CHAPTER II
christmas day at the front
Leave-taking at Charing Cross—A Fruitless Search for Food on Christmas Eve—How Tommy Welcomed the Coming of the Festive Season—"Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men" to the Boom of the Big Guns—Filming the Guards' Division—And the Prince of Wales—Coming from a Christmas Service—This Year and Next.
On December 23rd I met an officer, a captain, at Charing Cross Station. We were leaving by the 8.50 train, and we were not the only ones to leave Christmas behind, for hundreds of men were returning to the Front. Heartbreaking scenes were taking place, and many of the brave women-folk were stifling their sobs, in order to give their men a pleasant send-off, possibly for the last time.
Amidst hurried good-byes and fond kisses from mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, and with shouts of good luck from hundreds of throats, the train started off. Handkerchiefs were waved from many windows, cheerful heads were thrust out, and not until the train had cleared the platform, and the "hurrahs" had faded away in the distance, did we take our seats. Then with set faces, grim with determination, we resigned ourselves to the fate that awaited us on the battlefields of France. Reaching Boulogne, after a rather choppy voyage, our car conveyed us to G.H.Q., which we reached late in the evening.
The following morning I was told to leave for La Gorgue, to film scenes connected with the Guards' Division. Late that afternoon, the Captain and I set out for our destination, reaching there about 8 o'clock. I was billeted in a private house, and immediately enquired for some food, but it was impossible to obtain any there. Going out I walked through the town, in the hope of finding a place to get something. But none could be found. Feeling very tired, I began to retrace my steps, with the intention of going to bed.
On my way back I had reason to change my mind. Quite an interesting scene unfolded itself. The boom of the guns rang out sharp and clear. The moon was shining brightly, and at intervals there flashed across the sky the not-far-distant glare of star-shells. In the houses, lining both sides of the road, there was music, from the humble mouth-organ to the piano, and lusty British voices were singing old English tunes with the enthusiasm of boyhood.
On the pavement clusters of our Tommies were proceeding towards their billets, singing heartily at the top of their voices. Some batches were singing carols, others the latest favourites, such as "Keep the Home Fires Burning."