How I Filmed the War Part 14

I stood watching the bombardment for some time, then fixing my camera position, I returned. Divisional H.Q. told me I should be informed in ample time when the attack was to be made.

That afternoon I returned to G.H.Q., but the best laid schemes of mice and men aft gang agley. I was told that night to prepare immediately to proceed to the H.Q. of a certain Division, with instructions to attach myself to them for the next week; all particulars would be given to me in the morning.

I received my instructions next morning. I was to proceed to the Division, report myself, and I should receive all the information and a.s.sistance I required. With parting wishes for the best of luck, and "don't come back wounded," I left H.Q., and proceeded by car to the Company H.Q., where I was received with every courtesy by General ----.

He told me the best thing to do was to go to Divisional H.Q. and see the General. He had been informed of my arrival, and the final details could be arranged with him, such as the best points of vantage for fixing up my camera. Accordingly I hurried off to Divisional H.Q. and met the General. On being ushered into his room, I found him sitting at a table with a large scale map of a certain section of our line before him. He looked the very incarnation of indomitable will, this General of the incomparable ---- Division.

I quickly explained my mission, and told him I should like to go to the front trenches to choose my position.

"Certainly," he said, "that is a very wise plan, but if you will look here I will show you the spot which, in my opinion, will make an ideal place. This is the German position. This, of course, is Beaumont Hamel, which is our objective. This is as far as we are going; it will be a pivot from which the whole front south of us will radiate. We are going to give the village an intense bombardment this afternoon, at 4 o'clock; perhaps you would like to obtain that?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, "it is most necessary to my story. What guns are you using?"

"Everything, from trench mortars to 15-inch howitzers. We are going to literally raze it to the ground. It is one of the strongest German redoubts, and it's not going to be an easy job to occupy it; but we achieved the impossible at Gallipoli, and with G.o.d's help we will win here. There is a spot here in our firing trench called 'Jacob's Ladder,'" and pointing to the map, he showed it me.

"That certainly looks a most excellent point, sir," I said. "What is the distance from Bosche lines?"

"About 150 yards. They 'strafe' it considerably, from what I am told; but, of course, you will have to take your chance, the same as all my other officers."

"That is unavoidable, sir. The nature of my work does not permit me to be in very comfortable places, if I am to get the best results."

"Right," he said, "if you will report to Brigade H.Q. the Brigade Major will give you what orderlies you require, and you had better draw rations with them while you are there. He has instructions to give you every a.s.sistance."

"Oh, by the way, sir, what time does the mine go up?"

"Ten minutes to zero," he replied. "You quite understand, don't you?

Major ---- will give you zero time to-morrow night."

After lunching with the General I started off for Brigade H.Q. The weather was vile. It had been raining practically without break for several days, and was doing its best to upset everything and give us as much trouble as possible.

What an enormous number of munition waggons and lorries I pa.s.sed on the road; miles and miles of them, all making for the front line. "Ye G.o.ds!"

I thought, "Bosche is certainly going to get it."

I reached my destination about 2.30. What a "strafe" there was going on!

The concussion of what I afterwards found out was our 15-inch howitzers was terrible. The very road seemed to shake, and when I opened the door of the temporary Brigade H.Q., one gun which went off close by shook the building to such an extent that I really thought for the moment a sh.e.l.l had struck the house.

"Captain ----, I presume?" said I, addressing an officer seated at a long table making out reports and giving them over to waiting dispatch riders. The room was a hive of industry.

"Gad, sir," he said, "are you the kinema man? I am pleased to see you.

Take a seat, and tell me what you want. You are the last person I expected to see out here. But, seriously, are you really going to film 'The Day'?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Where do you propose to take it?"

"General ---- suggested 'Jacob's Ladder.'"

"What?" came a startled chorus from about half a dozen other officers.

"Take photos from 'Jacob's Ladder,'" they repeated in tones of amazement. "Good Lord! it's an absolute death-trap. Bosche strafes it every day, and it's always covered by snipers."

"Well," I said, "it certainly seems by the map to be an ideal place to get the mine going up and the advance over 'No Man's Land.'"

"Granted, but--well!--it's your shoot. Will you let us introduce the doctor? You'll need him."

"Gentlemen," I said, with mock gravity, "I a.s.sure you it would be most difficult for me to receive a more cordial welcome." This remark caused some laughter. Turning to the Captain, I said: "Will you give me an orderly? One who knows the trenches, as I wish to go there this afternoon to film the 'strafe' at 4 o'clock. I shall stay down there for the next few days, to be on the spot for 'The Day,' and ready for anything that follows."

