"LILLE IN TEARS."
It will probably never be known how many thousand shells and tons of explosives blew up, as the greatest secrecy was observed by the German Authorities. All the soldiers who were there were killed. The damage was tremendous, whole streets and numerous factories, including two large spinning-mills, were entirely destroyed.
At the funeral, which took place on Saturday, January 15th, 1916, there were 108 coffins, but this figure does not include the numerous persons who were literally pulverized by the explosion. The noise of the latter was heard at Breda in Holland, nearly a hundred miles away, and houses as distant as the Rue Jeanne d'Arc, Place Philippe le Bon and Rue des Postes were destroyed by the flying stones. In general, the catastrophe was stoically borne by the inhabitants, one citizen remarking: "There were enough shells to have massacred whole regiments. Better we should mourn our dead, than the precious lives of so many of our soldiers."
One huge stone, weighing more than a ton, fell in the studio of the sculptor Deplechin (Rue de Douai), Director of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, who carved the bas-relief "Lille in Tears" on it (see Itinerary, p. [36], and photo above).
The Deportations
In 1916, the prohibitions increased in number, the people being forbidden to leave their houses after 6 p.m., or before 7 a.m.; to criticise the news published by the authorities, to remain at their windows, or to stand on their doorsteps, under a penalty of 5 to 10 days' imprisonment. They were also forbidden to use the trams without a special permit. These measures paved the way for the deportations of April-May, 1916. During Easter week, under the pretence that the revictualling of the population was difficult, the Governor decided to deport the inhabitants of Lille, Tourcoing and Roubaix into the country, and make them cultivate the soil. Rumours to that effect had been rife for several days previously, but the people would not believe it. However, all doubts were cleared away on April 20th, when posters warned the people to hold themselves in readiness with about 70 lbs. of luggage. The 21st was a day of painful suspense. On the 22nd at 3 a.m., German soldiers hemmed in the Fives Quarter, and placed machine-guns at the corners of the streets. House by house, street by street, amid blows from the butt-ends of their rifles, the Germans forced the people out of their houses. They were counted like cattle, and the number checked with the sheet posted up on each house. Those who were to go, mostly girls, were forcibly taken from their parents and led away between fixed bayonets, then loaded into cattle-trucks and sent to an unknown fate. Girls were taken from mothers and wives from husbands, with coldblooded indifference. It was in vain that the Mayor and the Bishop indignantly protested, the former to the Kommandantur and the latter from the pulpit. Methodically, this abomination was perpetrated.
THE HÔTEL-DE-VILLE BURNING
on the night of April 24th, 1916.
For ten days the people lived in mortal suspense, asking themselves if and when their turn would come.