I looked around. Not a sign of life anywhere, so I decided to make for Vraignes about a kilometre distant south-east of Bovincourt. I had previously heard from one of the villagers that there were about one thousand people left there.
Strapping my camera on my back I tramped away, my man following in the rear. The "still" man, who had left me after feeding the villagers, had been prowling around getting pictures. Accidentally he ran into me, so together we trekked off.
Taking advantage of every bit of cover possible, as German snipers were none too careful as to where they put their bullets, we eventually reached the outskirts of Vraignes. Not a sign of Germans, but crowds of civilians. Things here were the same as at Bovincourt, but a few more houses were left standing owing to the fire not completely doing its work. The people were in the same state. We had just got into the village, and near the Mairie, when a commotion round the corner by the church attracted my attention. The men and women who had crowded around us shouting with joy, turned and rushed up the road.
"Vive les Anglais! Vive les Anglais!" The cry was taken up by every one. Hands and handkerchiefs were waving in all directions. "Vive les Anglais! Vive les Anglais!"
"Our boys are there," I said.
My camera was up and turned on to the corner where the crowd stood and, at that moment, a troop of our cyclists entered, riding very slowly through the exultant people—the first British troops to enter the village. I turned the handle. The scene was inspiring. Cheer after cheer rent the air. Old men and women were crying with joy. Others were holding their babies up to kiss our boys. Children were clinging and hugging around their legs, until it was impossible for them to proceed further. The order was given by the officer in charge to halt. The men tumbled off their machines, the people surged round them. To say the men were embarrassed would be to put it mildly. They were absolutely overcome. I filmed them with the crowd around. And then an order was given to take up billets. Patrols were thrown out, sentries posted, the men parked their cycles and rested.
On a large double door of a barn the Huns had gone to the trouble of painting in huge letters the hackneyed phrase "Gott strafe England," and immediately our men saw it one of them, with a piece of chalk, improved upon it.
They gathered the children round them and formed a group beneath the letters with German trophies upon their heads; I filmed them there, one of the happiest groups possible to conceive.
I left them and went to find the officer in charge, and asked him for the latest news from other sections.
"I couldn't say," he replied, "but my men were well in touch with them early this morning, but you seem to know more about it here than anyone else. When on earth did you arrive in the village?"