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Orpen</title> + + +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- + +body {font-size: 1em; text-align: justify; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} + +h1 {font-size: 1.4em; text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} +h2 {font-size: 1.2em; text-align: center; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em;} +h3 {font-size: 1.2em; text-align: center; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h4 {text-align: center; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 2em;} +h6 {font-size: 0.8em; text-align: center;} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +.pagenum {visibility: hidden; position: absolute; right:0; font-size: 0.6em; +text-align: right; color: #C0C0C0; background-color: inherit;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.quote {margin-left: 05%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.poem {margin-left: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} +.poem1 {margin-left: 20%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.poem25 {margin-left: 25%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +a {text-decoration: none;} + +.figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + +.col05-15 {position: absolute; right: 0; margin-left: 05%; margin-right: 85%;} +.col15 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 5%;} + +--> +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's An Onlooker in France 1917-1919, by William Orpen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: An Onlooker in France 1917-1919 + +Author: William Orpen + +Release Date: December 29, 2006 [EBook #20215] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ONLOOKER IN FRANCE 1917-1919 *** + + + + +Produced by Geetu Melwani, Christine P. Travers, Chuck +Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian +Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>AN ONLOOKER IN FRANCE</h1> + +<a id="imgI" name="imgI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img001.jpg" width="400" height="503" +alt="I. Field-Marshal Earl Haig of Bemersyde" title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter"> I. <i>Field-Marshal Earl Haig of Bemersyde, O.M., K.T., etc.</i></p> + + + +<h1>AN ONLOOKER IN +FRANCE</h1> +<h4>1917-1919</h4> + + +<h4>BY</h4> +<h1>SIR WILLIAM ORPEN, K.B.E., R.A.</h1> + + +<h4>LONDON<br> +WILLIAMS AND NORGATE<br> +1921</h4> + + + + +<h6> +Pictures and Text, Copyright 1921<br> +by<br> +<span class="smcap">Sir William Orpen, K.B.E., R.A.</span></h6> + + +<h6><span class="smcap">Printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,<br> +Paris Garden, Stamford St., S.E. 1, and Bungay, Suffolk.</span></h6> + + + + + +<h2>PREFACE +<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagev" name="pagev"></a>(p. v)</span></h2> + + +<p>This book must not be considered as a serious work on life in France +behind the lines, it is merely an attempt to record some certain +little incidents that occurred in my own life there.</p> + +<p>The only thought I wish to convey is my sincere thanks for the +wonderful opportunity that was given me to look on and see the +fighting man, and to learn to revere and worship him—that is the only +serious thing. I wish to express my worship and reverence to that +gallant company, and to convey to those who are left my most sincere +thanks for all their marvellous kindness to me, a mere looker on.</p> + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<p> +<span class="col05-15">Chap.</span><br> + +<span class="col15"><a href="#pagev">PREFACE</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">I.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page011">TO FRANCE (APRIL 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">II.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page016">THE SOMME (APRIL 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">III.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page025">AT BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS AND +ST. POL (MAY-JUNE 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">IV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page031">THE YPRES SALIENT (JUNE-JULY 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">V.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page036">THE SOMME IN SUMMER-TIME (AUGUST 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">VI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page042">THE SOMME (SEPTEMBER 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">VII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page050">WITH THE FLYING CORPS (OCTOBER 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">VIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page055">CASSEL AND IN HOSPITAL (NOVEMBER 1917)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">IX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page062">WINTER (1917-1918)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">X.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page067">LONDON (MARCH-JUNE 1918)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page075">BACK IN FRANCE (JULY-SEPTEMBER 1918)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page084">AMIENS (OCTOBER 1918)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page090">NEARING THE END (OCTOBER 1918)</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page098">THE PEACE CONFERENCE</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page111">PARIS DURING THE PEACE CONFERENCE</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#page116">THE SIGNING OF THE PEACE</a></span><br> + +<span class="col15"><a href="#page121">INDEX</a></span></p> + + + + + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<p> +<span class="col05-15">Plate</span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">I.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgI">Field-Marshal Earl Haig of Bemersyde, O.M., K.T., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">II.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgII">The Bapaume Road.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">III.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgIII">Men Resting, La Boisselle.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">IV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgIV">A Tank, Pozières.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">V.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgV">Warwickshires entering Péronne.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">VI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgVI">No Man's Land.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">VII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgVII">Three Weeks in France: Shell-shock.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">VIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgVIII">Man in the Glare, Two Miles from the Hindenburg Line.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">IX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgIX">Air-Marshal Sir H. M. Trenchard, Bart., K.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">X.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgX">A Howitzer in Action.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXI">German 'Planes visiting Cassel.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXII">Soldiers and Peasants, Cassel.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXIII">German Prisoners.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXIV">View from the old English Trenches, looking towards +La Boisselle.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXV">Adam and Eve at Péronne.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXVI">A Grave in a Trench.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXVII">The Deserter.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXVIII">The Great Mine, La Boisselle.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXIX">The Butte de Warlencourt.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXX">Lieut. A. P. F. Rhys Davids, D.S.O., M.C., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXI">Lieut. R. T. C. Hoidge, M.C.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXII">The Return of a Patrol.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXIII">Changing Billets.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXIV">The Receiving-room, 42nd Stationary Hospital.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXV">A Death among the Wounded in the Snow.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXVI">Some Members of the Allied Press Camp.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXVII">Poilu and Tommy.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXVIII">Major-General The Right Hon. J. E. B. Seely, +C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXIX">Bombing: Night.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXX">Major J. B. McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXI">The Refugee.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXII">Lieut.-Col. A. N. Lee, D.S.O., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXIII">Marshal Foch, O.M.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXIV">A German 'Plane passing St. Denis.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXV">British and French A.P.M.'s, Amiens.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXVI">General Lord Rawlinson, Bart., G.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXVII">Albert.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXVIII">The Mad Woman of Douai.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XXXIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXXXIX">Field-Marshal Lord Plumer of Messines, G.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XL.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXL">Armistice Night, Amiens.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLI">The Official Entry of the Kaiser.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLII">General Sir J. S. Cowans, G.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLIII">Field-Marshal Sir Henry H. Wilson, Bart., K.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLIV">The Right Hon. Louis Botha, P.C., LL.D.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLV">The Right Hon. A. J. Balfour, O.M.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLVI">President Woodrow Wilson.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLVII">The Marquis Siongi.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLVIII">A Polish Messenger.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XLIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXLIX">Lord Riddell.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">L.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgL">The Right Hon. The Earl of Derby, E.G., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLI">Signing the Peace Treaty.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLII">The End of a Hero and a Tank, Courcelette.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLIII">General Birdwood returning to his Headquarters, Grévillers.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLIV">A Skeleton in a Trench.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLV">Flight-Sergeant, R.F.C.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLVI">N.C.O., Grenadier Guards.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLVII">Stretcher-bearers.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLVIII">Man Resting, near Arras.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLIX">Going Home to be Married.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLX">Household Brigade passing to the Ypres Salient. Cassel.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXI">Ready to Start.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXII">A German Prisoner with the Iron Cross.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXIII">A Big Gun and its Guardian.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXIV">Good-bye-ee.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXV">The Château, Thiepval.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXVI">German Wire, Thiepval.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXVII">Thiepval.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXVIII">Highlander passing a Grave.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXIX">M. R. D. de Maratrayl.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXX">A Man, Thinking, on the Butte de Warlencourt.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXI">Major-General Sir Henry Burstall, K.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXII">Major-General L. J. Lipsett, C.M.G., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXIII">A Village, Evening (Monchy).</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXIV">Christmas Night, Cassel.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXV">Blown Up: Mad.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXVI">A Support Trench.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXVII">Major-General Sir H. J. Elles, K.C.M.G., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXVIII">Dead Germans in a Trench.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXIX">A German Prisoner.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXX">A Highlander Resting.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXI">Man with a Cigarette.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXII">Mr. Lloyd George, President Wilson, M. Clemenceau.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXIII">A Meeting of the Peace Conference.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXIV">Admiral of the Fleet Lord Wester Wemyss, G.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXV">Colonel Edward M. House.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXVI">Mr. Robert Lansing.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXVII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXVII">The Emir Feisul.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXVIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXVIII">M. Eleutherios Venezelos.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">LXXXIX.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgLXXXIX">Admiral of the Fleet Sir David Beatty, Viscount Borodale of + Wexford, O.M., G.C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XC.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXC">The Right Hon. W. F. Massey, P.C.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XCI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXCI">General The Right Hon. J. C. Smuts, P.C., C.H.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XCII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXCII">The Right Hon. G. N. Barnes, P.C.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XCIII.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXCIII">The Right Hon. W. M. Hughes, P.C., K.C.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XCIV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXCIV">Brigadier-General A. Carton de Wiart, K.C., C.B., etc.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XCV.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXCV">M. Paul Hymans.</a></span><br> + +<span class="col05-15">XCVI.</span> +<span class="col15"><a href="#imgXCVI">The Right Hon. Sir Robert Borden, G.C.M.G., etc.</a></span></p> + + + + + +<h1>AN ONLOOKER IN FRANCE +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page011" name="page011"></a>(p. 011)</span></h1> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h4>TO FRANCE (APRIL 1917)</h4> + + +<p>The boat was crowded. Khaki, everywhere khaki; lifebelts, rain and +storm, everything soaked. Destroyers, churning through the waves, +played strange games all round us. Some old-time Tommies, taking +everything for granted, smoked and laughed and told funny stories. +Others had the look of dumb animals in pain, going to what they knew +only too well. The new hands for France asked many questions, +pretended to laugh, pretended not to care, but for the most part were +in terror of the unknown.</p> + +<p>It was strange to watch this huddled heap of humanity, study their +faces and realise that perhaps half of them would meet a bloody end +before a new moon was over, and wonder how they could do it, why they +did it—Patriotism? Yes, and perhaps it was the chance of getting home +again when the war was over. Think of the life they would have! The +old song:—</p> + +<div class="poem25"> +<p>"We don't want to lose you,<br> +But we think you ought to go,<br> +For your King and your Country<br> +Both need you so.</p> +<p>"We +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page012" name="page012"></a>(p. 012)</span> +shall-want you and miss you,<br> +But with all our might and main<br> +We shall cheer you, thank you, kiss you,<br> +When you come back again."</p></div> + +<p>Did they think of that, and all the joys it seemed to promise them? I +pray not.</p> + +<p>What a change had come over the world for me since the day before! On +that evening I had dined with friends who had laughed and talked small +scandal about their friends. One, also, was rather upset because he +had an appointment at 10.30 the next day—and there was I, a few hours +later, being tossed about and soaked in company with men who knew they +would run a big chance of never seeing England again, and were +certainly going to suffer terrible hardships from cold, filth, +discomfort and fatigue. There they stood, sat and lay—a mass of +humanity which would be shortly bundled off the boat at Boulogne like +so many animals, to wait in the rain, perhaps for hours, before being +sent off again to whatever spot the unknown at G.H.Q. had allotted for +them, to kill or to be killed; and there was I among them, going +quietly to G.H.Q., everything arranged by the War Office, all in +comfort. Yet my stomach was twitching about with nerves. What would I +have been like had I been one of them?</p> + +<p>At Boulogne we lunched at the "Mony" (my companion, Aikman, had been +to France before during the war and knew a few things). It was an +excellent lunch, and, as we were not to report at G.H.Q. till the next +day, we walked about looking at lorries and trains, all going off to +the unknown, filled with humanity in khaki weighed down with their +packs.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgII" name="imgII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img002.jpg" width="400" height="316" +alt="II. The Bapaume Road" title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">II. <i>The Bapaume Road.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">The +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page013" name="page013"></a>(p. 013)</span> +following morning at breakfast at the "Folkestone Hotel" +we sat at the next table to a Major with red tabs. He did not speak to +us, but after breakfast he said: "Is your name Orpen?" "Yes, sir," +said I. "Have you got your car ready?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Well, you +had better drive back with me. Pack all your things in your car." +"Yes, sir," said I. He explained to me that he had come to Boulogne to +fetch General Smuts' luggage, otherwise he gave us no idea of who or +what he was, and off we drove to the C.-in-C.'s house, where he went +in with the General's luggage and left us in the car for about an +hour. Then we went on to Hesdin, where he reported us to the Town +Major, who said he had found billets for us. The Red Tab Major +departed, as he said he was only just in time for his lunch, and told +us to come to Rollencourt soon and report to the Colonel. The Town +Major brought us round to our billet—the most filthy, disgusting +house in all Hesdin, and the owner, an old woman, cursed us soundly, +hating the idea of people being billeted with her. Anyway, there he +left us and went off to his "Mess."</p> + +<p>This was all very depressing, so we talked together and went on a +voyage of discovery and found an hotel; then we went back to the +billet and said "good-bye" to Madame and moved our stuff there. But +the hotel wasn't a dream—at least we had no chance of dreaming—bugs, +lice and all sorts of little things were active all night. I had been +told by the War Office to go slow and not try to hustle people, so we +decided we would not go and report to the Colonel till the next day +after lunch.</p> + +<p>Looking into the yard from my window in the afternoon, I saw two men I +knew, one an artist from Chelsea, the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page014" name="page014"></a>(p. 014)</span> +other a Dublin +man, who used to play lawn tennis. They were "Graves." My Dublin +friend was "Adjutant, Graves," in fact he proudly told me that +"Adjutant, Graves, B.E.F., France," would always find him. We dined +with them that night at H.Q. Graves. They were very friendly, and said +we could travel all over the back of the line by going from one +"Graves" to another "Graves." All good chaps, I'm sure, and cheerful, +but we did not do it.</p> + +<p>The next day after lunch we drove to Rollencourt, and found the Major +in his office (a hut on the lawn in front of the château). He left, +and returned to say the Colonel could not see us then. Would we come +back at 5 p.m.? So off we went and sat by the side of the road for two +hours. Then again to the Major's at 5 p.m., when he informed us the +Colonel had gone out. Would we come back at 7 p.m.? (No tea offered.) +This we did and waited until 7.50, when the Major informed us that the +Colonel would not see us that evening, but we were to report the next +morning at 9 a.m. (No dinner offered.) We left thinking very +hard—things did not seem so simple after all. We reported at 9 a.m. +and waited, and got a message at 11 a.m. that the Colonel would see +us, and we were shown in to a wizened, sour-faced little man, his +breast ablaze with strange colours. I explained to him that I did not +like the billets at Hesdin, that Hesdin was too far away from anything +near the front, and that I intended to go to Amiens at once. To my +surprise he did not seem to object, and just as we were leaving, he +said: "By the way, General Charteris wants you to go and see him this +morning. You had better go at once." So that was it! If General +Charteris had not sent that message I might not have been admitted to +the presence +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page015" name="page015"></a>(p. 015)</span> +of the Colonel for weeks. Off we went, full of +hope, packed our bags and on to G.H.Q. proper, and got in to see the +General at once—a bluff, jovial fellow who said: "You go anywhere you +like, do anything you like, but don't ask me to get any Generals to +sit to you; they're fed up with artists." I said: "That's the last +thing I want." "Right," said he, "off you go." So we "offed" it to +Amiens, arriving there about 7 p.m. on a cold, black, wet night. We +went to see the Allied Press "Major," to find out some place to stop +in, etc. Again we were rather depressed. The meeting was very chilly, +the importance of the Major was great—the full weight and +responsibility of the war seemed on him. "The Importance of being +Ernest" wasn't in it with him. As I learnt afterwards, when he came in +late for a meal all the other officers and Allied Press correspondents +stood up. Many a time I got a black look for not doing so. However, he +advised the worst and most expensive hotel in the town, and off we +went (no dinner offered), rather depressed and sad.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgIII" name="imgIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img003.jpg" width="400" height="332" +alt="III. Men resting. La Boisselle." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">III. <i>Men resting. La Boisselle.</i></p> + + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER II +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page016" name="page016"></a>(p. 016)</span></h3> + +<h4>THE SOMME (APRIL 1917)</h4> + + +<p>Amiens was the one big town that could be reached easily from the +Somme front for dinner, so every night it was crowded with officers +and men who had come back in cars, motor-bikes, lorries or any old +thing in or on which they could get a lift. After dinner they would +stand near the station and hail anything passing, till they found +something that would drop them near their destination. As there was an +endless stream of traffic going out over the Albert and Péronne Roads +during that time (April 1917), it was easy.</p> + +<p>Amiens is a dirty old town with its seven canals. The cathedral, +belfry and the theatre are, of course, wonderful, but there is little +else except the dirt.</p> + +<p>I remember later lunching with John Sargent in Amiens, after which I +asked him if he would like to see the front of the theatre. He said he +would. When we were looking at it he said: "Yes, I suppose it is one +of the most perfect things in Europe. I've had a photograph of it +hanging over my bed for the last thirty years."</p> + +<p>But Amiens was a danger trap for the young officer from the line, also +for the men. "Charlie's Bar" was always full of officers; mirth ran +high, also the bills for drinks—and the drink the Tommies got in the +little cafés was terrible stuff, and often doped.</p> + +<p>Then, when darkness came on, strange women—the riff-raff from +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page017" name="page017"></a>(p. 017)</span> +Paris, the expelled from Rouen, in fact the badly diseased +from all parts of France—hovered about in the blackness with their +electric torches, and led the unknowing away to blackened side-streets +and up dim stairways—to what? Anyway, for an hour or so they were out +of the rain and mud, but afterwards? Often did I go with Freddie Fane, +the A.P.M., to these dens of filth to drag fine men away from disease.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgIV" name="imgIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img004.jpg" width="400" height="310" +alt="IV. A Tank. Pozières." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">IV. <i>A Tank. Pozières.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">The wise ones dined well—if not too well—at the "Godbert," with its +Madeleine, or the "Cathedral," with its Marguerite, who was the queen +of the British Army in Picardy, or, not so expensively, at the "Hôtel +de la Paix." Some months later the club started, a well-run place. I +remember a Major who used to have his bath there once a week at 4 p.m. +It was prepared for him, with a large whisky-and-soda by its side. +What more comfort could one wish? Then there were dinners at the +Allied Press, after which the Major would give a discourse amid heavy +silence; then music. The favourite song at that time was:—</p> + +<div class="poem25"> +<p> +"Jackie Boy!<br> +Master?<br> +Singie well?<br> +Very well.<br> +Hey down,<br> +Ho down,<br> +Derry, Derry down,<br> +All among the leaves so green, O.</p> + +<p>"With my Hey down, down,<br> +With my Ho down, down,<br> +Hey down,<br> +Ho down,<br> +Derry, Derry down,<br> +All among the leaves so green, O."</p> +</div> + +<p>Later, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page018" name="page018"></a>(p. 018)</span> +perhaps, if the night was fine, the Major would retire +to the garden and play the flute. This was a serious moment—a great +hush was felt, nobody dared to move; but he really didn't play badly. +And old Hale would tell stories which no one could understand, and de +Maratray would play ping-pong with extraordinary agility. It would all +have been great fun if people had not been killing each other so near. +Why, during that time, the Boche did not bomb Amiens, I cannot +understand, it was thick every week-end with the British Army. One +could hardly jamb oneself through the crowd in the Place Gambetta or +up the Rue des Trois Cailloux. It was a struggling mass of khaki, +bumping over the uneven cobblestones. What streets they were! I +remember walking back from dinner one night with a Major, the +agricultural expert of the Somme, and he said, "Don't you think the +pavement is very hostile to-night?"</p> + +<p>I shall never forget my first sight of the Somme battlefields. It was +snowing fast, but the ground was not covered, and there was this +endless waste of mud, holes and water. Nothing but mud, water, crosses +and broken Tanks; miles and miles of it, horrible and terrible, but +with a noble dignity of its own, and, running through it, the great +artery, the Albert-Bapaume Road, with its endless stream of men, guns, +food lorries, mules and cars, all pressing along with apparently +unceasing energy towards the front. Past all the little crosses where +their comrades had fallen, nothing daunted, they pressed on towards +the Hell that awaited them on the far side of Bapaume. The mud, the +cold, the noise, the misery, and perhaps death;—on they went, +plodding through the mud, those wonderful men, perhaps singing one of +their cheer-making songs, such as:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"I +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page019" name="page019"></a>(p. 019)</span> +want to go home.<br> +I want to go home.<br> +I don't want to go to the trenches no more,<br> +Where the Whizz-bangs and Johnsons do rattle and roar.<br> +Take me right over the sea,<br> +Where the Allemande can't bayonet me.<br> +Oh, my!<br> +I don't want to die,<br> +I want to go home."