We had left the town in a terrible state. Through several streets which we passed, we could not see the other side on account of the clouds of smoke and dust, occasioned by the bursting of the shells and the falling buildings. Several telegraph posts lay across the road, with the wires hopelessly twisted and broken. Soldiers were running to and fro, propping up walls which had been shaken by an explosion in the vicinity, or making for some new ruin to see if they could be of any use. At last leaving the terrible sight behind us, we passed by the Rue d’Elverdinghe, on to the road leading to Poperinghe. Here we picked up the good fellow who was pushing the hand-cart. He took some more packages, tying them all together with a stout rope to prevent them falling off. His wife and little children were also there, for they dared not remain in the town. How glad were we now that Reverend Mother had listened to our chaplain, when he told her not to wait till the last moment to place dear Lady Abbess in safety. What would she have done in the midst of those dreadful shells, which, although we had left the town far behind us, still continued—though we heard them not so loudly now—to fly on their errand of destruction towards poor, unfortunate Ypres.
There is no need to describe the marching of the troops as they passed us on the way, as Mother Prioress has already mentioned it in her notes. What left the deepest impression on our memories was the thick slimy mire we had to wade through. In some places it was so bad that it was almost impossible to get on—we seemed to slide back two steps for every one that we made forward. We trudged bravely on, but before we had gone a quarter of the way some of us were already au bout. We, who for years had not walked more than six or seven times round our little garden, were certainly little fitted to go some nine miles in that dreadful mud, and carrying parcels which, by this time, seemed to weigh tons. At last Vlamertinghe came in sight. If only it had been Poperinghe! We were not even quite half-way. We could hardly push through the crowds of fugitives, each with his or her bundles of different colour, shape, and size. Some men had four packages, two in front and two behind, slung over their shoulders; others were bent in two with huge sacks on their backs; others pushed wheelbarrows or perambulators in front of them; while some were content with a little bundle tied up in a pocket-handkerchief. One respectable-looking man carefully hugged two umbrellas—were they his only treasures? We passed through the village, and on, on, on! always in company of troops, motor-cars, and refugees. The latter accosted us from time to time to ask who we were and where we came from. They nearly all seemed to know the Iersche Van Damen von S. Jacob’s Straat! Several officers and soldiers saluted us also as we passed. If only the driver of some motor-car would have given us a lift, but they flew past so quickly—they probably did not even see us. The mason’s little children took turn by turn to have a ride on the hand-cart, seated on the top of all the bundles, while the others hung out of the poor mother’s arms, who cheered them on, and told them wonderful tales in Flemish. One little boy was squeezing an almost imperceptible black puppy, which he would not let go for all the world. While the young gentleman was having his turn for a ride there was a sudden halt on the way. The wee doggie had managed to wriggle out of his master’s tight embrace and, making good use of his long-sighed-for liberty, had fallen out of the cart. Luckily, no bones were broken, owing to the soft carpet of mud into which he sank. Indeed, the poor cart was obliged to stop more than once, either to make way for two regiments who were marching in different directions, or for two or three motor-cars passing all at once, and, often enough, getting literally ‘stuck in the mud,’ or to give a rest to Edmund and the workman, who had a hard time of it.
It was now getting dark, and a thick mist was rising. The sound of the firing was getting more and more feeble as we left Ypres farther and farther behind. From time to time, a dead horse, stretched out in the ditch or in a field close by, would make us turn away from the mournful sight. We walked and walked—would we never arrive at our destination? It became darker at every moment—we were obliged to keep well together, for fear of being left behind. The trees which lined the road loomed out as though they had been some unearthly spectres, with their leafless branches like gaunt arms uplifted towards the sky to call down vengeance on the earth; while, magnified through the thick mist, the moon tinged with red seemed to reflect the bloodshed and carnage of the battle-field.
At last we caught sight of a feeble glimmer which—unlike the lights of the motor-cars, as they sped along, throwing an electric flash into our dazzled eyes and then vanishing, leaving the darkness more intense—grew brighter and brighter as we advanced. Could it really be Poperinghe? We hastened on, almost forgetting our fatigue. Yes, we were truly there—it was Poperinghe! But where were we to turn our steps? Soon we were surrounded by a crowd. Soldiers and civilians, men and women, looked with commiseration on this new group of fugitives who added to the number of those who already filled the town. Reverend Mother asked to be directed to the Carmelites, remembering the recommendation of Mr. Tack. Two girls offered to conduct us there. At this moment a gentleman came forward asking what we desired (we only discovered later that it was the Judge). In a few words, Mother Prioress explained the situation. On hearing mention made of La Sainte Union, where Lady Abbess had taken refuge, he informed us it was quite close at hand, that if we wished he would conduct us there first; and in case there should not be room for us all, he would undertake to find us lodgings. Needless to say, we willingly accepted the proposal, and in a few minutes we found ourselves in a cheery little parlour, awaiting the Superioress’ decision. The permission was accorded at first rather hesitatingly, and for one night only. Was it astonishing? The poor nuns had just given up the school premises to the French Ambulance; they had also given refuge to a community from Oostnienukerke, who were afterwards rejoined by their Sisters from Passchendaele, and now we arrived also! However, when they discovered that we really were what we made ourselves out to be, and not German spies, or vagrants—and especially as, during the conversation, one of the elder nuns found that she had formerly been the mistress of Mother Prioress when she had been to the convent at Hazebrouck in preparation for her first Communion, the community having been expelled from France eleven years before—they soon changed, and for a whole fortnight showed us every kind of hospitality.
