My work isn"t so heavy now, and, much as I want to be here when the "forward movement" comes, I believe I ought to use the small amount of kick I have left in me to go to give lectures on the war to men in ammunition works at home. They all seem to be slacking and drinking, and I believe one might rouse them if one went oneself, and told stories of heroism, and tales of the front. The British authorities out here seem to think I ought to go home and give lectures at various centres, and I have heard from Vickers-Maxim"s people that they want me to come.
I think I"ll arrive in London about the 1st of June, as there is a good deal to arrange, and I have to see heads of departments. One has to forget all about _parties_ in politics, and get help from Lloyd George himself. I only hope the lectures may be of some use.
[Page Heading: TO MRS. FFOLLIOTT]
_To Mrs. ffolliott._
VILLA LES CHRYSANTHeMES, LA PANNE, BELGIUM, _16 May._
DARLING OLD POOT,
One line, to wish you with all my heart a happy birthday. I shan"t forget you on the 22nd. Will you buy yourself some little thing with the enclosed cheque?
This war becomes a terrible strain. I don"t know what we shall do when four nephews, a brother-in-law, and a nephew to be are in the field.
I get quite sick with the loss of life that is going on; the whole land seems under the shadow of death. I shall always think it an idiotic way of settling disputes to plug pieces of iron and steel into innocent boys and men. But the bravery is simply wonderful. I could tell you stories which are almost unbelievable of British courage and fort.i.tude.
I am coming home soon to give some lectures, and then I hope to come out here again.
Bless you, dear Poot,
Your loving SARAH.
_17 May._--I saw a most curious thing to-day. A soldier in the Pavilion St. Vincent showed me five 5-franc pieces which he had had in his pocket when he was shot. A piece of shrapnel had bent the whole five until they were welded together. The shrapnel fitted into the silver exactly, and actually it was silvered by the sc.r.a.pe it had made against the coin. I should like to have had it, but the man valued his souvenir, so one didn"t like to offer him money for it.
A young Canadian found a comrade of his nailed to a door, and stone dead, of course. When did he die?
A Belgian doctor told Mrs. Wynne that in looking through a German officer"s knapsack he found a quant.i.ty of children"s hands--a pretty souvenir! I write these things down because they must be known, and if I go home to lecture to munition-workers I suppose I must tell them of these barbarities.
Meanwhile, the German prisoners in England are getting country houses placed at their service, electric light, baths, etc., and they say girls are allowed to come and play lawn tennis with them. The ships where they are interned are costing us 86,000 a month. Our own men imprisoned in Germany are starved, and beaten, and spat upon. They sleep on mouldy straw, have no sanitation, and in winter weather their coats, and sometimes even their tunics, were taken from them.
Fortunately, reprisals need not come from us. Talk to Zouaves and Turcos and the French. G.o.d help Germany if they ever penetrate to the Rhine.
A young man--Mr. Shoppe--is occupied in flying low over the gun that is bombarding Dunkirk in order to take a photograph of it.
It seems to me a great deal to ask of young men to give their lives when life must be so sweet, but no one seems to grudge their all. Of some one hears touching and splendid stories; others, one knows, die all alone, gasping out their last breath painfully, with no one at hand to give them even a cup of water. No one has a tale to tell of them. G.o.d, perhaps, heard a last prayer or a last groan before Death came with its merciful hand and put an end to the intolerable pain.
How much can a man endure? A Frenchman at the Zouave Poste au Secours looked calmly on while the remains of his arm were cut away the other night. Many operations are performed without chloroform (because they take a shorter time) at the French hospital.
[Page Heading: A HEAVENLY HOST]
I heard from R. to-day. He says the story about Mons is true. The English were retreating, and Kluck was following hard after them. He wired to the Kaiser that he had "got the English," but this is what men say happened. A cloud came out of a clear day and stood between the two armies, and in the cloud men saw the chariots and horses of a heavenly host. Kluck turned back from pursuing, and the English went on unharmed.
