: THE PRINCE OF WALES TRYING TO LOCATE MY "CAMOUFLAGED
CAMERA"]
[Illustration: 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. Rushing 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 shells fired
on them by the Germans.
"Peace on earth, good will to men," came the strains of music from the
little church. Crash! went the guns again and again, throwing their
shrieking mass 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 shelling, the
flash of guns, and the distant glare from the star-shells, 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
I GET INTO A WARM CORNER
Boxing Day--But No Pantomime--Life in the Trenches--A Sniper
at Work--Sinking a Mine Shaft--The Cheery Influence of an
Irish Padre--A Cemetery Behind the Lines--Pathetic
Inscriptions and Mementoes on Dead Heroes' Graves--I Get
Into a Pretty Warm Corner--And Have Some Difficulty in
Getting Out Again--But All's Well that Ends Well.
Boxing Day! But nothing out of the ordinary happened. I filmed the Royal
Welsh Fusiliers en route for the trenches. As usual, the weather was
impossible, and the troops came up in motor-buses. At the sound of a
whistle, they formed up in line and stopped, and the men scrambled out
and stood to attention by the roadside. They were going to the front
line. They gave me a parting cheer, and a smile that they knew would be
seen by the people in England--perchance by their own parents.
I went along the famous La Bassée Road--the most fiercely contested
stretch in that part of the country. It was literally lined with
shell-destroyed houses, large and small; châteaux and hovels. All had
been levelled to the ground by the Huns. I filmed various scenes of the
Coldstreams, the Irish and the Grenadier Guards. At the furthermost
point of the road to which cars are allowed shells started to fall
rather heavily, so, not wishing to argue the point with them, I took
cover. When the "strafing" ceased I filmed other interesting scenes, and
then returned to my headquarters.
The next day was very interesting, and rather exciting. I was to go to
the front trenches and get some scenes of the men at work under actual
conditions. Proceeding by the Road, I reached the Croix Rouge crossing,
which was heavily "strafed" the previous day. Hiding the car under cover
of a partly demolished house, and strapping the camera on my back, my
orderly carrying the tripod, I started out to walk the remaining
distance. I had not gone far when a sentry advised me not to proceed
further on the road, but to take to the trench lining it, as the
thoroughfare from this point was in full view of the German artillery
observers. Not wishing to be shelled unnecessarily, I did as he
suggested. "And don't forget to keep your head down, sir," was his last
remark. So bending nearly double, I proceeded. As a further precaution,
I kept my man behind me at a distance of about twenty yards. Several
times high explosives and shrapnel came unpleasantly near.
Presently I came upon a wooden tramway running at right angles to the
road. My instructions were to proceed along it until I came to "Signpost
Lane." Why it was so dubbed I was unable to discover, but one thing I
was certainly not kept in ignorance of for long, and that was that it
was perpetually under heavy shell-fire by the Germans. They were
evidently under the impression that it was the route taken by our relief
parties going to the trenches at appointed times during the day, and so
they fairly raked it with shell-fire.
Unfortunately I happened to arrive on one of these occasions, and I knew
it. Shells dropped all round us. Hardly a square yard of ground seemed
untouched. Under such conditions it was no good standing. I looked round
for cover, but there was none. The best thing to do under the
circumstances was to go straight on, trust to Providence, and make for
the communication trenches with all speed. I doubled like a hare over
the intervening ground, and I was glad when I reached the trenches, for
once there, unless a shell bursts directly overhead, or falls on top of
you, the chances of getting hit are very small.
I was now in the sniping zone, and could continually hear the crack of a
Hun rifle, and the resulting thud of a bullet striking the mud or the
sandbags, first one side then the other. The communication trenches
seemed interminable, and, as we neared the front line, the mud got
deeper and parts of the trench were quite water-logged.
Plod, plod, plod; section after section, traverse after traverse.
Suddenly I came upon a party of sappers mending the parapet top with
newly filled sandbags. At that particular section a shell had dropped
fairly near and destroyed it, and anyone walking past that gap stood a
very good chance of having the top of his head taken off. These men were
filling up the breach. "Keep your head well down, sir," shouted one, as
I came along. "They" (meaning the Germans) "have got this place marked."
Down went my head, and I passed the gap safely.
We were now well up in the firing trench. Fixing the camera, and the
rest of the apparatus, I began taking scenes of actual life and
conditions in the trenches--that mysterious land about which millions
have read but have never had the opportunity of seeing. No mere verbal
description would suffice to describe them. Every minute the murderous
crack of rifles and the whir of machine-guns rang out. Death hovered all
round. In front the German rifles, above the bursting shrapnel, each
shell scattering its four hundred odd leaden bullets far and wide,
killing or wounding any unfortunate man who happened to be in the way.
The trenches looked as if a giant cataclysm of Nature had taken place.
The whole earth had been upheaved, and in each of the mud-hills men had
burrowed innumerable paths, seven feet deep. It was hard to distinguish
men from mud. The former were literally caked from head to foot with the
latter. I filmed the men at work. There were several snipers calmly
smoking their cigarettes and taking careful aim at the enemy.
Crack--crack--crack--simultaneously.
"Sure, sir," remarked one burly Irish Guardsman, "and he'll never bob
his ---- head up any more. It's him I've been afther this several
hours!" And as coolly as if he had been at a rifle range at home, the
man discharged the empty cartridge-case and stood with his rifle,
motionless as a rock, his eyes like those of an eagle.
All this time it was raining hard. I worked my way along the
never-ending traverses. Coming upon a mount of sandbags, I enquired of
an officer present the nature and cause of its formation. He bade me
follow him. At one corner a narrow, downward path came into view.
Trudging after him, I entered this strange shelter. Inside it was quite
dark, but in a few seconds, when my eyes had got used to the conditions,
I observed a hole in the centre of the floor about five feet square.
Peering over the edge, I saw that the shaft was about _twenty-five feet
deep_, and that there was a light at the bottom. It then dawned upon me
what it really was. It was a mine-shaft. At the bottom, men worked at
their deadly occupation, burrowing at right angles under our own
trenches (under "No Man's Land") and under the German lines. They laid
their mines, and at the appointed time exploded them, thus causing a
great amount of damage to the enemy's parapets and trenches, and killing
large numbers of the occupants.
Retracing my steps, I fixed the camera up and filmed the men entering
the mines and others bringing up the excavated earth in sandbags and
placing them on the outside of the barricade. Then I paused to film the
men at work upon a trench road. Thinking I could obtain a better view
from a point in the distance, I started off for it, bent nearly double,
when a warning shout from an officer bade me be careful. I reached the
point. Although about fifty yards behind the firing trench, I was under
the impression that I was still sheltered by the parapet. Evidently I
had raised my head too high while fixing up the tripod, for with a
murderous whistle two bullets "zipped" by overhead. I must be more
careful if I wanted to get away with a whole skin; so bending low, I
filmed the scene, and then returned.
While proceeding along the line, I filmed the regimental padre of the
Irish Guards wading through the mud and exchanging a cheery word with
every man he passed. What a figure he was! Tall and upright, with a long
dark beard, and a voice that seemed kind and cheery enough to influence
even the dead. He inspired confidence wherever he went. He stayed awhile
to talk to several men who were sitting in their dug-outs pumping the
water out before they could enter. His words seemed to make the men work
with redoubled vigour. Then he passed on.
Along this section, at the back of the dug-outs, were innumerable white
crosses, leaning at all angles, in the mud. They were the last
resting-place of our dead heroes. On each cross a comrade had written a
short inscription, and some of these, though simple, and at times badly
spelt, revealed a pathos and a feeling that almost brought tears to the
eyes. For all its slime and mud it was the most beautiful cemetery I
have ever seen. On some of the graves were a few wildflowers. No
wreaths; no marble headstones; no elaborate ornamentation; but in their
place a battered cap, a rusty rifle or a mud-covered haversack, the
treasured belongings of the dead.
I had barely finished filming this scene when with a shriek several
shells came hurtling overhead from the German guns and burst about a
hundred yards behind our firing line. Quickly adjusting the camera, I
covered the section with my lens. In a few seconds more shells came
over, and turning the handle I filmed them as they burst, throwing up
enormous quantities of earth. The Huns were evidently firing at
something. What that something was I soon found out. An enemy observer
had seen a small working party crossing an open space. The guns
immediately opened fire. Whether they inflicted any casualties I do not
know, but a few minutes later the same party of men passed me as though
nothing had happened.