Now Dame Placid and Sister Romana heard the news, and came running down to welcome us, then Sister Magdalen and dear Dame Josephine. The meeting was a happy one, which however soon changed to sadness, when we related what had happened to the old Abbey. We were impatient to see our beloved Lady Abbess. Soon our dear Prioress, who had gone first to break the news gently, reappeared, and we all trooped upstairs, little dreaming of the sad scene which that very little parlour would witness in less than a fortnight’s time. Lady Abbess was at once both anxious and pleased; so, after an exchange of greetings, and having received her blessing, we retired. We now began to realise what we had done. It was all so strange; we were now truly poor, not knowing what would befall us. ‘Sacré Cœur de Jésus, j’ai confiance en Vous!’ We were really and truly destitute of all human aid, and depended solely on our loving Father in Heaven for everything.
Soon the good nuns had prepared supper for us, after which we made a visit to the church, and then were not sorry to be shown the way to the dormitory. It had belonged to the children, who, owing to the war, had not returned after the holidays. Oh dear! Where were our cells? Here there were not even alcoves, but some pretty-looking curtains covering two sides of each bed. We were not even alone in the dormitory, several beds being already occupied. Suddenly, to our great surprise, Antoinette Doone, one of our old pupils, who had always remained especially attached to Mother Prioress, threw herself into Reverend Mother’s arms saying that she also was stopping at La Sainte Union with her two servants. She was delighted at the idea of sharing the dormitory with her old mistresses. Truly the war brought about strange coincidences, and made us meet with devoted friends when we least expected it. Soon we were reposing on a soft mattress and spring bed, and unaccustomed to such luxury, as well as worn out by the fatigues of the day, we were not long in falling asleep.
CHAPTER VII
VISITING THE WOUNDED
It was late the next morning when we awoke, for there were no guns to disturb our slumbers. However, we were up in time for the last Mass. Having breakfasted, we set to work to carry our parcels upstairs, and to clean our shoes, which, owing to our peregrinations, were hardly recognisable, being simply clotted with mire and dirt. This finished, we made our first visit to the wounded soldiers in the ambulance. What a scene of suffering met our eyes! If it made us realise, more than ever, that we had left our beloved enclosure, still it gave us an insight into human misery which we should never have had, had we remained peacefully in our Abbey. The ensemble was not yet organised, only those downstairs having bedsteads—the poor soldiers upstairs lying on straw on the floor. The impression made was ineffaceable. We now saw what war really meant, and we left, after having distributed little cakes, biscuits and sweets, with a promise to come back as often as we could.
Mother Prioress was now called for, to see Edmund and the poor family who had not been received in the convent, as the Superioress had been threatened with a summons if she received any refugees. They had been directed to the police station, where, having presented themselves, they had been placed in an inn, and had passed the night in an attic on some straw. They were also starving, having had nothing to eat. They were quickly given some of our provisions, and Mother Prioress paid the mason for his hard work of the day before. Being now a little consoled, he said he would go off with his wife and children to a village close by, to see if he would not be more successful in getting a lodging there. Edmund remained, lamenting loudly over his misfortunes. The chaplain of the community passing by, and hearing his sad tale, had compassion on the poor man, and told him he might sleep at his house, while the nuns arranged to give him his meals. After some days, however, he found the priest’s house too far away from the convent, and so managed to get a bed in a baker’s establishment just opposite.
Every morning we had the happiness of assisting at two or four Masses; for besides the Director of the community, whose Mass Edmund served, some French priests who were attached to the ambulance also requested permission to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice. Reverend Mother arranged with the Superioress that we might go to the chapel when we liked to say our office, where—instead of stalls—turning the chairs to face each other, we improvised a choir, and recited the Benedictine hours with the usual ceremonies. We were, of course, obliged to advance the night office, saying vespers and compline at 2.30 and matins and lauds at 4.0, it being often necessary to bring the chairs close to the window to have light to finish, if, as it sometimes happened, we were unable to keep to the given hours.