</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgV" name="imgV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img005.jpg" width="400" height="330" +alt="V. Warwickshires entering Péronne." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter"> V. <i>Warwickshires entering Péronne.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">How did they do it? "I want to go home."—Does anyone realise what +those words must have meant to them then? I believe I do now—a little +bit. Even I, from my back, looking-on position, sometimes felt the +terrible fear, the longing to get away. What must they have felt? +"From battle, murder and sudden death, Good Lord, deliver us."</p> + +<p>On up the hill past the mines to Pozières. An Army railway was then +running through Pozières, and the station was marked by a big wooden +sign painted black and white, like you see at any country station in +England, with POZIÈRES in large Roman letters, but that's all there +was of Pozières except a little red in the mud. I remember later, at +the R.F.C. H.Q., Maurice Baring showed me a series of air-photographs +of Pozières as it was in 1914, with its peaceful little streets and +rows of trees. What a contrast to the Pozières as it was in 1917—MUD. +Further on, the Butte stood out on the right, a heap of chalky mud, +not a blade of grass round it then—nothing but mud, with a white +cross on the top. On the left, the Crown Prince's dug-out and +Gibraltar—I suppose these have gone now—and Le Sars and Grévillers, +at that time General Birdwood's H.Q., where the church had been +knocked into a fine shape. I tried to draw it, but was much put off by +air fighting. It seemed a favourite spot for this.</p> + +<p>Bapaume +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page020" name="page020"></a>(p. 020)</span> +must always have been a dismal place, like Albert, +but Péronne must have been lovely, looking up from the water; and the +main <i>Place</i> must have been most imposing, but then it was very sad. +The Boche had only left it about three weeks, and it had not been +"cleaned up." But the real terribleness of the Somme was not in the +towns or on the roads. One felt it as one wandered over the old +battlefields of La Boisselle, Courcelette, Thiepval, Grandcourt, +Miraumont, Beaumont-Hamel, Bazentin-le-Grand and +Bazentin-le-Petit—the whole country practically untouched since the +great day when the Boche was pushed back and it was left in peace once +more.</p> + +<p>A hand lying on the duckboards; a Boche and a Highlander locked in a +deadly embrace at the edge of Highwood; the "Cough-drop" with the +stench coming from its watery bottom; the shell-holes with the shapes +of bodies faintly showing through the putrid water—all these things +made one think terribly of what human beings had been through, and +were going through a bit further on, and would be going through for +perhaps years more—who knew how many?</p> + +<p>I remember an officer saying to me, "Paint the Somme? I could do it +from memory—just a flat horizon-line and mud-holes and water, with +the stumps of a few battered trees," but one could not paint the +smell.</p> + +<p>Early one morning in Amiens I got a message from Colonel John Buchan +asking me to breakfast at the "Hôtel du Rhin." While we were having +breakfast, there was a great noise outside—an English voice was +cursing someone else hard and telling him to get on and not make an +ass of himself. Then a Flying Pilot was pushed in by an Observer. The +Pilot's hand and arm were temporarily bound up, but blood +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page021" name="page021"></a>(p. 021)</span> +was dropping through. The Observer had his face badly scratched and +one of his legs was not quite right. They sat at a table, and the +waiter brought them eggs and coffee, which they took with relish, but +the Pilot was constantly drooping towards his left, and the drooping +always continued, till he went crack on the floor. Then the Observer +would curse him soundly and put him back in his chair, where he would +eat again till the next fall. When they had finished, the waiter put a +cigarette in each of their mouths and lit them. After a few minutes +four men walked in with two stretchers, put the two breakfasters on +the stretchers, and walked out with them—not a word was spoken.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgVI" name="imgVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img006.jpg" width="400" height="339" +alt="VI. No Man's Land." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">VI. <i>No Man's Land.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">I found out afterwards that the Pilot had been hit in the wrist over +the lines early that morning and missed the direction back to his +aerodrome. Getting very weak, he landed, not very well, outside +Amiens. He got his wrist bound up and had asked someone to telephone +to the aerodrome to tell them that they were going to the "Rhin" for +breakfast, and would they send for them there?</p> + +<p>After I had been in Amiens for about a fortnight, going out to the +Somme battlefields early in the morning and coming back when it got +dark, I received a message one evening from the Press "Major" to go to +his château and ring up the "Colonel" at Rollencourt, which I did. The +following was the conversation as far as I remember:—</p> + +<p>"Is that Orpen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by behaving this way?"</p> + +<p>"What way, please, sir?"</p> + +<p>"By not reporting to me."</p> + +<p>"I'm +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page022" name="page022"></a>(p. 022)</span> +sorry, sir, but I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Don't you know you must report to me, and show me +what work you have been doing?"</p> + +<p>"I've practically done nothing yet, sir."</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing?"</p> + +<p>"Looking round, sir."</p> + +<p>"Are you aware you are being paid for your services?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, report to me and show me your work regularly.—Tell +the Major to speak to me."</p> + +<p>The Major spoke, and I clearly heard him say my behaviour was +damnable.</p> + +<p>This wonderful Colonel expected me to work all day, and apparently, in +the evening, to take what I had done and show it to him—the distance +by motor to him and back was something like 110 miles!</p> + +<p>I saw there was nothing for it, if I wanted to do my work, but to +fight, so I decided to lay my views of people and things before those +who were above the Colonel. This I did, and had comparative peace, but +the seed of hostility was sown in the Colonel's Intelligence (F) +Section, G.H.Q., as I think it was then called, and they made me +suffer as much as was in their power.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<p class="p2">"BEAUMONT-HAMEL" +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page023" name="page023"></a>(p. 023)</span></p> + +<p class="figcenter">A MEMORY OF THE SOMME (SPRING 1917)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<p> +A fair spring morning—not a living soul is near,<br> +Far, far away there is the faint grumble of the guns;<br> +The battle has passed long since—<br> +All is Peace.<br> +At times there is the faint drone of aeroplanes as<br> +They pass overhead, amber specks, high up in the blue;<br> +Occasionally there is the movement of a rat in the<br> +Old battered trench on which I sit, still in the<br> +Confusion in which it was hurriedly left.<br> +The sun is baking hot.<br> +Strange odours come from the door of a dug-out<br> +With its endless steps running down into blackness.<br> +The land is white—dazzling.<br> +The distance is all shimmering in heat.<br> +A few little spring flowers have forced their way<br> +Through the chalk.</p> + +<p>He lies a few yards in front of the trench.<br> +We are quite alone.<br> +He makes me feel very awed, very small, very ashamed.<br> +He has been there a long, long time—<br> +Hundreds of eyes have seen him,<br> +Hundreds of bodies have felt faint and sick<br> +Because of him.<br> +Then this place was Hell,<br> +But now all is Peace.<br> +And the sun has made him Holy and Pure—<br> +He and his garments are bleached white and clean.<br> +A +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page024" name="page024"></a>(p. 024)</span> +daffodil is by his head, and his curly, golden<br> +Hair is moving in the slight breeze.<br> +He, the man who died in "No Man's Land," doing<br> +Some great act of bravery for his comrades and<br> +Country—<br> +Here he lies, Pure and Holy, his face upward turned;<br> +No earth between him and his Maker.<br> +I have no right to be so near.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgVII" name="imgVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img007.jpg" width="400" height="445" +alt="VII. Three Weeks in France. Shell shock." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">VII. <i>Three Weeks in France. Shell shock.</i></p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER III +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page025" name="page025"></a>(p. 025)</span></h3> + +<h4>AT BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS AND ST. POL (MAY-JUNE 1917)</h4> + + +<p>About this time Freddie Fane (Major Fane, A.P.M.) sent me up to his +old division, which was then fighting in front of Péronne. We arrived +on a lovely afternoon at Divisional H.Q., which were in a pretty +fir-wood, and consisted of beautifully camouflaged little huts. The +guns were booming a few miles off, but everything was very peaceful +there, and the dinner was excellent; but, just as we finished, the +first shell shrieked overhead, and this I was told afterwards went on +all night. Personally I had another large whisky-and-soda, and slept +like a log.</p> + +<p>The next morning the General's A.D.C. motored me to a village about +four kilometres off and handed me over to a 2nd Lieutenant, who walked +me off to Brigade H.Q. These were behind an old railway embankment. +Everyone was most kind, but I saw no quiet place to work. Everyone was +rushing about, and the noise of the guns was terrific. The young 2nd +Lieutenant advised me to take the men I wanted to draw and to go to +the other side of the embankment. He said that there was no one there +and that I could work in peace, and he was right. The noise from our +batteries immediately gave me a bad headache, but apparently the Boche +did not respond at all till the afternoon. Then they started, and the +noise was HELL. Whenever there was a big bang I couldn't help giving +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page026" name="page026"></a>(p. 026)</span> +a jump. The old Tommy I was drawing said, "It's all right, +Guv'ner, you'll get used to it very soon." <i>I</i> didn't think so, but to +make conversation I said: "How long is it since you were home?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-two months," said he.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-two months!" said I.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he, "but one can't complain. That bloke over there hasn't +been home for twenty-eight."</p> + +<p>What a life! Twenty-four hours of it was enough for me at a time. +Before evening came my head felt as if it were filled with pebbles +which were rattling about inside it. After lunch I sat with the +Brigadier for a time and watched the men coming out from the trenches. +Some sick; some with trench feet; some on stretchers; some walking; +worn, sad and dirty—all stumbling along in the glare. The General +spoke to each as they passed. I noticed that their faces had no change +of expression. Their eyes were wide open, the pupils very small, and +their mouths always sagged a bit. They seemed like men in a dream, +hardly realising where they were or what they were doing. They showed +no sign of pleasure at the idea of leaving Hell for a bit. It was as +if they had gone through so much that nothing mattered. I was glad +when I was back at Divisional H.Q. that evening. We had difficulty on +one part of the road, as a "Sausage" had been brought down across it.</p> + +<p>Shortly afterwards I went to live at St. Pol, a dirty little town, but +full of character. The hotel was filthy and the food impossible. We +ate tinned tongue and bully-beef for the most part. Here I met +Laboreur, a Frenchman, who was acting as interpreter—a very good +artist. I think his etchings are as good as any line work the war has +produced. A +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page027" name="page027"></a>(p. 027)</span> +most amusing man. We had many happy dinners +together at a little restaurant, where the old lady used to give us +her bedroom as a private sitting-room dining-room. It was a bit +stuffy, but the food was eatable.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgVIII" name="imgVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img008.jpg" width="400" height="496" +alt="VIII. Man in the Glare. Two miles from the Hindenburg Line." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">VIII. <i>Man in the Glare. Two miles from the Hindenburg Line.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">One fine morning I got a message, "Would I ring up the P.S. of the +C.-in-C. at once?" so I went to the Camp Commandant's office. No one +was there except a corporal, so I asked him to get through to Sir +Philip Sassoon, and said that I would wait outside till he did so. +Presently he called me in, and Sassoon said I was to paint the Chief, +and would I come to lunch the next day at Advanced H.Q., G.H.Q.? after +which we talked and laughed a bit. When I hung up the receiver, I +turned round, and there was a large A.S.C. Colonel glaring at me. I +was so taken aback, as I had not heard him come in, that I didn't even +salute him. He roared at me, "Are you an S.S.O.?" (Senior Supply +Officer). "No," said I, "I'm a painter!" I never saw a man in such a +fury in my life. I thought he was going to hit me. However, I made him +understand in the end that I really was speaking the truth and in no +way wanted to be cheeky.</p> + +<p>I had lunch at Advanced G.H.Q. the next day. The C.-in-C. was very +kind, and brought me into his room afterwards, and asked me if +everything was going all right with me. I told him I had a few +troubles and was not very popular with certain people. He said: "If +you get any more letters that annoy you, send them to me and I'll +answer them." I went back to St. Pol with my head in the air. A great +weight seemed to have been lifted off me.</p> + +<p>Sir Douglas was a strong man, a true Northerner, well inside +himself—no pose. It seemed it would be impossible to upset him, +impossible to make him show any strong feeling, and +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page028" name="page028"></a>(p. 028)</span> +yet one +felt he understood, knew all, and felt for all his men, and that he +truly loved them; and I knew they loved him. Never once, all the time +I was in France, did I hear a "Tommy" say one word against "'Aig." +Whenever it became my honour to be allowed to visit him, I always left +feeling happier—feeling more sure that the fighting men being killed +were not dying for nothing. One felt he knew, and would never allow +them to suffer and die except for final victory.</p> + +<p>When I started painting him he said, "Why waste your time painting me? +Go and paint the men. They're the fellows who are saving the world, +and they're getting killed every day."</p> + +<p>The second time I was there, just after lunch, the Chief had gone to +his room, and several Generals, Colonel Fletcher, Sassoon and myself +were standing in the hall, when suddenly a most violent explosion went +off, all the windows came tumbling in, and there was great excitement, +as they thought the Boche had spotted the Chiefs whereabouts. The +explosions went on, and out came the Chief. He walked straight up to +me, laid his hand on my shoulder and said: "That's the worst of having +a fellow like you here, Major. I thought the Huns would spot it," and, +having had his joke, went back to his work. He was a great man. It +turned out to be a munition dump which had exploded near by, and the +noise was deafening for about eight hours.</p> + +<p>This was the time of the great fight round the chemical works at +Rœux, and I was drawing the men as they came out for rest. They +were mostly in a bad state, but some were quite calm. One, I remember, +was quite happy. He had ten days' leave and was going back to some +village near Manchester +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page029" name="page029"></a>(p. 029)</span> +to be married. He showed me her +photograph, a pretty girl. Perhaps he was killed afterwards.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgIX" name="imgIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img009.jpg" width="400" height="509" +alt="IX. Air-Marshal Sir H. M. Trenchard, Bart., K.C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">IX. <i>Air-Marshal Sir H. M. Trenchard, Bart., K.C.B., +etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">The view from Mont St. Eloy was fine, with the guns belching out flame +on the plain in the midday sun.</p> + +<p>One day I was painting the C.-in-C., and at lunch-time the news came +in that General Trenchard was there. The C.-in-C. said: "Orpen must +see 'Boom,' he's great," so I was taken off and we met him in the +garden. A huge man with a little head and a great personality, proud +of one thing only, that is, that he is a descendant of Jack Sheppard. +With him, to my delight, was Maurice Baring (his A.D.C.). The General +was told that I wanted to see the aerodromes, and Maurice shyly said: +"May I take Orpen round, sir? I know him." Gee! How happy I was when +the General said: "All right, you see to it, Baring."</p> + +<p>I painted "Boom" a few days later in a beautiful château with the most +wonderful old stables. They have all been burnt down since. "Boom" +worked hard all the time I painted. A few days later Baring told me +that he had spoken to "Boom" and told him how much I admired his head. +"Boom" replied: "Damned if he showed it in his painting." And yet he +was worshipped by all the flying boys.</p> + +<p>About this time I had sent from England Maurice Baring's "In Memoriam" +to Lord Lucas. It made a tremendous impression on me then, and still +does. I think it is one of the greatest poems ever written, and by far +the greatest work of art the war has produced.</p> + +<p>Baring took me out for a great day round the aerodromes. We visited +several and lunched with a Wing-Commander, Colonel Freeman, who was +most kind, a great lover of books, a lot of which Maurice used to +supply him with. After this, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page030" name="page030"></a>(p. 030)</span> +we visited a squadron where +there was to be a test fight between a German Albatross, which had +been captured intact, and one of our machines. The fight was a +failure, however, as just after they got up something went wrong with +the radiator of the Albatross; but later Captain Little did some +wonderful stunts on a triplane. I also saw Robert Gregory there, but +had no chance to speak to him. But I learnt that he was doing very +well and was most popular in the squadron, and that he had painted +some fine scenery for their theatre.</p> + +<p>St. Pol possessed an open-air swimming-bath, a strange thing for St. +Pol, but there it was—a fine large swimming-bath, full of warm water +which came from some chemical works. I used to swim there every +evening when I got back from work. The one thing that struck me at +that time was the difference between nudity and uniform—while bathing +one could look at and study all these fine lads, and I would think of +one, "Gee! there's an aristocrat. What a figure! What refinement!" and +of another, "What a badly-bred, vulgar, common brute!" Later they +would both come out of their bathing-boxes, and the "brute" would be a +smartly dressed officer carrying himself with ease and distinction, +and the "aristocrat" would be an untidy, uncouth "Tommy" shambling +along. Truly on sight one should never judge a man with his clothes +on.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgX" name="imgX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img010.jpg" width="400" height="340" +alt="X. Howitzer in Action." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">X. <i>Howitzer in Action.</i></p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER IV +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page031" name="page031"></a>(p. 031)</span></h3> + +<h4>THE YPRES SALIENT (JUNE-JULY 1917)</h4> + + +<p>It was about this time we moved to Cassel. Nothing very interesting in +the journey till one comes to Arques and St. Omer (at one time Lord +French's G.H.Q.). The road from Arques to the station at the foot of +Cassel Hill was always lined on each side by lorries, guns, pontoons +and all manner of war material. A gloomy road, thick with mud for the +most part, if not dust. It was always a pleasure to start climbing +Cassel Hill, past the seven windmills and up to the little town +perched on the summit.</p> + +<p>Cassel is a picturesque little spot, with its glazed tiles and +sprinkling of Spanish buildings, and the view from it is marvellous. +On a clear day one could see practically the whole line from Nieuport +to Armentières and the coast from Nieuport to Boulogne. At that time, +the 2nd Army H.Q. were in the one-time casino, which was the summit of +the town, and from its roof one got a clear view all round. Cassel was +to the Ypres Salient what Amiens was to the Somme, and the little +"Hôtel Sauvage" stood for the "Godbert," the "Cathedral" and +"Charlie's Bar" all in one. The dining-room, with its long row of +windows showing the wonderful view, like the Rubens landscape in the +National Gallery, was packed every night for the most part with +fighting boys from the Salient, who had come in for a couple of hours +to eat, drink, play the piano and sing, forgetting their +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page032" name="page032"></a>(p. 032)</span> +misery and discomfort for the moment. It was enormously interesting to +watch and study what happened in that room. One saw gaiety, misery, +fear, thoughtfulness and unthoughtfulness all mixed up like a +kaleidoscope. It was a well-run, romantic little hotel, built round a +small courtyard, which was always noisy with the tramp of cavalry +horses and the rattle of harness. The hotel was managed by Madame +Loorius and her two daughters, Suzanne and Blanche, who were known as +"The Peaches."</p> + +<p>Suzanne was undoubtedly the Queen of the Ypres Salient, as sure as +Marguerite was that of the Somme. One look from the eyes of Suzanne, +one smile, and these wonderful lads would go back to their +gun-pits—or who knows where?—proud.</p> + +<p>Suzanne wore an R.F.C. badge on her breast. She was engaged to be +married to an R.F.C. officer at that time. Whether the marriage ever +came off I know not. Certainly not before the end of the war, and now +Madame is dead, and they have given up the "Sauvage," and are, as far +as I am concerned, lost.</p> + +<p>Here the Press used to come when any particular operation was going on +in the North. In my mind now I can look clearly from my room across +the courtyard and can see Beach Thomas by his open window, in his +shirt-sleeves, writing like fury at some terrific tale for the <i>Daily +Mail</i>. It seemed strange his writing this stuff, this mild-eyed, +country-loving dreamer; but he knew his job.</p> + +<p>Philip Gibbs was also there—despondent, gloomy, nervy, realising to +the full the horror of the whole business; his face drawn very fine, +and intense sadness in his very kind eyes; also Percival +Phillips—that deep thinker on war, who probably +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page033" name="page033"></a>(p. 033)</span> +knew more +about it than all the rest of the correspondents put together.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXI" name="imgXI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img011.jpg" width="400" height="460" +alt="XI. German 'Planes visiting Cassel." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XI. <i>German 'Planes visiting Cassel.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">The people of Cassel loved the Tommy, so the latter had a good time +there.</p> + +<p>One day I drew German prisoners at Bailleul. They had just been +captured, 3,500 in one cage, all covered with lice—3,500 men, some +nude, some half-nude, trying to clean the lice off themselves. It was +a strange business. The Boche at the time were sending over Jack +Johnsons at the station, and these men used to cheer as each shell +shrieked overhead.</p> + +<p>It was at Cassel I first began to realise how wonderful the women of +the working class in France were, how absolutely different and +infinitely superior they were to the same class at home; in fact no +class in England corresponded to them at all. Clean, neat, prim women, +working from early dawn till late at night, apparently with unceasing +energy, they never seemed to tire and usually wore a smile.</p> + +<p>I remember one girl, a widow; her name was Madame Blanche, who worked +at the "Hôtel Sauvage." She was about twenty-two years of age, and she +owned a house in Cassel. A few months before I arrived there her +husband had contracted some sort of poisoning in the trenches and had +been brought back to Cassel, where he died. Madame Blanche interested +me; she was very slim and prim and neat and tightly laced. Her fair +hair was always very carefully crimped. She looked like a girl out of +a painting by Metsu or Van Meer. I could see her posing at a piano for +either, calm, gentle and silent; and could imagine her in the midst of +all the refined surroundings in which these artists would have painted +her. But now her surroundings were khaki, and her background was the +wonderful Flemish view from the windows—miles +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page034" name="page034"></a>(p. 034)</span> +and miles of +country, with the old sausage balloons floating sleepily in the +distance.</p> + +<p>I must have looked at Madame Blanche a lot—perhaps too much. I +remember she used to smile at me; but that was as far as our +friendship could get—smiles, as I only knew about ten words of +French, and she less of English.</p> + +<p>But one day she surprised me, and left me thinking and wondering more +of the strange, unbelievable things that happen to one in this world.</p> + +<p>It was after lunch one Sunday: I had just got back to my room to work +when there was a knock on the door, and in walked Madame Blanche, who, +after much trouble to us both, I gathered wished me to go for a walk +with her. Impossible! I, a major, a Field Officer, to walk at large +through the streets of Cassel, 2nd Army H.Q., with a serving-girl from +the "Hôtel Sauvage"! I succeeded in explaining this after some time; +and then, to my amazement, she broke down and wept. The convulsive +sobbing continued, and I thought and wondered, and in the end decided +that I was crazy to make a woman weep because I would not go for a +walk with her. So I told her I would do so; and she dried her eyes and +asked me to meet her in the hotel yard in ten minutes.</p> + +<p>When I got down to the yard the rain was coming down in torrents, and +there she was, dressed in her widow's weeds and holding in her arms a +mass of flowers. Solemnly we went out into the streets. Not a +civilian, not a soldier, not even a military policeman was to be seen. +All other human beings had taken refuge from the deluge: we were quite +alone. Right through the town we went and out to the little cemetery, +into which she brought me and led to her husband's grave, on which she +placed the mass of flowers, and then knelt in the mud +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page035" name="page035"></a>(p. 035)</span> +and +prayed for about half an hour in the pouring rain; after which we +walked solemnly and silently back to the hotel, soaked through and +through. It was a strange affair. I may be stupid, but I cannot yet +see her reason for wishing to take me out in the wet.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXII" name="imgXII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img012.jpg" width="400" height="456" +alt="XII. Soldiers and Peasants, Cassel." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XII. <i>Soldiers and Peasants, Cassel.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">After working up there for about six weeks I began to feel very tired, +and thought I would go for a change; so I decided to run away and go +and see some "Bases"—Dieppe, Le Havre and Rouen. The day after I +reached Dieppe I received a telegram from the "Colonel": "When do you +return?" to which I replied: "Return where, please?" to which +apparently no reply could be made. But two days later I received a +letter from him saying he was moving to another job, but would always +remember the honour of his having had me working under him. This was a +nasty one for me, and I had no answer to give. About the same time I +received a telegram from Sir Philip Sassoon: "Where the devil are you? +<i>aaa</i> Philip." Months later he sent me a great parcel of +correspondence as to whether this telegram, sent by the P.S. of the +C.-in-C., could be regarded as an official telegram, its language, +etc. The minutes were signed by Lieutenants, Captains, Majors, +Colonels, all up to the last one, which was signed by a General, and +ran thus: "What the —— hell were you using this disgusting language +for, Philip?"