Chapter 4

At one of the hospitals beside the bed of a dying man sat a little old man writing letters. They told me that before the war he had owned the most flourishing wine shop in the village. He had fled before the approach of the German troops, but later returned to his village and installed himself in the hospital as scribe. He wrote from morning until night, and, watching him stretching his lean old hands, I asked him if he suffered much pain from writers' cramp. He looked at me almost reproachfully before answering, "Mademoiselle, it is the least I can do for my country; besides my pain is so slight and that of the comrades so great. I am proud, indeed proud, that at sixty-seven years of age I am not useless."

I was shown a copy of the last letter dictated by a young French officer, and I asked to be allowed to copy it--it was indeed a letter of a "chic" type.

Chers Parrain et Marraine,

Je vous ecris a vous pour ne pas tuer Maman qu'un pareil coup surprendrait trop.

J'ai ete blesse le ... devant ... J'ai deux blessures hideuses et je n'en aurai pas pour bien longtemps. Les majors ne me le cachent meme pas.

Je pars sans regret avec la conscience d'avoir fait mon devoir.

Prevenez done mes parents le mieux que vous pourrez; qu'ils ne cherchent pas a venir, ils n'en auraient pas le temps.

Adieu vous tous que j'aimais.

VIVE LA FRANCE!

Dear Godfather and Godmother,

I am writing to you so as not to kill Mother, whom such a shock would surprise too much. I was wounded on the ... at ... I have two terrible wounds and I cannot last long. The surgeons do not even attempt to conceal this from me. I go without regret, with the consciousness of having done my duty. Kindly break the news to my parents the best way you can; they should not attempt to come because they would not have time to reach me before the end.

Farewell to all you whom I have loved.

LONG LIVE FRANCE!

Whilst loving his relatives tenderly, the last thought of the dying Frenchman is for his country. Each one dies as a hero, yet not one realises it. It would be impossible to show greater simplicity; they salute the flag for the last time and that is all.

At General Nivelle's Headquarters

From Triancourt we went straight to the Headquarters of General Nivelle. They had just brought him the maps rectified to mark the French advance. The advance had been made whilst we were standing on the terrace at Verdun the night before. We had seen the rockets sent up, requesting a "tir de barrage" (curtain of fire). The 75's had replied at once and the French had been able to carry out the operation.

Good news had also come in from the Somme, and General Nivelle did not hesitate to express his admiration for the British soldiers.

He said that there was no need to praise the first troops sent by Britain to France, every one knew their value, but it should be a great satisfaction to Britain to find that the new army was living up to the traditions of the old army.

He added: "We can describe the new Army of Britain in two words: Ca mord--it bites."

The Father of his own men, it is not surprising that General Nivelle finds a warm corner in his heart for the British Tommy, since his Mother was an Englishwoman.

At lunch General Nivelle and the members of his staff asked many questions as to the work of the Scottish Women's Hospitals. I told them that what appealed to us most in our French patients was the perfect discipline and the gratitude of the men. We are all women in the Hospitals, and the men might take advantage of this fact to show want of discipline, but we never had to complain of lack of obedience. These soldiers of France may some of them before the war have been just rough peasants, eating, drinking, and sleeping; even having thoughts not akin to knighthood, but now, through the ordeal of blood and fire, each one of them has won his spurs and come out a chivalrous knight, and they bring their chivalry right into the hospitals with them. We had also learned to love them for their kindness to one another. When new wounded are brought in and the lights are low in the hospital wards, cautiously watching if the Nurse is looking (luckily Nurses have a way of not seeing everything), one of the convalescents will creep from his bed to the side of the new arrival and ask the inevitable question: "D'ou viens-tu?" (Where do you come from?) "I come from Toulouse," replies the man. "Ah," says the enquirer, "my wife's Grandmother had a cousin who lived near Toulouse." That is quite a sufficient basis for a friendship. The convalescent sits by the bedside of his new comrade, holding the man's hand, whilst his wounds are being dressed, telling him he knows of the pain, that he, too, has suffered, and that soon all will be well.