The rain was still falling, and the mist getting heavy, so I decided to
make my way back to headquarters. Packing up, and bidding adieu to the
officers, I started on the return journey through the communication
trenches. One officer told me to go back the same way, via "Signpost
Lane." "You will manage to get through before their evening 'strafing,'"
he called out. After wearily trudging through nearly a mile of trenches,
I came out at "Signpost Lane," and I am never likely to forget it.
We had left the shelter of the trench, and were hurrying, nearly
doubled, across a field, when a German observer spotted us. The next
minute "whizz-bangs" started falling around us like rain. No matter
which way I turned, the tarnation things seemed to follow and burst with
a deafening crash. At last, I reached the crossing, and was making my
way down the trench lining the road, when a shell dropped and exploded
not thirty feet ahead. But on I went, for a miss is as good as a mile.
About a hundred yards further on was the battered shell of a farm-house.
When almost up to it a couple of shells dropped fairly in the middle of
it and showered the bricks all round. A fairly warm spot!
I had just reached the corner of the building when I heard the shriek of
a shell coming nearer. I guessed it was pretty close, and without a
moment's hesitation dropped in the mud and water of a small ditch, and
not a moment too soon for with a dull thud the shell struck and burst
hardly seven feet from me. Had I not fallen down these lines would never
have been written. Picking myself up, I hurried on. Still the shells
continued to drop, but fortunately at a greater distance. When I reached
Croix Rouge, I was literally encased in mud. Our progress along the road
had been anxiously watched by the sentries and by my chauffeur.
"Well, sir," said the latter, with a sigh of relief, "I certainly
thought they had you that time."
CHAPTER IV
THE BATTLEFIELD OF NEUVE CHAPELLE
A Visit to the Old German Trenches--Reveals a Scene of
Horror that Defies Description--Dodging the Shells--I Lose
the Handle of My Camera--And then Lose My Man--The Effect of
Shell-fire on a Novice--In the Village of Neuve Chapelle--A
Scene of Devastation--The Figure of the Lonely Christ.
It occurred to me that an interesting film might be made out of scenes
of the battlefield of Neuve Chapelle. The very thought of it conjured up
a reeking, whirling mass of humanity, fighting with all the most
devilish, death-dealing weapons that had ever been conceived by the mind
of man. I decided to do a picture of the scene, and took with me an
orderly who had never been under fire before.
We proceeded along the La Bassée Road, and at the Croix Rouge proceeded
on foot towards Neuve Chapelle. As usual, Bosche shelling was so
consistent in its intensity that we thought it advisable to spread out a
bit in case a shell burst near us. My guide was Major ----, who
commanded one of the regiments holding the ground on the other side of
Neuve Chapelle.
Eventually I reached the assembly trenches, where our men concentrated
for the great attack. In shape they were just ordinary trenches,
branches off a main gallery, but they were in an awful state of decay,
and literally torn to shreds by shell-fire. What tales these old
sandbags might tell if only they could speak, tales of our brave boys
and our Indian troops that would live for ever in the history of
mankind. Standing upon one of the parapets, I looked round, and
marvelled that it was possible in so small a section of ground so many
men were hidden there. Quickly formulating my programme, I decided to
begin at the assembly trenches, and follow in imagination the path of
the troops during the battle, ending up in the ruins of Neuve Chapelle
village itself, which I could see in the distance.
"Be careful," came the warning voice of a major, "the whole of the
ground here is in view of the Bosche artillery observers. If they see
anyone moving about they'll start 'strafing' like anything, and I assure
you they do it very conscientiously."
I therefore kept as low as possible.
Fixing up the camera, I started to film the scenes from the assembly
trenches to the old first line trench, and then into the stretch of
ground known as "No Man's Land." Finishing this particular picture, we
went along to the old German trenches, and during the whole time we bent
nearly double, to keep under the line of the old parapets. In the old
German trenches the frightful effect of modern shell-fire was only too
apparent. The whole line, as far as one could see, was absolutely
smashed to atoms. Only the bases of the parapets were left, and in the
bottom of the trenches was an accumulation of water and filth. It was a
disgusting sight. The whole place was littered with old German
equipment, and whilst wading and splashing along through the water I saw
such things, and such stenches assailed my nostrils, as I shall not
easily forget. Dotted all over the place, half in and half out of the
mud and water, were dead bodies.
But why recount the horrors of the scene? Imagine the sights and the
smell. How I got through that section of trench Heaven only knows. It
was simply ghastly.
To escape from the scene I hurried to the end of the trench and again
crossed "No Man's Land." The sight here was not so bad as in the
trenches. To obtain a good view of the spot I got up very gingerly on
top of the parapet, fixed the machine, and filmed the scene. But this
enterprise nearly put an end to my adventure, _and also to the other
members of the party_. I had finished taking, and had got my camera down
on the stand, in the bottom of the trench, and was on the point of
unscrewing it, when two shells came hurtling overhead and exploded about
forty feet away. The Major ran up to me and shouted that I had been
seen, and told me to take cover at once. He and the others, suiting the
action to the word, dived below the parapets. Snatching the camera off
its stand, I followed, and paddled as close as possible to the mud. The
shells began falling in quick succession. Nearer and nearer they came.
Some just cleared the parapet top; some burst in front, some immediately
behind.
"They have got our line; let's shift along further," some one said.
From one point of the trench to the other we dodged. The shells seemed
to follow us wherever we went. Crash! One struck the crumbling parapet
on the very spot where, a few seconds before, I had been sheltering. In
the rush for cover I had lost the handle of the camera, and as it was
the only one I had there, I began to work my way back to find it.
"Don't be a fool," called the Major. "If you show yourself they'll have
you, as sure as eggs are eggs." But my anxiety to obtain pictures of the
bursting shells was too much for me. I set to to make a handle of wood.
Looking round, I spotted an old tree-trunk, behind which I could take
cover. Doubling towards it, I crouched down, and finding a piece of wood
and an old nail I fashioned a handle of a sort.
At this moment a funny incident occurred. I had momentarily forgotten
the existence of the other members of the party. I was hoping against
hope that they had escaped injury. What had happened to them? Where were
they? It almost seemed as if my thoughts were communicated by telepathy
to one of them, for just above the parapet in front of me rose the head
of Captain ----.
"I say, Malins," he said, "did you find your handle?"
The words were barely out of his mouth when a shell shot by. Captain
----'s head went down like a jack-in-the-box. The sight was too funny
for words. If he hadn't ducked the shell would have taken his head off,
for it struck the ground and exploded, as we found out afterwards, only
ten feet away.
For three-quarters of an hour this "strafing" continued, then giving
Bosche ten minutes to settle down we came out of our holes and corners.
What sights we were!
Collecting my apparatus, I again crossed "No Man's Land," and carefully
made my way into the village of Neuve Chapelle itself. To describe it
would only be to repeat what I said of the devastated city of Ypres.
There was nothing whole standing. The place was smashed and ground down
out of all recognition. And yet, from its solitary high position upon
the cross, the figure of Christ looked down upon the scene. It was
absolutely untouched. It stood there--this sacred emblem of our
Faith--grim and gaunt against the sky. A lonely sentinel. The scene was
a sermon in itself, and mere words fail to describe the deep impression
it made upon me.
CHAPTER V
FILMING THE PRINCE OF WALES
How I Made a "Hide-up"--And Secured a Fine Picture of the
Prince Inspecting some Gun-pits--His Anxiety to Avoid the
Camera--And His Subsequent Remarks--How a German Block-house
was Blown to Smithereens--And the Way I Managed to Film it
Under Fire.
To-day has certainly been most interesting, and not without excitement.
I was to film the bombardment of a concrete German block-house from the
Guards' trenches at ----. Previous to starting out from ---- news came
through from headquarters that the Prince of Wales was going to inspect
some guns with Lord Cavan.
The staff officer who told me this knew the trouble I had previously
experienced in trying to obtain good films of the Prince, and warned me
to be very careful. I enquired the time of his arrival at the gun-pits.
So far as I could ascertain, it was to be at 11.30 a.m. I therefore
decided to be there half an hour earlier, and make a "hide-up" for
myself and camera. I was determined to succeed this time. Proceeding by
way of ----, which place has suffered considerable bombardment, the
church and surrounding buildings having been utterly destroyed, I stayed
awhile to film the interior and exterior of the church, and so add
another to the iniquitous record of the Bosche for destroying everything
held sacred.