</p> + +<p>After a week I went back to Cassel, packed up and went south to +Amiens.</p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER V +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page036" name="page036"></a>(p. 036)</span></h3> + +<h4>THE SOMME IN SUMMER-TIME (AUGUST 1917)</h4> + + +<p>Never shall I forget my first sight of the Somme in summer-time. I had +left it mud, nothing but water, shell-holes and mud—the most gloomy, +dreary abomination of desolation the mind could imagine; and now, in +the summer of 1917, no words could express the beauty of it. The +dreary, dismal mud was baked white and pure—dazzling white. White +daisies, red poppies and a blue flower, great masses of them, +stretched for miles and miles. The sky a pure dark blue, and the whole +air, up to a height of about forty feet, thick with white butterflies: +your clothes were covered with butterflies. It was like an enchanted +land; but in the place of fairies there were thousands of little white +crosses, marked "Unknown British Soldier," for the most part. (Later, +all these bodies were taken up and nearly all were identified and +re-buried in Army cemeteries.) Through the masses of white +butterflies, blue dragon-flies darted about; high up the larks sang; +higher still the aeroplanes droned. Everything shimmered in the heat. +Clothes, guns, all that had been left in confusion when the war passed +on, had now been baked by the sun into one wonderful combination of +colour—white, pale grey and pale gold. The only dark colours were the +deep red bronze of the "wire" and one black cat which lived in a +shelter in what once was the main street of Thiepval. It was strange, +this black cat living there +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page037" name="page037"></a>(p. 037)</span> +all alone. No humans, or those +of her own species, lived within miles of her. It took me days to make +friends and get her to come to me; and when at last I succeeded, the +friendship did not last long. No matter where I worked round that +district, the black cat of Thiepval would find me, and would approach +silently, and would suddenly jump on my knees and dig all her long +nails deeply into my flesh, with affection. I stood it for a little +time, and then gave her a good smack, after which I never saw my +little black friend again.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXIII" name="imgXIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img013.jpg" width="400" height="293" +alt="XIII. German Prisoners." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XIII. <i>German Prisoners.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Thiepval Château, one of the largest in the north of France, was +practically flattened. What little mound was left was covered with +flowers. Some bricks had been collected from it and marked the grave +of "An Unknown British Soldier." Even Albert, that deadly +uninteresting little town, looked almost beautiful and cheerful. +Flowers grew by the sides of the streets; roses were abundant in what +were once back-gardens; a hut was up at the corner by the Cathedral +and <i>Daily Mails</i> were sold there every evening at four o'clock, and +the golden leaning Lady holding her Baby, looking down towards the +street, gleamed in the sun on top of the Cathedral tower.</p> + +<p>A family had come back from Corbie and re-started their restaurant—a +father and three charming girls. They patched up the little house by +the station and did a roaring trade, and some few other families came +back. Once more a skirt could be seen, even a few silk stockings +occasionally tripping about.</p> + +<p>Péronne was now like a polished skeleton—very clean, but very +brittle: a little breeze, and whole houses would tumble to bits. I +started painting, one day, a little picture from the hall of the +College for Young Ladies. When I went the next day I found my point of +view had been raised several feet: the top walls +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page038" name="page038"></a>(p. 038)</span> +had come +down. But here again they had patched up a great big house as a club. +It was airy, not intentionally so, but on a hot day it was ideal, with +its view down over the Somme. Bully-beef pie, cheese and beer—if one +could only have had French coffee instead of that terrible black +mixture imported from England, things would have been more perfectly +complete.</p> + +<p>About August, a burial party worked round Thiepval. Lieutenant Clark +was in charge of it, a sturdy little Scot. During the month or so they +worked there, they dug up, identified and re-buried thousands of +bodies. Some could not be identified, and what was found on these in +the way of money, knives, etc., was considered fair spoil for the +burial party.</p> + +<p>Often, coming down Thiepval Hill in the evening, everything golden in +the sunlight, one would come across a little group of men, sitting by +the side of the battered Hill Road, counting out and dividing the +spoils of the day. It was a sordid sight, but for a non-combatant job, +to be a member of a burial party was certainly not a pleasant one, and +I do not think anyone could grudge them whatever pennies they made, +and most of them would have to go back in the trenches when their +burial party disbanded.</p> + +<p>Down in the Valley of the Ancre, just beside the Thiepval Hill Road, +there was a great colony of Indians. They were all Catholics, and were +headed by an old padre who had worked in India for forty-five years—a +fine old fellow. He held wonderful services each Sunday afternoon on +the side of the Hill in the open air; he had an altar put up with +wonderful coloured draperies behind it, which hung from a structure +about thirty feet high. In the mornings, it was a very beautiful +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page039" name="page039"></a>(p. 039)</span> +sight to see these nut-brown men washing themselves and their +bronze vessels among the reeds in the Ancre; one could hardly believe +one was in France. And where was one? Surely in a place and seeing a +life that never existed before, and never will again. The rapidity +with which these Indians (they were a cleaning-up party) changed the +whole face of Thiepval and that part of the Ancre Valley was +incredible.</P> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXIV" name="imgXIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img014.jpg" width="400" height="334" +alt="XIV. View from the Old English Trenches. Looking +towards La Boisselle." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XIV. <i>View from the Old English Trenches. Looking +towards La Boisselle.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">When working in the Valley of the Ancre region, coming home in the +evening, we would bring the car down to the water near Aveluy. It is a +long stretch of water, and the Tommies had put up a springboard. It +was a joy to take off one's clothes in the car and jump into the cool +water and watch all these wonderful young men stripping, diving, +swimming, drying and dressing in the evening sun, all full of life and +health. At one period, Joffroy, a very good French artist, who had +lost a leg, right up to his trunk, early in the War, used to swim +there with me. He had been a great athlete, and had a very strong +arm-stroke, and possessed one of the most beautifully-developed bodies +I have ever seen. One evening, after bathing, as we were driving back +to Amiens in the car, he stretched out his arms and said, "Orpen, I +feel like a young Greek god!" And, after a pause, added: "But only a +fragment, you know, only a fragment." He was a great man, and could +clamber over trenches with his wooden stump in a marvellous way.</p> + +<p>I remember that summer a strange thing happened. One day I found, and +started painting, the remains of a Britisher and a Boche—just skulls, +bones, garments—up by the trenches at Thiepval. I was all alone. My +faithful Howlett was about half a mile away with the car. When I had +been working about a +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page040" name="page040"></a>(p. 040)</span> +couple of hours I felt strange. I +cannot say even now what I felt. Afraid? Of what? The sun shone +fiercely. There was not a breath of air. Perhaps it was that—a touch +of the sun. So I stopped painting and went and sat on the trunk of a +blown-up tree close by, when suddenly I was thrown on the back of my +head on the ground. My heavy easel was upset, and one of the skulls +went through the canvas. I got up and thought a lot, but came to the +conclusion I had better just go on working, which I did, and nothing +further strange happened. That night I happened to meet Joffroy, and +told him about these skulls, and how peculiar one was, as it had a +division in the frontal bone (the Britisher's). He said he would like +to go and make a study of it; so I brought him out the next morning to +the place, I myself working that day in Thiepval Wood, about half a +mile further up the hill. I left him, saying I would come back and +bring him lunch from the car, as it was difficult for him to get +about. When I did get back I found him lying down, not very near the +place, saying he felt very ill and he thought it was the smell "from +those remains." He had done no work, and refused even to try to eat +till we got a long way away from the skulls. I explained to him that +there was no smell, and he said, "But didn't you see one has an eye +still?" But I knew that all four eyes had withered away months before. +There must have been something strange about the place.</p> + +<p>Most of these summer months John Masefield was working on the Somme +battlefields. He preferred to work out there on the spot. He would get +a lift out from Amiens in the morning on a motor or lorry, work all +day by himself at some spot like La Boisselle, and walk back to the +bridge at Albert and look out for a lift back to Amiens. If we worked +out in this direction, on +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page041" name="page041"></a>(p. 041)</span> +the way home our eye was always +kept on the look-out for him; but really it never appeared to matter +to him if he got back or not. I don't believe he minded where he was +as long as he could ponder over things all alone.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXV" name="imgXV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img015.jpg" width="400" height="482" +alt="XV. Adam and Eve at Péronne." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XV. <i>Adam and Eve at Péronne.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">The small towns and villages in this part of the country, behind the +old fighting line of 1916, were, for the most part, dirty and usually +uninteresting; but once clear of them the plains of Picardy had much +charm and beauty, great, undulating, rolling plains, cut into large +chequers made by the different crops. When a hill became too steep to +work on, it was cut into terraces, like one sees in many of the +vineyards in the South; these often have great decorative charm. A +fair country—I remember Joffroy sometimes used the word "graceful" +regarding different views in those parts, and the word gives the +impression well.</p> + +<p>There is a beautiful valley on the left, as one goes from Amiens to +Albert: one looked down into it from the road, a patchwork of greens, +browns, greys and yellows. I remember John Masefield said one day it +looked to him like a post-impressionist table-cloth; later, white +zigzagging lines were cut all through it—trenches.</p> + +<p>In the spring of 1917 it was strange motoring out from Amiens to +Albert. Just beyond this valley everything changed. Suddenly one felt +oneself in another world. Before this point one drove through ordinary +natural country, with women and children and men working in the +fields; cows, pigs, hens and all the usual farm belongings. Then, +before one could say "Jack Robinson!" not another civilian, not +another crop, nothing but a vast waste of land; no life, except Army +life; nothing but devastation, desolation and khaki.</p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER VI +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page042" name="page042"></a>(p. 042)</span></h3> + +<h4>THE SOMME (SEPTEMBER 1917)</h4> + + +<p>About this time I got a telegram from Lord Beaverbrook asking me to +meet him the next morning at Hesdin (Canadian Representatives' H.Q.); +so I left Amiens early, arriving at Hesdin about 11.45 a.m. There they +handed me a letter from him explaining to me that something very +important had happened, and that he had left for Cassel. Would I have +some lunch and follow him there? I lunched alone at the H.Q. and +started for Cassel, where I arrived about 2.30, and found a letter +telling me that he found that the aerodrome from which he wanted to +get the news he desired was not near Cassel, so he had left, but would +I meet him at the "Hôtel du Louvre," Boulogne, at 4 p.m., as his boat +left at 4.20? Away I went to Boulogne, and walked up and down outside +the "Louvre." About ten minutes past four up breezed a car, and in it +was a slim little man with an enormous head and two remarkable eyes. I +saluted and tried to make military noises with my boots. Said he: "Are +you Orpen?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Are you willing to work for the +Canadians?" said he. "Certainly, sir," said I. "Well," said he, +"that's all right. Jump in, and we'll go and have a drink." So down to +the buffet we went, and we had a bottle of champagne in very quick +time, and away he went on to the boat, without another word, smiling; +and the smile continued till +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page043" name="page043"></a>(p. 043)</span> +I lost sight of him round the +corner of the jetty. A strange day: I wondered a lot on the way back +to Amiens, where I arrived about 9.45. I never knew then what a good +friend I had met.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXVI" name="imgXVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img016.jpg" width="400" height="472" +alt="XVI. A Grave in a Trench." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XVI. <i>A Grave in a Trench.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">As before, in Cassel, I first began to realise how wonderful the +workwomen of France were, so in Amiens I began to realise how +different the young men of France were to what one was brought up at +home to imagine. I had always been led to believe that an Englishman +was a far finer example of the human race than a Frenchman; but it +certainly is not so now. The young Frenchman is a keen, strong, hardy +fellow, and his general level of physical development is very high.</p> + +<p>I remember this was brought home to me by having baths at Amiens. +There was one bathroom in the hotel, and it contained a bath, but no +hot water ran into it. So I told my batman to get hot water brought +there in the mornings. The bathroom was on the first floor of the +hotel, across on the other side of the courtyard from where I slept. +The assistant cook, a man six feet odd high, and weighing about +thirteen stone, a merry, jovial great giant, used to heat water for me +and put it into an enormous bronze tub, which held a whole bathful; +and he and my batman used to carry this upstairs; but if I happened to +come along at the same time, this great man used to bend down and pick +me up with his free hand and set me on his shoulder, and so to the +bathroom.</p> + +<p>One morning, about a year later, he told me he was going to leave. I +asked him if he had got the "sack," or if he were leaving of his own +free will. "Neither," said he. "I'm called up; I'm of age." This +great, enormous man had only +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page044" name="page044"></a>(p. 044)</span> +then reached the age of +seventeen years. It amazed me. I remember a sad thing happened. When +he left I gave him fifty francs and one hundred "Gold Flake" +cigarettes. He had to go through Paris to get to his regiment, and +when he arrived at the Gare du Nord they searched him, and found the +cigarettes, took them from him, and fined him two hundred and fifty +francs. It was a sad gift.</p> + +<p>About this time I painted de Maratray—philosopher, musician, +correspondent and clown.</p> + +<p>Fane had gone, and Captain Maude was A.P.M. Amiens. Maude was a good +A.P.M. His police were well looked after and adored him. He never +wanted an officer or man from the trenches to get into trouble, but +did his best to get them out of it when they were in it. Often have I +been sitting at dinner with him at the "Hôtel de la Paix" and one of +his police would come in and say, "A young officer is at the +'Godbert,' sir. He's had too much to drink, and is behaving very +badly." Maude would curse loudly at his dinner being spoilt, but would +always leave at once, and would calm down whatever young firebrand it +was, find out where he had to go, and have him seen off by lorry or +train to his destination. All this meant much more trouble for Maude +than to have him arrested, and much less trouble for the culprit; but +he always put them on their honour never to do it again; and many are +the letters I have seen thanking him for being "a sport," and +promising never "to do it again"; and asking would he dine with them +the next time they got a night off? That was Maude's idea: he could +not do too much for the men from the trenches, and they appreciated +it. Maude was loved all through the North of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page045" name="page045"></a>(p. 045)</span> +France, except +by a few rival A.P.M.'s. One could easily judge what his character was +like from his favourite song:—</p> + +<p class="poem25"> +"Mulligatawny soup,<br> +A mackerel or a sole,<br> +A Banbury and a Bath bun,<br> +And a tuppenny sausage roll.<br> +A little glass of sherry,<br> +Just a tiny touch of cham,<br> +A roly-poly pudding<br> +And Jam! <i>Jam!!</i> JAM!!!"</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXVII" name="imgXVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img017.jpg" width="400" height="528" +alt="XVII. The Deserter." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XVII. <i>The Deserter.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">A lot of nice people used to come to Amiens at that period; Colonel +Woodcock and Colonel Belfield, the "Spot King," and Ernest Courage, +"Jorrocks," in particular. It all became one large party at night for +dinner. Maude was very popular with all the French officials, and +great goodwill existed between the French and the British, and +Marcelle's black eyes smiled at us from behind the desk, with its +books, fruit, cheese and bottles; smiled so well that had she been +different she might have out-pointed Marguerite as "Queen of the +British Troops in Picardy." But no, her book-keeping and an occasional +smile were enough for Marcelle, and she did them both exceedingly +well.</p> + +<p>Poor Marcelle! Afterwards I was told that when the Huns began to bomb +Amiens badly she completely broke down and cried and sobbed at her +desk. She was sent away down South, to Bordeaux, I think, and we never +saw her again. It was sad. She was a sweet child, with her great dark +eyes, and the little curl on her forehead, and her keen sense of the +ridiculous.</p> + +<p>The song of that time was:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"Dear face that holds so sweet a smile for me.<br> +Were it not mine, how 'Blotto' I should be."</p> + +<p>But +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page046" name="page046"></a>(p. 046)</span> +one night Carroll Carstairs of the Grenadier Guards +breezed into Amiens, bringing with him a new American +song which became very popular. The chorus ran something +like this:—</p> + +<div class="poem25"> +<p> +"When Uncle Sam comes<br> +He brings his Infantry;<br> +He brings Artillery;<br> +He brings his Cavalry.<br> +Then, by God, we'll all go to Germany!<br> +God help Kaiser Bill!<br> +God help Kaiser Bill!<br> +God help Kaiser Bill!</p> + +<p> +"For when Uncle Sam comes...." (Repeat)</p> +</div> + +<p>One day Maude asked me to go to the belfry, the old sixteenth-century +prison of Amiens, a beautiful building outside, but inside it was very +black and awe-inspiring. The cells, away up in the tower, with their +stone beds and straw, rats and smaller animals, made one's flesh +creep. I am sorry I never painted the old fat lady who kept the keys +in the entrance hall, a black place, lit by an oil lamp which hung +over the stone fireplace. I put off painting her and her hall then for +some reason, and later she was killed by a shell at the door during +the bombardment. Here in the belfry the deserters were put, in an +endeavour to make them say who they were, and Maude asked me to go +this day because he had an interesting case.</p> + +<p>A young man in a captain's tunic had been found in a brothel, and his +papers were very incomplete. He had no leave warrant. They found he +had been living at the "Hôtel de la Paix" for about a week. He had +come to Amiens on a motor-bicycle, which he left in the street. They +telephoned to the "Captain's" regiment and found the "Captain" was +with his +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page047" name="page047"></a>(p. 047)</span> +unit, but a tunic had been stolen from him at +Calais. They also found a motor-bicycle had been stolen from Calais, +and that it corresponded in number with the one found in the street.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXVIII" name="imgXVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img018.jpg" width="400" height="333" +alt="XVIII. The Great Mine. La Boisselle." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XVIII. <i>The Great Mine. La Boisselle.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">We were given a candle, and climbed the black stairs to his cell. The +youth was in a bad state, sobbing. Maude told him how sorry he was for +him, and asked him not to be a fool, but to tell him the truth, and he +would have him out of that place at once. He agreed, and told a long +story, or rather—another long story. This was his third day and his +third story, and it turned out there was not a word of truth in this +one either.</p> + +<p>He was one of the best-looking young men I ever saw, tall, clean-cut +and smart-looking. The next day Maude found out that most of his tears +were due to the fact that he was very badly diseased, and of course, +without any treatment, was getting worse daily. Maude could not stand +this, so he sent him to the hospital for treatment, from which the +youth promptly escaped, and was not found again for ten days. They +knew some one must have been hiding him, probably a woman; which +proved right. In ten days he was found, plus forty pounds, which the +lady had given him.</p> + +<p>Maude gave him one more twenty-four hours' chance in the belfry; but +it was no good, only more lies. So he was sent to Le Havre, where I +believe no deserter has ever lasted more than forty-eight hours +without telling the truth and nothing but the truth. I presumed that +after that he was shot. The only thing I learnt for certain, was that +he was a Colonial private. Some time later I used to go very often to +a little restaurant in Paris, and became friends with one of the head +waiters. He said a customer had come in, giving the name of Lord +X——, and had engaged a table for dinner. He evidently had some +doubt about Lord X——, and asked me if I would know +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page048" name="page048"></a>(p. 048)</span> +him if I +saw him. I said, "Certainly," as the name given was that of the son of +one of the best-known Earls in England. In he came for dinner, a very +good-looking man, wearing the Légion d'Honneur. Lord X——, the +deserter of the belfry!</p> + +<p>The great mine at La Boisselle was a wonderful sight. One morning I +was wandering about the old battlefield, and I came across a great +wilderness of white chalk—not a tuft of grass, not a flower, nothing +but blazing chalk; apparently a hill of chalk dotted thickly all over +with bits of shrapnel. I walked up it, and suddenly found myself on +the lip of the crater. I felt myself in another world. This enormous +hole, 320 yards round at the top, with sides so steep one could not +climb down them, was the vast, terrific work of man. Imagine burrowing +all that way down in the belly of the earth, with Hell going on +overhead, burrowing and listening till they got right under the German +trenches—hundreds and hundreds of yards of burrowing. And here +remained the result of their work, on the earth at least, if not on +humanity. The latter had disappeared; but the great chasm, with one +mound in the centre at the bottom, and one skull placed on top of it, +remained. They had cut little steps down one of its sides, and had +cleared up all the human remains and buried them in this mound. That +one mound, with the little skull on the top, at the bottom of this +enormous chasm, was the greatest monument I have ever seen to the +handiwork of man.</p> + +<p>There was another fairly large mine here, just by the Bapaume Road, +and there was a large mine at Beaumont-Hamel, and also the +"Cough-drop" at High Wood. These were wonderful, but they could not +compare in dignity and grandeur with the great mine of La Boisselle.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXIX" name="imgXIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img019.jpg" width="400" height="334" +alt="XIX. The Butte de Warlencourt." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XIX. <i>The Butte de Warlencourt.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Working +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page049" name="page049"></a>(p. 049)</span> +out on the Somme, in the evenings as the sun was +going down, one heard constantly a drone of aeroplanes, which quickly +grew louder and louder, and before one could think, two of these great +birds would pass just over one's head, quite close to the ground. A +couple of minutes later, Bang! bang! bang! bang! and the boom and +crash of the guns. Presently you would see the two birds, high up, +returning to their aerodrome. They had gone up to the Boche trenches, +in the eye of the sun, machine-gunning them and dropping small bombs.</p> + +<p>The Butte de Warlencourt looked very beautiful in the afternoon light +that summer. Pale gold against the eastern sky, with the mangled +remains of trees and houses, which was once Le Sars, on its left. But +what must it have looked like when the Somme was covered with snow, +and the white-garmented Tommies used to raid it at night? It must +surely have been a ghostly sight then, in the winter of 1916.</p> + +<p>About this time I went to Paris several week-ends at odd times and +painted for the Canadians Generals Burstall, Watson and Lipsett, also +Major O'Connor. Poor Lipsett was killed by a shell later. He was a +thoughtful, clever, quiet man, and was greatly respected. Burstall was +a great, bluff, big, hearty fellow, and Watson was a fine chap, a real +"sport." O'Connor was A.D.C. to General Currie, and had been twice +wounded.</p> + +<p>Paris! What a city!</p> + +<p class="poem25"> +"Paree!<br> +That's the place for me.<br> +Just across the sea<br> +From Dover!"</p> + + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER VII +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page050" name="page050"></a>(p. 050)</span></h3> + +<h4>WITH THE FLYING CORPS (OCTOBER 1917)</h4> + + +<p>About this time, the C.-in-C. was granted the Order of a Knighthood of +the Thistle. It was given to him by the King during his visit to +France in a château at Cassel. No one was present when he received +this honour. Just afterwards I did a little interior of the room.</p> + +<p>General Trenchard and Maurice Baring chose out two flying boys for me +to paint, and they sat to me at Cassel. One was 2nd Lieutenant A. P. +Rhys Davids, D.S.O., M.C., a great youth. He had brought down a lot of +Germans, including two cracks, Schaffer and Voss. The first time I saw +him was at the aerodrome at Estre Blanche. I watched him land in his +machine, just back from over the lines. Out he got, stuck his hands in +his pockets, and laughed and talked about the flight with Hoidge and +others of the patrol, and his Major, Bloomfield. A fine lad, Rhys +Davids, with a far-seeing, clear eye. He hated fighting, hated flying, +loved books and was terribly anxious for the war to be over, so that +he could get to Oxford. He had been captain of Eton the year before, +so he was an all-round chap, and must have been a magnificent pilot. +The 56th Squadron was very sad when he was reported missing, and +refused to believe for one moment that he had been killed till they +got the certain news. It was a great loss.