Lions to fight, ever ready to answer to the call of the defence of their country, yet these men of France are tender and gentle. In one hospital through which I passed there was a baby. It was a military hospital, and no civilian had any right there, but the medical officers who inspected the hospital were remarkably blind --none of them could ever see the baby. One of the soldiers passing through a bombarded village saw a little body lying in the mud, and although he believed the child to be dead he stooped down and picked it up. At the evacuating station the baby and the soldier were sent to the hospital together; the doctors operated upon the baby and took a piece of shrapnel from its back, and, once well and strong, it constituted itself lord and master and king of all it surveyed. When it woke in the morning it would call "Papa" and twenty fathers answered to its call. All the pent-up love of the men for their own little ones from whom they had been parted for so long they lavished on the tiny stranger, but all his affection and his whole heart belonged to the rough miner soldier who had brought him in. As the shadows fell one saw the man walking up and down the ward with the child in his arms, crooning the "Marseillaise" until the tired little eyes closed. He had obtained permission from the authorities to adopt the child as the parents could not be found, and remarked humorously: "Mademoiselle, it is so convenient to have a family without the trouble of being married!"

What we must remember is that the rough soldier, himself blinded with blood and mud, uncertain whether he could ever reach a point of safety, yet had time to stoop and pick that little flower of France and save it from being crushed beneath the cannon wheels. I told General Nivelle that the hospital staff intended to keep the child for the soldier until the end of the war, and we all hoped that he might grow up to the glory of France and to the eternal honour of the tender-hearted fighter who had rescued him.

After lunch we stood for some time watching the unending stream of camions proceeding into Verdun. I believe it has been stated that on the average one passed through the village every fifteen seconds, and that there are something like twelve thousand motor vehicles used in the defence of Verdun. The splendid condition of the roads and the absence of all confusion in the handling of this immense volume of traffic are a great tribute to the organising genius of the chiefs of the French Army.

We left General Nivelle as General Petain predicted we should find him--smiling.

Rheims

We slept that night at Epernay, in the heart of the Champagne district. The soil of France is doing its best to keep the vines in perfect condition and to provide a good vintage to be drunk later to celebrate the victory of France and her Allies. The keeping of the roads in good condition is necessary for the rapid carrying out of operations on the Front, and a "marmite" hole is promptly filled if by a lucky shot the German batteries happen to tear up the roadway. We were proceeding casually along one road when a young officer rode up to us and told us to put on speed because we were under fire from a German battery which daily landed one or two shells in that particular portion of the roadway. It is wonderful how obedient one becomes at times! We promptly proceeded to hasten! After visiting General Debeney and obtaining from him the necessary authorisation and an officer escort, we entered Rheims.

The cathedral is now the home of pigeons, and as they fly in and out of the blackened window-frames small pieces of the stained glass tinkle down on to the floor. The custodian of the cathedral told us that during the night of terror the German wounded, lying in the cathedral, not realising the strength and beauty of the French character under adversity, feared, seeing the cathedral in flames, that the populace might wreak vengeance on them, and that it was exceedingly difficult to get them to leave the cathedral. Many of the prisoners fled into corners and hid, and some of them even penetrated into the palace of the Archbishop, which was in flames. All the world knows and admires the bravery of the cure of the cathedral, M. Landrieux, who took upon himself the defence of the prisoners, for fear insults might be hurled at them. He knowingly risked his life, but when, next day, some of his confreres endeavoured to praise him he replied: "My friends, I never before realised how easy it was to die."

One of the churches in the city was heavily draped in black, and I asked the sacristan if they had prepared for the funeral of a prominent citizen. He told me that they were that day bringing home the body of a young man of high birth of the neighbourhood, but that it was not for him that the church was decked in mourning. The draperies had hung there since August, 1914--"Since every son of Rheims who is brought home is as noble as the one who comes to-day, and alas! nearly every day brings us one of our children."

We lunched in the hotel before the cathedral, where each shell hole has an ordinary white label stuck beside it with the date. The landlord remarked: "If you sit here long enough, and have the good luck to be in some safe part of the building, you may be able to go and stick a label on a hole yourself."

After lunch we went out to the Chateau Polignac. To a stranger it would appear to be almost entirely destroyed, but when M. de Polignac visited it recently he simply remarked that it was "less spoilt than he had imagined." This was just one other example of the thousands one meets daily of the spirit of noble and peasant, "de ne pas s'en faire" but to keep only before them the one idea, Victory for France, no matter what may be the cost.

