Part 6 (2/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: x.x.xIV. _A German 'Plane Pa.s.sing St. Denis._]
It seemed amazing, the calmness of that old chateau at Bon Bon, yet wires from that old country house were conveying messages of blood and h.e.l.l to millions of men. What must the little man have felt? The responsibility of it all--hidden in the brain behind those kind, thoughtful eyes. Apparently, his only worry was ”Ma pipe.” His face would wrinkle up in anger over that. That, and if anyone was late for a meal. Otherwise he appeared to me to be the most mentally calm and complete thing I had ever come across. I would have liked to have painted him standing by his great maps, thinking, thinking for hours and hours. Yes, the three memories I brought away from Bon Bon were maps, calmness, and a certainty that the Allies would be victorious.
While I was there General Grant brought me over to Vaux. What a hall!
Surely the most beautiful thing of a private nature in existence, with its blue dome and black eagle at the top.
I left one evening and stopped in Paris that night. There were two air raids, and in the morning I heard Big Bertha for the first time, and when we left about 10 o'clock, just past St. Denis, a Boche 'plane came over to see where the sh.e.l.ls were falling.
There was a wonderful service in the Cathedral at Amiens one morning, the first since the bombardment, a thanksgiving for the deliverance of the city from sh.e.l.l-fire. The Boche had been driven further back and the old city was out of sh.e.l.l-range and at peace. It was a lovely morning with a strong breeze, a little sixteenth-century Virgin had been rescued from Albert Cathedral, and it was set up on a pedestal in the middle of the chancel. There was a guard of honour of (p. 080) Australians; birds were flying about above and singing; they had made the interior of the Cathedral their own. Bits of gla.s.s kept falling down, and the wind made strange whistling noises through the smashed and battered windows. It was all very impressive. General Rawlinson and his staff came over from Bertangles, a few natives of Amiens came into the town for it, otherwise the whole congregation was British. It was strange! Australian bugles blaring away inside those walls!
I painted Maude and Colonel du Tyl, the brave defenders of the interior of the city during the bombardment, in Maude's cellar in the ”Hotel de Ville.” General Rogers (then Colonel Rogers) used to come in constantly--a charming man, very calm, with a great sense of humour, and as brave as a lion. His little brother was working under Maude. At that time his little brother was very silent--one could not get a word out of him. Maude used to call him ”my little ray of suns.h.i.+ne.” Now he is as cheerful a ”Bean” as you could wish to find.
The day the Boche were driven out of Albert, General Rogers went there and brought back the story of the cat. When the Tommies got into the town, even through the din, they heard the wailing of a cat in agony, and they found her crucified on a door, so they naturally went to take her down, but as they were pulling the first nail out, it exploded a bomb and many were killed. It was a dirty trick! Yet they who did it may be sitting beside me now in the little Parisian cafe in which I write--it is full of Boche. It's a strange thought, almost beyond understanding.
The light in Maude's cellar was most interesting to paint, and I'm afraid I spent far too long at it, but Maude was a good companion.
Things were changing now daily. Instead of feeling the sea just (p. 081) behind one's back, so to speak, each day, it was getting further and further away, and there were fresh fields to explore. I was due officially to leave for Italy, but I couldn't go. Why leave France when wonder after wonder was happening? Hardly a day pa.s.sed that some glorious news did not come in. No, I couldn't tear myself away from Picardy and the North. I felt that I would feel more out of it in Italy than in London, and now I know I was right. I did not do much in the way of my own work, but I saw and felt things I would never have got down South--things which were felt so much that their impression increases rather than diminishes. It is difficult at times to realise what is happening. Somehow other things keep one from realisation at the moment, but afterwards these other things diminish in importance and the real impression becomes more clearly defined.
[Ill.u.s.tration: x.x.xV. _British and French A.P.M.'s Amiens._]
I painted General Lord Rawlinson at Bertangles, which was then his headquarters, a charming man with a face full of character. He paints himself, and was good enough to take great interest in the sketch I painted of him. He had a mirror put up so that he could see what I was doing. This wasn't altogether a help to me, because, at times, perhaps when I was painting the half-light on his nose, he would say: ”What colours did you mix for that?” By the time I had tried to think out what colours I had mixed--most probably not having the slightest idea--I would have forgotten what part of the head I was painting and what brush I was using. But Bertangles in August was lovely, and the lunches in the tent, even though full of wasps, were excellent.
