How I Filmed the War Part 40

It was impossible to see the progress of the fight; the whole flock was now directly overhead. Watching the "strafe" with such keen interest, this point quite escaped me until pieces of shrapnel began to fall around in alarming proportions, causing me to beat a hasty retreat out of range, though I still hung about in the hope of a Bosche machine being brought down, thereby providing me with a thrilling scene. But it did not happen. The airmen disappeared in a southerly direction, still fighting until the sharp cracks of the guns droned away in the distance.

In a few minutes I came in full view of one of our strong points in the shape of a disused quarry. Around the inner lip our Tommies had made a series of funk-holes, which looked quite picturesque in the bright sunlight.

Machine-gun parties were there ready for anything that might turn up; in the far corner a group of Frenchmen were chattering volubly to a knot of our men.

This certainly was a most interesting scene--the point of "liaison"

between the two great armies, France and Britain. I noticed by fresh sh.e.l.l-holes that Bosche had a rather bad habit of annoying the place with his pip-squeaks, but generally they only resulted in scoring a Blighty for more or one of the occupants--and, for others, they were a source of amus.e.m.e.nt in the shape of gambling on the spot the next one would fall.

I filmed various sections here, then, having partaken of a little tea, I wended my way to the trenches. I kept low, as the tower of the Cathedral was in full view. I had previously covered the aluminium head of my tripod with a sandbag to prevent it glistening in the sun. As I drew nearer to the trench, which I could now see quite distinctly, more and more of St. Quentin came into view. Such a picture gives one rather a queerish feeling. If a keen-eyed Hun observer spotted me, with my load, he would take me for a machine-gunner or something equally dangerous.

But, fortunately, nothing happened.

I dropped into the trench of the ---- Worcesters who were amazed and amused to see me there, as one of them said:

"Well, sir, I always thought all the War pictures were fakes, but now I know they're not.

"Will you take us, sir? We expect to go over to-night. Please do, sir; our people at home will then in all probability see us. Don't suppose I shall. I have an idea I shan't--but," he said, pulling himself together, "I hope so, yer know, sir."

I liked the man's spirit. It caused all the others to smile. I carefully fixed up my machine and filmed them, holding our front line.

"How close is this to the town?" I asked.

"About nine hundred yards, sir."

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR OUTPOST LINE WITHIN 800 YARDS OF ST. QUENTIN. IT WAS TO THIS OUTPOST THAT I CRAWLED IN DAYLIGHT TO OBTAIN THIS SCENE]

Whether or not Bosche had seen movement I don't know, but suddenly a group of four 5.9 came crashing over. Everybody ducked--wise plan, rather, out here--they fell and burst about fifty yards behind us. I awaited the next lot; they came very shortly and fell in almost the same place.

"Before he shortens the range," I thought, "I'll move," and suiting the action to the word I moved out towards the Bois de Savy and was half-way there when another lot burst in my direction. This time I made for the Bois de Holnon, and fortunately the sh.e.l.ls ceased.

As I reached the furthest side of the Bois de Savy several tear sh.e.l.ls came whistling over and burst just behind me. Needless to say I had fallen flat, and, as I arose, the sweet smell of tear gas made itself evident. Not intending to risk a repet.i.tion of my previous experience at Beaumont Hamel, I closed my eyes and ran like--well, you couldn't see me for dust.

Yard by yard we continued to press back the enemy. For me the film story of the taking of St. Quentin is an obsession. It holds me as a needle to a magnet. And in this section, at the present, I remain--waiting and watching.

My leave is fast running out, and I am nearing the end of my story. In all the pictures that it has been my good fortune to take during the two and a half years that I have been kept at work on the great European battlefield, I have always tried to remember that it was through the eye of the camera, directed by my own sense of observation, that the millions of people at home would gain their only first-hand knowledge of what was happening at the front.

I have tried to make my pictures actual and reliable, above all I have striven to catch the atmosphere of the battlefield, and whilst I have dwelt as little as possible upon its horrors, I have aimed at showing the magnificent spirit which imbues our fighting men, from the highest in command to the humblest unit in the ranks.

I am proud to think that the task of doing this has been mine, and in doing it, I have tried "to do my bit" for the land that gave me birth.

THE END