Canada in Flanders, Volume I

by Baron Max Aitken Beaverbrook

As one approaches from a distance the actual point of contact between the opposing forces, one is struck ever more and more by the immense numbers which are converging, as it seems, for some great military purpose. But the nearer the front approaches the more completely does all that is spectacular disappear, until, finally, the flower of the youth of Europe vanishes and is swallowed up by immense but barely visible lines of field fortifications.

And now the Canadian Division, too, has reached the front. The long, the tedious winter discomfort of Salisbury Plain, never resented but always disliked, already seems far away. No one in the Canadian Division grudges the honour which was paid to Princess Patricia's Light Infantry, to carry first the badge of Canada on the battlefields of Flanders. It was freely recognised that this Regiment had arrived with greater technical knowledge and had reached a degree of efficiency which the other battalions could hardly equal without longer preparation. The fortunes of the Princess Patricias will be told in another chapter, but it can be said that the Battalion has proved itself worthy of fighting side by side, and on equal terms, with the army of veterans and heroes which held the trenches during the first horrible winter in Flanders.

It is a story which will demand the utmost care in the telling, and, in any case, much that would be of the greatest interest must of necessity be omitted, because, in face of the superb organisation of the German Intelligence Department, it might be mischievous to publish details of units, and of their doings, as long as the general military formations in which these units play a part remain unchanged. It is out of respect for this consideration that the day for giving full honours to units by exact identification has so often to be postponed, so that the records of our men's heroism only appear when, in the maelstrom of fresh splendid deeds, they are already half forgotten.

This volume, and those which it is hoped will follow it, must always be read in the light of these most necessary restrictions. Nevertheless it is possible, while observing every rule which has been laid down for our guidance, to give a general picture of the Canadian Division, its surroundings and its doings, which, whether it interests other people or not, will not be read without emotion by those who sent their sons and brothers to the greatest battlefields of history in support of principles which, in their general application, are as important to the liberties of Canada as they are to the liberties of Europe.

Before the Canadians took up their allotted positions in the trenches they marched past the Commander-in-Chief and his Staff. Those who watched the troops defile in the grey, square market-place of a typical Flanders town, were experienced judges of the physique and quality of soldiers. No one desires in such a connection to use exaggerated language, and it is therefore unnecessary to say more than that the unanimous view of those who watched so intently and so critically, was that, judging the men by their physique and their soldierly swing, no more promising troops had come to swell our ranks since the day the Expeditionary Force landed in France.

When the Canadian troops first took their turn as a Division in the trenches, nothing sensational happened to them. It was not their fortune, at the outset, to be swung forward in a desperate attack, or to cling in defensive tenacity to trenches which the Germans had resolved to master. There were, of course, casualties. One does not enter or leave trenches without casualties, for the sniper never fails to claim his daily toll, but the early trench experiences of the Canadians were not eventful, as one judges incidents in this war. This period of immunity, however, was all to the good. Whatever else he is, the Canadian is adaptable, and the experience of these weeks brought him more wisdom than others might have drawn from it.

Work in the trenches no longer involves, in respect of duration, the heartbreaking strain which was imposed upon all in the dark and anxious days of the autumn of 1914, when a thin line of khaki held, often wholly unsupported by reserves, so immense a line against superior forces. Trench work now, in relation to the period of exposure, is well within the powers of stout and resolute troops. For a certain period, relays of the force take their turn in holding their lines. When that period is passed they are relieved by their comrades.

Exciting, if occasionally monotonous, though life in the trenches may be, it is strange to a Canadian, and deeply interesting, to study the tiny town in which the troops in repose are billeted, and the hustling life on which they have already stamped so much of their individuality. Picture to yourself a narrow street, the centre paved, the sides of tenacious mud. Line it on each side with houses, rather squalid, and with a few unimportant stores. Add a château (not a grand one) for the Headquarters, a modest office for the Staff, and you have a fair conception of the billeting place which shelters that part of the division which reposes. But this town is like many other towns in this unattractive country. Its interest to us lies in the tenants of the moment. Walk down the street, and you will, if you are a Canadian, feel at once something familiar and homelike in the atmosphere. One hears voices everywhere, and one does not need the sight of the brass shoulder badges, "CANADA," to know the race to which these voices belong. It may be the speech of Nova Scotia, it may be the voice of British Columbia, or it may be the accents in which the French-Canadian seeks to adapt to the French of Flanders the tongue which his ancestors, centuries ago, carried to a new world; but, whichever it be—it is all Canadian.

And soon, a company swings by, going perhaps to bath parade—to that expeditious process which, in half an hour, has cleansed the bathers and fumigated every rag which they possess. And as they pass they sing carelessly, but with a challenging catch, a song which, if by chance you come from Toronto, will perhaps stir some association. For these, or many of them, are boys from the College; and the song is the University song whose refrain is, "Toronto."

And if you go still a little further in the direction of the front, you will soon—very soon—after leaving the place of billeting, come to the country over which the great guns, by day and night, contend for mastery. And as one advances, there seem to be Canadians everywhere. Here are batteries, skilfully masked. Here are supplies on their way to the trenches. And all the time can be seen reliefs and reserves until it is strange to meet anyone not in khaki and without the badge of "CANADA." The passion for football, which the Canadian has begun to share with his English comrade, abates none of its keenness as he marches nearer to the front. A spirited match was in progress near our lines not long ago when a distracting succession of "Weary Willies" began to distribute themselves not very far from the football ground. The only people who took no notice were the players, and nothing short of a peremptory order from the Provost Marshal brought to an end a game which was somewhat unnecessarily dangerous. And our men have, of course, made the acquaintance of "Jack Johnson," and without liking him—for he is not likeable—they endure him with as much constancy as brave men need. Nor, indeed, have our own artillery failed to do more than hold their own. The gunners inherited from the division which preceded them in the trenches a disagreeable inheritance in the shape of an observation post which had long harassed and menaced our lines by the information which it placed at the disposal of the enemy. We were so fortunate as to put it out of action in the third round which we fired—a success very welcome as an encouragement, and giving a substantial relief from an unwholesome scrutiny.