We went later to call on the "75," chez elle. Madame was in a particularly comfortable home which had been prepared for her and where she was safe from the inquisitive eyes of the Taubes. The men of the battery were sitting round their guns, singing a somewhat lengthy ditty, each verse ending with a declamation and a description of the beauty of "la belle Suzanne." I asked them to whom Suzanne belonged and where the fair damsel resided. "Oh," they replied, "we have no time to think of damsels called 'Suzanne' now. This is our Suzanne," and the speaker affectionately gave an extra rub with his coat sleeve to the barrel of the "75." By a wonderful system of trench work it is possible for the gunners, in case of necessity, to take refuge in the champagne vaults in the surrounding district, and it is in the champagne vaults that the children go daily to school, with their little gas masks hanging in bags on their arms. It appears that at first the tiny ones were frightened of the masks, but they soon asked, like their elders, to be also given a sack, and now one and all have learnt at the least alarm to put on their masks. There is no need to tell the children to hurry home. They realise that it is not wise to loiter in the streets for fear of the whistling shells. They are remarkably plucky, these small men and women of France.

During one furious bombardment the children were safe in the vaults, but one small citizen began to cry bitterly. He was reproached by his comrades for cowardice, but he replied indignantly: "I fear nothing for myself. I am safe here, but there is no cellar to our house, and oh, what will happen to the little mother?" The teacher reassured him by telling him that his mother would certainly take refuge in somebody's else cellar.

On leaving Rheims we passed through various small hamlets where the houses had been entirely destroyed, and which now had the appearance of native villages, as the soldiers had managed to place thatched roofs on any place which had any semblance of walls standing.

At Villars Coterets the Guard Champetre sounded the "Gare a Vous!" Four Taubes were passing overhead, so we took refuge in the hotel for tea. The enemy did no damage in that particular village, but in the next village of Crepy-en-Valois a bomb killed one child and injured five women.

At The Headquarters Of The Generalissimo

At his Headquarters next morning I had the honour of being received by Generalissimo Joffre and telling him of the admiration and respect which we felt for him and for the magnificent fighting spirit of the troops under his able command. He replied modestly by speaking of the British army. He referred to the offensive on the Somme, and said, "You may well be proud of your young soldiers; they are excellent soldiers, much superior to the Germans in every way, a most admirable infantry; they attack the Germans hand to hand with grenades or with the bayonet and push them back everywhere; the Germans have been absolutely stupefied to find such troops before them." The General then paid a tribute to the Canadian and Australian troops and told me that that day the Australians had taken new territory, adding, "And not only have they taken it, but, like their British and Canadian brothers, what they take they will hold."

I explained to General Joffre that, whilst I was not collecting autographs, I had with me the menu of the dinner in the Citadel at Verdun and that it would give me great pleasure to have his name added to the signatures already on that menu. All the signatures were on one side, so I turned the menu over in order to offer him a clear space, but he turned it back again, saying, "Please let me sign on this side. I find myself in good company with the defenders of Verdun."

At departing he said to me, "We may all be happy now since certainly we are on the right side of the hill." ("Nous sommes sur la bonne pente.")

In case this little story should fall into the hands of any woman who has spent her time working for the men at the Front, I would like to tell her the great pleasure it is to them to receive parcels, no matter what they contain. Fraternity and Equality reign supreme in the trenches, and the man counts himself happy who receives a little more than the others, since he has the joy and the pleasure of sharing his store of good things with his comrades. There is seldom a request made to the French behind the lines that they do not attempt to fulfil. I remember last winter, passing through a town in the provinces, I noticed that the elderly men appeared to be scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather. It appeared that the call had gone forth for fur coats for the troops, and all the worthy citizens of the town forwarded to the trenches their caracul coats. Only those who are well acquainted with French provincial life can know what it means to them to part with these signs of opulence and commercial success.

It is perhaps in the Post Offices that you find yourself nearest to the heart of "France behind the lines."

One morning I endeavoured to send a parcel to a French soldier. I took my place in a long line of waiting women bound on the same errand. A white-haired woman before me gave the Post Office Clerk infinite trouble. They are not renowned for their patience and I marvelled at his gentleness until he explained. "Her son died five weeks ago, but she still continues to send him parcels."

To another old lady he pointed out that she had written two numbers on the parcel. "You don't want two numbers, Mother. Which is your boy's number? Tell me and I will strike out the other." "Leave them both," she answered. "Who knows whether my dear lad will be there to receive the parcel. If he is not, I want it to go to some other Mother's son."

Affection means much to these men who are suffering, and they respond at once to any sympathy shown to them. One man informed us with pride that when he left his native village he was "decked like an altar of the Blessed Virgin on the first of May." In other words, covered with flowers.

There are but few lonely soldiers now, since those who have no families to write to them receive letters and parcels from the Godmothers who have adopted them. The men anxiously await the news of their adopted relatives and spend hours writing replies. They love to receive letters, but, needless to say, a parcel is even more welcome.