[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE "MENIN GATE" WITH AN ARTILLERY OFFICER,
TO FILM OUR GUNS IN ACTION]
A short distance outside the town I came upon the gun positions, and
crossing a field--or rather shall I say a mud-pond, for the mud very
nearly reached my knees--I selected a point of vantage at one side of
a hedge which ran at right angles to the gun-pits. There was only one
path fit to traverse, and getting hold of an officer, I asked him if we
could so arrange it that the Prince started from the further end of the
path and came towards camera. He said he would try. Fixing up the
camera, I got in front of the hedge facing the path, and completely hid
all signs of the machine with bracken and branches of trees. Pushing the
lens well through the hedge, I ripped open an old sandbag, cut a hole in
it and hung it on the hedge, with my lens pointing through. By such
means it was quite impossible for anyone in front to see either myself
or the camera, and having completed my preparations, I settled down to
patiently await the arrival of the Prince.
In about half an hour he came along with Lord Cavan, a general, and
other officers of the staff. True to his promise, Captain ---- got the
Prince to follow the path I had indicated. When he arrived at the
further end of the row of guns, I started filming. He came direct
towards the camera, but when within fifteen feet of it the noise of
handle turning attracted his attention. He stood fully fifteen seconds
gazing in my direction, evidently wondering what it was on the other
side of the hedge. Then he passed out of range. I hurried across the
field with my aeroscope (an automatic camera), and stood at the end of
the path waiting for him to pass.
In a few moments he came along, and I started filming. The smiles of the
staff officers were pleasing to behold. One of them remarked to the
Prince that it was quite impossible to escape this time. As he passed
inside the farm-house, I heard him remark: "That was the man I tried to
dodge on Christmas Day. How did he know I was coming here? Who told
him?" The enquiry was followed by some good-natured laughter, and
feeling satisfied with my work, I hurried away.
I had now to proceed to the front line trenches, taking the car, as far
as possible, along the road. I had hidden it under cover of some ruined
buildings, and taking the camera, and bidding my chauffeur bring the
tripod, I started out. A captain conducted me. We quickly got to the
communication trenches. As usual, a good deal of "strafing" was going
on, and the German snipers were very busy. When we reached the first
line firing trenches, I peered over the parapet through a periscope, but
found I was too far south of the block-house. So I proceeded higher up,
and about eight hundred yards further on came a traverse, which I had
chosen, and the loophole through which I was going to film the scene.
The distance to the German block-house from where I was standing was
about 150 yards.
The thickness of the parapet, I should say, was roughly four feet; and
through the parapet was a conical, square-shaped, wooden cylinder. In
front, under cover of darkness, the night previous, I had had two
sandbags placed, so that when everything was ready, and my camera fixed,
a slight push from the back with a stick would shift them clear of the
opening. Fixing up the camera, I very carefully pinned an empty sandbag
over the back of the aperture, with the object of keeping any daylight
from streaming through. I placed a long stick ready to push the sandbags
down. I intended doing that after the first shell had fallen.
This particular loophole had been severely sniped all the morning, the
Germans evidently thinking it was a new Maxim-gun emplacement. Time was
drawing near. I thought I would try with the stick whether the sandbags
would fall easily. Evidently I gave them too vigorous a push, for the
next moment they came toppling down. Knowing such a movement as that was
certain to attract the German snipers' attention, I quickly ducked my
head down and hoped our 9.2's would soon open fire. I did not relish
the idea of having a bullet through my camera.
Sure enough the Germans had seen the movement, for bullets began
battering into sandbags around the loophole. At that moment the C.O.
withdrew the whole of the men from that section of the trench, and I was
left alone. But the prospect of getting a fine film drove all other
thoughts from my mind.
A few minutes later the first shell came hurtling over and exploded
within ten yards of the block-house. I started filming. Shell after
shell I recorded as it exploded, first on one side then on the other,
until at last the eighth shell fell directly on top of the block-house,
and with a tremendous explosion the whole fabric disappeared in a cloud
of smoke and flame. Débris of every description rattled in the trench
all round me, and continued to fall for some moments, but luckily I was
not hit. Being unable to resist the temptation of looking over the
parapet, I jumped up and gazed at the remains of the building which now
consisted of nothing more than a twisted, churned-up mass of concrete
and iron rails. Our artillery had done its work, and done it well.
CHAPTER VI
MY FIRST VISIT TO YPRES AND ARRAS
Greeted on Arrival in the Ruined City of Ypres by a Furious Fusillade--I
Film the Cloth Hall and Cathedral, and Have a Narrow Escape--A Once
Beautiful Town Now Little More Than a Heap of Ruins--Arras a City of the
Dead--Its Cathedral Destroyed--But Cross and Crucifixes Unharmed.
To Ypres! This was the order for the day. The news gave me a thrill of
excitement. The thunder of the big guns grew louder as we approached the
front line, until they seemed to merge into one continuous roar.
Stopping on the road, I asked if the Germans were "strafing" to-day.
"Yes," said one of our military police, "they were shelling us pretty
heavily this morning: you will have to be very careful moving about
inside. Bosche machines are always up in the air, taking bearings for
the guns."
Arriving at the outskirts of the ruined town, we were pulled up by a
sentry, who, finding our papers in order, allowed us to proceed. At that
moment a furious fusillade of gun-fire attracted our attention, and
three shrill blasts of a whistle rang out; then we heard a cry,
"Everyone under cover!" Stopping the car, I immediately jumped out, and
stood under cover of a broken-down wall, and looking up, could see the
cause of this activity.
[Illustration: TAKING SCENES IN DEVASTATED YPRES, MAY, 1916]
High in the air, about eight to ten thousand feet, was a Bosche
aeroplane, and while I was watching it shrapnel shells from our
anti-aircraft guns were exploding round it like rain. A great number
were fired at it. The whole sky was flecked with white and black patches
of smoke, but not one hit was recorded. The machine seemed to sail
through that inferno as if nothing were happening, and at last it
disappeared in the haze over its own lines. Only then were we allowed to
proceed.
I had made a rough programme of what to film, and decided to start from
the Grand Place. In a few words, I may say that I filmed the Place from
the remains of the Cloth Hall, the Cathedral, and various districts of
the town, but to try and describe the awful condition of what was once
the most beautiful town in Belgium would be to attempt the impossible.
No pen, and no imagination, could do justice to it. The wildest dreams
of Dante could not conjure up such terrible, such awful scenes.
The immensity of the outrage gripped me perhaps more completely when I
stood upon the heap of rubble that was once the most beautiful piece of
architecture of its kind in all the world. The Cloth Hall, and the
Cathedral, looked exactly as if some mighty scythe had swept across the
ground, levelling everything in its path. The monster 15-inch German
shells had dismembered and torn open the buildings brick by brick.
Confusion and devastation reigned everywhere, no matter in what
direction you looked. It was as if the very heavens and the earth had
crashed together, crushing everything between them out of all semblance
to what it had been.
The ground was literally pock-marked with enemy shell-holes. The stench
of decaying bodies followed me everywhere. At times the horror of it all
seemed to freeze the understanding, and it was difficult to realise that
one was part and parcel of this world of ours. Literally, horror was
piled upon horror. And this was the twentieth century of which men
boasted; this was civilisation! Built by men's hands, the result of
centuries of work. Now look at them; those beautiful architectural
monuments, destroyed, in a few months, by the vilest spawn that ever
contaminated the earth. A breed that should and would be blotted out of
existence as effectively as they had blotted out the town of Ypres.
Beneath one large building lay buried a number of our gallant soldiers,
who were sheltering there, wounded. The position was given away by
spies, with the result that the Germans poured a concentrated fire of
shells upon the helpless fellows, and the shelling was so terrific that
the whole building collapsed and buried every living soul beneath the
débris.
As I stood upon the heap tears came into my eyes, and the spirits of the
brave lads seemed to call out for vengeance. And even as I stood and
pondered, the big guns rang out, the very concussion shaking bricks and
dust upon me as I stood there. While filming the scene, German shells
came hurtling and shrieking overhead, exploding just behind me and
scattering the débris of the ruins high above and whizzing in my
direction.
To obtain a good view-point, I clambered upon a mount of bricks nearly
fifty feet high, all that was left of the Cathedral Tower. From that
eminence I could look right down into the interior, and I succeeded in
taking an excellent film of it. While doing so, two German shells
exploded a short distance away. Whether it was the concussion or pieces
of shell that struck it, I do not know--probably the latter--but large
pieces of stone and granite fell at my feet, and one piece hit my
shoulder. So I quickly made my way to more healthy quarters, and even as
I left the shells overhead began to shriek with redoubled fury, as if
the very legions of hell were moaning, aghast at the terrible crime
which the fiendish Huns had perpetrated.