</p> + +<p>The other airman chosen was Captain Hoidge, M.C. and Bar—"George" +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page051" name="page051"></a>(p. 051)</span> +of Toronto. Hoidge had also brought down a lot of Germans. +His face was wonderfully fitted for a man-bird. His eyes were bird's +eyes. A good lad was Hoidge, and I became very fond of him afterwards. +I arranged with Maurice Baring and Major Bloomfield that Hoidge was to +come to Cassel one morning at 11 a.m. to sit to me. The morning +arrived and 11 o'clock and no Hoidge. Eleven-thirty, 12—no Hoidge. +About 12:30 he strolled into the yard and I heard him asking for me in +a slow voice. I was raging with anger by this time. He came upstairs +and I told him there was no use doing anything before lunch, and that +we had better go down and get some food. We ate silently. I could see +he was rather depressed. About halfway through our meal, he said: "I'm +lucky to be here with you this morning!" "Why?" said I. "Oh," he said, +"I made a damned fool of myself this morning. Let an old Boche get on +my tail. Damned fool I was—with my experience. Never saw the +blighter. I was following an old two-seater at the time. He put a +bullet through the box by my head, and cut two of my stays. If old B. +hadn't happened to come up and chased him off I was for it. Damned +fool! But the morning wasn't wasted, afterwards I got two +two-seaters." I said: "Do you realise you have killed four men this +morning?" "No," he said, "but I winged two damned nice birds." Then we +went upstairs and he sat like a lamb.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXX" name="imgXX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img020.jpg" width="400" height="472" +alt="XX. Lieut. A. P. F. Rhys Davids, D.S.O., M.C." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XX. <i>Lieut. A. P. F. Rhys Davids, D.S.O., M.C.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">One evening, during the King's stay at Cassel, I was working in my +room about 7 o'clock, when a little scrap of paper was brought me on +which was written, "I am dining downstairs.—M. B." I went downstairs +and there was Maurice Baring, and, with luck for me, alone. We had a +great dinner. He was in his best form; for after dinner we went up to +my room +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page052" name="page052"></a>(p. 052)</span> +and sat by the open window and talked and talked. +Suddenly Maurice stopped, and said: "What's that noise?" "What noise?" +said I. So we looked down into the courtyard—only about ten feet—and +there was "Boom," who had been dining with the King, and Philip +Sassoon. "What the devil are you two doing?" said "Boom." "We've both +been shouting ourselves hoarse for ten minutes. It's the last damned +time you dine with Orpen, Maurice!" It's true we never heard them—but +then Maurice was talking.</p> + +<p>One morning, when the wind was very fresh, I got a telephone message +from Major Bloomfield telling me to come to the squadron at once and +see some "crashes." It was a glorious morning, blue sky, with great +white clouds sailing by. I got down to the squadron as quickly as I +could. A whole lot of novices from England had been sent out on +trials, and the Major expected "great fun" when they landed.</p> + +<p>The fire was made big and a great line of blue smoke whirled down the +aerodrome to give the direction of the wind. Presently they began to +come back. Some landed beautifully—one in particular—and the Major +said to me: "Come on, I must go and congratulate that chap," and +started running for the machine. When we got closer, he stopped and +said: "Damn it! it's Hoidge, I forgot he was out."</p> + +<p>I remember one poor chap in particular. He circled the aerodrome +twelve times, each time coming down for a landing and each time +funking it at the last moment. At last he did land, two or three +bumps, and then—apparently slowly—the machine's nose went to the +ground and gracefully it turned turtle. "Come along," said the Major, +and when we got to the machine the wretched pilot was getting out from +under it. "You unspeakable creature," said the Major. "Don't let me +see +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page053" name="page053"></a>(p. 053)</span> +your face again for twenty-four hours." And away limped +the "unspeakable creature," covered with oil and dirt. I must add that +after lunch the Major went up to him and patted his back and said he +hoped he felt none the worse. But the thing that amazed me was, that +although the machine seemed to land so gently, the damage to it was +terrific—propeller and all sorts of strong things smashed to bits.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXI" name="imgXXI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img021.jpg" width="400" height="478" +alt="XXI. Lieut. R. T. C. Hoidge, M.C." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXI. <i>Lieut. R. T. C. Hoidge, M.C.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Ping-pong was the great game at this squadron (56th), and I used to +play with a lot of them, including Hoidge and McCudden, but I did not +know the latter's name at that time. It was before he became famous.</p> + +<p>One day I went there with Maurice Baring, and the Major was greatly +excited because they had just finished making a little circular saw to +cut firewood for the squadron for the winter. The Major had a great +idea that, as the A.D.C. to "Boom" was lunching, after lunch there +would be an "official" opening of the circular saw. It was agreed that +all officers and men were to attend (no flying was possible that day) +and that Maurice should make a speech, after which he was to cut the +end of a cigar with the saw, then a box was made with a glass front in +which the cigar was to be placed after the A.D.C. had smoked a little +of it, and the box was to be hung in the mess of the squadron. It was +all a great success. Maurice made a splendid speech. We all cheered, +and then the cigar was cut (to bits nearly). Maurice smoked a little, +and it was put safely in its box. Then Maurice was given the first log +to cut. This was done, but Maurice was now worked up, so he took his +cap off and cut this in halves. He was then proceeding to take off his +tunic for the same purpose, but was carried away from the scene of +execution by a cheering crowd. It was a great day. I remember Maurice +saw me back to Cassel about 1 a.m., +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page054" name="page054"></a>(p. 054)</span> +after much ping-pong and +music. "I'll go back to the shack where the black-eyed Susans," etc., +was the song of the moment then in the squadron.</p> + +<p>Shortly after this Major Bloomfield was ordered home, promoted and, I +think, sent to America. At this loss, a great gloom fell over the 56th +Squadron. I never saw any squadron in France that was run nearly so +well as the 56th under Bloomfield, nor any Major loved more by his +boys.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXII" name="imgXXII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img022.jpg" width="400" height="477" +alt="XXII. The Return of a Patrol." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXII. <i>The Return of a Patrol.</i></p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page055" name="page055"></a>(p. 055)</span></h3> + +<h4>CASSEL AND IN HOSPITAL (NOVEMBER 1917)</h4> + + +<p>About this time I went to Paris and met several Generals and Mr. +Andrew Weir (now Lord Inverforth), and it was arranged that Aikman was +to go home to the War Office and that I, perhaps, might have my +brother out later to look after me. Aikman left, and I was very +lonely. A better-hearted companion and a kinder man one could not +meet, and regarding the intricacies of "King's Regulations" and +such-like things, he was a past master.</p> + +<p>After this, whenever I went to Paris, the great thing was to stop on +the way at Clermont and lunch with "Hunchie." "Hunchie" kept the +buffet at the station. He had a broken back and had been a chemist in +Paris, but said he had come to the station at Clermont for excitement. +It was so exciting that Maude proposed stopping there for a rest cure! +But "Hunchie's" lunches were excellent. I remember one day on my way +to Paris, I asked him at lunch if he had any Worcestershire Sauce; he +had not. He asked me when I was coming back North again. I said the +next day, which I did, and stopped for lunch. He had the sauce. He had +been to Paris to get it. "Hunchie" was a wonder, so was Madame, and so +was their dog "Black."</p> + +<p>One spot in Paris, the Gare du Nord, will always mean a lot to the +British Army on the Western Front. What sights one saw there!—masses +of humanity, mostly British officers and men, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page056" name="page056"></a>(p. 056)</span> +each with +their little "movement order": there they were in the heart of the Gay +City. Yet that little slip of paper would, in a couple of hours, send +them to Amiens, and a little later they would be at the front +suffering Hell. Laboreur did a wonderful etching of an officer bidding +farewell to his wife at the Gare du Nord. It gave the whole tragedy of +the place—the blackness, smoke, smell and crush. There, any night +during an air raid, one could not help thinking what would happen if +the Boche got a bomb on the Gare, with its thousands of fighting men +all jambed together under its glass roof in the semi-darkness. What a +slaughter! And yet through it all, if the old Gare could only speak, +it could tell some strange and amusing tales of that time—tales that +would make one laugh, but with the laughter there would be a catch in +the throat and a swimming in the eyes. It is extraordinary how funny +sometimes the most tragic things can be.</p> + +<p>The weather had become very bad and cold, and I worked on all +impossible out-of-door days in my room in the "Hôtel de la Paix," +which was known as the "Bar." My only rule was that the "Bar" was not +open till 6.30 p.m. At times it nearly rivalled "Charlie's Bar." At +what hour the "Bar" closed I was not always certain, as, no matter who +was there, at about 10:30 I used to undress and go to bed, and so +accustomed did I get to the clink of glasses and the squirt of the +syphons that I slept calmly through it all. Among the regular +attendants when in Amiens were Captain Maude, "Major" Hogg, Colonel +MacDowall of the 42nd G.H., Colonel Woodcock, Colonel Belfield (the +Spot King), Captain Ernest Courage (Jorrocks), Captains Hale and Inge +(then of the Press), Bedelo (Italian correspondent), and Captain +Brickman—a merry lot, taking them all round, and that room heard some +good stories; some +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page057" name="page057"></a>(p. 057)</span> +may have been not quite nice, but none +were as dirty or disreputable as the room itself, with its smell of +mud, paint, drink, smoke, and the fumes from the famous "Flamme Bleue" +stove. The last man to leave the bar had to open the window. This was +a firm rule. It sometimes took the last man a long time to do it, but +it was always done.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXIII" name="imgXXIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img023.jpg" width="400" height="477" +alt="XXIII. Changing Billets." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXIII. <i>Changing Billets.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">By this period of the war nearly every French girl could speak some +English, and great was their anger if one could not understand them. I +remember a very nice girl, who worked at the "Hôtel de la Paix," came +to me one day and said solemnly, "My grandfadder he kill him." +"Gracious!" I said, "whom did he kill?" "He kill him," was the furious +reply. Apparently the poor grandfather, living under German rule at +Landrecies, had committed suicide.</p> + +<p>I went back to Cassel and began to itch, mildly at first, and I was +not in the least put out. My brother came to France, and I went to +Boulogne to meet him. His boat was to arrive at 6.15 p.m., but did not +get in till just 10 p.m. They had been away down the Channel avoiding +something. Driving back to Cassel we had a fine sight of bombing and +searchlights. Hardly a night passed at this period that the Boche did +not have a "go" at St. Omer. One night, just then, they dropped three +torpedoes in Cassel as we were having dinner, but Suzanne, the +"Peach," at her desk, never fluttered an eyelid. I believe afterwards, +during the summer of 1918, when things were quite nasty at Cassel, she +never showed any signs of being nervous: just sat at her desk, made +out the bills, and occasionally made some lad happy by a look and a +smile.</p> + +<p>On some evenings we used to give great entertainments in the kitchen +of the "Sauvage." I would stand the drinks, and Howlett (my chauffeur) +played the mouth-organ, and Green (my batman) +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page058" name="page058"></a>(p. 058)</span> +step-danced. +It was an amusing sight watching the expressions of those old, fat +Flemish workwomen of the hotel.</p> + +<p>The itching got worse, so one wet, black evening I went to see the +M.O., took off my clothes in a dirty, cold, dark room, and he examined +me carefully with the aid of an oil lamp. "You've got lice," he said. +"Really?" said I. "Have you got a servant?" "Yes," said I. "Well, go +back and give him Hell, and tell him to examine your clothes." I asked +him about my foot, which had a hole in it about the size of a +sixpence. "That's nothing," said he. "Keep it clean." So back I went, +down the black cobbled street, called up my faithful boys, Howlett and +Green, and told them I was lousy. I took my clothes off, and they +examined them with electric torches and candles and oil lamps. Not a +thing could they find. "Do you mind my looking at you, sir?" said +Howlett. So he had one look. Said he, "If it were lice got you into +that state, you'd be crawling with them."</p> + +<p>I stood the pain and itching another couple of days, and sent for the +M.O. to come to me. As there was more light in my room, he came and +had a look. "Ah!" said he, "I thought last time it might have been +that: you've got scabies. You must leave here for X—— in the +morning, and have all your bed-clothes sent round to me before you +leave."</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXIV" name="imgXXIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img024.jpg" width="400" height="312" +alt="XXIV. The Receiving-room: 42nd Stationary Hospital." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXIV. <i>The Receiving-room: 42nd Stationary Hospital.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">In the morning I broke the news gently to Madame that I was a "dirty +dog," and that my bed must go for a bit to be purged, and went round +to the A.P.M. to say good-bye. When I told him where I was being sent, +he said, "That place! Don't you do it. I was waiting there the other +day to see someone, and I counted ten bugs on the wall." That put the +wind up me, so I wrote to the M.O. and said I had an important +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page059" name="page059"></a>(p. 059)</span> +meeting at Amiens that evening at 6 p.m., and that I would +report at the X—— hospital immediately after that. He seemed rather +hurt at my getting out of his reach, but he let me go (as I mentioned +having to see the C.-in-C. on the way. It was wonderful what the +mention of the C.-in-C. did for one!). He gave me my slip for the +hospital:</p> + +<p class="quote"> + "Herewith Major Orpen, suffering from scabies. Please...." +</p> + +<p>and with this I departed for Amiens, where I reported to the Colonel +of the X—— Hospital. Over a whisky-and-soda I gave him the "slip," +and he looked at my arm and said, "Yes, scabies," and I was put into +the isolation ward and treated for this disease. How more people did +not die in that hospital beats me. I personally never got any sleep, +and left in a fortnight nearly dead. Lights were out at 10 p.m. This +sounds good, but there were about eight of us in the ward. I had to +have my foot treated every three hours. The man in the next bed to +mine was treated for something every two hours; and nearly all the +other beds were treated three or four times during the night. For all +these treatments the lights blazed about twenty times each night, and +some of the treatments were very noisy. At 6.30 a.m., in the dark, the +nurse came round, and anyone who was not dying was turned out of bed. +Why, I know not: there was no heat in the place. If you were well +enough you went off to a soaking sort of scullery and heated some +water over a gas-jet and shaved. If you were not well enough, you sat +in your dressing-gown on a chair. You were not allowed to sit on your +bed. At 8 a.m. you were given an extraordinarily bad +breakfast—porridge with no +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page060" name="page060"></a>(p. 060)</span> +milk, tea with no sugar, bread +with—most days—no butter. After breakfast you could go to bed again, +but this was not allowed if you were going to be let out during the +day, as I was most of the time. So there you sat again, freezing, till +an orderly came and said your bath was ready, usually about 9.30 +a.m.—three hours after you had left your bed. The bath was in an +outhouse about fifty yards across the yard from the ward. In hail, +rain or snow, you had got to go there. In it I was boiled in a bath, +scrubbed all over with a nail-brush, and then smothered all over with +sulphur—wet, greasy, stinking sulphur rubbed in all over me. I +dressed by putting on a pair of pyjamas first. These more or less kept +this grease from getting through to my other clothes, and I was +allowed out to work—a sick, freezing, wet individual. But my room at +the "Hôtel de la Paix" was warm, and I sat over my "Flamme Bleue" all +the morning. After I had been treated with sulphur for "scabies" a +couple of weeks, a hole came in my throat just like the one I had on +my foot—a white hole with a black band round it, and all the flesh +for about six inches beyond it a deep scarlet. One morning the boy who +washed me said: "I beg your pardon, sir, but what are you being +treated for?" "Scabies," said I. Said he: "Don't say I said so, sir, +but show the M.O. that thing on your neck. You haven't got scabies, +and this sulphur will kill you soon." So I waited for the M.O. till he +did his rounds. When he came to me he said the usual, "Everything all +right with you?" "No," said I. "I've got a scabie on my neck that is +worrying me." So he had a look at it and said: "I don't think this +treatment is doing you much good. I shall get you dismissed from the +hospital to-day." So I was chucked +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page061" name="page061"></a>(p. 061)</span> +out. I happened to have +blood-poisoning, not scabies, and I have it still. During the time I +was in hospital, I got four very amusing poems from a General at +G.H.Q. They were the bright spots during those days. I am sorry they +are too personal to print.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXV" name="imgXXV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img025.jpg" width="400" height="308" +alt="XXV. A Death among the Wounded in the Snow." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXV. <i>A Death among the Wounded in the Snow.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">About this time an officer told me a good story about my friend, +Carroll Carstairs. The Cambrai battle was on, and the Grenadier Guards +were advancing through a village. Carroll was with a brother officer, +and said suddenly, "Look at the shape of that church now! Isn't it +magnificent?" Another shell shrieked and hit the structure, and he +said, "Damn! the fools have spoilt it." I believe it was during this +battle he earned the M.C.</p> + +<p>My brother became very popular with those he met in France. Too +popular, indeed, with the girls in the hotel at Amiens to please Maude +or myself. Maude and I used to complain about it. Maude would say, +"William, here you and I have been slaving for months to make +ourselves liked by these girls, and your blinking little brother comes +along, and cuts us out in a few days. It's disgusting." It was true: +Maude, the A.P.M., and I, "le petit Major," took a back seat. We +worked hard to prevent it, my brother did nothing: he kept silent, +laughed, and won. It was very sad, and we were much upset.</p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER IX +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page062" name="page062"></a>(p. 062)</span></h3> + +<h4>WINTER (1917-1918)</h4> + + +<p>Christmas came with much snow and ice. Maude and I went to dinner at +Captain MacColl's mess in the Boulevard Belfort. Maude remarked once, +"MacColl is the only intelligent Intelligence Officer I know." We had +a great dinner, and at 10 p.m. Maude and I went, in a blinding +snowstorm, to the police concert. I'll never forget the fug in that +place: it reeked of sweat, drink, goose and fags. They were all very +happy, these huge men; all singing the saddest songs they could think +of, including, of course, "The Long, Long Trail." American police were +there also. They had come to Amiens to learn their job. We left late, +but we had promised to return to MacColl's mess, so started for there, +but after we had fallen in the snow a few times, we gave the idea up +and went to bed.</p> + +<p>About this time I went to H.Q. Tanks, and painted the General and +Hotblack, and had a most interesting time. General Elles was a great +chap, full of "go," and a tremendous worker. Hotblack, mild and +gentle, full of charm; one could hardly imagine he had all those +D.S.O.'s, and wound stripes—Hotblack, who liked to go for a walk and +sit down and read poetry. He said it took his mind off devising plans +to kill people better than anything else.</p> + +<p>Then there was the "Colonel" of the Tanks—"Napoleon," they called +him. A great brain he had. Before the war he knew his Chelsea well, +and the Café Royal and all the set who +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page063" name="page063"></a>(p. 063)</span> +went there. And +there was a dear young Highlander also, a most gentle, shy youth. He +was very happy one day; he had a "topping" time. He was out with the +Tanks, and he killed a German despatch-rider and rode home on his +bicycle.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXVI" name="imgXXVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img026.jpg" width="400" height="463" +alt="XXVI. Some Members of the Allied Press Camp." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXVI. <i>Some Members of the Allied Press Camp.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">One morning when I was painting the General, he told me that my old +"Colonel" from G.H.Q. was coming to lunch. I hadn't seen him since he +sent the telegram, "When do you return?" When he arrived we were all +in the hall, but he didn't take the slightest notice of me. Presently, +we went in to lunch. He sat opposite to me, and about halfway through +the meal, he said, "Hello, Orpen! I didn't see you before." To which I +replied, "You have the advantage over me, sir. I don't remember ever +having seen you before." It was no good. We would never have made good +friends.</p> + +<p>I regret that one night, while I was staying at G.H.Q. Tanks, I got +"blotto." It wasn't altogether my fault, people were so hospitable. It +was a night when I dined with General Sir John Davidson, "the Poet," +at G.H.Q. I left "Tanks" on a bitterly cold, wet evening, and called +at the Canadian château at Hesdin. I found them all sitting round a +big fire. It was tea-time. The Colonel, who saw I was cold, gave me a +whisky-and-soda, which he repeated when I left. I then went on to the +C.-in-C.'s château to see Major Sir Philip Sassoon, and found him in +his hut outside the château. As soon as I sat down he rang his bell. +The orderly came. "A whisky-and-soda for Major Orpen," said he. This +came. When I had got through about half of it, his telephone rang. +"Run upstairs, Orp," said he, "and see Allan (Colonel Fletcher), he's +laid up in bed." +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page064" name="page064"></a>(p. 064)</span> +So off I went and found his bedroom. As +soon as I came in he rang his bell. His servant came. +"Whisky-and-soda," said he. When I was about halfway through this, +there were footsteps on the stairs. "That's the Chief coming," said +the Colonel. "Gosh!" said I, and I pushed my whisky-and-soda well +under the bed. In came the C.-in-C. "Hello, little man!" said he, "you +look cold; and they don't seem to be very hospitable to you here, +either." He rang the bell. The orderly came. "Bring Major Orpen a +whisky-and-soda," said he. That did it. He talked for about ten +minutes, and left. And in came Philip with my half-finished drink, +cursing. "I've been standing on those damned stairs with Orp's drink +for the last half-hour waiting for the Chief to leave." So, of course, +I had to finish it. And then the Colonel's. And I went off to General +Davidson's, and he had a nice cocktail ready for me, and a good +"bottle" for dinner—after which I do not remember anything. But it +was a bit of bad luck, one thing happening after another like that.</p> + +<p>When I went back to Amiens I saw a good bit of the Press. The "Major" +had gone, and Captain Hale of the Black Watch had charge. A fine +fellow, Hale, as brave as a lion. He told endless stories, which one +could hardly ever understand, and he laughed at them so much himself +that he usually forgot to finish them. Rudolf de Trafford was there, +and old Inge, a much-travelled man; also Macintosh, a Parisian Scot. +It was very peaceful; no one dreamt that shells were soon to come +crashing through that old château. Ernest Courage, with his eyeglass +fixed in his cap, used to come into Amiens and finish lunch with his +usual toast, and then sing Vesta Tilly's great old song:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p> + "Jolly +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page065" name="page065"></a>(p. 065)</span> +good luck to the girl who loves a soldier.<br> + Girls, have you been there?<br> + You know we military men<br> + Always do our duty everywhere!</p> + +<p> + "Jolly good luck to the girl who loves a soldier.<br> + Real fine boys are we!<br> + Girls, if you want to love a soldier<br> + You can all (diddley-dum) love me!" +</p> + +<p>and very well he did it.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXVII" name="imgXXVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img027.jpg" width="400" height="520" +alt="XXVII. Poilu and Tommy." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXVII. <i>Poilu and Tommy.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">General Seely asked Maude and myself to dine one night at the "Rhin." +Prince Antoine of Bourbon was there—he was Seely's A.D.C. During +dinner I arranged to go to the Canadian Cavalry H.Q. and paint Seely, +which I did, and had a most interesting time. Munnings was painting +Prince Antoine at this period, on horseback. He used to make the poor +Prince sit all day, circumnavigating the château as the sun went +round. I remember going out one morning and seeing the Prince sitting +upon his horse, as good as gold. Munnings was chewing a straw when I +came up to them. "Here," said he. "You're just the fellow I want. What +colour is that reflected light under the horse's belly?" "Very warm +yellow," said I. "There! I told you so," said he to the Prince. +Apparently there had been some argument over the matter. Anyway, he +mixed a full brush of warm yellow and laid it on. Just before lunch I +came out again. There they were in another spot. "Hey!" said Munnings, +"come here. What colour is the reflection now?" "Bright violet," said +I. "There! what did I tell you?" said he to the Prince; and he mixed a +brush-load of bright violet, and laid it on.</p> + +<p>As the sun was sinking I went out again, and there was the poor +Prince, still in the saddle. Munnings had nearly as much +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page066" name="page066"></a>(p. 066)</span> +paint on himself as on the canvas. He was very excited. I could see +him gesticulating from a distance. When he saw me he called out: "Come +here quickly before the light goes. What colour is the reflection on +the horse's belly now?" "Bright green," said I. "It is," said he, "and +the Prince won't believe me." And he quickly made a heap of bright +green and plastered it over the bright yellow and bright violet +reflections of the morning and midday. So ended the day's work, and +the bright green remained in full view till the next sitting.</p> + +<p>The day I arrived Munnings was much upset because he had no sable +brushes. He was telling me about this, and said, "Do you mind my +asking you three questions?" "Not at all," said I. "First," he said, +"have you got a car?" "Yes," said I. "Second," said he, "have you got +any sable brushes?" "Yes," said I. "Third," said he, "will you lend me +some?" "Yes," said I, and handed him over all I had. When I was +leaving I said to Munnings, "What about those sable brushes, +Munnings?" He replied: "Don't you remember I asked you three +questions?" "I do remember your asking me something," said I. "Well," +said he, "the first question I asked was, 'Have you got a car?'" "What +the hell has that got to do with my sable brushes?" said I. "A great +lot," said he. "You can damn well drive to Paris and get some more for +yourself. I haven't a car."</p> + +<p>About a week later I painted the Prince. He was a most devoted A.D.C. +to the General. It was very sad his getting killed afterwards.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXVIII" name="imgXXVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img028.jpg" width="400" height="480" +alt="XXVIII. Major-General the Rt. Hon. J. E. B. Seely, +C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXVIII. <i>Major-General the Rt. Hon. J. E. B. Seely, +C.B., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> + +<a id="imgXXIX" name="imgXXIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img029.jpg" width="400" height="479" +alt="XXIX. Bombing: Night." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXIX. <i>Bombing: Night.</i></p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER X +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page067" name="page067"></a>(p. 067)</span></h3> + +<h4>LONDON (MARCH-JUNE 1918)</h4> + + +<p>I was now ordered back to London—I forget what for, something about +expenses, I think. Lord Beaverbrook had become my boss, and they were +going to pay all my expenses. It was a nice thought, but they never +did.</p> + +<p>I went with my brother up to G.H.Q. on March 20th to get warrants from +Major A. N. Lee, D.S.O., and went on to Boulogne, and there met Ian +Strang, who dined with us at the "Morny." There was a raid on when we +came out from dinner, and people wished us to take shelter; but we had +dined very well. The next morning there was a thick mist low down, +with a clear sky above. When I got on the boat I met General Seely, +who introduced me to General Sir Arthur Currie, who said: "You used to +billet at St. Pol, usedn't you?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Well," said he, +"I have just come through it. They got seven fourteen-inch shells into +it this morning." "Has the offensive started?" said I. "That's about +it," said he.</p> + +<p>London seemed very strange to me at first. I felt very out of things.</p> + +<p>Nobody I met, except the soldiers, or those who had been to France +like myself, seemed to have any thoughts in common with mine: they did +not appear to want to think about the fighting man or of the colossal +deeds that were being done daily and nightly on the several fronts. +No, they +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page068" name="page068"></a>(p. 068)</span> +all talked of their own war-work. Overworked they +were, breaking up—some at munitions; some at shoemaking classes; +others darning socks—and they were all suffering terribly from air +raids. In fact, to put it in a few words, they were well in the middle +of the world war; they were just the same as the fighting man in +France or on some other front.</p> + +<p>Then it was that the definite thought came to me: the fighting man, +the Hero, will be forgotten; that the people of England who have not +been "overseas" and seen them at work, would never realise what these +men have been through—win or lose, they would never know.</p> + +<p>Their constant talk was of the terrible things they at home were going +through on air-raid nights. It hurt me—their complaining about their +little chances of damage, when I knew that millions of men were +running a big risk of being blown into eternity at any moment, day or +night. It is true, my first visit home made me realise that the +fighting man after the war would be ignored, and I knew the +reason—"Jealousy." I had been given the chance of looking on, and I +had seen and worshipped. But if I had not seen, I might have felt just +the same as those who stayed at home. Jealousy is one of the strongest +things the human mind has to struggle against. Even now, after joint +victory, it is one of the things the Allied nations have to guard +against, for it exists between them, but surely the bond of the dead, +that great community:—</p> + +<p class="poem25"> + "The Chosen Few,<br> + The very brave,<br> + The very true,"</p> + +<p>French, British, Belgian, Italian, Portuguese and American, surely +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page069" name="page069"></a>(p. 069)</span> +they should be enough to hold us together in love and +respect, without jealousy, or any envy, hatred or malice in our +hearts!</p> + +<p>It was decided that an exhibition of my stuff should be held, so +photographs had to be taken of each little thing, a title given to +each, and the whole bunch sent to G.H.Q. for Major Lee to censor, +which he did, refusing to pass nearly all of them. But General +MacDonough, however, squashed all that. Then one of my titles got me +into trouble. My first "Colonel's" set had been waiting all the year +to get something against me, and now they worked up a molehill to a +mountain. I had to go constantly to the War Office, and I was talked +to very severely. In fact, I was in black disgrace. My behaviour could +not have been worse, according to Intelligence (F), or whatever they +were then called at G.H.Q.</p> + +<p>I was lunching with Maurice Baring at the "Ritz" one day, and he told +me McCudden was in London. I said I would like him to sit. "Well, +write and ask him," said Baring. "But," said I, "I don't know him." +"Right," said Baring, "I'll write to him." The thing was arranged, and +one morning I heard a cheery voice below and someone came bounding +upstairs, and before I saw him he shouted: "Hello, Orps! Have you a +ping-pong table here?" He was the little unknown boy at the 56th +Squadron with whom I used to play ping-pong only a few months before. +Now he was the great hero, Major McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc., and +well he wore his honours, and, like all great people, sat like a lamb.</p> + +<p>The news one got in those days was terrible—one could not realise +it—it seemed utterly impossible. Péronne taken! Bapaume +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page070" name="page070"></a>(p. 070)</span> +taken! The Huns were back over the old Somme battlefields; they had +taken Pozières; the great American stores there had gone; they were +back over the great mine of La Boisselle. Terrible! And the golden +Virgin had fallen from the Cathedral tower, and one remembered the old +prophecy, "When the Virgin of Albert falls from her tower the end of +the war is at hand," and now she was down in the dirt of the street. +Did it mean defeat? Amiens was being shelled, the Boche swarmed on the +heights of Villers-Bretonneux, and they could see clearly that great +landmark of Picardy, Amiens Cathedral.</p> + +<p>The railroad from the North to Paris was smashed, and they very nearly +destroyed the great railway bridge near Etaples—great masses of +masonry were blown out of it—everything was bombed right back to the +sea. Then the Huns turned South. On they rushed—Montdidier shelled, +Clermont in danger, on they went to Soissons and Château Thierry. One +Sunday news came to the War Office that Paris had been bombed all day. +A few minutes later this was corrected to "Paris has been shelled all +day." It was awful! unbelievable! Paris shelled! Where had the Huns +got to? Was the prophecy true of the Virgin falling from her tower? +Were the Allies beaten? All the towns in Germany were ringing their +victory bells, and we had our backs to the sea. It was a black period.</p> + +<p>The afternoon my exhibition opened, they sent a message for me to go +to the War Office immediately. There a Colonel showed me a minute from +Intelligence (F), G.H.Q. My former Colonel's followers had really put +their backs into it this time. They got me fairly and squarely. The +<i>Daily Express</i> (I think it was Lord Beaverbrook's little joke) +published a supposed interview +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page071" name="page071"></a>(p. 071)</span> +with me in which I laughed +long and loud at "the Censor fellow." This, of course, I had never +done, but there it was in print. Intelligence (F) saw it and sent it +to the W.O. with the minute. I don't remember the exact words, but the +gist of it was this: "That Major Orpen's behaviour had been such that +they thought it undesirable that he should be allowed to set foot in +France again under any circumstances until the war was terminated." I +asked the Colonel what I could do. He said sternly: "Nothing." I +asked him if I might have the minute for half an hour. He said: "No," +and then "Yes," so I took it away to another and higher office. Here +its career ended in the waste-paper basket. I went back to the +Colonel, and said: "I regret, sir, I cannot return the minute, it has +been destroyed." The expression on his face was priceless, and it gave +me the only pleasure I had that day.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXX" name="imgXXX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img030.jpg" width="400" height="460" +alt="XXX. Major J. B. McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXX. <i>Major J. B. McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Shortly afterwards I lunched at a house—a large party, including two +Generals. One sitting near me was telling a lady that he and the other +General were going to G.H.Q. the next morning for two days. I said: +"Sir, don't you want an extra batman with you?" He said: "Have you any +business you want to go to France for?" "Yes, sir," said I, "I have a +lot of my stuff moved to Boulogne from Amiens, and I want to see to +it." He said: "All right, telephone to —— at the War House and he +will have your warrant ready and will get your seat for to-morrow +morning." Gee! I was excited when I left that lunch, and darted back +to my studio and telephoned to the War Office. Everything was +arranged. They even telephoned Intelligence (F) that my car was to +meet me at Boulogne. That must have been a nasty knock for +Intelligence (F), but my faithful Howlett was there with the car when +I got off the boat. We went and had lunch at the "Morny," and I saw +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page072" name="page072"></a>(p. 072)</span> +my stuff was quite safe at the "Windsor Hotel," then I +motored off to St. Valery-sur-Somme and visited the Allied Press +Château (Captain Rudolf de Trafford was now the Chief of the Allied +Press, Captain Hale having gone back to his regiment, the Black +Watch), and arranged with them that I could get a billet there if I +could manage to break down the opposition at Intelligence (F). Then I +motored back to the École Militaire at Montreuil, where I was to meet +General Sir John Davidson, who was giving me dinner and putting me up. +After dinner he had to go and see the Chief at his château, and he +asked me to go with him. The C.-in-C., as usual, was more than kind, +and asked me to dinner the next night. Then I got a bright thought and +I asked his A.D.C., Colonel Fletcher, if he would be so kind as to do +me a real good turn. He said: "Certainly." So I explained that I +wanted him to ring me up at "Bumpherie" (H.Q. Intelligence (F)) at 10 +o'clock the next morning, and say the C.-in-C. wanted to know would I +dine with him. At 9.15 a.m. the next morning I got down to the little +wooden huts which were H.Q. Intelligence (F). There I saw, through the +windows in the passage, the two Colonels and Major Lee talking. They +saw me all right, but pretended not to, so I walked up and down till a +few minutes after 10 a.m., when out came the Major. "Hello, Orpen! is +that you? I didn't know you were here." I said cheerfully: "Oh yes, +I've been here quite a long time. How are you, old bean? Lovely +morning, isn't it?" He said: "Look here, a telephone message has just +come through from the C.-in-C. He wants to know if you will dine with +him to-night." I said: "A telephone message from the C.-in-C. to me! +But why did you come out here?" He said: "To tell you, of course." +"But," I +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page073" name="page073"></a>(p. 073)</span> +said, "you didn't know I was here!" He said: +"Answer 'Yes' or 'No.'" "Oh," I said, "answer 'Yes.' I want to fix up +with him what date I am coming back to France to work."</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXI" name="imgXXXI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img031.jpg" width="400" height="513" +alt="XXXI. The Refugee." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXI. <i>The Refugee.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">That did the trick. Intelligence (F) saw they were beaten. No more +opposition! Perfect harmony was established. I at once became "Orps." +Drinks were offered, lunches, dinners—any old thing that could be +done was "a pleasure."</p> + +<p>The dinner at the Chief's was most interesting. Some American Generals +were there, and I learnt a lot about how things were going on, and +returned to London the next day, and started making arrangements to go +back and work in France again.</p> + +<p>About this time I received the following from France:—</p> + +<div class="poem25"> +<p> + "Dear Woppy, I am glad that you<br> + Will soon be back at G.H.Q.,<br> + With brushes, paint and turpentine,<br> + And canvases fourteen by nine,<br> + To paint the British soldier man<br> + As often as you may and can.<br> + The brave ally, the captive Boche,<br> + And Monsieur Clemenceau and Foch;<br> + But, on the whole, you'd better not<br> + Paint lady spies before they're shot.<br> + We're living in the Eastern zone,<br> + Between the ——, the ——, the ——<br> + (The orders of Sir Douglas Haig<br> + Compel me, Woppy, to be vague.)<br> + But you can find out where we are<br> + And come there in a motor-car.<br> + We hold a château on a hill<br> + . . . . . . . (Censored)<br> + A pond with carp, a stream with brill,<br> + And perch and trout await your skill.<br> + A garden with umbrageous trees<br> + Is here for you to take your ease.<br> + And +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page074" name="page074"></a>(p. 074)</span> +strawberries, both red and white,<br> + Are there to soothe your appetite;<br> + And, just the very thing for you,<br> + Sweet landscape and a lovely view.<br> + So pack your box and come along<br> + And take a ticket for Boulogne.<br> + The General is calling me.<br> + Yours, till we meet again,</p> + +<p> + "M. B."</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXII" name="imgXXXII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img032.jpg" width="400" height="504" +alt="XXXII. Lieut.-Colonel A. N. Lee, D.S.O., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXII. <i>Lieut.-Colonel A. N. Lee, D.S.O., etc.</i></p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER XI +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page075" name="page075"></a>(p. 075)</span></h3> + +<h4>BACK IN FRANCE (JULY-SEPTEMBER 1918)</h4> + + +<p>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 "Bumpherie" +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 "Bumpherie." "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 "Bumpherie" then, and +that was a "Colonel" with a large head and weak legs. He never forgave +me—he wasn't that sort of fellow.</p> + +<p>St. Valery-sur-Somme is a very pleasant little town at the mouth of +the river, and the Allied Press held a nice château with a lovely +garden. When things were quiet they used to have musical evenings, +when Captain Douglas would sing most charmingly, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page076" name="page076"></a>(p. 076)</span> +and Captain +Holland 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.</p> + +<p>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 Château Thierry to Soissons, and had taken four thousand +prisoners! It was all wonderful! Any day on the roads then one passed +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Forsyth had a song which became very popular about this time. The +chorus ran:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Mary +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page077" name="page077"></a>(p. 077)</span> +Ann is after me,<br> + Full of love she seems to be;<br> + My mother says, it's clear to see<br> + She wants me for her young man.<br> + Father says, 'If that be true,<br> + John, my boy, be thankful, do;<br> + There's one bigger bloody fool in the world than you—<br> +<span class="poem1">That's Mary Ann.'"</span></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXIII" name="imgXXXIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img033.jpg" width="400" height="512" +alt="XXXIII. Marshal Foch, O.M." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXIII. <i>Marshal Foch, O.M.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">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 château, 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 +nobody seemed to be about, I walked in, and as +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page078" name="page078"></a>(p. 078)</span> +the only way +I knew 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page079" name="page079"></a>(p. 079)</span> +of +October, when the Boche really got on the run. Then things went +quicker than he expected.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXIV" name="imgXXXIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img034.jpg" width="400" height="468" +alt="XXXIV. A German 'Plane Passing St. Denis." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXIV. <i>A German 'Plane Passing St. Denis.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">It seemed amazing, the calmness of that old château at Bon Bon, yet +wires from that old country house were conveying messages of blood and +hell 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 shells were falling.</p> + +<p>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 shell-fire. The Boche had been driven further back and +the old city was out of shell-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 +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page080" name="page080"></a>(p. 080)</span> +the chancel. There was a guard of honour of +Australians; birds were flying about above and singing; they had made +the interior of the Cathedral their own. Bits of glass 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!</p> + +<p>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 +"Hôtel 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 sunshine." Now he +is as cheerful a "Bean" as you could wish to find.</p> + +<p>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 café in which I +write—it is full of Boche. It's a strange thought, almost beyond +understanding.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page081" name="page081"></a>(p. 081)</span> +the sea +just 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 passed 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.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXV" name="imgXXXV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img035.jpg" width="400" height="472" +alt="XXXV. British and French A.P.M.'s Amiens." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXV. <i>British and French A.P.M.'s Amiens.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">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.</p> + +<p>A little later the H.Q. 4th Army moved to the devastated country close +to Villers Carbonelle on the Péronne side. It was +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page082" name="page082"></a>(p. 082)</span> +a +wonderful bit of 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.</p> + +<p>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 château in a +large garden and held it well. The mess was excellent.</p> + +<p>Some civilians had now come back to Amiens, and it was possible to get +a room in the "Hôtel 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 shells and bombs. The glass 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.</p> + +<p>After a time the Allied Press came and patched up their château, or +parts of it. Some of the correspondents slept there and some got +billets outside. Shops began to open. The <i>Daily Mail</i> 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."</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page083" name="page083"></a>(p. 083)</span> +I loved the bombardment. I felt the whole city +was mine, each street became very intimate, and I could walk through +them and pray out loud to my God in peace. But now! why, if I prayed +to my God in the streets of Amiens they would think me a damned +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.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXVI" name="imgXXXVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img036.jpg" width="400" height="502" +alt="XXXVI. General Lord Rawlinson, Bart., G.C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXVI. <i>General Lord Rawlinson, Bart., G.C.B., etc.</i></p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER XII +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page084" name="page084"></a>(p. 084)</span></h3> + +<h4>AMIENS (OCTOBER 1918)</h4> + + +<p>The nights were very black, there being no lights in the streets at +all.</p> + +<p>A little later Maude left his billet on the Abbeville Road, and came +to live with me in the "Hôtel 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 damned Sir +William!" said I. "All right," said he, "don't get huffy about it, +bloody 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page085" name="page085"></a>(p. 085)</span> +and Fred cried, and Maude and I looked on and +wondered and 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, bloody 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."</p> + +<p>Fred rubbed his chin and started: "Well, Bill, the first thing I +remember was that I found myself walking along a country road, and I +met a M.P. man. Said I: 'Can you please direct me to the Gare du +Nord?' 'Straight on,' said he, 'and you'll find it on your left. It's +about a twenty-minute walk.' So I went straight on, and sure enough I +came to the Gare du Nord, and I came on here and found Tom juggling +with the wheel of the old ambulance with its radiator against the +wall." "Yes," said Tom, "and look here, bloody old Bill, I had spent +half the night juggling with death with that wheel—thank goodness the +engine wasn't going. Then Fred woke me up. What do you make of it all, +Bill?" I couldn't make anything of it, so I dressed and we had +breakfast and they went off to their aerodrome in the Somme mud.</p> + +<p>After this we became great friends and we had many happy +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page086" name="page086"></a>(p. 086)</span> +evenings, in some of which Tom looked for a "spot of bother," and Fred +warned him "it was a bad show." On "good nights for the troops," which +meant that the weather was impossible for bombing (they were +night-bombers), they would come into Amiens for dinner. These nights +were "not devoid of attraction," and on the "bad nights for the +troops" I would often dine at the aerodrome and see the raiders off. +It was uncanny, these great birds starting off into the blackness—to +what?</p> + +<p>Tom and Fred lived together in a little hut in the Somme mud, off the +Péronne Road, which they called "Virtue Villa," and when I worked +anywhere away up this old East-West Road, I never could resist +visiting "Virtue Villa" on the way back. "Virtue Villa" with its +blazing stove, its two bunks—Tom's below, Fred's upstairs—its +photographs (especially the one of Fred with the M.C. smile), the +biscuit-box seats and the good glasses of whisky—truly "Virtue +Villa," with its Tom and Fred, was not "devoid of attraction" on a +cold October evening, with the rain splashing on the water in the old +Somme shell-holes.</p> + +<p>They were a great couple and devoted to each other. One could not eat, +drink or be merry without the other, yet they were completely +different. Fred was a calm, thoughtful English boy, very much in love +and longing to get married; but Tom was just a heap of fun, a man who +had travelled to many corners of the earth, but at heart was still a +romping school-boy.</p> + +<p>About this time George Hoidge's squadron came to a place near Albert, +and I had the pleasure of seeing Colonel Bloomfield there again, still +as hearty and full of fire as ever. He was going to sit, but things +began to happen too +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page087" name="page087"></a>(p. 087)</span> +quickly then, and I never got a chance +of painting him.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXVII" name="imgXXXVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img037.jpg" width="400" height="558" +alt="XXXVII. Albert." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXVII. <i>Albert.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Some weeks later, Hoidge came in and said: "I have bad news for you, +Orps. Tom and Fred have gone West." It was bad news. Tom and Fred, two +gallant hearts, dead! I was told afterwards how it happened. One of +the last days of the fighting, Fred went out to test his machine with +his mechanic. He taxied off down the aerodrome, which was a huge old +Boche one that his squadron had moved forward to. As he was taxi-ing +he hit a Boche booby trap, planted in the ground, and up went the +machine and fell in flames. The mechanic was thrown clear, but not +Fred. Poor Tom saw it all from the door of "Virtue Villa." Out he +rushed straight into the flames to Fred. I feel sure Fred's spirit +cried out when it saw Tom coming in to the flames: "You're looking for +a spot of bother, Tom, but it's a good show, Tom, a good show!"</p> + +<p>When the petrol burnt out and they got to them, they found Tom with +his arms round Fred. Greater love hath no man. That is how Tom and +Fred "went West." I hope they have found another "Virtue Villa" not +"devoid of attraction" high up in the blue sky, where they were often +together in this life. Let us admit they were a "good show"—in death +they were not divided. Their Major wrote to me: "The Mess has never +been the same since." The world itself will never be the same to those +who loved Tom and Fred and their like who have "gone West."</p> + +<p>Thinking of them reminds me of those good lines by Carroll Carstairs, +written in hospital after he was so badly wounded:—</p> + +<div class="poem25"> +<p> + "I +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page088" name="page088"></a>(p. 088)</span> +have friends among the dead,<br> + Such a gallant company,<br> + Lads whose laugh is scarcely sped<br> + To the far country.</p> + +<p> + "Jolly fellows, it would seem<br> + That they have not really gone—<br> + Rather while I've stayed to dream<br> + They have marched serenely on."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<p class="p2">THE CHURCH, ZILLEBEKE +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page089" name="page089"></a>(p. 089)</span></p> + +<p>OCTOBER 1918</p> +</div> + +<p class="poem"> + "Mud<br> + Everywhere—<br> + Nothing but mud.<br> + The very air seems thick with it,<br> + The few tufts of grass are all smeared with it—<br> + Mud!<br> + The Church a heap of it;<br> + One look, and weep for it.<br> + That's what they've made of it—<br> + Mud!<br> + Slimy and wet,<br> + Churned and upset;<br> + Here Bones that once mattered<br> + With crosses lie scattered,<br> + Broken and battered,<br> + Covered in mud,<br> + Here, where the Church's bell<br> + Tolled when our heroes fell<br> + In that mad start of hell—<br> + Mud!<br> + That's all that's left of it—mud!"</p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER XIII +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page090" name="page090"></a>(p. 090)</span></h3> + +<h4>NEARING THE END (OCTOBER 1918)</h4> + + +<p>The Boche were now nearly on the run. I remember one day I went out +with General Stuart and Colonel Angus McDonnell—the General was the +railway expert, and was out to ascertain what amount of damage the +Boche had done to the lines, permanent way, etc. General Stuart was a +quaint little man. He seldom spoke, but when he did it was very much +to the point and full of dry humour. The Hon. Angus McDonnell, a true +Irishman, was a most attractive person, full of charm. He'd kissed +more than the Blarney Stone, and had received all the good effects, +and we had some most interesting days together. On the particular one +I mention, we went away beyond Cambrai to a place called Caudry, where +the General inspected the station and the general damage to the metals +and permanent way, after which we left and lunched by the side of a +road which ran through fields. All was peace, not a sound from the +guns—when suddenly shrapnel started bursting over these fields. No +one was in sight; a few Englishmen on horseback galloped past, +apparently for exercise. The Boche, I presume, couldn't see, but just +let off on chance. It was better than leaving the shells there for us.</p> + +<p>After lunch we motored down to St. Quentin, and on the way stopped and +explored the great tunnel in the Canal du Nord. What a stronghold! It +seemed impossible that the Boche +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page091" name="page091"></a>(p. 091)</span> +could have been driven out +of it. On the way down we travelled along a road <i>pavé</i> in the middle, +with mud on each side and the usual rows of trees, then a dip down to +the fields. These fields were full of dead Boche and horses. The road +had evidently been under observation a very little while back, as the +Labour Corps were hard at work filling in shell-holes, and the traffic +was held up a lot. In one spot in the mud at the side of the road lay +two British Tommies who had evidently just been killed. They had been +laid out ready for something to take them away. Standing beside them +were three French girls, all dressed up, silk stockings and crimped +hair. There they were, standing over the dead Tommies, asking if you +would not like "a little love." What a place to choose! Death all +round, and they themselves might be blown into eternity at any moment. +Death and the dead had become as nothing to the young generation. They +had lived through four years of hell with the enemy, and now they were +free. Another day I went to Douai, and there I saw the mad woman. Her +son told us she had been quite well until two days before the Boche +left, then they had done such things to her that she had lost her +reason. There she sat, silent and motionless, except for one thumb +which constantly twitched. But if one of us in uniform passed close to +her, she would give a convulsive shudder. It was sad, this woman with +her beautiful, curly-headed son. Later she was moved to Amiens, where +she had relatives. After about six months she became quite normal +again, and does not remember anything about it. The last time I saw +her she was cleaning the upstairs rooms at "Josephine's," the little +oyster-shop off the Street of the Three Pebbles.