How I Filmed the War Part 36

Possibilities--Food for Famished Villagers--Meeting the Mayoress of Bovincourt--Who Presides at a Wonderful Impromptu Ceremony--A Sc.r.a.p Outside Vraignes--A Church Full of Refugees--A True Pal--A Meal with the Mayor of Bierne.

To keep hard upon the heels of the retreating Germans and so obtain scenes, the character of which had never been presented before to the British public, was my chief aim. I had no time for sleep. I arrived at my base wet through, the rain had continued throughout the whole of my return journey. Changing into dry underwear, I refilled my exposed spool-boxes and packed up a good surplus supply, sufficient to last for several days, then packing my knapsack with the usual rations, bully and bread, condensed milk and slabs of chocolate, I was ready to start out once more. My clothes had by this time dried. Daylight was breaking, the car arrived and, with all kit aboard, I started out again for the Somme, wondering what the day would bring forth.

I stopped on the way to pick up the "still" photographer.

"Where for to-day?" he asked.

"Bovincourt and Vraignes," I replied, "and, if possible, one or two of the villages near by. I must get into them before our troops, so as to be able to film their entry. Does that suggest possibilities to you?" I said, with a smile, knowing that he, like myself, would go through anything to obtain pictures.

"Possibilities," he said, "don't, you make my mouth water. How about food? Shall we take some to the villages?"

"Excellent idea," I said.

We stopped on the way and purchased a good supply of white bread and French sausages, thinking that these two commodities would be most useful.

Through Foucacourt Estrees and Villers-Carbonel the roads were lined with troops, guns, and transport of every description, all making their way forward. Engineers were hard at work on the roads; sh.e.l.l-holes were filled in and road trenches bridged. Work was being pushed forward with an energy and skill which reflected great credit upon those in charge; traffic controls were at cross roads which forty-eight hours before had been "No Man's Land." Hun signboards were taken down and familiar British names took their place. The sight was wonderful. En route I stopped and filmed various scenes. Arriving again at Brie on the Somme the change in affairs was astounding. The place was alive with men; it was a veritable hive of industry; new lines were being laid to replace the torn and twisted rails left by the Germans; bridges were being strengthened, roads on both sides were widened, and, to make it possible to continue the work throughout the night, a searchlight was being mounted upon a platform.

Crossing the bridges of Brie we mounted the hill and were once again upon the ridge. Great gaps had been made by our men in the huge line of barbed wire entanglements which the Huns had spent months of laborious work to construct. It stretched away over hill and dale on both sides as far as the eye could see.

To pick up further information I stopped a cyclist officer coming from the direction of Mons.

"Any news?" I enquired. "Where is Bosche?"

"We were in touch with his rearguards all last night," he said. "They have made several strong points round the villages of Vraignes, Haucourt, and Bierne. They were scouting around Vraignes, but we quickly put the wind up them," he said, with a smile. "Several villages were seen burning during the night and the enemy put a little shrapnel around some patrols near Pouilly, but no damage was done."

"Vraignes, of course, is quite clear?"

"Yes, as far as we know. Our patrols reported it clear late last evening, but possibly Bosche returned during the night. We captured three Bosches and they have an extraordinary tale of seeing two armoured cars yesterday evening near Bovincourt, and they insist upon it although I am quite aware there were none at all near there. They say that about six o'clock they were on the outskirts of Bovincourt when two armoured cars came in sight. Not having a machine-gun with them they decided to hide and so took cover in the ruins of a house. Later on they say they saw only one car leave in the direction of the main road. That's their tale and they seem quite serious about it."

"Well," I said, with a grin, "do you think this car of mine would look like an armoured car at a distance?"

"Well, yes, possibly, in a failing light. Why?"

"Well, this must be one of your excellent prisoner's so-called armoured cars, because I was in Bovincourt with ---- of the Corps Intelligence, hence the two cars. I missed him through getting stuck in the mud, and entered Bovincourt about six o'clock and left by myself later as a skirmish was taking place somewhere near by, and not being armed with anything more dangerous than a camera, I decided to quit. I am much obliged to the Bosche for taking this bus of mine for an armoured car."

With a laugh and a cheery adieu the officer bade me good luck and pedalled off.

I could not help thinking that I had had a lucky escape.

On again, and reaching the first mine, the scene of the previous night's adventure, I put the car to the field at a rush and by some extraordinary means got her round.

I was just entering the village when, with a shriek and a crash, a sh.e.l.l burst near the church. I stopped the car and, under cover of the ruins, reached a distance of about three hundred yards from where it fell. If any more were coming over I intended, if possible, to film them bursting.

Carefully taking cover behind a wall, I fitted up my camera. Another sh.e.l.l came hurtling over and dropped and burst quite near the previous spot. Showers of bricks flew in all directions, liberally splattering the wall behind which I was concealed. The debris cleared, up went my camera, and, standing by the handle, I awaited the next.

It came soon enough, I heard the shriek nearer and nearer. I turned the handle and put my head close behind the camera with my eye to the view-finder. Crash came the sh.e.l.l, and, with a terrific report, it exploded. The whole side of a house disappeared, and bricks, wood, and metal flew in all directions. I continued to turn when, with an ugly little whistle, a small piece of something struck my view-finder and another my tripod. Luckily nothing touched the lens. I awaited the next.

