“Old Fritz” had struck at a vital part of the Allied front, planning nothing less than a separation of the French and British armies. He was attacking on a sixty-three mile front. He had “opened up” with a terrific bombardment; it was no ordinary barrage, but one he had been preparing for weeks. He had begun the bombardment at five o’clock, a. m., and before noon had broken through the British line in many places.
For four or five days we waited in Mazingarbe; the whole First Canadian Division was now standing to arms ready to go whenever they might be needed. Every morning from four o’clock till nearly seven the Third Brigade was “standing to” on the square, fully equipped for battle; for it was always just before dawn that attacks were made. Fritz did not attack on our front, but on Wednesday, the 27th, orders came for us to march.
I left Mazingarbe at about two o’clock for our assembly area, which was Chateau de la Haie. I arrived there about four o’clock to find every battalion of the Third Brigade quartered in the huts about the chateau. On learning that we were going to be here till ten o’clock, p. m., I immediately went around to all the orderly rooms and announced confessions. There was a tiny house on the grounds that had once been a private oratory; the stretcher-bearers were quartered here, but on hearing that I wished to have the use of it, they very kindly gave it over to me for four hours. I heard confessions here for the time allotted, then when it was time for the occupiers of the hut to prepare for departing I stepped outside, still wearing my purple stole, and stood under a tree, near which were tethered horses. There was a long line of soldiers waiting. Each man walked up, told his little story, received absolution as he stood there under the stars, then passed on a few paces to say his penance, while the next in line moved up. For a long time I stood there while soldiers, going and coming, passed along the road near which the men were in line.
At midnight long lines of hooded motor lorries glided over smooth roads from three different directions towards Acq. On coming to the point where the roads crossed they came slowly to a stop; then thousands of soldiers who had been sitting or standing along the roads began quickly to “embus.”
We waited for almost an hour, till the last lorry had moved off, then I fell in with the transport section. I could have gone in one of the lorries, but I wished to go with the transport section as then I might be in a better position to watch the movements of the whole brigade.
We went south, marching all through the night. It was a beautiful moonlight night. We went up hill and down hill, and always before us moved the long irregular line of the transport. There were vehicles of almost every description—limbers, general service wagons, “mulligan batteries,” the “pill cart,” (which was a two-wheeled affair with a red cross painted on either side of the hood), mess cart, water cart, etc. We passed through one silent moonlit village after another, sometimes halting to rest awhile. Now and again an upstairs window opened cautiously, and a night-capped head peeped over the window-sill at the long line of the transport resting in the village street. Towards the dawn we were passing through a beautiful countryside in which were many old stone chateaux, built far back from the main road, with green fields bordered by high trees before them.
For the past six or seven days we had not been having very much sleep, and as daylight began to break I began to feel very weary; once or twice while actually marching I fell asleep, only to be awakened by falling against the man marching before me.
Often during the night, as we reached the crest of some hill, we could see the yellow flashes of shrapnel as it burst in the air, and always we were drawing nearer. But with the dawn we seemed to have drawn away from the war area; for now there was neither sign nor sound of the enemy guns. Whenever we stopped to rest, men would crawl into the ditches or lie down near a hedge-row or an open field and go to sleep. Once in a sunken road I noticed a number of cyclists sleeping; they were leaning against the high banks which sloped upwards and away from the road. There was just enough slope to the banks to see that they were not standing. Their faces were almost black from the road dust. On two or three bicycles were strapped large wicker baskets, and in each basket hopped about two or three carrier pigeons. These were to be used in an emergency.
In an open field a number of men from the transport sections were preparing breakfast, their horses drawn up on the side of the road, busy with their nose-bags, and the odor of frying bacon was wafted on the morning air. We did not breakfast, as we had no rations with us. Two general service wagons with rations for the whole battalion were to join us farther on.
Once, on leaving a quaint little village grouped about a small, perhaps century-old stone church, we caught a glimpse of a wide stretch of green countryside. We had been ascending a hill for quite a distance before coming to the village. The ground mists had cleared and the sun was out. From different directions, but converging towards the same point, were a number of white roads along which were moving or resting the long, irregular lines of transport sections from many different battalions. Just for an instant everything seemed to be changed. I thought I was back in my own peaceful country and that I was looking at a wonderful assembling of gipsy caravans. Up in the clear air a small bird soared singing its blithe, carefree song. It was the first time I had ever heard a lark. The joyous melody seemed but to emphasize the fantasy.
Then suddenly my dream vanished and I was back to France, sitting on the roadside on the 28th day of March, 1918, tired, sleepy and hungry, wondering at about what time we would meet the oncoming German army!
When towards noon we entered a little town called Couturelle, word was passed along the line that we were going to halt here. I had just finished saying to George that I should not care to have to make the march over again when I noticed the quartermaster of the Thirteenth Battalion come galloping up the road, smiling and calling out: “We’ve come to the wrong place.” He waved his crop to me as he passed, saying: “We have to go back to the Arras area, Padre!”
I looked in wonder at George. We had left the Arras front last night towards midnight. I had just said I should not care to make the march over again. Now we were to do so!
We came to a halt in an open part of the village, and there we had lunch; perhaps I should say breakfast. After the meal I went down to the little church to make a visit. When I came back all the men were sleeping. I then lay down in the ditch, put my haversack under my head, and although it was the 28th of March I was soon sound asleep. In about two hours we were awakened.