Part 6 (1/2)
About this time I received the following from France:--
”Dear Woppy, I am glad that you Will soon be back at G.H.Q., With brushes, paint and turpentine, And canvases fourteen by nine, To paint the British soldier man As often as you may and can.
The brave ally, the captive Boche, And Monsieur Clemenceau and Foch; But, on the whole, you'd better not Paint lady spies before they're shot.
We're living in the Eastern zone, Between the ----, the ----, the ---- (The orders of Sir Douglas Haig Compel me, Woppy, to be vague.) But you can find out where we are And come there in a motor-car.
We hold a chateau on a hill . . . . . . . (Censored) A pond with carp, a stream with brill, And perch and trout await your skill.
A garden with umbrageous trees Is here for you to take your ease.
And strawberries, both red and white, (p. 074) Are there to soothe your appet.i.te; And, just the very thing for you, Sweet landscape and a lovely view.
So pack your box and come along And take a ticket for Boulogne.
The General is calling me.
Yours, till we meet again,
”M. B.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: x.x.xII. _Lieut.-Colonel A. N. Lee, D.S.O., etc._]
CHAPTER XI (p. 075)
BACK IN FRANCE (JULY-SEPTEMBER 1918)
Early in July I returned to France. My brother had now left me, and was doing regular Army work, and I brought Dudley Forsyth over with me. We stayed in Boulogne a few days till our billets were fixed at St. Valery, and during this time I painted a portrait at ”b.u.mpherie”
of Lee, who had then become the boss of Intelligence (F) Section and was Colonel A. N. Lee, D.S.O. Things had changed. ”The stream of goodwill, it would turn a mill” at ”b.u.mpherie.” ”Dear old Orps”--nothing was too good for him. ”Do you think you could put in a word for me to ----?” ”If ---- speaks of the matter to you, just mention my name.” Oh yes, the Colonel was really my friend now, and all the underlings appealed to me--and a good friend he has been ever since. Dear old Tuppenny Lee; I hope he'll forgive me writing all this, but he was a bit tough on me that first year, and he knows it jolly well, but he has more than made up for it since by a long chalk.
There was only one wrong note in the harmony at ”b.u.mpherie” then, and that was a ”Colonel” with a large head and weak legs. He never forgave me--he wasn't that sort of fellow.
St. Valery-sur-Somme is a very pleasant little town at the mouth of the river, and the Allied Press held a nice chateau with a lovely garden. When things were quiet they used to have musical evenings, when Captain Douglas would sing most charmingly, and Captain Holland (p. 076) would play the fool well. Poor Theo! The Boche were at it hard now, and they were bombing all round every night. One night my window and wooden shutters were blown in--four bombs came down quite close. The roar of their falling was terrific. I remember well, after the second had burst, finding myself trying to jamb my head under my bed, but there wasn't room. I was scared stiff.
Soon after this great things happened. The whole world changed--the air became more exhilarating, birds seemed to sing happier songs, and men walked with a lighter step. One great thing happened quickly after another. Ludendorff's black day arrived, and the Boche were driven off the heights of Villers-Bretonneux, and they lost sight of Amiens Cathedral. One day news came that the French had attacked all along the line from Chateau Thierry to Soissons, and had taken four thousand prisoners! It was all wonderful! Any day on the roads then one pa.s.sed thousands of field-grey prisoners--long lines of weary, beaten men.
They had none of the arrogance of the early prisoners, who were all sure Germany would win, and showed their thoughts clearly. No, these men were beaten and knew it, and they had not the spirit left even to try and hide their feelings.
That great French song, ”La Madelon de la Victoire,” connecting the names of Foch and Clemenceau, was sung with joy, and yet, when sung, tears were never far away--tears of thankfulness! Many have I seen pour down the cheeks of great, strong, brave men at the sound of that song and the tramp of the sky-blue poilus coming along in the glare and dust.
Forsyth had a song which became very popular about this time. The chorus ran:--
”Mary Ann is after me, (p. 077) Full of love she seems to be; My mother says, it's clear to see She wants me for her young man.
Father says, 'If that be true, John, my boy, be thankful, do; There's one bigger b.l.o.o.d.y fool in the world than you-- That's Mary Ann.'”
[Ill.u.s.tration: x.x.xIII. _Marshal Foch, O.M._]
In August I went down South to paint Marshal Foch at Bon Bon. General Sir John Du Cane kindly put me up at the British Mission, which was quite close to the Marshal's chateau, and I had a most interesting week. The morning after I arrived, General Grant brought me over to the Marshal's H.Q., a nice old place. We were shown into a waiting-room, and in a couple of minutes General Weygand (Chief of Staff) came in, a quiet, gentle, good-looking little man. It was impossible to imagine him carrying the weight of responsibility he had at that time. He was perfectly calm, and most courteous, and after talking to General Grant for a few minutes, brought us in to the Marshal. And there was the great little man, deep in the study of his maps, very calm, very quiet. He would certainly sit. How long did I want him for? An hour and a half each day, for four or five days?
Certainly. When did I wish to start? The next day? Certainly. He would sit from 7 a.m. to 8.30 a.m. for as many mornings as I wished. Might he smoke while he sat? Yes! Bon! Would I go and look out what room would suit me to work in? Any room I liked except the one I was in with the maps. I fixed up a little library to work in--a long, narrow, dark little place, but with a good light by the window. I got up very early the next morning and arrived there about 6.15 a.m., and as n.o.body seemed to be about, I walked in, and as the only way I knew (p. 078) how to get to the library was through the room with the maps, I opened its door, and there he was, deep in study. He got up, shook hands, and said he would be with me at 7 a.m. In he came at 7 a.m., very quietly, and sat like a lamb, except that his pipe upset him. It seemed that some of his English friends thought he was smoking too many cigars, and they had given him a pipe and tobacco, and asked him to try and smoke it instead. But up to that date the Marshal was not a star at pipe-smoking. He could light it all right, but after about two minutes it would begin to make strange gurgling noises, which grew louder and louder, till it went out. The next day I brought some feathers and cotton wool, and the Marshal looked on me as a sort of hero, because each time we rested I used to clean out the pipe and dry it.
During all the time he was sitting great battles were going on and the Germans were being driven back. News was brought to him about every ten minutes. If it was good, he would say ”Bon!” If it was bad, he just made a strange noise by forcing air out through his lips. During that time the Americans were having their first big ”do,” and I remember he was very upset at the Boche getting out of the St. Mihiel pocket in the way they did, without being caught.
I remember one morning (the Marshal did not know I understood any French at all) a General came in and sat with him, and the Marshal, very quietly, gave him times, dates, places where battles would be fought up to the end of December 1918, naming the French, British and American Divisions, and so forth, which would be used in each. When I got back to the Mission, I wrote down some dates and places I remembered, but told no one, and, as far as I could judge, everything went exactly as he said it would till about the middle of October, (p. 079) when the Boche really got on the run. Then things went quicker than he expected.