This may be true, or it may be the result of men"s fancy or of their imagination. But there is one vision which no one can deny, and which each man who cares to look may see for himself. It is the vision of what lies beyond sacrifice; and in that bright and heavenly atmosphere we shall see--we may, indeed, see to-day--the forms of those who have fallen. They fight still for England, unharmed now and for ever more, warriors on the side of right, captains of the host which no man can number, champions of all that we hold good. They are marching on ahead, and we hope to follow; and when we all meet, and the roll is called, we shall find them still cheery, I think, still unwavering, and answering to their good English names, which they carried unstained through a score of fights, at what price G.o.d and a few comrades know.
CHAPTER VI
LAST DAYS IN FLANDERS
_19 May._--In order to get material for my lecture to munition-workers I was very anxious to see more of the war for myself than is possible at a soup-kitchen, and I asked at the British Mission if I might be given permission to go into the British lines. Major ---- in giving me a flat refusal, was a little pompous and important I thought, and he said it was _impossible_ to get near the British.
To-day I lunched on the barge with Miss Close, and we took her car and drove to Poperinghe. I hardly like to write this even in a diary, I am so seldom naughty! But I really did something very wrong for once. And the amusing part of it was that military orders made going to Poperinghe so impossible that no one molested us! We pa.s.sed all the sentries with a flourish of our green papers, and drove on to the typhoid hospital with only a few Tommies gaping at us.
I was amazed at the pleasure that wrong-doing gives, and regretted my desperately strict past life! Oh, the freedom of that day in the open air! the joy of seeing trees after looking at one wretched line of rails for nine months! Lilacs were abloom in every garden, and b.u.t.tercups made the fields look yellow. The air was misty--one could hardly have gone to Poperinghe except in a mist, as it was being so constantly sh.e.l.led--but in the mist the trees had a queer light on them which made the early green look a deeper and stronger colour than I have ever seen it. There appeared to be a sort of glare under the mist, and the fresh wet landscape, with its top-heavy sky, radiated with some light of its own. Oh, the intoxication of that damp, wet drive, with a fine rain in our faces, and the car bounding under us on the "pave"! If I am interned till the end of the war I don"t care a bit! I have had some fresh air, and I have been away for one whole day from the smell of soup and drains.
How describe it all? The dear sense of guilt first, and then the still dearer British soldiers, all ready with some cheery, cheeky remark as they sat in carts under the wet trees. They were our brethren--blue-eyed and fair-haired, and with their old clumsy ways, which one seemed to be seeing plainly for the first time, or, rather, recognising for the first time. It was all part of England, and a day out. The officers were taking exercise, of course, with dogs, and in the rain. We are never less than English! To-morrow we may be killed, but to-day we will put on thick boots, and take the dogs for a run in the rain.
[Page Heading: AT POPERINGHE]
Poperinghe was deserted, of course. Its busy cobbled streets were quite empty except for a few strolling soldiers in khaki, and just here and there the same toothless old woman who is always the last to leave a doomed city. At the typhoid hospital we gravely offered the cases of milk which we had brought with us as an earnest of our good conduct, but even the hospital was nearly empty. However, a secretary offered us a cup of tea, and in the dining-room we found Madame van den Steen, who had just returned to take up her n.o.ble work again. She was at Dinant, at her own chateau, when war broke out, and she was most interesting, and able to tell me things at first hand. The German methods are pretty well known now, but she told me a great deal which only women talking together could discuss. When a village or town was taken, the women inhabitants were quite at the mercy of the Germans.
Continuing, Madame van den Steen said that all the filthiness that could be thought of was committed--the furniture, cupboards, flowerpots, and even bridge-tables, being sullied by these brutes. Children had their hands cut off, and one woman, at least, at Dinant was crucified. One"s pen won"t write more. The horrors upset one too much. All the babies born about that time died; their mothers had been so shocked and frightened....
Of Ypres Madame said, "It smells of lilac and death." Some Englishmen were looking for the body of a comrade there, and failed to find it amongst the ruins of the burning and devastated town. By seeming chance they opened the door of a house which still stood, and found in a room within an old man of eighty-six, sitting placidly in a chair. He said, "How do you do?" and bade them be seated, and when they exclaimed, aghast at his being still in Ypres, he replied that he was paralysed and couldn"t move, but that he knew G.o.d would send someone to take him away; and he smiled gently at them, and was taken away in their ambulance.
