We were far from an end of our troubles. Despite the danger and anxiety, we strove to keep up religious life, and the regular Observances went on at the usual hours. Instead of distracting us, the roar of the battle only made us lift up our hearts with more fervour to God; and it was with all the ardour of our souls that we repeated, at each succeeding hour of the Divine Office: ‘Deus, in adjutorium meum intende! Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina!’ The liturgy of Holy Mass, also—one would have said it had been composed especially for the moment.
On Wednesday, October 28, between 1.30 and 2 P.M.—the hour for our pious meditation—we were suddenly interrupted by a noise to which we were not as yet accustomed. It seemed at first to be only a cannon-ball, flying off on its deadly errand; but instead of growing feebler, as the shell sped away towards the German ranks, the sound and whirr of this new messenger of death grew ever louder and more rapid, till it seemed, in its frightful rush, to be coming straight on our doomed heads! Instinctively some flew to the little chapel of Our Blessed Lady at one end of the garden; others remained still where they were, not daring to move, till after a few seconds, which seemed interminable, a deafening explosion told us that something dreadful (alas! we knew not what) must have occurred. We learned, afterwards, that it was the first of the bombs with which the enemy, infuriated at the resistance of what they disdainfully styled ‘a handful of British soldiers,’ determined to destroy the town which they already feared they would never retake. The first bombs, however, did no damage—the one which had so frightened us falling into the moat which surrounds Ypres, behind the Church of St. James, and two others just outside the town. At about 9.30 P.M., when we were retiring to our cells after matins, another sound, far from musical, fell on our ears. As usual, some sped silently to the garrets, where, though hearing strange noises, they could see nothing; so everyone went to rest, concluding it was the sound of bombs again. In fact the Germans were bombarding the town. We heard, the next day, that several houses in the Rue Notre-Dame had been struck, and all the windows in the street broken. The owners innocently sent for the glazier to have the panes of glass repaired, little thinking that, in a few weeks, scarce one window would remain in the whole of Ypres.
Not content with fighting on the ground, it seemed as though the sky also would soon form a second battle-field. Aeroplanes passed at regular hours from the town to the place of encounter, to bring back news to the Headquarters how the battle was waging. Besides this, German Taubes made their appearance, waiting to seize their opportunity to renew, with more success than their first attempt, the disastrous ruin caused by the bombs. It was high time to think of our dear Abbess’ safety. It was therefore decided that she should take refuge at Poperinghe, and Mother Prioress sent out for a carriage to convey her there; but in the general panic which reigned, every possible means of conveyance had been seized. After several enquiries, a cab was at last secured, and soon drove up to the convent. Our dear Lady was so moved, when the news was broken to her, that four of us were obliged to carry her downstairs. After a little rest, we helped her to the carriage, which had driven round into the garden, to avoid the inconveniences which would necessarily have arisen had the departure taken place in the street. It proved almost impossible to get her into the carriage, owing to her inability to help herself. At length, thanks to the assistance of one of the Sisters of Providence, who had been more than devoted to her ever since her stroke, we succeeded; and accompanied by Dame Josephine, a Jubilarian, Dame Placid, and Sister Magdalen, our beloved Abbess drove out of the enclosure,[4] the great door soon hiding her from our sight. Sad, troubled, and anxious, we turned back, wondering what would become of our dear absent ones. Would they arrive safely at their destination? Would they find kind faces and warm hearts to welcome them? Only the boom of the guns mockingly answered our silent enquiries.
[3] See Note at end of Chapter.
[4] By the Constitution of the Order, the enclosure may be broken in times of war, and in other cases provided for.
Note To Chapter III
The ‘Flag’ at Ypres
BY R. BARRY O’BRIEN
There is a ‘legend’ of a ‘blue flag’ said to have been carried or captured by the Irish Brigade at the battle of Ramillies, and which was subsequently deposited in the Irish convent at Ypres. This is a sceptical age. People do not believe unless they see; and I wished to submit this ‘blue flag’ to the test of ocular demonstration. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1907, I paid a visit to the old Flemish town, now so familiar to us all in its misfortunes. I was hospitably received by the kind and cheerful nuns who answered all my questions about the flag and the convent with alacrity. ‘Can I see the flag?’—‘Certainly.’ And the ‘flag’ was sent for. It turned out not to be a blue flag at all. Blue was only part of a flag which, it would seem, had been originally blue, red, and yellow. An aged Irish nun described the flag as she had first seen it.
‘It was attached to a stick, and I remember reading on a slip of paper which was on the flag “Remerciements Refuged at Ypres, 170....” The flag consisted of three parts—blue with a harp, red with three lions, and yellow. The red and yellow parts were accidentally destroyed, and all that remains is the blue, as you see it, with a harp; and we have also preserved one of the lions. The story that has come down to us is that it was left here after the battle of Ramillies I think, but whether it was the flag of the Irish Brigade, or an English flag captured by them at the battle, I do not know.’