Certainly H.Q. 4th Army was well run.
A little later the H.Q. 4th Army moved to the devastated country close to Villers Carbonelle on the Peronne side. It was a wonderful bit of (p. 082) camouflage work. This great H.Q. just looked like an undulating bit of country even when right up beside it. I remember standing in the middle of it one frosty moonlight night, and it was impossible to believe that there were hundreds of human beings all around me there in the middle of that abomination of desolation.
I also painted Brigadier-General Dame Vaughan Williams of the Q.M.W.A.A.C.'s at her H.Q., St. Valery--a strong-minded, gentle, earnest worker, much loved by those under her. She held a chateau in a large garden and held it well. The mess was excellent.
Some civilians had now come back to Amiens, and it was possible to get a room in the ”Hotel de la Paix,” so I left St. Valery and came to live there. This hotel escaped better than any other house in Amiens from the sh.e.l.ls and bombs. The gla.s.s was, of course, broken, and slates knocked off, but that was all, except where little bits had been knocked out of the walls by shrapnel. It was wonderful to be there and watch the town coming to life again week by week.
After a time the Allied Press came and patched up their chateau, or parts of it. Some of the correspondents slept there and some got billets outside. Shops began to open. The _Daily Mail_ came once more, and gradually the streets filled with people, these streets, the pavements of which were now more hostile than ever. Even a few of the girls came and settled there--”early birds.”
That sweet, natural woman, Sister Rose, had remained in Amiens all through the bombardment, and when the people began returning, she was asked one day: ”Are not you pleased, Sister Rose, to have the people round you again?” To which she replied: ”Yes, of course I am in some ways, but I loved the bombardment. I felt the whole city was mine, (p. 083) each street became very intimate, and I could walk through them and pray out loud to my G.o.d in peace. But now! why, if I prayed to my G.o.d in the streets of Amiens they would think me a d.a.m.ned lunatic!” I can understand her very human feeling at that time--people who had run away from the city in its agony returned when its tribulation was over, and claimed it as their own again when the calm of evening had come; while she, Sister Rose, had borne the burden and heat of the day. But this feeling soon left her, and she worked whole-heartedly once more to succour the poor in distress in the city she loved so well.
[Ill.u.s.tration: x.x.xVI. _General Lord Rawlinson, Bart., G.C.B., etc._]
CHAPTER XII (p. 084)
AMIENS (OCTOBER 1918)
The nights were very black, there being no lights in the streets at all.
A little later Maude left his billet on the Abbeville Road, and came to live with me in the ”Hotel de la Paix.” One night we were dining there, and at about 8.45 p.m. a young Flying Officer left a friend and came and asked Maude if we would come to their table and have a drink with them. Maude said Yes, and the lad went back to his table. ”Who is your friend?” said I. ”I don't know,” Maude replied. ”They asked me for ten minutes' extension of time last night, and I gave it to them.”
Presently we went over to their table and they ordered a round of the deadly brandy of the hotel. Maude introduced me as Major Sir William Orpen, and I learnt that their names were Tom and Fred. After a couple of minutes Tom wanted to ask me something, and he started off this way: ”By the way, Sir William----” ”A little less of your d.a.m.ned Sir William!” said I. ”All right,” said he, ”don't get huffy about it, b.l.o.o.d.y old Bill.” So naturally we all became friends, and we mounted the stairs to my room, and the bar was opened and Tom recited. Fred insisted on it. ”But,” said Tom, ”you always cry, Fred, when I recite.” ”It doesn't matter, Tom,” said Fred, ”I like it.” So Tom recited and Fred cried, and Maude and I looked on and wondered and (p. 085) drank ”Spots.” They left about 11 o'clock to drive back to the aerodrome in an old ambulance they had in the yard. At about 7 a.m.
the next morning I was awakened by a violent knocking at my door, so I shouted: ”Come in,” and in came Tom and Fred. They both walked over and sat on my bed. ”What on earth are you here at this hour of the morning for?” I asked. ”That's just what we've come here to find out, b.l.o.o.d.y old Bill,” said Tom. ”Are you hurt, Bill?” ”No,” said I. ”Why?”
”No furniture broken, no damage done to the room, Bill?” ”No,” said I.
”Why?” ”Well, look here, Bill, it's like this,” said Tom. ”Fred and I are puzzled as to exactly what happened. Fred, tell him what happened to you, and then I'll tell him about myself.”
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