I remember seeing one man writing page after page. I suggested to him that he must have a particularly charming Godmother. "Mademoiselle," he replied, "I have no time for a Godmother since I myself am a Godfather." He then explained that far away in his village there was a young assistant in his shop, "And God knows the boy loves France, but both his lungs are touched, so they won't take him, but I write and tell him that the good God has given me strength for two, that I fight for him and for myself, and that we are both doing well for France." I went back in imagination to the village. I could see the glint in the boy's eyes, realised how the blood pulsed quicker through his veins at the sight of, not the personal pronoun "I" in the singular, but the plural "We are doing well for France." For one glorious moment he was part of the hosts of France and in spirit serving his Motherland. It is that spirit of the French nation that their enemies will never understand.

On one occasion a young German officer, covered with mud from head to foot, was brought before one of the French Generals. He had been taken fighting cleanly, and the General was anxious to show him kindness. He asked him if he would not prefer to cleanse himself before examination. The young German drew himself up and replied: "Look at me, General. I am covered from head to foot with mud, and that mud is the soil of France--you will never possess as much soil in Germany." The General turned to him with that gentle courtesy which marks the higher commands in France and answered: "Monsieur, we may never possess as much soil in Germany, but there is something that you will never possess, and, until you conquer it, you cannot vanquish France, and that is the spirit of the French people."

The French find it difficult to understand the arrogance which appears ingrained in the German character and which existed before the War.

I read once that in the guests' book of a French hotel a Teutonic visitor wrote:

"L'AIlemagne est la premiere nation du monde."

The next French visitor merely added:

"Yes, 'Allemagne is the first country of the world' if we take them in alphabetical order."

To The Glory Of The Women Of France

I left the war zone with an increased respect, if this were possible, for the men of France. They have altered their uniforms, but the spirit is unchanged. They are no longer in the red and blue of the old days, but in shades of green, grey and blue, colours blending to form one mighty ocean--wave on wave of patriotism--beating against and wearing down the rocks of military preparedness of forty years, and as no man has yet been able to say to the Ocean stop, so no man shall cry "Halt" to the Armies of France.

I have spoken much of the men of France, but the women have also earned our respect--those splendid peasant women, who even in times of peace worked, and now carry a double burden on their shoulders--the middle-class women, endeavouring to keep together the little business built up by the man with years of toil, stinting themselves to save five francs to send a parcel to the man at the Front that he may not suspect that there is not still every comfort in the little homestead--the noble women of France, who in past years could not be seen before noon, since my lady was at her toilette, and who can be seen now, their hands scratched and bleeding, kneeling on the floors of the hospitals scrubbing, proud and happy to take their part in national service. The men owe much of their courage to the attitude of the women who stand behind them, turning their tears to smiles to urge their men to even greater deeds of heroism.

In one of our hospitals was a young lad of seventeen who had managed to enlist as an "engage volontaire" by lying as to his age. His old Mother came to visit him, and she told me he was the last of her three sons; the two elder ones had died the first week of the war at Pont Mousson, and her little home had been burned to the ground. The boy had spent his time inventing new and terrible methods of dealing with the enemy, but with his Mother he became a child again and tenderly patted the old face. Seeing the lad in his Mother's arms, and forgetting for one moment the spirit of the French nation, I asked her if she would not be glad if her boy was so wounded that she might take him home. She was only an old peasant woman, but her eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed with anger and turning to me she said, "Mademoiselle, how dare you say such a thing to me? If all the Mothers, Wives and Sweethearts thought as you, what would happen to the country? Gustave has only one thing to do, get well quickly and fight for Mother France."

Because these women of France have sent their men forth to die, eyes dry, with stiff lips and head erect, do not think that they do not mourn for them. When night casts her kindly mantle of darkness over all, when they are hidden from the eyes of the world, it is then that the proud heads droop and are bent upon their arms, as the women cry out in the bitterness of their souls for the men who have gone from them. Yet they realise that behind them stands the greatest Mother of all, Mother France, who sees coming towards her, from her frontiers, line on line of ambulances with their burden of suffering humanity, yet watches along other routes her sons going forth in thousands, laughter in their eyes, songs on their lips, ready and willing to die for her. France draws around her her tattered and bloodstained robe, yet what matters the outer raiment? Behind it shines forth her glorious, exultant soul, and she lifts up her head rejoicing and proclaims to the world that when she appealed man, woman, and child--the whole of the French nation-- answered to her call.