It was longer this time, but it came, and nearer to me than the previous one. I was satisfied. I thought if they elevated another fifty yards I might get a much too close view of a sh.e.l.l-burst, so scrambled aboard the car, and made a detour round the mine on to the road beyond.

"Those scenes ought to be very fine," I said. "It's one of those lucky chances where one has to take the risk of obtaining a thrilling scene."

By the b.a.l.l.s of white smoke I could see that shrapnel was bursting in the near distance.

"That's near Pouilly," I said. "We are turning up on the left, let's hope the Huns don't plaster us there."

Reaching the village of Bovincourt, the villagers were there eagerly awaiting our arrival. They again crowded around the car, and it was with difficulty that I persuaded them to let us pa.s.s into the village.

Cheering, shouting, and laughing they followed close behind. I stopped the car and asked an old man who, by his ribbons, had been through the 1870 war:

"Where is the Mayor?"

"There is no Mayor, monsieur, but a mayoress, and she is there,"

pointing to a buxom French peasant woman about fifty years of age.

I went up to her and explained in my best French that I had brought bread and sausages for the people, would she share them out?

"Oui, oui, monsieur."

"I would like you to do it here, I will then take a kinematograph film of the proceeding, so that the people in England can see it."

"Ah, monsieur, it is the first white bread and good French sausage we have seen since the Bosches came. They took everything from us, everything, and if it had not been for the American relief we should have starved. They are brutes, pig-brutes, monsieur, they kill everything." And, with tears in her eyes, she told me how the Huns shot her beautiful dog because, in its joyfulness, it used to play with and bark at the children. "They did not like being disturbed, monsieur, so they shot him--poor Jacques! They have not left one single animal; everything has gone. Mon Dieu, but they shall suffer!"

I changed the painful subject by saying that now the British had driven back the Bosche everything would be quite all right. With a wan smile she agreed.

I set up my camera, and telling my man to hand over the food, the Mayoress shared it out. One sausage and a piece of white bread to each person, men, women, and children. The joy on their faces was wonderful to behold. As they received their share they ran off to the shelter of some ruins, or up into the church, to cook their wonderful gifts. I filmed the scene, and I shall never forget it.

The last of the batch had disappeared when up the road came hobbling a woman whose age I should say was somewhere about forty-five. I could see she was on the point of exhaustion. She had a huge bundle upon her back and a child in her arms, another about seven years clinging to her skirts. They halted outside the ruins of a cottage, the woman dropped her bundle, and crouching down upon it clung convulsively to the babe in her arms and burst into tears.

I went up to her and gently asked her the cause.

"This, monsieur, was my house. Two days past the Germans drove me away with my children. My husband has already been killed at the front. They drove me away, and I come back to-day and now my home, all that I had in the world, monsieur, is gone. They have burnt it. What can I do, monsieur? And we are starving."

The babe in her arms began to send forth a thin lifeless wail. I helped the poor woman to her feet and told her to go to the church, and that I would bring her bundle and some food for her.

G.o.d above, what despair! The grim track of war in all its d.a.m.nable nakedness was epitomised in this little French hamlet. Houses burnt, horses taken away, agricultural implements wilfully smashed, fruit trees and bushes cut down, even the hedges around their little gardens, their cemetery violated and the remains of their dead strewn to the four winds of heaven. Their wells polluted with garbage and filth; in some cases deliberately poisoned, in others totally destroyed by dynamite. Their churches used as stables for horses and for drunken orgies. All the younger men deported, and the prettiest of the girls. In some cases their clothes had been forcibly taken away from them and sacks had been given in exchange to clothe themselves with. They were robbed of every penny they possessed.

But when the wonderful sound of the British guns and the tramp of our soldiers crept nearer and nearer, terrifying, relentless, and irresistible, the Germans left, fleeing with their ill-gotten spoil like demons of darkness before the angels of light, leaving in their trail the picture I have unfolded to you.

Wishing to push on further I scouted round the outskirts of the village.

In a wood a short distance away it was evident that our patrols were in contact with the Huns. Volley after volley of rifle-fire rang out, and now and then a burst from the machine-guns. A horseman was heading straight for me. Was he British or Hun? In a few minutes I could see he was one of our men--evidently a dispatch-rider. He swept down into a hollow, then up the road into the village. He was riding hard; his horse stumbled, but by a great effort the rider recovered himself. He dashed past me and, clattering over the fallen masonry, disappeared from sight.

I looked around. Not a sign of life anywhere, so I decided to make for Vraignes about a kilometre distant south-east of Bovincourt. I had previously heard from one of the villagers that there were about one thousand people left there.

Strapping my camera on my back I tramped away, my man following in the rear. The "still" man, who had left me after feeding the villagers, had been prowling around getting pictures. Accidentally he ran into me, so together we trekked off.

Taking advantage of every bit of cover possible, as German snipers were none too careful as to where they put their bullets, we eventually reached the outskirts of Vraignes. Not a sign of Germans, but crowds of civilians. Things here were the same as at Bovincourt, but a few more houses were left standing owing to the fire not completely doing its work. The people were in the same state. We had just got into the village, and near the Mairie, when a commotion round the corner by the church attracted my attention. The men and women who had crowded around us shouting with joy, turned and rushed up the road.

"Vive les Anglais! Vive les Anglais!" The cry was taken up by every one.

Hands and handkerchiefs were waving in all directions. "Vive les Anglais! Vive les Anglais!"