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXVIII" name="imgXXXVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img038.jpg" width="400" height="475" +alt="XXXVIII. The Mad Woman of Douai." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXVIII. <i>The Mad Woman of Douai.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">One night at the "Hôtel de la Paix" a weird thing happened. One +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page092" name="page092"></a>(p. 092)</span> +often hears strange stories of the powers different men and +women have over individuals of the opposite sex. As a rule, one hears, +one smiles, or one is rather disgusted; but seldom do we admit to +ourselves that these stories may be absolutely true—we nearly always +smile and think we are clever, and say to ourselves: "Ah! there's +something behind that." Rasputin, for instance, what was he? Had he +power? We wonder a little and dismiss the thought.</p> + +<p>On this night, at about 9 o'clock, the early diners had gone, but +there were about thirty of us left who would testify to the truth of +this tale. A man walked in and sat down at a large empty table. He was +a French civilian, dressed in black, tall and slim, with an enormous +brown beard—a "Landru." Marie Louise, one of the serving-girls, asked +him what he required, and he said: "A glass of Porto." This she +brought him, but as she was placing it on the table, he put out his +hand and touched her arm, and let his fingers run very gently up and +down it. He never spoke a word. She retired and returned with another +glass of port, and sat down beside him and commenced to drink it; no +word was uttered. Again he raised his hand, beckoned to another +serving-girl; the same act was gone through, and she sat down with her +port. This continued without a word of conversation until he had all +the serving-girls, about eight of them, sitting round in silence. We +all sat and looked on in amazement for a while, but after about ten +minutes hunger got the better of us, and we started calling them for +our food. They took not the slightest notice of us, but in the end we +made so much noise that Monsieur Dyé, the manager of the hotel, came +in. He was a hot-tempered man, who never treated the girls under him +kindly, and when he saw and heard his customers shouting for food, and +saw all his serving-girls +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page093" name="page093"></a>(p. 093)</span> +sitting down drinking port, his +face went black with rage, and he rushed over to their table and +cursed them all roundly, but they took not the slightest notice. Then +he turned on the man with the beard and ordered him out of the hotel. +He never answered, but got up slowly, put on his hat and left. As soon +as he rose from the table all the girls went back to their work as if +nothing had happened, and we continued our dinner. It was a strange +affair—not one of those girls remembered anything about it +afterwards.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXXXIX" name="imgXXXIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img039.jpg" width="400" height="483" +alt="XXXIX. Field-Marshal Lord Plumer of Messines, G.C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XXXIX. <i>Field-Marshal Lord Plumer of Messines, G.C.B., +etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Again I went to Cassel, to paint General Plumer. I arrived there one +evening, and had dinner with Major-General Sir Bryan Mahon, who was on +his way to Lille. I woke up in the morning, got out of bed and +collapsed on the floor. "'Flu!" After three days the M.O. said I must +go to hospital. I said: "Hospital be damned! I'm going to paint +to-morrow." So I wrote and told General Plumer I would work the next +morning if he could spare the time to sit. He replied he could. So on +a very cold morning I made my way rather giddily up the stone steps to +the Casino and on to his little château. There I was met by the +General's grand old batman. He stopped me and said: "Have you come to +paint the Governor's portrait, sir?" "Yes," said I. "Well," said he, +"let me have a look at you. You're feeling a bit cheap, ain't you? The +Governor told me you've been having the 'flu'." "Yes," I said, "I'm +not feeling up to much." "Well, now," said he, "the Governor is busy +for the moment, but he told me to look after you and fix up what room +you would like to work in, but first I want to get you a bit more up +to scratch. Just come along and have a glass of port." So he brought +me off and gave me an excellent glass. Then I chose the General's +bedroom to work in, and we fixed everything up. Then he said: +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page094" name="page094"></a>(p. 094)</span> +"Now I'll go and fetch the old man." Off he went and back he +came, and with a wink, said: "He's coming," and in walked the General. +A strange man with a small head, and a large, though not fat, body, +and a great brain full of humour. He also was very calm, and made +things very easy for me, but his batman was not so easy to please. +When I got the General the way I wanted him, the batman leant over my +shoulder, and said: "Is the Governor right now?" "Perfectly," I +replied. "No, he ain't," said he, "not by a long chalk." And he went +over to the General and started pulling out creases in his tunic and +said: "'Ere, you just sit up proper—not all 'unched up the way you +are. What would Her Ladyship say if I let you be painted that way?" At +last we got him satisfied, and he departed. When the door was shut, +the General said: "Well, that's over," and settled down in comfort.</p> + +<p>After I had worked for about an hour and a half there was a knock at +the door and in the batman came. He took no notice of the General, but +laid his hand on my shoulder and said: "Look up at me." I obeyed. +"Won't do," said he. "You wants keeping up to the mark," and retired, +and came back with an enormous glass of port. When the sitting was +finished, I went back to bed at the "Sauvage," very giddy and slightly +muzzed.</p> + +<p>The next morning the batman again arranged the General "to Her +Ladyship's liking," and left. As soon as he had gone, the General +said: "We've got him on toast. He's worried to death because you +haven't painted the gold leaves on my red tab. Don't do it till the +very last thing." It worked splendidly. The old chap was really upset. +Every hour he used to come in and tap me on the shoulder, point to the +red tab, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page095" name="page095"></a>(p. 095)</span> +and say: "What about it? If you don't get them +gold leaves proper, I'll get it from Her Ladyship." He was a great +servant of the true old class, one of those who never lose their +place, no matter how freely they are treated, and was ready to die for +his master at any minute.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXL" name="imgXL"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img040.jpg" width="400" height="515" +alt="XL. Armistice Night. Amiens." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XL. <i>Armistice Night. Amiens.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Soon after this the General and his staff moved forward, and Cassel +became a dead little place as far as the Army was concerned. Things +were going very quickly, and scarcely a day passed that one could not +mark a new front line on one's map.</p> + +<p>I went out to see the damage done to Bailleul. In a few days British +artillery had flattened it out as badly as Ypres. One could hardly +find out where the main <i>Place</i> had been. Now one could wander all +over the Ypres salient. Was there ever a more ghastly place? Even the +Somme was outdone. Mud, water, battered tanks, hundreds of them, +battered pillboxes, everything battered and torn, with Ypres like a +skeleton. The Menin Road, the Zonnebeke Road, what sights were +there—mangled remains of superhuman effort!</p> + +<p>I remember one day in the summer being down at Lord Beaverbrook's when +news came in that Locre had fallen. I had no knowledge of Locre, but +Lord Beaverbrook, I could see, felt that the loss of it was a very +serious thing. So I went to see Locre—a ghastly place!—the fighting +must have been terrific. Shell-holes full of dead Germans. Everything +smashed to pulp. I should imagine, before Hell visited it, Locre must +have been a very pretty little place. It is on a hill which looks down +into a valley, with Mont Kemmel rising up the other side.</p> + +<p>Suddenly my blood poisoning came on again badly, so I returned to +Amiens on November 10. When we had just passed +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page096" name="page096"></a>(p. 096)</span> +Doullens we +got the news that the Kaiser had abdicated. Great excitement prevailed +everywhere. The next day, at 11 a.m., I was working in my room and +heard guns, so I went to the window and saw the shells bursting over +the town, but I could not see the Boche 'plane. It must be very high, +I thought. About ten minutes afterwards there was a sound of cheering, +so I knew the fighting was over. I went again to the window and looked +down into the courtyard. It was empty, except for one serving-girl, +Marthe, who had her apron to her face and was sobbing bitterly. +Presently, Marie-Louise came up to my room and told me the news, and +we had a drink together in honour of the great event. Said I: "What +has happened to poor Marthe? It is sad that she should be so upset on +this great day. What is the matter?" "Ah!" said Marie-Louise, "it is +the day that has upset her." "The day?" said I. "Yes," replied +Marie-Louise, "you see, her husband will come out of the trenches now +and will come back to her. C'est la Guerre!"</p> + +<p>Later, Maude came in, and I asked him what on earth a Boche was doing +over Amiens just at the moment the fighting ceased. "Oh," said Maude, +"there wasn't any Boche, but the anti-aircraft chap got orders to fire +off his guns for ten minutes when the Armistice was signed, but, as he +had nothing but live shells, he thought he had better stop after two." +But why he burst his shells right over the centre of the town was +never explained.</p> + +<p>Yet, on this day, looked forward to for years, I must admit that, +studying people, I found something wrong—perhaps, like all great +moments expected, something is sure to fall short of expectations. +Peace was too great a thing to think about, the longing for it was too +real, too intense. For four years the fighting +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page097" name="page097"></a>(p. 097)</span> +men had +thought of nothing except that great moment of achievement: now it had +come, the great thing had ceased, the war was won and over. The +fighting man—that marvellous thing that I had worshipped all the time +I had been in France—had ceased actively to exist. I realised then, +almost as much as I do now, that he was lost, forgotten. "Greater love +hath no man"—they had given up their all for the sake of the people +at home, gone through Hell, misery and terror of sudden death. Could +one doubt that those at home would not reward them? Alas, yes! and the +doubt has come true. It made me very depressed. The one thing these +wonderful super-men gave me to think that evening was: "What shall we +do? Will they do as they promised for us? I gave up all my life and +work at home and came out here to kill and be killed. Here I am +stranded—I cannot kill anyone any more, and nobody wants to kill me. +What am I to do? Surely they will give me some job: I have done my +bit, they can't just let me starve." "When you come back home +again"—yes, that crossed their minds and mine for them. Wending my +way home through the blackened streets that night, I met a Tommy who +threatened to kill me because of his misery. I talked him down and +brought him to my room, and told him I really believed he would have a +great time in the future. I doubted what I said, but he believed me, +and went off to his billet happy for that one night.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLI" name="imgXLI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img041.jpg" width="400" height="512" +alt="XLI. The Official Entry of the Kaiser." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLI. <i>The Official Entry of the Kaiser.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Could anyone forecast the tragedy that has happened to so many of +these men since? That great human Field-Marshal, Lord Haig, the man +who knows, works for them still, and asks—but who answers? Great God! +it makes one think, remember, think and wonder, what impossibly +thankless people human beings are. It is sad, but very, very true!</p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER XIV +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page098" name="page098"></a>(p. 098)</span></h3> + +<h4>THE PEACE CONFERENCE</h4> + + +<p>Captain Maude left Amiens and became Major Maude, D.S.O., A.P.M. +Cologne. I missed him greatly, and it depressed me very much being +left in that old town, but the doctors flatly refused to let me move, +so I just had to grin and bear it.</p> + +<p>I then got more ill and took to my bed. My recollections from that +time to the middle of January are very hazy. People were very kind to +me, and used to come and sit with me for hours, especially two Rifle +Brigade boys—Stevens and Riviere—two of the best. Stevens had just +come back from Brussels, where there had been great times, music and +dancing. Apparently the great tune of that period was "Katie"; anyway +Stevens could not get it out of his head. He never knew how near he +was to sending me completely mad, by singing gently to himself as the +winter afternoons drew in:—</p> + +<p class="poem25"> + "K-K-K-Katie, beautiful Katie,<br> + You're the only g-g-girl that I adore,<br> + When the ke-moon shines on the Ke-cowshed;<br> + I'll be waiting at the Kitchie Kitchen door."</p> + +<p>Long afterwards, during the Peace Conference, whenever I heard that +tune in the "Majestic," my mind went back to the misery and +semi-darkness in that dirty room in Amiens.</p> + +<p>On New Year's Eve, Angus McDonnell came all the way from +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page099" name="page099"></a>(p. 099)</span> +G.H.Q. and had me lifted out to dinner, so I must have been better +then. General Sir John Cowans also came all the way from G.H.Q. to see +how I was. Kindness is a wonderful thing.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLII" name="imgXLII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img042.jpg" width="400" height="500" +alt="XLII. General Sir J. S. Cowans, G.C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLII. <i>General Sir J. S. Cowans, G.C.B., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">The Allied Press disbanded, and I gave a dinner to the boys at the +"Hôtel de la Paix." It was all arranged by my chauffeur, Gordon +Howlett, and my batman, Green, and it was well done. Great were the +songs and dances, and great was the amount of liquid put away. I was +lifted downstairs and laid out beside the table, and the lads +presented me with a magnificent silver ash-tray.</p> + +<p>Towards the end of January, I was allowed out and about again, and I +went up to G.H.Q. to paint the Q.M.G., who put me up in his château. I +painted him, and also did some work down at "Bumpherie," including a +drawing of Lieutenant Brooks, who took the most wonderful official +photographs during the war, often at great personal risk. I remember a +story that went round in 1917, in which there was not a word of truth, +but it was amusing. A terrible-looking Tommy stopped Brooks in the +Street of the Three Pebbles and said: "Say, guv'ner, when are you +going to give me me photo?" "What photo? Who are you?" said Brooks. +"Blimy," said the Tommy, "you don't know me, and me the bloke as was +killed going over the top for you!"</p> + +<p>I now got a reminder that I was due in Paris to paint the Peace +Conference. The whole thing had gone from my mind. I afterwards found +the letter, which I apparently had received and read, dated December, +telling me to go to Paris, but I was so sick I did not realise what it +was about. I realised now right enough, so I packed my bag and breezed +away +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>(p. 100)</span> +to Paris, and found that great family gathering, the +Peace Conference, and the life of the "Astoria" and the "Majestic" +commenced for me.</p> + +<p>The great family really was composed of a number of little families. +Mine consisted of Lord Riddell, George Mair, Lieut.-Colonel Stroud +Jackson, D.S.O., George Adam, Sidney Dark and Gordon Knox, and great +were the meetings at Foucquet's before lunch.</p> + +<p>For the most part, my life consisted now of painting portraits at the +"Astoria," or attending the Conference at the "Quai d'Orsay." During +these I did little drawings of the delegates. For a seat I was usually +perched up on a window-sill. It was very amusing to sit there and +listen to Clemenceau—"Le Tigre"—putting the fear of death into the +delegates of the smaller nations if they talked too long. Apparently, +the smaller the nation he represented, the more the delegate felt it +incumbent on himself to talk, but after a while, Clemenceau, with the +grey gloves whirling about, would shout him down.</p> + +<p>President Wilson occasionally rose and spoke of love and forgiveness. +Lloyd George just went on working, his secretaries constantly rushing +up to him, whispering and departing, only to return for more whispers. +Mr. Balfour, whose personality made all the other delegates look +common, would quietly sleep. The Marquis Siongi was the only other man +who could hold his own at all with Mr. Balfour in dignity of +appearance.</p> + +<p>As a whole there was just a little mass of black frock-coated +figures—"frocks" as we called them—sitting and moving about under +the vast decoration of "Le Salon de l'Horloge." Some of the little +people seemed excited, but for the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>(p. 101)</span> +most part they looked +profoundly bored, yet they were changing the face of the map, slices +were being cut off one country and dumped on to another. It was all +very wonderful, but I admit that all these little "frocks" seemed to +me very small personalities, in comparison with the fighting men I had +come in contact with during the war.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLIII" name="imgXLIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img043.jpg" width="400" height="488" +alt="XLIII. Field-Marshal Sir Henry H. Wilson, Bart., K.C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLIII. <i>Field-Marshal Sir Henry H. Wilson, Bart., +K.C.B., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">They appeared to think so much—too much—of their own personal +importance, searching all the time for popularity, each little one for +himself—strange little things. President Wilson made a great hit in +the Press with his smile. He was pleased at that, and after this he +never failed to let you see all his back teeth. Lloyd George grew hair +down his back, I presume from Mr. Asquith's lead. Paderewski—well, he +was always a made-up job. In short, from my window-seat it was easy to +see how self-important the majority of all these little black "frocks" +thought themselves. It was all like an <i>opéra bouffe</i>, after the +people I had seen, known and painted during the war; and these, as the +days went by, seemed to be gradually becoming more and more forgotten. +It seemed impossible, but it was true. The fighting man, alive, and +those who fought and died—all the people who made the Peace +Conference possible, were being forgotten, the "frocks" reigned +supreme. One was almost forced to think that the "frocks" won the war. +"I did this," "I did that," they all screamed, but the silent soldier +man never said a word, yet he must have thought a lot.</p> + +<p>I remember when the Peace Terms were handed to the Germans at the +Trianon Palace, I tried my hardest to get a card to enable me to see +it, but failed. This may not seem strange, but it really was, +considering that about half the people who were present were there out +of curiosity alone. +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>(p. 102)</span> +They were just friends of the "frocks." +This ceremony took place at 2.30 p.m. on that particular day. I +happened to leave my room and go into the hall of the "Astoria" for +something about 3 p.m. There I met Field-Marshal Sir Henry Wilson. I +said: "How did you get back so soon, sir?" He said: "Back from +where?" I said: "From the handing over of the Peace Terms." "Oh," he +said, "I haven't been there. They wouldn't give me a pass, the little +'frocks' wouldn't give me one." "I've been trying for days, sir," I +said. "They expect me to paint them, but they won't let me see them." +"Look here, little man," he said. "I've been thinking as I was walking +back here, and I'll give you a little piece of advice: 'Laugh at those +who cry, and cry at those who laugh.' Just go back to your little room +and think that over and you will feel better."</p> + +<p>When I painted Sir Henry, he gave me his views on the brains and +merits of many of the delegates, views full of wit and brilliant +criticism, but when I had finished painting him I came under his +kindly lash. He called me "a nasty little wasp," and he kept a "black +book" for any of his lady friends who said the sketch was like him. In +it their names were inscribed, and they were never to be spoken to +again. With all his fun, Sir Henry was a deep thinker, and towered +over the majority of the "frocks" by his personality, big outlook and +clear vision.</p> + +<p>General Botha was big, large and great in body and brain—elephantine! +Everything on an immense scale, even to his sense of humour. He had no +sign of pose, like most of the "frocks." He never seemed to try to +impress anyone. One could notice no change in his method or mode of +conversation according +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page103" name="page103"></a>(p. 103)</span> +to whom he was speaking. The great +mind just went on and uttered what it thought, regardless of whom it +uttered it to. In Mrs. Botha he had the ideal wife. Together they were +like two school-children. "Louis" and "Mother," how well they knew +each other, and how they loved their family and home! They were always +talking of "home" and longing to get back to it. Alas! Louis only got +back there for a very short time, and now "home" will never be the +same for "Mother."</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLIV" name="imgXLIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img044.jpg" width="400" height="472" +alt="XLIV. The Rt. Hon. Louis Botha, P.C., LL.D." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLIV. <i>The Rt. Hon. Louis Botha, P.C., LL.D.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">What arguments they used to have—fierce arguments which always ended +the same way! "Louis" would make some remark which would absolutely +pulverise "Mother's" side of the question, and as she was stammering +to reply, he would say very gently: "It's all right, Mother, it's all +right, you've won." And she would flash out with: "Don't you dare to +say that to me, Louis! You always say that when you get the best of +the argument."</p> + +<p>She used to complain to me how terrible the General's love for bridge +was, and how she used to be kept up so late. He would laugh and say: +"But, Mother, you didn't get up till nine this morning. I was walking +in the Bois at half-past six."</p> + +<p>I remember one afternoon they came to my room and Mrs. Botha said: +"Well, Louis, what kind of a morning had you?" He replied: "Not very +good, Mother, not very good. You see, Mother, Clemenceau got very +irritated with President Wilson, and Lloyd George the same with +Orlando. No, it wasn't a very pleasant morning. Nearly everyone was +irritable." Then "Mother" said: "I think it disgusting, Louis, that +these men, settling the peace of the world, should allow their own +little petty irritabilities to interfere with the great work." +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page104" name="page104"></a>(p. 104)</span> +And Botha replied: "Ah! Mother, you must make allowances. Men +are only human." "I don't make allowances," jerked in "Mother," "I +think it's disgusting." "Don't say that, Mother," he replied. "I +remember one time, long ago, when we made our little peace, you used +to get very irritable at times, and I had to make a lot of allowances +for you. You must try and make the same for these poor people now." +"Mother" never even replied to this, but jumped from her chair and +left the room, and the big man's face broadened into a smile. Yes, +Botha was big—a giant among men.</p> + +<p>Admiral Lord Wester Wemyss came along. He has a good head for a "Sea +Dog." He brought the sea into the heart of Paris with him. A man of +great charm, with a wonderful smile, which I did not paint.</p> + +<p>I wrote and asked President Wilson to sit, and got a reply saying that +as his time was fully occupied with the Peace Conference work, he +regretted that he was unable to give any sittings.</p> + +<p>I also wrote to Mr. Lansing and Colonel House, asking them. The +Colonel rang up the same afternoon and said, "Certainly," would I name +my day and hour? Which I did; and along he came, a charming man, very +calm, very sure of himself, yet modest. During the sitting he asked me +if I had painted the President. I replied: "No." He then asked me if I +was going to do so, and I replied: "No," that the President had +refused to sit. He said: "Refused?" I said: "Yes; he hasn't got the +time." "What damned rot!" said the Colonel, "he's got a damned sight +more time than I have. What day would you like him to come to sit?" I +named a day, and the Colonel said: "Right! I'll see that he's here," +and +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105"></a>(p. 105)</span> +he did. Mr. Lansing was also very good about giving +sittings, and we had a good time, as he loves paintings, and knows all +the Art Galleries in Europe. He also paints himself in his spare time, +and all through the Conference at the "Quai d'Orsay" he drew +caricatures of the different delegates. President Wilson told me he +had a large collection of these.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLV" name="imgXLV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img045.jpg" width="400" height="496" +alt="XLV. The Rt. Hon. A. J. Balfour. O.M." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLV. <i>The Rt. Hon. A. J. Balfour. O.M.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">When Lord Reading sat he had the "'flu," and did not talk, so I got +nothing out of him except that he has a very fine head.</p> + +<p>The Emir Feisul sat. He had a nice, calm, thoughtful face. Of course, +his make-up in garments made one think of Ruth, or, rather, Boaz. He +could not let me work for one minute without coming round to see what +I was doing. This made the sittings a bit jerky. I was going to paint +another portrait of him for his home, but we never hit off times when +we were both free.</p> + +<p>I asked Mr. Balfour to sit, and he asked me to lunch to arrange it. +The subject was never mentioned, but the lunch in the Rue Nito was +excellent, and it was a joy to listen to Mr. Balfour. One could also +look down into President Wilson's garden, as Mr. Balfour's flat was on +the second floor, and one could see over the armed defences and view +the American Army on guard outside, with steel helmets and bayonets +flashing in the sunlight.</p> + +<p>Mr. Balfour did sit in the end. I remember he came to my room about +12.15 p.m. He was sound asleep by 12.35 p.m., but woke up sharp at 1 +p.m., and left for lunch. What a head! It put all other heads out of +the running. So refined, so calm, so strong, a fitting head for such a +great personality.</p> + +<p>Dr. E. J. Dillon very kindly asked me to dinner to meet Venezelos, and +he arranged for him to sit, which he did at the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page106" name="page106"></a>(p. 106)</span> +"Mercèdes +Hotel." He had a beautiful head, with far-seeing blue eyes, which had +a distinctly Jewish look. It was difficult to paint him, as he had no +idea of sitting at all. It was a pity, as he had a wonderful head to +paint. His flesh was fresh and rosy like a young boy's.</p> + +<p>Da Costa, of Portugal, came along: a bright little man, full of health +and energy; and after him that quiet, thoughtful friendly person, Sir +Robert Borden, of Canada; even then he looked rather tired and +overworked.