Arras, although not by any means as badly damaged as Ypres, is one of
the most historical and beautiful places systematically destroyed by the
Germans. The Cathedral, the wonderful Museum, the Hôtel de Ville, once
the pride of this broken city, are now no more. Arras provides yet
another blasting monument of the unspeakable methods of warfare as
practised by the descendants of Attila, the Hun. The city was as silent
as the tomb when I visited it. It was dead in every sense of the word; a
place only fit for the inhabitants of the nether world. Only when the
German shells came screaming overhead with unearthly noise, in an empty
street, was the silence broken in this city of the dead.
I visited the ruined Cathedral, and filmed various scenes of the
interior and exterior, having to climb over huge mounds of fallen
masonry to obtain my best view-points. In places all that was left
standing was the bare walls. The huge columns, with their beautiful
sculptures, no longer able to support the roof, still stood like grim
sentinels watching over their sacred charge. And yet, despite the
unholy bombardment to which the building had been subjected, three
things remained unharmed and untouched in the midst of this scene of
awful desolation. The three crucifixes, with the figures of Christ
still upon them, gazed down upon this scene of horror. And high upon
the topmost joint of the south wall stood the cross, the symbol of
Christianity--unharmed. The united endeavours of the Powers of Evil
could not dislodge that sacred emblem from its topmost pinnacle.
I left the Cathedral and walked along the grass-covered streets,
pock-marked by innumerable shell-holes, and every now and then I had to
dive into some cellar for shelter from falling shells. At the Hôtel de
Ville the same sight presented itself. The bombardment had reduced its
walls to little more than a tottering shell, which fell to pieces at the
merest touch.
[Illustration: IN YPRES, WITH "BABY" BROOKS, THE OFFICIAL STILL
PHOTOGRAPHER, MAY, 1916]
CHAPTER VII
THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI
Filming Within Forty-five Yards of the German
Trenches--Watching for "Minnies"--Officers'
Quarters--"Something" Begins to Happen--An Early Morning
Bombardment--Develops Into the Battle of St. Eloi--Which I
Film from Our First-Line Trench--And Obtain a Fine Picture.
A bombardment was to take place. A rather vague statement, and a common
enough occurrence; but not so this one.
I had a dim idea--not without foundation, as it turned out--that there
was more in this particular bombardment than appeared on the surface.
Why this thought crossed my mind I do not know. But there it was, and I
also felt that it would somehow turn out seriously for me before I had
finished.
I was to go to a certain spot to see a general--and obtain permission to
choose a good view-point for my machine. My knowledge of the topography
of this particular part of the line was none too good.
Reaching the place I met the General, who said, in a jocular way, when I
had explained my mission:
"Have you come to me to-day by chance, or have you heard something?"
This remark, "Had I heard something?" confirmed my opinion that
something _was_ going to happen. Without more ado, the General told me
the bombardment would take place on the morrow, somewhere about 5.30
a.m.
"In that case," I said, "it will be quite impossible to obtain any
photographs. Anyway," I added, "if you will permit me, sir, I will sleep
in the front line trenches to-night, and so be ready for anything that
may happen. I could choose a good spot for my machine this afternoon."
"Well," he replied, "it's a hot corner," and going to the section maps
he told me our front line was only forty-five yards away from the
Bosche. "You will, of course, take the risk, but, honestly speaking, I
don't expect to see you back again."
This was anything but cheerful, but being used to tight corners I did
not mind the risk, so long as I got some good films.
The General then gave me a letter of introduction to another general,
who, he said, would give me all the assistance he could. Armed with this
document, I started out in company of a staff officer, who was to guide
me to the Brigade headquarters. Arriving there (it was the most advanced
point to which cars were allowed to go), I obtained two orderlies, gave
one my aeroscope the other the tripod, and strapping another upon my
back, we started off on a two-mile walk over a small hill, and through
communication trenches to the section.
At a point which boasted the name of "Cooker Farm," which consisted of a
few dug-outs, well below ground level, and about five by six feet high
inside by seven feet square, I interviewed two officers, who 'phoned to
the front line, telling them of my arrival. They wished me all good luck
on my venture, and gave me an extra relay of men to get me to the front.
A considerable amount of shelling was going on overhead, but none,
fortunately, came in my immediate neighbourhood. The nearest was about
fifty yards away.
From our front line trenches the Bosche lines were only forty-five yards
away, therefore dangers were to be anticipated from German snipers. A
great many of our men had actually been shot through the loophole of
plates. I immediately reported myself to the officer in charge, who was
resting in a dug-out, built in the parapet. He was pleased to see me,
and promised me every assistance. I told him I wished to choose a point
of vantage from which I could film the attack. Placing my apparatus in
the comparative safety of the dug-out, I accompanied him outside.
Rifle-fire was continuous; shells from our 60-pounders and 4.2's were
thundering past overhead, and on either side "Minnies" (German bombs)
were falling and exploding with terrific force, smashing our parapets
and dug-outs as if they had been the thinnest of matchwood.
Fortunately for us these interesting novelties could be seen coming. Men
are always on the look-out for "Minnies," and when one has been fired
from the Bosche it rises to a height of about five hundred feet, and
then with a sudden curve descends. At that point it is almost possible
to calculate the exact whereabouts of its fall. Everyone watches it; the
space is quickly cleared, and it falls and explodes harmlessly.
Sometimes the explosion throws the earth up to a height of nearly 150
feet.
While I was deciding upon the exact point of the parapet upon which I
would place the camera, a sudden cry of "Minnie" was heard. Looking up,
I saw it was almost overhead, and with a quick rush and a dive I
disappeared into a dug-out. I had barely got my head into it before
"Minnie" fell and blew the mud in all directions, covering my back
plentifully, but fortunately doing no other damage.
Eventually I decided upon the position, and looking through my periscope
saw the German trenches stretching away on the right for a distance of
half a mile, as the ground dipped into a miniature valley. From this
point I could get an excellent film, and if the Germans returned our
fire I could revolve the camera and obtain the resulting explosions in
our lines.
The farm-house where I spent the night was about nine hundred yards
behind the firing track. All that now remained of a once prosperous
group of farm buildings were the battered walls, but with the aid of a
plentiful supply of sandbags and corrugated iron the cellars were made
comparatively comfortable.
By the time I reached there it was quite dark, but by carefully feeling
my way with the aid of a stick I stumbled down the five steps into the
cellar, and received a warm welcome from Captain ----, who introduced me
to his brother officers. They all seemed astounded at my mission, never
imagining that a moving picture man would come into the front battle
line to take pictures.
The place was about ten feet square; the roof was a lean-to, and was
supported in the centre by three tree-trunks. Four wooden frames, upon
which was stretched some wire-netting, served as bedsteads; in a corner
stood a bucket-fire, the fumes and smoke going up an improvised chimney
of petrol tins. In the centre was a rough table. One corner of it was
kept up by a couple of boxes; other boxes served as chairs.
Rough as it was, it was like heaven compared with other places at which
I have stayed. By the light of two candles, placed in biscuit tins, we
sat round, and chatted upon kinematograph and other topics until 11.30
p.m. The Colonel of another regiment then came in to arrange about the
positions of the relieving battalions which were coming in on the
following day. He also arranged for his sniping expert and men to
accompany the patrolling parties, which were going out at midnight in
"No Man's Land" to mend mines and spot German loop-holes.
A message came through by 'phone from Brigade headquarters that the time
of attack was 5.45 a.m. I could have jumped for joy; if only the sky was
clear, there would be enough light for my work. The news was received in
quite a matter-of-fact way by the others present, and after sending out
carrying parties for extra ammunition for bomb guns, they all turned in
to snatch a few hours' sleep, with the exception of the officer on duty.
At twelve o'clock I turned in. Rolling myself in a blanket and using my
trench-coat and boots as a pillow, I lay and listened to the continual
crack of rifle-fire, and the thud of bullets striking and burying
themselves in the sandbags of our shelter. Now and then I dozed, and
presently I fell asleep. I suddenly awakened with a start. What caused
it I know not; everything seemed unnaturally quiet; with the exception
of an isolated sniper, the greatest war in history might have been
thousands of miles away. I lit a cigarette, and was slowly puffing it
(time, 4.15 a.m.), when a tremendous muffled roar rent the air; the
earth seemed to quake. I expected the roof of our shelter to collapse
every minute. The shock brought my other companions tumbling out.
