How I Filmed the War Part 37

"Our boys are there," I said.

My camera was up and turned on to the corner where the crowd stood and, at that moment, a troop of our cyclists entered, riding very slowly through the exultant people--the first British troops to enter the village. I turned the handle. The scene was inspiring. Cheer after cheer rent the air. Old men and women were crying with joy. Others were holding their babies up to kiss our boys. Children were clinging and hugging around their legs, until it was impossible for them to proceed further. The order was given by the officer in charge to halt. The men tumbled off their machines, the people surged round them. To say the men were embarra.s.sed would be to put it mildly. They were absolutely overcome. I filmed them with the crowd around. And then an order was given to take up billets. Patrols were thrown out, sentries posted, the men parked their cycles and rested.

On a large double door of a barn the Huns had gone to the trouble of painting in huge letters the hackneyed phrase "Gott strafe England," and immediately our men saw it one of them, with a piece of chalk, improved upon it.

They gathered the children round them and formed a group beneath the letters with German trophies upon their heads; I filmed them there, one of the happiest groups possible to conceive.

I left them and went to find the officer in charge, and asked him for the latest news from other sections.

"I couldn't say," he replied, "but my men were well in touch with them early this morning, but you seem to know more about it here than anyone else. When on earth did you arrive in the village?"

"Just before you," I replied. "I came from Bovincourt."

"Well, you have got some job. I certainly didn't expect to find anyone so harmless as a photographer awaiting our arrival."

The conversation was abruptly stopped by a warning shout from one of the observers on a house-top close by.

"Germans, sir."

The officer and I rushed to a gap in the buildings and looked through our gla.s.ses, and there, on a small ridge a thousand yards off, a body of hors.e.m.e.n were seen approaching, riding hard, as if their very lives depended upon it.

An order was immediately given to the machine-gun company who had taken up a most advantageous position and one that commanded most of the country near by.

I placed my camera in such a position by the side of a wall that I could see all that was taking place and if seen myself I could easily pull it under cover.

Nearer and nearer they came. They were too far away to photograph.

Excitement was intense. Were they coming into the village? If they did, I thought, in all conscience they would get a warm reception, knowing as I did the arrangements for its defence. My eyes were fixed upon them.

The officer close by was on the point of giving the order to fire when a burst of machine-gun fire rang out in the distance.

"Our cavalry have got them," said the officer. "We have some strong posts just here, Bosche has fairly run into them. Look! They have their tails up."

And they had, for they were running back for all they were worth in the direction of Bierne.

Our men were positively disappointed, and I can honestly say I was myself, for the possibilities of a wonderful scene had disappeared.

The tension relaxed; most of the men returned to their billets and quickly made themselves at home with the people.

Noticing people going into church, I went up the hill to investigate. As I entered the outer gate an officer clattered up on horseback, swung himself off and walked up to me.

"Hullo," he said, "I am the doctor. Anything doing here?"

"Well," I said, "there might have been just now."

I related the happenings of the last ten minutes.

"Have you been to Bovincourt?"

"Yes, but the poor devils are too ill for me. I haven't sufficient stuff with me to go round."

Another officer ran up, "I say, Doctor, for Heaven's sake look in the church here. The place is packed and half of them are ill, G.o.d knows what with, and one or two are dead."

"Well, I will look, but I can do nothing until this evening. I have no stuff with me."

We went into the church. Heavens! what a sight met our eyes; the atmosphere was choking. It was like a charnel-house. Crowds of old men, women, and children of all ages were crowded together with their belongings. They had been evacuated from dozens of other villages by the Huns. Women were hugging their children to them. In one corner an old woman was bathing the head of a child with an old stocking dipped in water. The child, I could see, was in a high fever. There must have been at least three hundred people lying about in all directions, wheezing and coughing, moaning and crying.

The doctor spoke to one old woman, who had hobbled forward and sank down near a pillar. The doctor bent down and told her that he would bring medicine in the evening. Everybody there seemed to hear that magic word, and scrambled forward begging for medicine for themselves, but mostly for the children. The scene was pitiable in the extreme.

I asked one women where they had come from. She told me from many villages. The Bosche had turned them all out of their homes, then burnt their houses and their belongings. They had walked miles exposed to the freezing cold rains and winds, they had been packed into this church like a lot of sheep without covering, without fires. She was begging for medicine for her three-months-old babe.

"She will die, monsieur, she will die!" And the poor woman burst into a flood of tears.

I calmed her as much as possible by telling her that everything would be done for them without delay, and that medicine, food, and comfort would be given them.

I turned and left the building, for the air was nearly choking me.

Outside I met the doctor, who was arranging to send a cyclist back for an ambulance.

"They cannot be treated here, it's impossible. I've never seen such a sight."

I left him and went into the house where the cyclist C.O. had made his temporary headquarters.

"I want to get on further, is there any other village near by?"

"Yes," he said, "there is Haucourt, but I believe Bosche is in part of it, or he was this morning. It's about two kilos from here. I shouldn't go if I were you unless you get further information; I am expecting another patrol in from there. If you care to wait a few minutes you may learn something."

I agreed to wait, the "still" man came in just then, and he agreed to come with me.

"We may as well risk it," I said. "I will take my old bus into the place. If Bosche sees it he may mistake it again for an armoured car."

So, packing the cameras aboard, I waited for the expected patrol to turn up. Half an hour pa.s.sed; no sign. Daylight was waning.

"I am going on," I said to the "still" man, "we cannot wait for the patrol, there's not time. Will you come?"

"Yes," he said.

I told the C.O. of my intention.

"It's thundering risky," he said. "You're going into new ground again."

I left Vraignes and advanced at a cautious pace in the direction of Haucourt. Rifle-fire was proceeding in the distance, which I judged was the other side of the village. A destroyed sugar refinery on the left was still smoking. It had been blown up by the Huns and the ma.s.s of machinery was flung and twisted about in all directions.

In the village I stopped the car close by a crucifix, which was still standing.

"Turn the car round," I said to my driver, "and keep the engine going, we may have to bolt for it."

Then, shouldering the camera, I made my way up the main street. The place was a ma.s.s of smoking ruins; absolutely nothing was left. A huge mine had been blown up at a cross-road; all trees and bushes had been cut down. A piano, curiously enough, was lying in the roadway; the front had been smashed, and no doubt all the wires were hacked through by some sharp instrument, and the keys had all been broken. The Huns had evidently tried to take it away with their other loot, but finding it too heavy for quick transport had abandoned, then wilfully destroyed it to prevent its being used by others.

The place was as silent as the grave. I filmed a few scenes which appealed to me, and was on the move towards the further end of the road when two of our cyclists suddenly came into view. I hurried up to them.