</p> + +<p>General Sykes sat. What a strange head! A sort of mixture between Hall +Caine and Shakespeare.</p> + +<p>The day arrived when President Wilson was to sit. He was to come at 2 +p.m., so I went back to the "Astoria" about 1.30. When I got to the +door I found a large strange man ordering all the English motors to go +one hundred yards down the Rue Vernet. No British car was allowed to +stop closer. When I entered the "Astoria," one of the Security +Officers told me that an American detective had been inquiring the +direct route the President was to take to my room. I went on into +another little room I had, where I kept my paints and things; and +there I found two large men sitting in the only two chairs. They took +no notice of me, and were quite silent, so I proceeded to get ready. +Taking off my belt and tunic, and putting on my painting coat, I +started to squeeze out colours, when suddenly in marched an enormous +man. He looked all round the room and said in a deep voice: "Is Sir +William Orpen here?" "Yes, I'm here," I said. He walked up to me and, +towering over me, looked down and said in grave doubt: "Are <i>you</i> Sir +William Orpen?" "Yep," I replied, in my best American accent. "Well," +he said, "be pleased to dress yourself and proceed to the door and +prepare to receive the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107"></a>(p. 107)</span> +President of the United States of +America." That finished me—I had been worked up to desperate action. +So I looked up as fully as I could in his face, and uttered one short, +thoroughly English word, but one which has a lot to it. Immediately +the two large men and the enormous one left the room in utter silence.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLVI" name="imgXLVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img046.jpg" width="400" height="479" +alt="XLVI. President Woodrow Wilson." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLVI. <i>President Woodrow Wilson.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Shortly afterwards the President arrived, smiling as usual; but he was +a good sort, and he laughed hard when I told him the story of the +detectives. He was very genial and sat well, but even then he was very +nervous and twitchy. He told endless stories, mostly harmless, and +some witty. I only remember one. A king was informed that all the men +in his State were obeying their wives; so he ordered them all before +him on a certain day and spoke to them, saying he had heard the fact +about their obeying their wives, and he wished to ascertain if it was +so. So he commanded, "All men who obey their wives go to my left!" +They all went to his left except one miserable little man, who +remained where he was, alone. The king turned, and said to him: "Are +you the only man in my State who does not obey his wife?" "No, sire," +said the little man, "I obey my wife, sire." "Then why do you not go +to my left as I commanded?" "Because, sire," said the little man, "my +wife told me always to avoid a crush." It's a mild story, but it's the +only one I remember. The only other thing I recollect about President +Wilson is that he had a great admiration for Lord Robert Cecil.</p> + +<p>General Sackville-West came, and we had some peaceful sittings. A very +calm, very sad man, but he was kindness itself. Many are the acts for +which I have to thank him.</p> + +<p>Lord Beatty arrived in Paris. A lunch was given in his honour at the +Embassy, after which he came back with me to +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page108" name="page108"></a>(p. 108)</span> +the "Astoria," +and sat. A forceful character! I may be wrong, but I imagine he did +not love the "frocks."</p> + +<p>George Adam gave a great dinner one night out at some little country +place near Paris. Mr. Massey, of New Zealand, and Admiral Heaton Ellis +were the two chief people present. Massey was a most pleasant big man, +with kind, blue eyes—a simple, honest, straightforward person, large +in body and big enough in brain to laugh at himself. He made me feel I +was back painting the honest people in the war. He had none of the +affectations of the "frocks."</p> + +<p>I painted the Marquis Siongi in his flat in the Rue Bassano. There one +worked in the calm of the East. People entered the room, people left, +but I never heard a sound. The Marquis sat—never for one second did +his expression give an inkling of what his brain was thinking about. +He never moved; his eyelids never fluttered, and beside me all the +time I worked, curled up on a sofa, was his daughter—surely one of +the most beautiful women I have ever seen, soft and gentle, with her +lovely little white feet. I loved it all. When I left that flat I +could not help feeling I was going downstairs to a lower and more +common world, a world where passions and desires were thrust upon +one's eyes and ears, leaving no room for imagination or wonder. I +never pass down the Rue Bassano now that I do not think of the Marquis +and those lovely little white feet, the gentle manners and the calm of +the East which pervaded those apartments.</p> + +<p>General Smuts sat, a strong personality with great love for his own +country, and a fearless blue eye. I would not like to be up against +him, yet in certain ways he was a dreamer and poet in thought. He +loved the people and hated the "frocks." He and I had a great night +once at the servants' dance +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page109" name="page109"></a>(p. 109)</span> +down in the ballroom of the +"Majestic." I found him down there during the evening, and he said: +"You've got sense, Orpen. There is life down here, but upstairs it's +'just death.'"</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLVII" name="imgXLVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img047.jpg" width="400" height="484" +alt="XLVII. The Marquis Siongi." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLVII. <i>The Marquis Siongi.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">Mary was, of course, the "Belle of the Ball." No description of the +Peace Conference could be complete without including Mary. One great +man said that the most joyous sight he saw in Paris was Mary. Mary +doled us out tea and cigarettes in the hall of the "Majestic"—doled +them out with a smile of pure health. Mary came from Manchester, yet +she made the Parisian girls look pale, pallid and washed out. Her rosy +cheeks had a smile for everyone, men and women; one and all loved +Mary. She really was the greatest personal success of the Peace +Conference. How the people of Manchester must have missed her, and how +lucky they are to have her back again!</p> + +<p>Another delegate with no affectation was Mr. Barnes, a restful, +thoughtful soul. He brought Mrs. Barnes in one afternoon, a charming, +quiet lady. They should be painted together as an ideal English +couple.</p> + +<p>Another good Englishman, Lord Derby, our Ambassador, sat to me. Some +day will be known all the good he has done in France. Loved by all, +this joyous, bluff, big-hearted Englishman has done great things in +keeping friendship and goodwill between the two nations through many +anxious moments. One felt better after being at the Embassy and +hearing his great laugh. He was not a bit like a "frock"; whether he +loved them or not, I don't know. He was far too clever to let me know, +but he was too kind-hearted to hurt anybody or anything, and he +certainly loved the fighting man—French, English or American.</p> + +<p>Mr. +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page110" name="page110"></a>(p. 110)</span> +Hughes made a big mark at the Conference. He was as deaf +as a post, but he had a cutting wit. Many are the good stories told +about him, but they are not mine. Clemenceau and he used to have great +jokes. Often I have seen them rocking with laughter together, +Clemenceau's grey-gloved hands on Hughes' shoulders, leaning over him +and shouting into his enormous deaf cars. He came to sit one day with +<i>The Times</i>. He said: "Good morning." I asked him to sit in a chair. +He sat, read <i>The Times</i> for about an hour and a half, murmured +something that I did not catch, got up and left. The next day he rang +up and asked if I wished for another sitting. I said: "No, sir," so +that was my only personal meeting with Hughes; but I gather he was +extremely cute and cunning, which is quite possible from the general +make-up of his head.</p> + +<p>That warrior, General Carton de Wiart, V.C., came to sit: a man who +loved war. What a happy nature! He told me he never suffered any pain +from all his wounds except once—mental pain—when he temporarily lost +the sight of his other eye, and he thought he might be blind for life. +A joyous man, so quiet, so calm, so utterly unaffected. What a lesson +to the "frocks"!</p> + +<p>Another man of great personal charm was Paul Hymans, of Belgium. He +was greatly liked and respected by the British delegates.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLVIII" name="imgXLVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img048.jpg" width="400" height="480" +alt="XLVIII. A Polish Messenger." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLVIII. <i>A Polish Messenger.</i></p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER XV +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page111" name="page111"></a>(p. 111)</span></h3> + +<h4>PARIS DURING THE PEACE CONFERENCE</h4> + + +<p>Shortly after I arrived in Paris I found one could get "Luxury Tax +Tickets." I had never heard of a Luxury Tax up North, but it was in +force in Paris right enough. So I went to H.Q. Central Area, and +inside the door whom should I meet but my one-time "Colonel" of G.H.Q. +"Hello!" said he. "What are you doing in Paris?" "Painting the Peace +Conference, sir," said I. "Well, what do you want here?" he asked. +"I've come for some Luxury Tax Tickets, sir." "To what are you +attached now?" he asked. "C.P.G.H.Q., sir," said I. "Well," he said, +"if you are attached to G.H.Q. you must go there and get your Luxury +Tax Tickets. You can't get them here." "Right, sir," said I. "Will you +please sign an order for me to proceed to G.H.Q. to obtain Luxury Tax +Tickets and return? and I will start right away, sir." "Well," he +said, "perhaps, after all, I will allow you to have some here, as you +are working in Paris." "Thank you very much indeed, sir," said I, +clicking my heels and saluting. But it was no good, we never could +become friends, as I said before.</p> + +<p>One afternoon in the hall at the "Astoria" I saw a strange man—a +paintable person—and I asked the Security Officers to get him to sit +to me. He was a Polish messenger. He came along the next morning, sat +down and smoked his silver +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page112" name="page112"></a>(p. 112)</span> +pipe. I said: "Can you understand +any English?" "Yes," said he, in a strong Irish accent, "I can a bit." +"But," I said, "you talk it very well. Have you lived in Ireland?" +"No," said he, "but I went to the States for about six months some +fifteen years or more back, and that's where I picked up the wee bit I +have." I began to think he must be de Valera or some other hero in +disguise. Perhaps he was.</p> + +<p>Field-Marshal Sir Henry Wilson asked me to dine at the "Majestic" one +night. In the afternoon I got a telephone message that the place for +the dinner had been changed from the "Majestic" to the Embassy. When I +reached there I was received by Sir Henry (Lord and Lady Derby were +also present). He apologised to me for the room being a little cold. +At dinner, which was perfect, he found fault and apologised for the +food, for the wine, for the waiting—nothing was right. It was great +fun. He kept it up all the evening. When saying good-bye to Their +Excellencies, he said: "I can't tell you how sorry I am about +everything being so bad to-night, but I'll ask you out to a restaurant +another night and give you some decent food and drink."</p> + +<p>About this time I painted Lord Riddell, who, with George Mair and +others, was looking after the interests of the Press. Meetings were +held twice a day and news was doled out by Riddell, such news as the +P.M. saw fit that the Press should know. Great was the trouble when +George Adam would suddenly burst into print with some news that had +not been received through this particular official channel. Adam, +having worked in Paris for years, knew endless channels for news that +the others had no knowledge of.</p> + +<p>Riddell was a great chap, full of energy, full of an immense +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page113" name="page113"></a>(p. 113)</span> +burning desire for knowledge on every subject, too, in the +world. One always found him asking questions, often about things that +one would think it was impossible he should take any interest in. He +must have a tremendous amount of knowledge stored up in that fine +brain of his, for he never forgets, not even little things. He was +most kind to us all and was hospitality itself. He personally was a +very simple feeder, and he never drank any wine or spirits, but +nothing was too good for those he entertained. A lovable man, well +worthy of all the honours he has received. He had a great support in +his secretary, Mrs. Read, a charming, gracious lady, who probably +worked harder during those days than anyone else, except, perhaps, Sir +Maurice Hankey.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXLIX" name="imgXLIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img049.jpg" width="400" height="495" +alt="XLIX. Lord Riddell." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">XLIX. <i>Lord Riddell.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">One night I dined at "Ciro's" with George Adam and some others. I was +late when I came in. Before we went into the dining-room, Adam told me +to take notice of an English lady who was sitting a couple of tables +away from ours. This I did, and I remembered having seen her +constantly at the "Berkeley Hotel," London, years before. She was most +peculiarly dressed in some sort of stuff that looked like curtains, +tall and slim, with a refined, good-looking face, but a somewhat +strange look in her eyes. She was with two men. Presently a lady +joined the group from another table. Dancing began, and she left with +one of the men, danced and came back again. I could not remember her +name, so I asked Philippe, who told me she was an English duchess, but +he could not remember what she duched over.</p> + +<p>After dinner we went out and sat and watched the dancing and I forgot +all about her. About eleven o'clock, during a lull between dances, she +appeared before me. The moment +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page114" name="page114"></a>(p. 114)</span> +she appeared two large +waiters seized her by the back of the neck and ran her up the +dance-hall and threw her out. A strange sight, surely! An English +"duchess" being thrown out of a dance-hall in Paris.</p> + +<p>Having been given a most excellent dinner by Adam, my feelings were +roused at this peculiar treatment of the English aristocracy, so I +went over to Philippe and asked him what he meant by this disgraceful +behaviour to an English lady. He replied: "The men she was with left +an hour ago." "But," said I, "I never saw her behave badly. Why didn't +you ask her to leave?" "I did," said he, "but she just patted me on +the back, and said, 'Don't let that worry you, old chap.'" Still, my +feelings—thanks still to the dinner—were roused, so I went out into +the hall to try and find her, as I had noticed she was wearing about +twenty thousand pounds' worth of pearls round her neck. Not that I +meant to take these, but I hated the thought of someone else doing so, +and I wished to see her safely home, but she had gone—vanished! The +only thing I learnt was that she was staying at the "Ritz." But when I +inquired there they informed me that they were housing no English +duchess.</p> + +<p>A few days later I was passing the "Hôtel Chatham" and I saw her +coming towards me, very well dressed, in white furs this time and the +large globes of pearls still round her neck. She walked straight up to +me: "I want you to do something for me," she said. I don't remember +what I replied, but she said: "Don't be frightened—it's not immoral. +I'm not that sort. I just want you to come along with me to 'The Hole +in the Wall.'" "Where is it?" I asked. "I don't know," she said. +"That's what I want you for. I want you to find 'The Hole in the +Wall.'" "I'm +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page115" name="page115"></a>(p. 115)</span> +sorry, Madam," I said, "I can't do it. I've got +an engagement." She wiggled her finger in front of my nose, and said: +"Ah, naughty, naughty boy!" and went on her way. I followed at a safe +distance. Every man she met, no matter what class or nationality, she +stopped, all the way down the boulevard, and asked them to find "The +Hole in the Wall" for her.</p> + +<p>None did, however, even though she was quite near it all the time, and +the last I saw of her was when she disappeared down the steps of +Olympia alone. Not quite the place for an English "duchess" to go +alone, with twenty thousand pounds' worth of pearls in full view. I +wonder who she was and where she is now? Perhaps in "The Hole in the +Wall."</p> + +<p>About this time I introduced Lord Riddell to Mrs. Glyn, and we had +some very amusing out-of-door dinners at Laurent's. During dinner and +afterwards, Mrs. Glyn would teach us many things about life, Nature +and love: why women lost their lovers; why men did not keep their +wives; the correct way to make love; the stupid ordinary methods of +the male; what the female expected; what she ought to expect, and what +she mostly got. It was all very pleasant, the modulated voice of +Elinor under the trees and twinkling stars. Her elocution was +certainly remarkable, and Lord Riddell's dinners excellent.</p> + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER XVI +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page116" name="page116"></a>(p. 116)</span></h3> + +<h4>THE SIGNING OF THE PEACE</h4> + + +<p>The great day of the signing of the Peace was drawing near, and I +worked hard to get the centre window in the Hall of Mirrors reserved +for the artists. In the end, the French authorities sanctioned this. +They also promised to do a lot more things which would have made the +ceremony much more imposing, but these they did not do. It is a +strange thought, but surely true, that the French as a nation seem to +take, at present, little interest in pomp and ceremony. The meetings +of the delegates at the "Quai d'Orsay," the handing over of the Peace +Terms to our late enemies, were all rather rough-and-tumble affairs, +and, in the end, the great signing of the Treaty had not as much +dignity as a sale at Christie's. How different must the performance +have been in 1870! One man, at least, was there who knew the +difference—Lord Dunraven, who attended both ceremonies.</p> + +<p>I drove out in the morning to Versailles with George Mair and Adam, +and we all had lunch at the "Hôtel des Reservoirs." When we started to +go to the Palace I found they had yellow Press tickets, by which they +were admitted by the side gate nearest the hotel; but I had a white +ticket, and had to enter by the main front gate. When I went round +towards this gate I found that all the way down the square, and +further along the road as far as the eye could see, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page117" name="page117"></a>(p. 117)</span> +the +route was lined with people, about one hundred deep, with two rows of +French cavalry in front. These people had all taken their places, and +they would not let me through. I thought for sure I was going to miss +the show, and the sweat of nerves broke out on me. By great luck I met +a French Captain, to whom I, in my very broken French, explained my +plight. He was most kind, took my card, made a way through the crowd, +explained and showed my card to the military horsemen, and I was let +through. Then the sweat began to run. I found myself about +three-quarters of a mile away from the entrance to the Palace, all by +myself in this human-sided avenue—thousands of people staring at me. +I expected every minute to be arrested. Naturally, no one else entered +on foot. They all drove up in their cars. Guards at the gates scanned +my dripping face, but not a word was uttered to me, no pass was asked +for—nothing!</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgL" name="imgL"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img050.jpg" width="400" height="473" +alt="L. The Rt. Hon. the Earl of Derby, K.G., etc." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">L. <i>The Rt. Hon. the Earl of Derby, K.G., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">The marble staircase was most imposing, lined on each side by +Municipal Guards, but the Hall of Mirrors was pandemonium, a mass of +little humans, all trying to get to different places. In the end I got +to the centre window. It was empty. I was the first artist to arrive, +and very satisfied I was to have got there safely. Suddenly, up walked +a French Colonel, who told me to get out. I showed him my card and +told him this was the window reserved for artists. He explained that +this had been changed, and that the next window was reserved for them, +and led me off there. There I found all the French and American +artists huddled together. As soon as the Colonel left, I crept back to +the centre window. I was turned back again. This creeping to the +centre window and being turned back continued +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page118" name="page118"></a>(p. 118)</span> +till I spoke +to M. Arnavon, who advised me to stop in the artists' window till just +before the show started, and then to go to the middle window. Just +before the beginning there was great excitement. A stream of +secretaries came up the Hall, two carrying chairs, and with them two +grubby-looking old men. The chairs were placed in the centre window, +and the old chaps sat themselves down. They were country friends of +Clemenceau's, and he had said that morning that they were to have the +centre window, and that artists could go to—somewhere else. When the +proceedings commenced I slipped in behind their chairs, and, except +for a glare from "Le Tigre," I was left in peace.</p> + +<p>Clemenceau rose and said a few words expressing a desire that the +Germans would come forward and sign. Even while he was saying these +few words the whole hall was in movement—nothing but little black +figures rushing about and crushing each other. Then, amidst a mass of +secretaries from the French Foreign Office, the two Germans, Hermann +Müller and Doctor Bell, came nervously forward, signed, and were led +back to their places. Some guns went off on the terrace—the windows +rattled. Everyone looked rather nervous for a moment, and the show was +over, except for the signatures of the Allies. These were written +without any dignity. People talked and cracked jokes to each other +across tables. Lloyd George found a friend on his way up to sign his +name, and as he had a story to tell him, the whole show was held up +for a bit, but after all, it may have been a good story. All the +"frocks" did all their tricks to perfection. President Wilson showed +his back teeth; Lloyd George waved his Asquithian mane; Clemenceau +whirled his grey-gloved hands about like windmills; Lansing drew his +pictures +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page119" name="page119"></a>(p. 119)</span> +and Mr. Balfour slept. It was all over. The +"frocks" had won the war. The "frocks" had signed the Peace! The Army +was forgotten. Some dead and forgotten, others maimed and forgotten, +others alive and well—but equally forgotten. Yet the sun shone +outside my window and the fountains played, and the German Army—what +was left of it—was a long, long way from Paris.</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLI" name="imgLI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img051.jpg" width="400" height="480" +alt="LI. Signing the Peace Treaty." title=""> +</div> + +<p class="figcenter">LI. <i>Signing the Peace Treaty.</i></p> + +<p class="p2">After seeing some of the great little black-coated ones leave, amidst +great cheering, George Mair, Colonel Stroud Jackson and I went to the +aerodrome and saw the Press photographs sent off to the waiting crowds +in the British Isles. Then back to Paris. Paris was very calm, not the +least excited. I remember Mair gave some of us dinner at Ciro's that +night. When the band played the Marseillaise, we stood up on our +chairs, held hands and sang and cheered, but no one else moved, so in +the end we got down, feeling damned fools. It was all rather sad!</p> + +<p>The next great show was the triumphal march through the Arc de +Triomphe. It was fine! But it must be admitted that the Americans +scored. They had picked men trained for months for this march, and +along they came in close formation, wearing steel helmets. It was a +fine sight!</p> + +<p>But there were great moments when Foch passed, and when Haig passed at +the head of his men, and the roars that came from the "Astoria" must +have been heard a long way off. The "Astoria" was the hotel reserved +by the Kaiser for his friends to witness his triumphal entry into +Paris, so we had a good view. He chose well.</p> + +<p>I remember during the war, when a "frock" visited some fighting zone, +he was always very well looked after and entertained by whatever H.Q. +he visited, and I was amazed on +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page120" name="page120"></a>(p. 120)</span> +this day to find +Field-Marshal Lord Haig and General Sir John Davidson lunching alone +at the "Majestic." Lord Allenby was also lunching at another table and +General Robertson at another. To me it was ununderstandable. These +representatives of the dead and the living of the British Army, on the +day of its glory, being allowed to lunch alone, much as they might +have wished it.</p> + +<p>As far as I remember, Lord Derby gave a dinner in their honour that +evening, but I am certain the "frocks" did nothing. After all, why +should they fuss themselves? The fighting was over. The Army was +nothing—harmless! Why should they trouble about these men? Why upset +themselves and their pleasures by remembering the little upturned +hands on the duckboards, or the bodies lying in the water in the +shell-holes, or the hell and bloody damnation of the four years and +odd months of war, or the men and their commanders who pulled them +through from a bloodier and worse damnation and set them up to dictate +a peace for the world?</p> + +<p>The war was over, the Germans were a long, long way from the coast or +Paris. The whole thing was finished. Why worry now to honour the +representatives of the dead, or the maimed, or the blind, or the +living that remained? <i>Why?</i> In Heaven's name, <i>why not</i>?</p> + +<p>I remember one day, during the Peace Conference in the "Astoria," +asking a great English General about the delegates and how things were +getting on, and he said: "I wish the little 'frocks' would leave it to +us—those who fight know best how to make peace. We would not talk so +much, but we would get things settled more quickly and better." Surely +that was the truth!</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLII" name="imgLII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img052.jpg" width="400" height="340" +alt="LII. End of a Hero and a Tank, Courcelette." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LII. <i>End of a Hero and a Tank, Courcelette.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLIII" name="imgLIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img053.jpg" width="400" height="312" +alt="LIII. General Birdwood Returning to his Headquarters—Grévillers." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LIII. <i>General Birdwood Returning to his Headquarters—Grévillers.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLIV" name="imgLIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img054.jpg" width="400" height="505" +alt="LIV. A Skeleton in a Trench." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LIV. <i>A Skeleton in a Trench.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLV" name="imgLV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img055.jpg" width="400" height="458" +alt="LV. Flight-Sergeant, R.F.C." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LV. <i>Flight-Sergeant, R.F.C.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLVI" name="imgLVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img056.jpg" width="400" height="488" +alt="LVI. N.C.O. Grenadier Guards." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LVI. <i>N.C.O. Grenadier Guards.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLVII" name="imgLVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img057.jpg" width="400" height="307" +alt="LVII. Stretcher-bearers." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LVII. <i>Stretcher-bearers.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLVIII" name="imgLVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img058.jpg" width="400" height="320" +alt="LVIII. Man Resting, near Arras." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LVIII. <i>Man Resting, near Arras.