"Something" was happening.
The rumble had barely subsided, when it seemed as if all the guns in
France had opened rapid battery fire at the same moment. Shells poured
over our heads towards the German positions in hundreds. The shrieking
and earsplitting explosives were terrific, from the sharp bark of the
4.2 to the heavy rumble and rush of the 9-inch "How." The Germans,
surprised in their sleep, seemed absolutely demoralised. They were
blazing away in all directions, firing in the most wild and
extraordinary manner, anywhere and everywhere. Shells were crashing and
smashing their way into the remains of the outbuildings, and they were
literally exploding all round.
Captain ---- instructed his officers to see what had happened to the
ammunition party. They disappeared in the hell of shell-fire as though
it were quite an every-day incident. I opened the door, climbed the
steps, and stood outside. The sight which met my eyes was magnificent in
its grandeur. The heavens were split by shafts of lurid fire. Masses of
metal shot in all directions, leaving a trail of sparks behind them;
bits of shell shrieked past my head and buried themselves in the walls
and sandbags. One large missile fell in an open space about forty feet
on my left, and exploded with a deafening, ear-splitting crash. At the
same moment another exploded directly in front of me. Instinctively I
ducked my head. The blinding flash and frightful noise for the moment
stunned me, and I could taste the exploding gas surrounding me. I
stumbled down the steps into the cellar, and it was some minutes before
I could see clearly again. My companions were standing there, calmly
awaiting events.
The frightful din continued. It was nothing but high explosives, high
explosive shrapnel, ordinary shrapnel, trench bombs, and bullets from
German machine-guns. One incessant hail of metal. Who on earth could
live in it? What worried me most was that there was not sufficient light
to film the scene; but, thank Heaven, it was gradually getting lighter.
It was now 5 a.m. The shelling continued with increasing intensity. I
got my apparatus together, and with two men decided to make my way to
the position in the front line.
[Illustration: WITH MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA AFTER FILMING THE BATTLE OF ST.
ELOI]
Shouldering my camera I led the way, followed by the men at a distance
of twenty yards. Several times on the journey shrapnel balls and
splinters buried themselves in the mud close by. When I reached the
firing trench all our men were standing to arms, with grim faces,
awaiting their orders. I fixed up the tripod so that the top of it came
level with our parapet, and fastened the camera upon it. It topped the
parapet of our firing trench (the Germans only forty-five yards away),
and to break the alignment I placed sandbags on either side of it.
In this position I stood on my camera case, and started to film the
Battle of St. Eloi.
Our shells were dropping in all directions, smashing the German parapets
to pulp and blowing their dug-outs sky-high. The explosions looked
gorgeous against the ever-increasing light in the sky. Looking through
my view-finder, I revolved first on one section then on the other; from
a close view of 6-inch shells and "Minnies" bursting to the more distant
view of our 9.2. Then looking right down the line, I filmed the clouds
of smoke drifting from the heavy (woolly bears) or high shrapnel, then
back again. Shells--shells--shells--bursting masses of molten metal,
every explosion momentarily shaking the earth.
The Germans suddenly started throwing "Minnies" over, so revolving my
camera, I filmed them bursting over our men. The casualties were very
slight. For fully an hour I stood there filming this wonderful scene,
and throughout all the inferno, neither I nor my machine was touched. A
fragment of shrapnel touched my tripod, taking a small piece out of the
leg. That was all!
Shortly after seven o'clock the attack subsided, and as my film had all
been used up, I packed and returned to my shelter.
What a "scoop" this was. It was the first film that had actually been
taken of a British attack. What a record. The thing itself had passed.
It had gone; yet I had recorded it in my little 7- by 6-inch box, and
when this terrible devastating war was over, and men had returned once
again to their homes, business men to their offices, ploughmen to their
ploughs, they would be able to congregate in a room and view all over
again the fearful shells bursting, killing and maiming on that winter's
morning of March 27th, 1916.
CHAPTER VIII
A NIGHT ATTACK--AND A NARROW ESCAPE
A Very Lively Experience--Choosing a Position for the Camera
Under Fire--I Get a Taste of Gas--Witness a Night Attack by
the Germans--Surprise an Officer by My Appearance in the
Trenches--And Have One of the Narrowest Escapes--But
Fortunately Get Out with Nothing Worse than a Couple of
Bullets Through My Cap.
The weather was very fine when I left G.H.Q., but on reaching ----, to
interview Colonel ---- in reference to the mining section, rain fell
heavily. I arrived soon after midday, and went to the Intelligence
Department to report; the C.O. telephoned to the C. of M. for an
appointment. It was made for nine o'clock that night. Having plenty of
time at my disposal, I returned to ----, and passed a few hours with
some friends. In the evening I returned for my appointment at the hour
named. The Colonel was exceedingly interested in my project, and was
willing to do anything to help me. He gave me a letter of introduction
to the Corps Commander of the ---- Army, Brigadier-General ----; also
one to Captain ----, C.O. of the ---- Mining Section. I was to proceed
to General ---- first, and obtain the permission.
At eight o'clock the following morning I rushed off to the Company H.Q.
I met the General leaving his château. Having read my letter of
introduction, he promptly gave his consent. I was to report to Major
----, at H.Q., saying it was quite all right. Thanking the General, I
hastened to H.Q., and showing his letter and delivering his message, I
was given a note to Captain ----, asking him to give me every
assistance. Before leaving, the Major wished me success, and asked me
whether I was prepared to wait until a "blow" came off?
"Yes, sir," I replied, "for five or six days in the trenches, if
necessary."
The Colonel had made arrangements with several Companies that they were
to report immediately to ----th Company when they were going to "blow,"
in order to give me time to go immediately to the spot and film it.
Leaving the Company H.Q., I proceeded to ----, and duly presented the
Captain's letter.
"You have the Corps' permission," said the Colonel; "it will now be
necessary to obtain the Divisional C.O. permit."
This I eventually obtained. Now if by any chance a "blow" took place
opposite either of the other Companies, it would be necessary to obtain
their permission, as they were in another Division. Therefore, calling
upon a major of that Division, I secured the final permit.
Next morning I left for the front line trenches. Reaching ----, which
was smashed out of all recognition, we drew up under cover of some
ruined walls. Shells were falling and bursting among the ruins, but
these diversions were of such ordinary, everyday occurrence that hardly
any notice was taken of them. If they missed--well, they were gone. If
they hit--well, it was war!
The Miners, gathering near the "Birdcage" (a spot which derives its name
from a peculiar iron cage erection at the corner of the road), formed
up, and proceeded for about three hundred yards to the beginning of
"Quarry Ally," the ammunition trench leading to their particular part of
the front line. They filed in one by one; I filmed them meanwhile.
The journey of thirteen hundred yards to the front line was quite an
ordinary walk. It was interesting to note the different tones of the
heavy and light shells as they flew overhead, from the dull rush of a
9.2 to the shriek of the 18-pounder. I reached a Company dug-out. It was
certainly one of the best I have ever seen. Going down three steps, then
turning sharply at right angles, I disappeared through a four-foot
opening; down more steps to a depth of ten feet, then straight for three
paces. At the end was the main gallery, about twenty-five feet long,
five feet in width, and five feet six inches high. Half of it was used
for the telephone operator, and sleeping accommodation for the
orderlies, the other half was used as officers' quarters. Several
officers were busy discussing plans when I arrived. The conversation
might sound strange and callous to an ordinary listener.
"Well, what's the news? How's Brother Bosche?"
"Bosche reported quite near," was the reply. "Our shaft is practically
finished, and ready for charging. This morning you could distinctly hear
Bosche speaking. His gallery was getting nearer to ours. I told the
Sergeant to work only when Bosche was doing so."
"When are you going to 'blow' ----?"
"I am not sure of the date, but 'Dinkie' is going to 'poop' in a few
days. He's got two tons under Bosche. It will be a ---- fine show; right
under his trenches. Ought to snip a hundred or so."
"Well," said another, "I was down in C shaft, and could hear Bosche
working very hard, as if he had got all the world to himself."
At that moment a tunnelling-sergeant came in, and reported that the
Bosche was much nearer. The listener could distinctly hear talking
through the 'phone.
An officer immediately got up and went out with the sergeant, one of the
speakers meanwhile suggesting that Brother Bosche was certainly going
to visit realms of higher kultur than he had hitherto known.