Madame gave me a sh.e.l.l-case, and asked Mr. Thompson if he would bring in his large piece to show us. He wheeled it across the hall, as no one could lift it, and this was only the _base_ of a 15-inch sh.e.l.l. It was picked up in the garden of the hospital, and had travelled fifteen miles!
The other day I went to see for myself some of the poor refugees at c.o.xide. There were twenty-five people in one small cottage. Some were sleeping in a cart. One weeping woman, wearing the little black woollen cap which all the women wear, told me that she and her family had to fly from their little farm at Lombaertzyde because it was being sh.e.l.led by the Germans, but afterwards, when all seemed quiet, they went back to their home to save the cows. Alas, the Germans were there! They made this woman (who was expecting a baby) and all her family stand in a row, and one girl of twenty, the eldest daughter, was shot before their eyes.
When the poor mother begged for the body of her child it was refused her.
The _Times_ list of atrocities is too frightful, and all the evidence has been sifted and proved to be true.
_20 May._--Yesterday I arranged with Major du Pont about leaving the station to go home and give lectures in England. Then I had a good deal to do, so I abandoned my plan of visiting refugees with Etta Close, and stayed on at the station. At 5.30 I came back to La Panne to see Countess de Caraman Chimay, the dame d"honneur of the Queen of the Belgians; then I went on to dine with the nurses at the "Ocean." Here I heard that Ad.i.n.kerke, which I had just left, was being sh.e.l.led.
Fortunately, the station being there, I hope the inhabitants got away; but it was unpleasant to hear the sound of guns so near. I knew the three Belgian Sisters would be all right, as they have a good cellar at their house, and I could trust Lady Bagot"s staff to look after her. All the same, it was a horrible night, full of anxiety, and there seems little doubt that La Panne will be sh.e.l.led any day. My one wish is--let"s all behave well.
I watched the sunset over the sea, and longed to be in England; but, naturally, one means to stick it, and not leave at a nasty time.
[Page Heading: SOCKS]
_21 May._--Yesterday, at the station, there was a poor fellow lying on a stretcher, battered and wounded, as they all are, an eye gone, and a foot bandaged. His toes were exposed, and I went and got him rather a gay pair of socks to pull on over his "pans.e.m.e.nt." He gave me a twinkle out of his remaining eye, and said, "Madame, in those socks I could take Constantinople!"
The work is slack for the moment, but a great attack is expected at Nieuport, and they say the Kaiser is behind the lines there. His presence hasn"t brought luck so far, and I hope it won"t this time.
I went to tea with Miss Close on the barge, and afterwards we picked up M. de la Haye, and went to see an old farm, which filled me with joy.
The buildings here, except at the larger towns, are not interesting or beautiful, but this lovely old house was evidently once a summer palace of the bishops (perhaps of Bruges). It is called "Beau Garde," and lies off the c.o.xide road. One enters what must once have been a splendid courtyard, but it is now filled indiscriminately with soldiers and pigs.
The chapel still stands, with the Bishops" Arms on the wall; and there are Spanish windows in the old house, and a curious dog-kennel built into the wall. Over the gateway some ma.s.sive beams have been roughly painted in dark blue, and these, covered in ivy, and with the old dim-toned bricks above, make a scheme of colour which is simply enchanting. Some wind-torn trees and the sand-dunes, piled in miniature mountains, form a delicious background to the old place.
I also went with Etta Close to visit some of the refugees for whom she has done so much, and in the sweet spring sunshine I took a little walk in the fields with M. de la Haye, so altogether it was a real nice day.
There were so few wounded that I was able to have a chat with each of them, and the poor "eclopes" were happy gambling for ha"pence in the garden of the St. Vincent.
In the evening I went up to the Kursaal to dine with Mrs. Wynne. Our two new warriors who have come out with ambulances have stood this _absolutely_ quiet time for three days, and are now leaving because it is too dangerous! The sh.e.l.ls at Ad.i.n.kerke never came near them, as they were deputed to drive to Nieuport only. (N.B.--Mrs. Wynne continues to drive there every night!) Eight men of our corps have funked, no women.