"Certainly," he said. "Have you got a trench map? What about blankets and grub?"

"I have my blanket and some provisions, but if I can draw some bully and biscuits, I shall manage quite well."

Having secured supplies and filled my knapsack, I strapped it on my shoulder, fixed the camera-case on my back and, handing the tripod to another man, started off. I had hardly got more than two hundred yards when the Captain ran up to me and said that he had just had a 'phone message from D.H.Q., saying that the General was going to address the men on the following day, before proceeding to battle. Would I like to film the scene? It would take place about 10 a.m. Naturally, I was delighted at the prospect of such a picture, and agreed to be on the field at the time mentioned. Then with a final adieu we parted.

The weather was still vile. A nasty, drizzly mist hung over everything.

The appearance of the whole country was much like it is on a bad November day at home. Everything was clammy and cold. The roads were covered to a depth of several inches with slimy, clayey mud. Loads of munitions were pa.s.sing up to the Front. On all sides were guns, large and small. The place bristled with them, and they were so cunningly hidden that one might pa.s.s within six feet of them without being aware of their existence. But you could not get away from the sounds. The horrible dinning continued, from the sharp rat-tat-tat-tat of the French 75mm., of which we had several batteries in close proximity, and from the bark of the 18-pounders to the crunching roar of the 15-inch howitzer. The air was literally humming with sh.e.l.ls. It seemed like a race of shrieking devils, each trying to catch up with the one in front before it reached its objective.

Salvo after salvo; crash after crash; and in the rare moments of stillness, in this nerve-shattering prelude to the Great Push, I could hear the sweet warblings of a lark, as it rose higher and higher in the murky, misty sky.

At one place I had to pa.s.s through a narrow lane, and on either side were hidden batteries, sending round upon round into the German trenches, always under keen observation from enemy-spotting balloons and aeroplanes. The recent sh.e.l.l-holes in the roadway made me pause before proceeding further. I noticed a sergeant of the Lancashire Fusiliers at the entrance to a thickly sand-bagged shelter, and asked him if there was another way to the section of the front line I sought.

"No, sir," he said, "that is the only way; but it's mighty unhealthy just now. The Hun is crumpling it with his 5.9-inch H.E., and making a tidy mess of the road. But he don't hit our guns, sir. He just improves their appearance by making a nice little frill of earth around them, he does, and--look out, sir; come in here.

"Here she comes!"

With a murderous shriek and horrible splitting roar a German sh.e.l.l burst on the roadway about fifty yards away.

"That is Fritz's way of making love, sir," he said, with a chuckle; which remark admirably reflects the marvellous morale of our men.

"Have they been sh.e.l.ling the avenues much?" I asked, referring to the various communication trenches leading to the front line.

"Yes, sir. Nos. 1, 2 and 3 are being severely crumped. I would suggest No. 5, sir; it's as clear as any of them. I should advise you to get along this lane as fast as possible. I have been here some time, so I know Fritz's little ways."

He saluted, and like a mole disappeared into his dug-out as I moved away.

I told my man to keep about ten yards behind me, so that in the event of a sh.e.l.l bursting near by one or the other of us would have a chance of clearing.

"Now," I said, "let it go at a double. Come on," and with head well forward I raced up the road.

Altogether, with my camera, I was carrying about seventy pounds in weight, so you can guess it was no easy matter. There was about another 150 yards to go, when I heard the ominous shriek of a German sh.e.l.l.

"Down in the ditch," I yelled. "Lie flat," and suiting the action to the word, I flung myself down in the mud and water near a fallen tree. Crash came the sh.e.l.l, and it exploded with a deafening roar more on the side of the road than the previous one, and near enough to shower mud and water all over me as I lay there.

"Now then," I yelled to my man, "double-up before they range the next one," and jumping up we raced away. Not before I had got well clear, and near the old railway station, did I stay and rest. While there several sh.e.l.ls crashed in and around the road we had just left. I was glad I was safely through.

With the exception of the usual heavy sh.e.l.ling, getting down to the front trench was quite uneventful. My objective was a place called "The White City," so called because it is cut out of the chalk-bank of our position facing Beaumont Hamel. Getting there through the communication trenches was as difficult as in the winter. In places the mud and water reached my knees, and when you had come to the end of your journey you were as much like dirty plaster-cast as anything possibly could be.

After three-quarters of an hour's trudging and splashing I reached "The White City," and turned down a trench called "Tenderloin Street." About one hundred yards on my right, at the junction of "King Street" and "St.

Helena Street," my guide pointed me out the Brigade dug-out. Depositing my camera and outfit close to some sandbags I went inside and introduced myself. Four officers were present.