Then came a close scrutinising of maps, showing shafts in the making and
mines ready for "blowing"; of sharp orders to the tunnelling-sergeants
and fatigue parties to bring charges from the magazine. The whole thing
was fascinating in the extreme. A new branch of His Majesty's Service,
and one of the most dangerous. To be on duty in a listening-post thirty
feet underground--in a narrow tunnel, scarcely daring to breathe,
listening to German miners making a counter-mine, and gradually picking
their way nearer and nearer, until at last you can hear their
conversation--would try the nerves of the strongest of men.
I went out, and made my way towards the well-known Quarries. Noting
several interesting scenes of our Scottish battalions at work, I filmed
them. A most pathetic touch was added to the scene, for a neat little
graveyard occupied the right-hand corner, and about one hundred small
crosses were there.
I was not allowed to remain very long. The Bosche sent over several
aerial torpedoes, which exploded with terrific force and split up the
ground as if a 12-inch H.E. shell had been at work. Naturally every one
rushed to obtain as much cover as possible. I crossed to the other side
of the Quarry, and entered a small tunnel, which led into a winding maze
of narrow communication trenches.
[Illustration: IN THE MAIN STREET OF CONTALMAISON THE DAY OF ITS
CAPTURE]
[Illustration: LAUNCHING A SMOKE BARRAGE AT THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI]
"Be careful, sir," called a sentry. "Bosche is only thirty yards away,
and they are plugging this corner pretty thoroughly; they're fairly
whizzing through the sandbags, as if they warn't there, sir. They caught
my Captain this morning, clean through the head. I was a-talking to him,
sir, at the time; the finest gentleman that ever lived; and the swine
killed him. I'll get six of them for him, sir." The look in his eyes and
the tone of his voice told me he was in earnest. I passed on, keeping
as low as possible.
The crater, when I reached it, proved to be one of an enormous size. It
must have been quite 150 feet across. The place had been converted into
a miniature fort. I noticed how spongy the ground was. When walking it
seemed as if one was treading upon rubber. I casually enquired of an
officer the cause of it. "Dead bodies," said he; "the ground here is
literally choked with them; we dare not touch it with a spade; the
condition is awful. There are thousands of them for yards down, and when
a shell tears away any section of our parapets the sight is too ghastly
for words."
At that moment a man yelled out "cover," and, looking up, I saw several
Bosche rifle grenades falling. Shouting to my orderly to take cover with
the camera, he disappeared into what I thought was a dug-out but which I
afterwards discovered was an incline shaft to a mine. He made a running
dive, and slid down about four yards before he pulled himself up.
Luckily he went first, the camera butting up against him. He told us
afterwards he thought he was really going to the lower regions.
I dived under a sandbag emplacement, when the grenades went off with a
splitting crash, and after allowing a few seconds for the pieces to
drop, looked out. A tragic sight met my gaze. The officer with whom I
had been speaking a few moments before had, unfortunately, been too late
in taking cover. One of the grenades had struck him on the head, and
killed him on the spot. Within a few moments some Red Cross men
reverently covered the body with a mackintosh sheet and bore it away.
One more cross would be added to the little graveyard in the Quarry.
Shortly after I met an officer of the Mining Section. He was just going
down into the gallery to listen to Bosche working a counter-mine. Did I
care to accompany him? "Don't speak above a whisper," he said.
He disappeared through a hole about three feet square. I followed,
clinging to the muddy sides like a limpet, half sliding, half crawling,
in the impenetrable darkness. We went on, seemingly for a great
distance; in reality it was only about fifteen yards. Then we came to a
level gallery, and in the distance, by the aid of a glow-lamp, I could
see my companion crouching down, with a warning finger upon his lips to
assure silence. The other side of him was a man of the tunnelling
section, who had been at his post listening. The silence was uncanny
after the din outside. In a few moments I heard a queer, muffled
tap--tap--tap, coming through the earth on the left. I crept closer to
my companion, and with my mouth close to his ear enquired whether that
was the Bosche working.
"Yes," he said, "but listen with this," giving me an instrument very
similar to a doctor's stethoscope.
I put it to my ear and rested the other end upon a ledge of mud. The
effect was like some one speaking through a telephone. I could
distinctly hear the impact of the pickaxe wielded by the Bosche upon the
clay and chalk, and the falling of the débris.
I turned to him with a smile. "Brother Bosche will shortly have a rise
in life?"
"Yes," said he, "I think we shall 'blow' first. It's going to be a race,
though."
Final orders were given to the man in charge, then we crawled up again
into the din of the crashing shells. I was more at home in these
conditions. Down below the silence was too uncanny for me. When I
reached our dug-out once more a message was waiting for me to return to
H.Q., as important things were in prospect the following morning.
The message was urgent. Mines were to be blown at an early hour. I
therefore decided that the best thing to do was to go into the trenches
and stay the night, and so be prepared for anything that might happen.
Little did I dream what the next forty-eight hours were going to bring.
It's a good thing sometimes we don't know what the future has in store
for us. The stoutest heart might fail under the conditions created by
the abnormal atmosphere of a modern battlefield.
I prepared to depart at 8 p.m., and bidding adieu to my friends, I
started off in the car. The guns were crashing out continuously. Several
times I pulled the car up to shelter under some ruins. Then for a few
minutes there was a lull, and directing my chauffeur to go ahead at top
speed we reached our destination safely. I had barely entered this scene
of desolation when Bosche shells came hurtling overhead and fell with a
deafening explosion a short distance away. Here I had my first taste of
gas from the German weeping shells. The air was suddenly saturated with
an extraordinarily sweet smell. For the first few moments I quite
enjoyed it. Then my eyes began to water freely, and pain badly.
Realising at once that I was being "gassed," I bade the driver rush
through the village, and as far beyond as possible.
His eyes, poor fellow, were in the same state. The car rolled and
pitched its way through, smashing into shell-holes, bounding over fallen
masonry, scraping by within a hair's-breadth of a recently smashed
lorry. On and on, like a drunken thing. Still the air was thick with the
foul gas. My eyes were burning; at last it was quite impossible to keep
them open. But I had to get through, and so with a final effort looked
ahead, and to my great relief found we were beyond the village, and the
air smelt cleaner. I told the driver to pull up, and with a final roll
the car landed its front wheels into a ditch.
For two hours afterwards I was to all intents and purposes blind. My
eyes were burning, aching and weeping. The pain at last subsided, and
collecting the apparatus we trudged off along the communication trench
to the front line. Threading our way through seemed much more difficult
than previously. The sides of the trenches had been blown in by shells a
few minutes before, and this necessitated climbing over innumerable
mounds of rubble; but working parties were quickly on the scene clearing
a way through. At last I reached the dug-out previously referred to, and
believe me, I was very thankful. The officer there seemed rather
surprised to see me.
"Hullo!" he said. "What news? Anything doing?"
"Yes," I replied. "H.Q. says they are 'blowing' in the early morning, so
I decided to come along to-night and fix up a good position for the
camera, not desiring to attract the too earnest attentions of a Bosche
sniper."
"Whose mine are they blowing?" said he. "I suppose I shall hear any
moment." Just then a message came through on the 'phone. He picked up
the receiver and listened intently. An earnest conversation was taking
place. I could gather from the remarks that H.Q. was speaking. In a few
minutes he replaced the receiver, and turning to me, said: "D shaft is
going to blow; time, 7.15 a.m."
Soon after I turned in. Rolling myself in a blanket, I lay down on a
trestle-bed in the corner, and in doing so disturbed a couple of rats,
almost as large as rabbits, which had taken up their temporary quarters
there. Apparently there were plenty of them, for several times I felt
the brutes drop on my blanket from holes and crannies in the chalk.
Needless to say, I could not sleep a wink, tired out as I was, and as I
lay there, twenty feet underground, I could hear the rumble and roar of
the shells crashing their way through our parapets, tearing, killing and
maiming our brave lads, who throughout all these horrors held this
section of our line like a wall of steel.
I had been lying there for about half an hour. Then I got up and climbed
out of the incline into the open trench. I worked my way towards the
firing trench; bullets from Bosche machine-guns and snipers were
flattening themselves against the parapet. Several times I had to
squeeze myself close to the muddy sides to allow stretcher-bearers to
pass with their grim burdens; some for the corner of the Quarry, some
for good old "Blighty."
I stayed for a while alongside a sentry.
"Any news?" I asked.
"No, sir," said he, "but I feel as if something is going to happen."
"Come," said I, with a laugh, "this is not the time for dreaming."
"No, sir, I'm not dreaming, but I feel something--something that I can't
explain."
"Well, cheer up," I said. "Good night."
"Good night, sir!"
