From Noyon we were escorted south to a small town called Blérancourt, where the poilus come home for vacation, and a gayer place I never was in. Music, songs, soldiers dressed up playing tag, fencing, huge signs telling of a spree to come off that night in the big room at the canteen run by the English. We entered this building, and found three charming English women who are living there, and running a rest and writing-room and a canteen for the poilus. They serve about seven hundred a night, they said. They invited us to eat our luncheon in their garden, which we were most willing to do. I tried to get some pictures of it, but I doubt if any of mine will come out. It was pretty cloudy for photos.
Will Irwin in the Garden at Blérancourt
Mrs. Williams (back), Miss Dobson, and Mrs. Wethey in the Garden at Blérancourt
I managed to get a chance to talk with one of these women, and she was so interesting. They are certainly doing a good thing, staying there. They live in the most simple way, sleeping outdoors in the garden, wearing khaki shirts and skirts. They are the only women in the town. Their life is gay in some ways. A French poilu on his four days’ leave is more of a kid than anything I ever laid eyes on. One woman told me she did not know when they ever rested, for they kept up the noise and fun all day and all night too.
After a very nice luncheon, which we had brought with us, for one cannot get food in the military zone, we went on. We were aiming for Chauny, or, at least, we all hoped that we were, for Mr. Irwin told us that was as near the front as any women would be allowed to get. The country by this time was entirely ruined and very military-looking,—that is to say, all criss-crossed with trenches, entanglements, and dug-outs. We kept meeting high-powered cars going at a frightful speed,—mostly closed ones,—with officers in them. I can tell you that driving was no fun. I had to keep close to the other car which went at about thirty miles an hour, making a frightful amount of dust, but I did not dare slow down or lose sight of them, for I hate to think what would happen to a party of women found in the zone des armées, traveling about without the proper escort. I do not believe that any papers would be of the slightest use. As a matter of fact, the papers were all made out wrong, and the one we did possess said that our party consisted of Mrs. Hapgood (in the other car), Mr. Williams (ditto), and Miss Upjohn and Mr. Pelletier, the chauffeur. How I was to pose as a man chauffeur I do not know.
We went along smoothly until we began meeting a great number of trucks, gun-carriages, and soldiers. This made me think that we must be near the actual fighting, and I was crazy to stop for a minute and listen for the guns, but I did not dare to. Then we met a very nice-looking chasseur on a bicycle, who held on to the side of the car and gave us all the information we wanted. First place, he told us that we were off the regular road for Chauny, and that we were almost at Pierrefond de Soucy, which town was four kilometres from the actual front! This thrilled us, as you may imagine. Then we were held up by a guard, who talked at great length with the first car, and after finally letting them go on, stopped us and said that we could not go for five minutes, that we must keep out of sight of the first car, never stop under any conditions until we passed the next sentinel, and that he had no business to let us go on this road at all, as the Germans could see us on an ordinary day, but it being foggy he would let us by! For the first time I really felt as if there were some danger. As a matter of fact, it was practically nil, for the Germans are very methodical in their way of fighting, and do not fire on certain roads except at certain times. However, our chasseur friend told us that the woods we could see beyond the field on the right were French, but that the Germans were on the hill beyond. That made them seem pretty near. We just scurried through that town and the next. The road was very carefully screened on one side, with burlap and trees and wire covered with grass. There were some guns ready for action at the corners of the roads, and many signs saying that autos should not use this road except after dark. The woods were full of soldiers, who waved and shouted at us. I found that they all saluted our car, as they took it for granted that we must have an officer with us like the front car, so I began saluting back, and it seemed to please them terribly. By the end of the last day, I got so that I could give a very military salute without any trouble, which I consider quite a feat, for the driving was hard,—the speed and the bad roads combined with the very constant and real danger of the officers’ cars which we met, and which, of course, would simply run through you if you did not give way.
The beautiful great shade trees which line either side of the roads have all been cut down by the Germans before their retreat. Also the fruit trees. In some places they did not evidently have the time to really cut down the trees, so they just ringed them—cut deep circles in them so that they will die. I noticed that in some of the villages the farmers had evidently tried to save these few remaining ones, and have bandaged them up. Mother probably knows whether there is any hope for them to pull through. The effect of miles and miles of flat roads with simply the stumps of what were once beautiful trees is ghastly, and I think of all the things that the Germans have done, perhaps this is the worst, and the thing which the people of that district will never forgive. They say it takes a tree thirty years to really bear, and the generation now living will never see their orchards bearing again.
In some places the Boches cut the trees so that they split when they fell (always across the roads, of course), and now there remain nothing but rows of great white, livid stumps which shine in the sunlight, and look so very ghastly, and make one realize even more that this modern warfare is not a sport. I took several pictures of the trees, but I do not imagine that I got the effect. It is, without doubt, one of the most impressive and oppressive things that one sees; every one who comes back says the same thing. From a military point of view, cutting the shade trees across the roads was not of great value and must have taken a great deal of time, and the apple and other fruit trees seems to be pure desire to destroy. Although one thing I noticed, the young fruit trees were almost always spared, and this fact carries out the German theory that they destroyed only trees which could be used for shelters for guns or men. The trees on the side of the road are without doubt invaluable in the making of screens to hide the road when under fire, but, even with all these facts in one’s mind, and trying to be fair, one is infuriated to think that these trees, so many, many years old, should be sacrificed.