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLIX" name="imgLIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img059.jpg" width="400" height="462" +alt="LIX. Going Home to be Married." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LIX. <i>Going Home to be Married.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLX" name="imgLX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img060.jpg" width="400" height="473" +alt="LX. Household Brigade Passing to the Ypres Salient, Cassel." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LX. <i>Household Brigade Passing to the Ypres Salient, Cassel.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXI" name="imgLXI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img061.jpg" width="400" height="473" +alt="LXI. Ready to Start." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXI. <i>Ready to Start.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXII" name="imgLXII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img062.jpg" width="400" height="505" +alt="LXII. German Prisoner with the Iron Cross." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXII. <i>German Prisoner with the Iron Cross.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXIII" name="imgLXIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img063.jpg" width="400" height="314" +alt="LXIII. A Big Gun and its Guardian." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXIII. <i>A Big Gun and its Guardian.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXIV" name="imgLXIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img064.jpg" width="400" height="506" +alt="LXIV. Good-bye-ee." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXIV. "<i>Good-bye-ee.</i>"</p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXV" name="imgLXV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img065.jpg" width="400" height="316" +alt="LXV. The Château, Thiepval." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXV. <i>The Château, Thiepval.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXVI" name="imgLXVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img066.jpg" width="400" height="335" +alt="LXVI. German Wire, Thiepval." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXVI. <i>German Wire, Thiepval.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXVII" name="imgLXVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img067.jpg" width="400" height="340" +alt="LXVII. Thiepval." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXVII. <i>Thiepval.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXVIII" name="imgLXVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img068.jpg" width="400" height="487" +alt="LXVIII. Highlander Passing a Grave." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXVIII. <i>Highlander Passing a Grave.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXIX" name="imgLXIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img069.jpg" width="400" height="465" +alt="LXIX. M. R. D. de Maratray." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXIX. <i>M. R. D. de Maratray.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXX" name="imgLXX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img070.jpg" width="400" height="492" +alt="LXX. A Man Thinking, on the Butte de Warlencourt." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXX. <i>A Man Thinking, on the Butte de Warlencourt.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXI" name="imgLXXI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img071.jpg" width="400" height="470" +alt="LXXI. Major-General Sir Henry Burstall, K.C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXI. <i>Major-General Sir Henry Burstall, K.C.B., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXII" name="imgLXXII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img072.jpg" width="400" height="473" +alt="LXXII. Major-General L. J. Lipsett, C.M.G." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXII. <i>Major-General L. J. Lipsett, C.M.G.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXIII" name="imgLXXIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img073.jpg" width="400" height="332" +alt="LXXIII. A Village. Evening. (Monchy)." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXIII. <i>A Village. Evening. (Monchy).</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXIV" name="imgLXXIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img074.jpg" width="400" height="317" +alt="LXXIV. Christmas Night, Cassel." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXIV. <i>Christmas Night, Cassel.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXV" name="imgLXXV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img075.jpg" width="400" height="535" +alt="LXXV. Blown Up. Mad." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXV. <i>Blown Up. Mad.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXVI" name="imgLXXVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img076.jpg" width="400" height="318" +alt="LXXVI. A Support Trench." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXVI. <i>A Support Trench.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXVII" name="imgLXXVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img077.jpg" width="400" height="477" +alt="LXXVII. Major-General Sir H. J. Elles, K.C.M.G., etc." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXVII. <i>Major-General Sir H. J. Elles, K.C.M.G., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXVIII" name="imgLXXVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img078.jpg" width="400" height="464" +alt="LXXVIII. Dead Germans in a Trench." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXVIII. <i>Dead Germans in a Trench.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXIX" name="imgLXXIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img079.jpg" width="400" height="706" +alt="LXXIX. A German Prisoner." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXIX. <i>A German Prisoner.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXX" name="imgLXXX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img080.jpg" width="400" height="329" +alt="LXXX. A Highlander Resting." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXX. <i>A Highlander Resting.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXI" name="imgLXXXI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img081.jpg" width="400" height="518" +alt="LXXXI. A Man with a Cigarette." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXI. <i>A Man with a Cigarette.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXII" name="imgLXXXII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img082.jpg" width="400" height="516" +alt="LXXXII. Mr. Lloyd George, President Wilson and M. Clemenceau." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXII. <i>Mr. Lloyd George, President Wilson and M. Clemenceau.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXIII" name="imgLXXXIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img083.jpg" width="400" height="502" +alt="LXXXIII. A Meeting of the Peace Conference." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXIII. <i>A Meeting of the Peace Conference.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXIV" name="imgLXXXIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img084.jpg" width="400" height="495" +alt="LXXXIV. Admiral of the Fleet Lord Wester Wemyss, G.C.B." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXIV. <i>Admiral of the Fleet Lord Wester Wemyss, G.C.B.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXV" name="imgLXXXV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img085.jpg" width="400" height="522" +alt="LXXXV. Colonel Edward M. House." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXV. <i>Colonel Edward M. House.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXVI" name="imgLXXXVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img086.jpg" width="400" height="526" +alt="LXXXVI. Mr. Robert Lansing." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXVI. <i>Mr. Robert Lansing.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXVII" name="imgLXXXVII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img087.jpg" width="400" height="489" +alt="LXXXVII. The Emir Feisul." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXVII. <i>The Emir Feisul.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXVIII" name="imgLXXXVIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img088.jpg" width="400" height="519" +alt="LXXXVIII. M. Eleutherios Venezelos." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXVIII. <i>M. Eleutherios Venezelos.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgLXXXIX" name="imgLXXXIX"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img089.jpg" width="400" height="495" +alt="LXXXIX. Admiral of the Fleet Sir David Beatty, Viscount Borodale +of Wexford. O.M., G.C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">LXXXIX. <i>Admiral of the Fleet Sir David Beatty, Viscount Borodale +of Wexford. O.M., G.C.B., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXC" name="imgXC"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img090.jpg" width="400" height="482" +alt="XC. The Rt. Hon. W. F. Massey, P.C." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">XC. <i>The Rt. Hon. W. F. Massey, P.C.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXCI" name="imgXCI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img091.jpg" width="400" height="493" +alt="XCI. General the Rt. Hon. J. C. Smuts, P.C., C.H." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">XCI. <i>General the Rt. Hon. J. C. Smuts, P.C., C.H.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXCII" name="imgXCII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img092.jpg" width="400" height="480" +alt="XCII. The Rt. Hon. G. N. Barnes, P.C." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">XCII. <i>The Rt. Hon. G. N. Barnes, P.C.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXCIII" name="imgXCIII"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img093.jpg" width="400" height="480" +alt="XCIII. The Rt. Hon. W. M. Hughes, P.C., K.G." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">XCIII. <i>The Rt. Hon. W. M. Hughes, P.C., K.G.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXCIV" name="imgXCIV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img094.jpg" width="400" height="511" +alt="XCIV. Brigadier-General A. Carton de Wiart, V.C., C.B., etc." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">XCIV. <i>Brigadier-General A. Carton de Wiart, V.C., C.B., etc.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXCV" name="imgXCV"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img095.jpg" width="400" height="518" +alt="XCV. M. Paul Hymans." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">XCV. <i>M. Paul Hymans.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"> </p> +<a id="imgXCVI" name="imgXCVI"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/img096.jpg" width="400" height="477" +alt="XCVI. The Rt. Hon. Sir R. L. Borden, G.C.M.G., etc." title=""> +</div> +<p class="figcenter">XCVI. <i>The Rt. Hon. Sir R. L. Borden, G.C.M.G., etc.</i></p> + + + + +<h2>INDEX +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page121" name="page121"></a>(p. 121)</span></h2> + + +<p><i>(The Arabic figures refer to the pages of the Text; the Roman figures to the Plates.)</i></p> + + +<p class="p2"> +Adam, George, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page108">108</a>, +<a href="#page112">112</a>, +<a href="#page113">113</a>, +<a href="#page116">116</a>.<br> + +Aikman, Captain T. T., +<a href="#page012">12</a>, +<a href="#page055">55</a>.<br> + +<i>Albert</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>, +<a href="#page037">37</a>, +<a href="#page040">40</a>, +<a href="#page079">79</a>, +<a href="#page080">80</a>, +<a href="#page086">86</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXVII">XXXVII</a>.<br> + +Allenby, General Lord, +<a href="#page120">120</a>.<br> + +<i>Amiens</i>, +<a href="#page016">16</a> ff., +<a href="#page040">40</a> ff., +<a href="#page059">59</a>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>, +<a href="#page071">71</a>, +<a href="#page076">76</a>, +<a href="#page079">79</a>, +<a href="#page082">82</a>, +<a href="#page092">92</a>, +<a href="#page096">96</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXV">XXXV</a>, +<a href="#imgXL">XL</a>.<br> + +<i>Ancre, Valley of the</i>, +<a href="#page038">38</a>.<br> + +Antoine of Bourbon (Prince), +<a href="#page065">65</a>.<br> + +<i>Armentières</i>, +<a href="#page031">31</a>.<br> + +Arnavon, M., +<a href="#page118">118</a>.<br> + +<i>Aveluy</i>, +<a href="#page039">39</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Bailleul</i>, +<a href="#page033">33</a>, +<a href="#page095">95</a>.<br> + +Balfour, A. J., +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page105">105</a>, +<a href="#page119">119</a>; +<a href="#imgXLV">XLV</a>.<br> + +<i>Bapaume</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>.<br> + +<i>Bapaume Road</i>, +<a href="#page018">18</a>, +<a href="#page048">48</a>; +<a href="#imgII">II</a>.<br> + +Baring, Maurice, +<a href="#page019">19</a>, +<a href="#page029">29</a> ff., +<a href="#page050">50</a>, +<a href="#page069">69</a>.<br> + +Barnes, G. N., +<a href="#page109">109</a>; +<a href="#imgXCII">XCII</a>.<br> + +<i>Bazentin-le-Grand</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>.<br> + +<i>Bazentin-le-Petit</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>.<br> + +Beatty, Admiral Lord, +<a href="#page107">107</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXXIX">LXXXIX</a>.<br> + +<i>Beaumont-Hamel</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>, +<a href="#page023">23</a>, +<a href="#page048">48</a>.<br> + +Beaverbrook, Lord, +<a href="#page042">42</a>, +<a href="#page067">67</a>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>, +<a href="#page095">95</a>.<br> + +Bedelo, Signor, +<a href="#page056">56</a>.<br> + +Belfield, Colonel, +<a href="#page045">45</a>, +<a href="#page056">56</a>.<br> + +Bell, Dr., +<a href="#page118">118</a>.<br> + +<i>Bertangles</i>, +<a href="#page080">80</a>, +<a href="#page081">81</a>.<br> + +Birdwood, General, +<a href="#page019">19</a>; +<a href="#imgLIII">LIII</a>.<br> + +Bloomfield, Major, +<a href="#page050">50</a> ff., +<a href="#page086">86</a>.<br> + +Borden, Sir Robert, +<a href="#page106">106</a>; +<a href="#imgXCVI">XCVI</a>.<br> + +Botha, General Louis, +<a href="#page102">102</a>; +<a href="#imgXLIV">XLIV</a>.<br> + +<i>Boulogne</i>, +<a href="#page012">12</a>, +<a href="#page031">31</a>, +<a href="#page042">42</a>, +<a href="#page057">57</a>, +<a href="#page067">67</a>, +<a href="#page071">71</a>.<br> + +Brickman, Captain, +<a href="#page056">56</a>.<br> + +Brooks, Lieutenant, +<a href="#page099">99</a>.<br> + +Buchan, Colonel John, +<a href="#page020">20</a>.<br> + +Burstall, General, +<a href="#page049">49</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXI">LXXI</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Cambrai</i>, +<a href="#page061">61</a>.<br> + +Carstairs, Carroll, +<a href="#page046">46</a>, +<a href="#page061">61</a>, +<a href="#page087">87</a>.<br> + +Carton de Wiart, General, +<a href="#page110">110</a>; +<a href="#imgXCIV">XCIV</a>.<br> + +<i>Cassel</i>, +<a href="#page031">31</a> ff., +<a href="#page042">42</a> ff., +<a href="#page051">51</a> ff., +<a href="#page093">93</a>; +<a href="#imgXI">XI</a>, +<a href="#imgXII">XII</a>, +<a href="#imgLX">LX</a>, +<a href="#imgLXXIV">LXXIV</a>.<br> + +<i>Caudry</i>, +<a href="#page090">90</a>.<br> + +Charteris, General, +<a href="#page014">14</a>.<br> + +<i>Château Thierry</i>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>, +<a href="#page076">76</a>.<br> + +Clark, Lieutenant, +<a href="#page038">38</a>.<br> + +Clemenceau, M., +<a href="#page076">76</a>, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page103">103</a>, +<a href="#page110">110</a>, +<a href="#page118">118</a>; +<a href="#imgLI">LI</a>, +<a href="#imgLXXXII">LXXXII</a>, +<a href="#imgLXXXIII">LXXXIII</a>.<br> + +<i>Clermont</i>, +<a href="#page055">55</a>.<br> + +<i>Corbie</i>, +<a href="#page037">37</a>.<br> + +<i>Cough-drop, the</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>, +<a href="#page048">48</a>.<br> + +Courage, Ernest, +<a href="#page045">45</a>, +<a href="#page056">56</a>, +<a href="#page064">64</a>.<br> + +<i>Courcelette</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>; +<a href="#imgLII">LII</a>.<br> + +Cowans, General Sir J. S., +<a href="#page099">99</a>; +<a href="#imgXLII">XLII</a>.<br> + +Currie, General, +<a href="#page049">49</a>, +<a href="#page067">67</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Da Costa, Senhor, +<a href="#page106">106</a>.<br> + +Dark, Sidney, +<a href="#page100">100</a>.<br> + +Davids, Lieutenant A. P. Rhys, +<a href="#page050">50</a>; +<a href="#imgXX">XX</a>.<br> + +Davidson, General Sir John, +<a href="#page063">63</a>, +<a href="#page072">72</a>, +<a href="#page120">120</a>.<br> + +Derby, Lord, +<a href="#page109">109</a>, +<a href="#page112">112</a>, +<a href="#page120">120</a>; +<a href="#imgL">L</a>.<br> + +<i>Dieppe</i>, +<a href="#page035">35</a>.<br> + +Dillon, Dr. E. J., +<a href="#page105">105</a>.<br> + +<i>Douai</i>, +<a href="#page091">91</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXVIII">XXXVIII</a>.<br> + +Douglas, Captain, +<a href="#page075">75</a>.<br> + +<i>Doullens</i>, +<a href="#page096">96</a>.<br> + +Du Cane, General Sir J., +<a href="#page077">77</a>.<br> + +Dunraven, Lord, +<a href="#page116">116</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Elles, General, +<a href="#page062">62</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXVII">LXXVII</a>.<br> + +Ellis, Admiral Heaton, +<a href="#page108">108</a>.<br> + +<i>Estre Blanche</i>, +<a href="#page050">50</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Fane, Major F., +<a href="#page017">17</a>, +<a href="#page025">25</a>.<br> + +Feisul, Emir, +<a href="#page105">105</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXXVII">LXXXVII</a>.<br> + +Fletcher, Colonel, +<a href="#page028">28</a>, +<a href="#page063">63</a>, +<a href="#page072">72</a>.<br> + +Foch, Marshal, +<a href="#page076">76</a> ff.; +<a href="#imgXXXIII">XXXIII</a>.<br> + +Forsyth, Dudley, +<a href="#page075">75</a>.<br> + +Freeman, Colonel, +<a href="#page029">29</a>.<br> + +French, Field-Marshal Lord, +<a href="#page031">31</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +George, Mr. D. Lloyd, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page101">101</a>, +<a href="#page103">103</a>, +<a href="#page118">118</a>; +<a href="#imgLI">LI</a>, +<a href="#imgLXXXII">LXXXII</a>, +<a href="#imgLXXXIII">LXXXIII</a>.<br> + +Gibbs, Sir Philip, +<a href="#page032">32</a>.<br> + +Glyn, Mrs., +<a href="#page115">115</a>.<br> + +<i>Grandcourt</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>.<br> + +Grant, General, +<a href="#page077">77</a>, +<a href="#page079">79</a>.<br> + +Gregory, Robert, +<a href="#page030">30</a>.<br> + +<i>Grévillers</i>, +<a href="#page019">19</a>; +<a href="#imgLIII">LIII</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Haig, Field-Marshal Earl, +<a href="#page027">27</a>, +<a href="#page050">50</a>, +<a href="#page064">64</a>, +<a href="#page072">72</a>, +<a href="#page097">97</a>, +<a href="#page120">120</a>; +<a href="#imgI">I</a>.<br> + +Hale, Captain, +<a href="#page018">18</a>, +<a href="#page056">56</a>, +<a href="#page064">64</a>; +<a href="#imgXXVI">XXVI</a>.<br> + +Hankey, Sir Maurice, +<a href="#page113">113</a>.<br> + +<i>Hesdin</i>, +<a href="#page013">13</a>, +<a href="#page042">42</a>, +<a href="#page063">63</a>.<br> + +<i>Highwood</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>.<br> + +Hogg, Major, +<a href="#page056">56</a>.<br> + +Hoidge, Captain, +<a href="#page050">50</a>, +<a href="#page051">51</a>, +<a href="#page086">86</a>; +<a href="#imgXXI">XXI</a>.<br> + +Holland, Captain, +<a href="#page076">76</a>.<br> + +Hotblack, Major, +<a href="#page062">62</a>.<br> + +House, Colonel, +<a href="#page104">104</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXXV">LXXXV</a>.<br> + +Hughes, W. M., +<a href="#page110">110</a>; +<a href="#imgXCIII">XCIII</a>.<br> + +Hymans, M. Paul, +<a href="#page110">110</a>; +<a href="#imgXCV">XCV</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Inge, Captain, +<a href="#page056">56</a>, +<a href="#page064">64</a>.<br> + +Inverforth, Lord, +<a href="#page055">55</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Jackson, Lieut.-Colonel Stroud, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page119">119</a>.<br> + +Joffroy, M., +<a href="#page039">39</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Knox, Gordon, +<a href="#page100">100</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>La Boisselle</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>, +<a href="#page040">40</a>, +<a href="#page048">48</a>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>; +<a href="#imgIII">III</a>, +<a href="#imgXIV">XIV</a>, +<a href="#imgXVIII">XVIII</a>.<br> + +Laboreur, M., +<a href="#page026">26</a>.<br> + +Lansing, Mr. R., +<a href="#page104">104</a>, +<a href="#page118">118</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXXVI">LXXXVI</a>.<br> + +Lee, Major A. N., +<a href="#page067">67</a>, +<a href="#page069">69</a>, +<a href="#page072">72</a>, +<a href="#page075">75</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXII">XXXII</a>.<br> + +<i>Le Havre</i>, +<a href="#page035">35</a>, +<a href="#page047">47</a>.<br> + +<i>Le Sars</i>, +<a href="#page019">19</a>, +<a href="#page049">49</a>.<br> + +Lipsett, Major-General, +<a href="#page049">49</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXII">LXXII</a>.<br> + +Little, Captain, +<a href="#page030">30</a>.<br> + +<i>Locre</i>, +<a href="#page095">95</a>.<br> + +Lucas, Lord, +<a href="#page029">29</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +MacColl, Captain, +<a href="#page062">62</a>.<br> + +McCudden, Major, +<a href="#page053">53</a>, +<a href="#page069">69</a>; +<a href="#imgXXX">XXX</a>.<br> + +McDonnell, Colonel Angus, +<a href="#page090">90</a>, +<a href="#page098">98</a>.<br> + +MacDonough, General, +<a href="#page069">69</a>.<br> + +MacDowell, Colonel, +<a href="#page056">56</a>.<br> + +Macintosh, Mr., +<a href="#page064">64</a>.<br> + +Mahon, Major-General Sir Bryan, +<a href="#page093">93</a>.<br> + +Mair, George, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page112">112</a>, +<a href="#page116">116</a>, +<a href="#page119">119</a>.<br> + +Maratray, M. R. D. de, +<a href="#page018">18</a>, +<a href="#page044">44</a>; +<a href="#imgLXIX">LXIX</a>.<br> + +Masefield, John, +<a href="#page040">40</a>, +<a href="#page041">41</a>.<br> + +Massey, W. F., +<a href="#page108">108</a>; +<a href="#imgXC">XC</a>.<br> + +Maude, Captain F., +<a href="#page044">44</a> ff., +<a href="#page056">56</a>, +<a href="#page061">61</a>, +<a href="#page066">66</a>, +<a href="#page080">80</a>, +<a href="#page084">84</a>, +<a href="#page096">96</a>, +<a href="#page098">98</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXV">XXXV</a>.<br> + +<i>Menin Road</i>, +<a href="#page095">95</a>.<br> + +<i>Miraumont</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>.<br> + +<i>Monchy</i>, +<a href="#imgLXXIII">LXXIII</a>.<br> + +<i>Montdidier</i>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>.<br> + +<i>Mont St. Eloy</i>, +<a href="#page029">29</a>.<br> + +Müller, Herr, +<a href="#page118">118</a>.<br> + +Munnings, A. J., +<a href="#page065">65</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Nieuport</i>, +<a href="#page031">31</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +O'Connor, Major, +<a href="#page049">49</a>.<br> + +Orlando, Signor, +<a href="#page103">103</a>.<br> + +Orpen, Captain, +<a href="#page057">57</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Paderewski, +<a href="#page101">101</a>.<br> + +<i>Paris</i>, +<a href="#page049">49</a>, +<a href="#page055">55</a>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>, +<a href="#page098">98</a>.<br> + +Peace Conference, +<a href="#page098">98</a> ff.; +<a href="#imgLXXXIII">LXXXIII</a>.<br> + +Peace Treaty, +<a href="#page116">116</a> ff.; +<a href="#imgLI">LI</a>.<br> + +<i>Péronne</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>, +<a href="#page037">37</a>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>; +<a href="#imgV">V</a>, +<a href="#imgXV">XV</a>.<br> + +Phillips, Percival, +<a href="#page032">32</a>.<br> + +Plumer, General Lord, +<a href="#page093">93</a> ff.; +<a href="#imgXXXIX">XXXIX</a>.<br> + +<i>Pozières</i>, +<a href="#page019">19</a>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>; +<a href="#imgIV">IV</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Rawlinson, General Lord, +<a href="#page080">80</a>, +<a href="#page081">81</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXVI">XXXVI</a>.<br> + +Read, Mrs., +<a href="#page113">113</a>.<br> + +Reading, Lord, +<a href="#page105">105</a>.<br> + +Riddell, Lord, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page112">112</a>, +<a href="#page115">115</a>; +<a href="#imgXLIX">XLIX</a>.<br> + +Riviere, Captain, +<a href="#page098">98</a>.<br> + +Robertson, General Sir William, +<a href="#page120">120</a>.<br> + +<i>Rœux</i>, +<a href="#page028">28</a>.<br> + +Rogers, General, +<a href="#page080">80</a>.<br> + +<i>Rollencourt</i>, +<a href="#page013">13</a>, +<a href="#page021">21</a>.<br> + +<i>Rouen</i>, +<a href="#page035">35</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Sackville-West, General, +<a href="#page107">107</a>.<br> + +<i>St. Denis</i>, +<a href="#page079">79</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXIV">XXXIV</a>.<br> + +<i>St. Omer</i>, +<a href="#page031">31</a>, +<a href="#page057">57</a>.<br> + +<i>St. Pol</i>, +<a href="#page026">26</a>, +<a href="#page067">67</a>.<br> + +<i>St. Quentin</i>, +<a href="#page090">90</a>.<br> + +<i>St. Valery-sur-Somme</i>, +<a href="#page072">72</a>, +<a href="#page075">75</a>.<br> + +Sargent, John, +<a href="#page016">16</a>.<br> + +Sassoon, Sir Philip, +<a href="#page027">27</a>, +<a href="#page035">35</a>, +<a href="#page051">51</a>, +<a href="#page063">63</a>.<br> + +Seely, General, +<a href="#page065">65</a>, +<a href="#page067">67</a>; +<a href="#imgXXVIII">XXVIII</a>.<br> + +Siongi, Marquis, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page108">108</a>; +<a href="#imgXLVII">XLVII</a>.<br> + +Smuts, General J. C., +<a href="#page108">108</a>; +<a href="#imgXCI">XCI</a>.<br> + +<i>Soissons</i>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>, +<a href="#page076">76</a>.<br> + +<i>Somme, the</i>, +<a href="#page016">16</a> ff.<br> + +Stevens, Captain, +<a href="#page098">98</a>.<br> + +Strang, Ian, +<a href="#page067">67</a>.<br> + +Stuart, General, +<a href="#page090">90</a>.<br> + +Sykes, General, +<a href="#page106">106</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Thiepval</i>, +<a href="#page020">20</a>, +<a href="#page036">36</a> ff.; +<a href="#imgLXV">LXV</a>, +<a href="#imgLXVI">LXVI</a>, +<a href="#imgLXVII">LXVII</a>.<br> + +Thomas, Beach, +<a href="#page032">32</a>.<br> + +Trafford, Captain Rudolf de, +<a href="#page064">64</a>, +<a href="#page072">72</a>.<br> + +Trenchard, Air-Marshal Sir H. M., +<a href="#page029">29</a>, +<a href="#page050">50</a>, +<a href="#page052">52</a>; +<a href="#imgIX">IX</a>.<br> + +Tyl, Colonel du, +<a href="#page080">80</a>; +<a href="#imgXXXV">XXXV</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Vaux</i>, +<a href="#page079">79</a>.<br> + +Venezelos, M. E., +<a href="#page105">105</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXXVIII">LXXXVIII</a>.<br> + +<i>Villers-Bretonneux</i>, +<a href="#page070">70</a>, +<a href="#page076">76</a>.<br> + +<i>Villers-Carbonelle</i>, +<a href="#page081">81</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Warlencourt, Butte de</i>, +<a href="#page019">19</a>, +<a href="#page049">49</a>; +<a href="#imgXIX">XIX</a>, +<a href="#imgLXX">LXX</a>.<br> + +Watson, General, +<a href="#page049">49</a>.<br> + +Wester Wemyss, Admiral Lord, +<a href="#page104">104</a>; +<a href="#imgLXXXIV">LXXXIV</a>.<br> + +Weygand, General, +<a href="#page077">77</a>.<br> + +Williams, Brigadier-General Dame Vaughan, +<a href="#page082">82</a>.<br> + +Wilson, Field-Marshal Sir Henry, +<a href="#page102">102</a>, +<a href="#page112">112</a>; +<a href="#imgXLIII">XLIII</a>.<br> + +Wilson, President, +<a href="#page100">100</a>, +<a href="#page103">103</a>, +<a href="#page104">104</a>, +<a href="#page106">106</a>, +<a href="#page107">107</a>, +<a href="#page118">118</a>; +<a href="#imgXLVI">XLVI</a>, +<a href="#imgLI">LI</a>, +<a href="#imgLXXXII">LXXXII</a>, +<a href="#imgLXXXIII">LXXXIII</a>.<br> + +Woodcock, Colonel, +<a href="#page045">45</a>, +<a href="#page056">56</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Ypres Salient</i>, +<a href="#page031">31</a> ff., +<a href="#page095">95</a>.</p> + +<p class="p2"> +<i>Zillebeke</i>, +<a href="#page089">89</a>.<br> + +<i>Zonnebeke</i>, +<a href="#page095">95</a>.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's An Onlooker in France 1917-1919, by William Orpen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ONLOOKER IN FRANCE 1917-1919 *** + +***** This file should be named 20215-h.htm or 20215-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/2/1/20215/ + +Produced by Geetu Melwani, Christine P. 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