And as I wended my way along I could hear him softly whistling to
himself the refrain of an old song.
At last I came upon the section opposite which our mine was going up in
the morning, and cautiously looking over the parapet I surveyed the
ground in front. There were several sandbags that required shifting. If
they remained it would be necessary to place the camera higher above the
top than was safe or wise. Carefully pulling myself up, I lay along the
top of the parapet and pushed them aside. Several star-shells were fired
whilst I was so engaged, and I dare not stir--I scarcely dared
breathe--for fear the slightest movement would draw a stream of bullets
in my direction.
Undoubtedly this was the only place from which to film the mine
successfully. So marking the spot I slid down into the trench again, and
retraced my steps to the dug-out. I found the officer I had previously
seen enjoying a lovely, steaming tin of tea, and it wasn't many minutes
before I was keeping him company. We sat chatting and smoking for a
considerable time.
"Is everything ready?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "There is over three thousand pounds of it there"
(mentioning an explosive). "Brother Bosche will enjoy it."
"Let me see your map," I said, "and I'll point out the spot where I'm
working. It's about eighty yards away from Bosche. If we work out the
exact degree by the map of the 'blow,' I can obtain the right direction
by prismatic compass, and a few minutes before 'time' lift the camera up
and cover the spot direct. It'll save exposing myself unnecessarily
above the parapet to obtain the right point of view." The point of view
was accordingly settled. It was 124° from the spot chosen for the
"blow."
We had been so busy over our maps that we had not noticed how quiet
everything had become. Hardly a gun sounded; the silence was uncanny.
Save for the scurrying of the rats and the drip--drip--drip of water,
the silence was like that of the grave.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Bosche is up to no good when he drops silent so soon," he said. The
words of the sentry recurred to me. "I've a feeling, sir, that I cannot
describe." I was beginning to feel the same.
At length my companion broke the silence.
"As Bosche seems to be going easy, and our artillery has shut up shop,
let's lie down," and with that he threw himself on the bed. I sat on the
box, which served as a table, smoking.
Half an hour went by. Things were livening up a bit. We began to hum a
tune or two from the latest revue. Suddenly we were brought to our feet
by a crashing sound that was absolutely indescribable in its intensity.
I rushed up the incline into the trench. What a sight! The whole of our
front for the distance of a mile was one frightful inferno of fire. The
concentration of artillery fire was terrific! Scores of star-shells shot
into the air at the same moment, lighting the ground up like day,
showing up the smoking, blazing mass more vividly than ever. Hundreds of
shells, large and small, were bursting over our trenches simultaneously;
our guns were replying on the German front with redoubled fury; the air
was alive with whirling masses of metal. The noise was indescribable.
The explosions seemed to petrify one.
I made my way as near the front line as possible. A number of Scots
rushed by me with a load of hand grenades. The trenches were packed with
men rushing up to the fight. I asked an officer who raced by,
breathlessly, if Bosche was getting through.
"Yes," he yelled; "they are trying to get through in part of my section.
They have smashed our communication trenches so much that I have got to
take my men round on the right flank. It's hell there!"
It was impossible to get through. The place was choked with men, many of
them badly wounded; some of them, I'm afraid, destined as tenants of the
little cemetery near by.
The awful nightmare continued. Men were coming and going. Reserves were
being rushed forward; more bombs were being sent up. The Bosche
artillery quietened down a bit, but only, as I found out immediately
afterwards, to allow their bombers to attack. I could see the flash of
hundreds of bombs, each one possibly tearing the life out of some of our
brave boys. Nothing in the world could have withstood such a
concentrated artillery fire as the Germans put upon that five hundred
yards of ground. It was torn and torn again, riven to shreds. It was
like the vomiting of a volcano, a mass of earth soddened with the blood
of the heroes who had tried to hold it.
The Germans came on, bombing their way across to what was left of our
trench. They dug themselves in. Then with a whirl and a crash, our guns
spoke again. Our boys, who had been waiting like dogs on a leash, sprang
to the attack. Briton met Bosche. The battle swayed first this way then
that. Our men drove the Germans out twice during the night, and held on
to a section commanding the flank of the original position. Towards four
o'clock the fighting ceased. Daylight was breaking. The wounded were
still being passed to the rear.
I stopped and spoke to an officer. "How have you got on?" I asked.
"We occupy the left flank trench, and command the position. But, what a
fight; it was worse than Loos." Then suddenly, "What are _you_ doing
here?"
"I am taking kinema pictures!" I said.
The look of amazement on his face was eloquent of his thoughts.
"Doing _what_?" he asked.
"I am taking kinema pictures," I repeated.
"Well I'm damned," were his exact words. "I never thought you fellows
existed. I've always thought war pictures were fakes, but--well--now I
know different," and giving me a hearty shake of the hand he went on his
way.
Time was now drawing near for my work to begin. Taking the camera to
the selected point in the front line, which, luckily, was just on the
left of the fighting area, I took my bearings by the aid of a compass.
Fixing up a tripod in such close quarters was very difficult. I
stretched an empty sandbag on a piece of wire, cut a hole in it and hung
it on the front of the camera in such a position that the lens projected
through the hole. The sandbag stretched far enough on either side to
shelter my hands, especially the right one, which operated the machine.
I was now ready. I had to risk the attentions of the snipers; it was
unavoidable. Little by little I raised the camera. It was now high
enough up, and ramming some sand against the tripod legs, I waited.
Had the Bosche seen it?
Three more minutes, then the mine. One minute went by; no shots! Another
minute went by. A bullet flew over my head. Immediately afterwards
another buried itself in the parapet, then another. Surely they would
hit it! Heavens how that last minute dragged! To be absolutely sure of
getting the mine from the very beginning, I decided to start exposing a
minute before time. It had to be done; reaching up, I started to expose.
Another and another bullet flew by.
Then the thing happened which I had been dreading. The Bosche opened a
machine-gun on me.
At that moment there was a violent convulsion of the ground, and with a
tremendous explosion the mine went up. It seemed as if the whole earth
in front of us had been lifted bodily hundreds of feet in the air.
Showers of bombs exploded, showing that it had been well under the
German position. Then with a mighty roar the earth and débris fell back
upon itself, forming a crater about 150 feet across. Would our men rush
the crater and occupy it? On that chance, I kept turning the handle.
The smoke subsided; nothing else happened.
The show was over. No, not quite; for as I hurriedly took down the
camera, I evidently put my head up a little too high. There was a crack,
and a shriek near my head, and my service cap was whisked off. The whole
thing happened like a flash of lightning. I dropped into the bottom of
the trench and picked up my cap. There, through the soft part of it,
just above the peak, were two holes where a bullet had passed through.
One inch nearer and it would have been through my head.
Can you realise what my thoughts were at that precise moment?
CHAPTER IX
FOURTEEN THOUSAND FEET ABOVE THE GERMAN LINES
The First Kinematograph Film Taken of the Western Front--And
How I Took It Whilst Travelling Through the Air at Eighty
Miles an Hour--Under Shell-fire--Over Ypres--A Thrilling
Experience--And a Narrow Escape--A Five Thousand Foot Dive
Through Space.
"I feel confident I can manage it, and that the result will be both
instructive and unique, and provided the weather is clear and I get as
small a dose of 'Bosche' as possible, there is no reason why it
shouldn't be successful."
"Of course, I am quite aware of the atmospheric difficulties. The fact
that it is so thick and misty is entirely due to the heavy body of
moisture in the ground--but if I start off early in the morning I may
just escape it."
This conversation took place in the office of a certain British
aerodrome in France between the Flight Commander and myself. We had been
going into the pros and cons of an aerial expedition over the German
lines. I was anxious to film the whole line from an aeroplane.
"Well," said he, "what about the height? I think I had better call in
the Captain," and pressing a bell an orderly quickly appeared and was
sent off to inform the Captain that his presence was required.
"I say," said the Flight Commander, "this is Malins, the War Office
Kinematographer." He then explained my mission and requirements.
"Now," he said, after all preliminaries had been discussed, "the
question is about the height. What is a tolerably safe height over
'Bosche'?"
"About 8,000 feet, I should say, though of course if we go well over his
lines it will be necessary to rise higher. There are too many
'Archibalds' about to dodge any lower."
