How I Filmed the War / A Record of the Extraordinary Experiences of the Man Who Filmed the Great Somme Battles, etc.

by Geoffrey H. Malins

Hearing that the Canadian guns were going to bombard Petite Douve, a large farmstead which the Germans had fortified with machine-guns and snipers, I started off from headquarters in the company of a lieutenant-colonel and a captain. A few passing remarks on the conditions of the road as we went along to Hill 63 will be interesting. No matter where one looked there was mud and water. In several places the roads were flooded to a depth of six inches, and our cars several times sank above the front axle in hidden shell-holes. The whole district was pitted with them. Entire sections of artillery were stuck in the mud on the roadside, and all the efforts of the men failed to move them.

All around us hidden guns, 4·5 and 9·2, were hurtling their messengers of death with a monotonous regularity. Passing a signpost, marked "Hyde Park Corner," which looked incongruous in such a place, we entered Plœgsteert Wood. But what a change! It was as if one had suddenly left France and dropped unceremoniously into the western woods of America, in the times of the old pioneers. By the wood-side, as far as one could see, stretched a series of log-huts. To the right the same scene unfolded itself. Our cars came to a stop. Then I had a chance to study the settings more closely.

What a picture! Amidst all the glamour of war, these huts, surrounded by tall poplars, which stood grim, gaunt and leafless—in many places branchless, owing to the enemies' shells, which tore their way through them—presented the most picturesque scene I had come across for many a long day. Upon the boards fixed over the doorposts were written the names of familiar London places. As the time of the bombardment was drawing near I could not stay at the moment to film anything, but decided to do so at an early opportunity.

Sharing my apparatus with two men, we started climbing through eighteen inches of slimy mud towards the top of Hill 63. The effort was almost backbreaking. At last we got through and paused, under cover of the ruins of an old château, to gain breath. To negotiate the top needed care as it was in full view of the German front. I went first with the Captain, and both of us kept practically doubled up, and moved on all fours. The men behind us waited until we had covered about one hundred yards, then they followed. We decided to make for a point in the distance which was at one time a grand old château. Now it was nothing more than a heap of rubble. We waited for the remainder of the party to come up before proceeding, the idea being that in case either of us was hit by shrapnel, or picked off by a sniper, no time would be lost in rendering assistance.

Resting awhile, we again proceeded in the same order as before. We were held up by a sentry, and warned to take to the communication trenches down the hill, as German snipers had been picking off men in the working parties the whole of the morning, and shrapnel was continually bursting overhead. We entered the trench, and as usual sank up to our knees in mud.

How in the world we got through it I don't know! Every time I lifted my foot it seemed as though the mud would suck my knee-boot off. After going along in this way for about three hundred yards, and occasionally ducking my head to avoid being hit by bursting shells, we came to a ruined barn. The cellars had been converted, with the aid of a good supply of sandbags, into a miniature fort. A sloping tunnel led to the interior, and the Captain going in front, we entered.

There by the light of a candle, and standing in a good six inches of water, was a captain shaving himself. This officer the previous week had led his party of bombers into the German trenches, killed over thirty and captured twelve, and only suffered one casualty. For this action he was awarded the D.S.O. I was introduced, and sitting on the edge of a bench we chatted until the others came up. A few minutes later the Colonel entered.

We then started off in single file down the other side of Hill 63. I had to take advantage of any bit of cover that offered itself during the descent. At one point we had to cross an open space between a ruined farm and a barn. The Germans had several snipers who concentrated on this point, and there was considerable risk in getting across. Bending low, however, I started, and when half-way over I heard the whistle of a bullet overhead. I dropped flat and crawled the remainder of the distance, reaching cover in safety.

At that moment our big guns started shelling the German trenches, and knowing that the diversion would momentarily occupy the snipers' attention the others raced safely across in a body. The remainder of the journey was made in comparative safety, the only danger being from exploding shrapnel overhead. But one does not trouble very much about that after a time. Reaching the front trenches, I made my way along to a point from which I could best view the Petite Douve. Obtaining a waterproof sheet we carefully raised it very, very slowly above the parapet with the aid of a couple of bayonets. Without a doubt, I thought, the Germans would be sure to notice something different on that section after a few seconds. And so it proved. Two rifle-shots rang out from the enemy trench, and right through the sheet they went.