"Well," I replied, "I'll start taking my scenes when we arrive at the
coast-line. We can then follow it along and turn off inland towards
Ypres. I should very much like to film that place from above, then
follow down the lines, passing over St. Eloi, Ploegsteert,
Armentières, Neuve Chapelle, Richebourg, Festubert, Givenchy, Loos,
Hohenzollern Redoubt, and on to Arras. I am of course entirely in your
hands. I do not want to jeopardise the trip, nor wish you to run any
unnecessary risks, you understand, but I should like to get as low as
possible, and so obtain more detail. It will be the first kinematograph
film ever taken of the Western Front."
"Well," said the Flight Commander, rising, "you have full permission.
You can have the use of a BE 2C machine, with Captain ----. Do what you
like, but take care. Don't be rash. Good luck to you. I shall be as
anxious as you to see the result."
In the Captain's company I left the office, and together we went round
to make arrangements regarding the means of fixing my camera.
The machine was the usual type of passenger-carrying aero, numbered BE
2C, a very stable and reliable machine, but according to the Captain,
not very fast. Speed in this case was not an absolute necessity, unless
a Fokker favoured us with his attentions.
[Illustration: IN THE TRENCHES AT THE FAMOUS AND DEADLY HOHENZOLLERN
REDOUBT, AFTER A GERMAN ATTACK. SHORTLY AFTER THIS WAS TAKEN I WAS SHOT
THROUGH MY SERVICE CAP BY A GERMAN SNIPER]
I went aboard to find the best means of fixing and operating my camera.
I decided to use my debrie, not the aeroscope. The latter had jambed a
day or two previous, and I had not had an opportunity of repairing
it. The observer's seat was in the front, and just above, on the main
struts, was a cross-tube of metal. On each end was an upright socket,
for the purpose of dropping into it a Lewis gun. The pilot also had the
same in front of him.
I suggested that a metal fixing, which would fit the socket, and a
tilting arrangement, so that it would be possible to raise or lower the
camera to any angle, would suit admirably, and on the other side, in
case of attack, a Lewis gun could be fitted.
"It's well to be prepared for emergencies," said the Captain. "It's
quite possible we shall be attacked."
"Well," I said, "I will have a good shot at him if he does turn up. And
who knows--I may be able to get a picture of the Hun machine falling. By
Jove, what a thrill it would provide!"
Instructions were given to the excellent mechanics employed in the
R.F.C., and within an hour or so the metal tilting-top was made and
fixed on the plane.
"You will have to wrap up well," said the Captain. "It's jolly cold up
there. It looks rather misty, and that will make it all the worse. Now
then, all aboard."
Up I scrambled, or rather wriggled, between a network of wire stays, and
taking my seat the camera was handed to me. I fastened it on one side of
the gun-mounting and fixed a Lewis gun on the other, making sure I had
spare boxes of film ready, and spare drums of ammunition. I then
fastened the broad web belt round my waist, and fixed on my goggles.
I was ready for the ascent.
My companion was in his seat, and the machine was wheeled into position
for starting. The mechanics were turning the propeller round to suck
the gas into the many cylinders, to facilitate easier starting.
"All ready," shouted the Captain. "Right away, contact, let her go." And
with a jerk the motor started.
The whirl of the huge blades developed into a deafening roar. The
machine vibrated horribly. I clung to my camera, holding it tight to the
socket. I knew that once in the air the shake would be reduced to a
minimum. Faster and faster whirled the propeller as the Captain opened
the throttle. How sweet and perfect was the hum of the giant motor. Not
the slightest sound of a misfire. Being an ardent motorist, I could tell
that the engine was in perfect tune. The Captain leaned over and shouted
to me through the roar to fasten the telephone receiver against my ear
under my leather cap.
"That," said he, pointing to a mouthpiece attached to a small rubber
tube, "is the transmitter. If you want to give me any instructions shout
into that. I shall hear you. All fit?" he asked.
I nodded my head. He took his seat, and opened the throttle. The engine
leapt into new life. The roar was deafening. The whirring blades flung
the air back into my face, cutting it as if with a whip. He dropped his
arm. The men drew away the chocks from the wheels, and amid shouts of
"Good luck!" from the officers present, the machine sprang forward like
a greyhound, bounding over the grass, until at last it rose like a
gigantic bird into the air.
The earth gradually drew away. Higher and higher we rose, and began to
circle round and round to gain height.
"We will get up to three thousand feet before we strike towards the
coast," he shouted through the telephone.
The vibration, now we were in the air, was barely perceptible, at any
rate it was not sufficient to affect the taking of my scenes. In case
any moisture collected on my lens, I had brought a soft silk pad, to
wipe it with occasionally. Higher, still higher, we rose.
"What's the height now?" I asked.
"Very nearly three thousand feet," he said. "We are now going towards
the coast. That's Dunkirk over there."
I peered ahead. The port, with its shipping, was clearly discernible.
Over the sea hung a dense mist, looking for all the world like a
snowfield. Here and there, in clear patches, the sun gleamed upon the
water, throwing back its dazzling reflections.
As soon as we reached the coast-line, I shouted: "Proceed well along
this side, so that I can obtain an oblique view. It looks much better
than directly above the object. What's our speed?"
"Sixty miles," he said. "I shall keep it up until we reach the German
lines."
He turned sharp to the right. We are now following the coast-line
towards Ostend. How beautiful the sand dunes looked from above. The
heavy billows of sea-mist gave it a somewhat mystic appearance. How cold
it was. I huddled down close into my seat, my head only above the
fuselage. Keeping my eye upon the wonderful panorama unfolding itself
out beneath me, I glanced at my camera and tested the socket. Yes, it
was quite firm.
"We are nearing the lines now," my companion shouted. "Can you see them
on your right? That's the Belgium area. Our section, as you know, begins
just before Ypres. Will this height suit you? Shall I follow the
trenches directly overhead or a little to one side?"
"Keep this side, I'll begin taking now." Kneeling up in my seat, I
directed my camera downwards and started filming our lines and the
German position stretching away in the distance.
We were nearing Ypres, that shell-battered city of Flanders. White balls
of smoke here and there were bursting among the ruins, showing that the
Huns were still shelling it. What a frightful state the earth was in.
For miles and miles around it had the appearance of a sieve, with
hundreds of thousands of shell-holes, and like a beautiful green ribbon,
winding away as far as the eye could see, was that wonderful yet
terrible strip of ground between the lines, known as "No Man's Land."
We were now running into a bank of white fleecy clouds, which enveloped
us in its folds, blotting the whole earth from view. I held my
handkerchief over the lens of the camera to keep the moisture from
settling upon it. After a time several breaks appeared in the clouds
beneath, and the earth looked wonderful. It seemed miles--many
miles--away. Rivers looked like silver streaks, and houses mere specks
upon the landscape. Here and there a puff of white smoke told of a
bursting shell. But for that occasional, somewhat unpleasant reminder, I
might have been thousands of miles away from the greatest war in
history.
Who could imagine anything more wonderful, more fantastic? I had dreamed
of such things, I had read of them; I even remembered having read, years
ago, some of the wonderful stories in _Grimm's Fairy Tales_. To my
childish mind, they seemed very wonderful indeed. There were fairies,
goblins, mysterious figures, castles which floated in the air, wonderful
lands which shifted in a night, at the touch of a magic wand or the
sound of a magic word. Things which fired my youthful imagination and
set me longing to share in their adventures. But never in my wildest
dreams did I think I should live to do the same thing, to go where I
listed; to fly like a bird, high above the clouds. It was like an
adventure in fairyland to take this weird and wonderful creation of men,
called an aeroplane, through the home of the skylark.
Boom! Boom! I was suddenly brought back to--no, not to earth, but
to--things more material.
Looking down, I could discern several balls of smoke, which I
immediately recognised as shrapnel shells, or "Archibalds," that had
been fired at us by the Germans. They were well below. I looked round at
the Captain. He was smiling through his goggles, and humorously jerked
his thumb in the direction of the bursting "Archies."
"Too high, eh?" I shouted. But I had forgotten that in the fearful hum
of the rushing air and whirling motors my voice would not carry. It was
literally cut off as it left my lips. I picked up the 'phone and shouted
through it.
"Yes, they are pretty safe where they are," he said drily. Then a few
more burst underneath us.
By this time we were well out of the cloud bank. The atmosphere was much
clearer. I knelt up again on my seat and began to expose, and continued
turning the handle while we passed over St. Eloi and Hill 60. On certain
sections I could see that a considerable "strafe" was going on. Fritz
seemed to be having a very trying time. Near Messines my film suddenly
ran out. I had to reload. This was anything but an easy operation. I
unscrewed my camera from the gun socket, and in doing so had a near
escape from doing a head-dive to earth. Like an idiot,
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