Geoffrey H. Malins

A Visit to the Old German Trenches—Reveals a Scene of Horror that Defies Description—Dodging the Shells—I Lose the Handle of My Camera—And then Lose My Man—The Effect of Shell-fire on a Novice—In the Village of Neuve Chapelle—A Scene of Devastation—The Figure of the Lonely Christ.

It occurred to me that an interesting film might be made out of scenes of the battlefield of Neuve Chapelle. The very thought of it conjured up a reeking, whirling mass of humanity, fighting with all the most devilish, death-dealing weapons that had ever been conceived by the mind of man. I decided to do a picture of the scene, and took with me an orderly who had never been under fire before.

We proceeded along the La BassÉe Road, and at the Croix Rouge proceeded on foot towards Neuve Chapelle. As usual, Bosche shelling was so consistent in its intensity that we thought it advisable to spread out a bit in case a shell burst near us. My guide was Major ——, who commanded one of the regiments holding the ground on the other side of Neuve Chapelle.

Eventually I reached the assembly trenches, where our men concentrated for the great attack. In shape they were just ordinary trenches, branches off a main gallery, but they were in an awful state of decay, and literally torn to shreds by shell-fire. What tales these old sandbags might tell if only they could speak, tales of our brave boys and our Indian troops that would live for ever in the history of mankind. Standing upon one of the parapets, I looked round, and marvelled that it was possible in so small a section of ground so many men were hidden there. Quickly formulating my programme, I decided to begin at the assembly trenches, and follow in imagination the path of the troops during the battle, ending up in the ruins of Neuve Chapelle village itself, which I could see in the distance.

"Be careful," came the warning voice of a major, "the whole of the ground here is in view of the Bosche artillery observers. If they see anyone moving about they'll start 'strafing' like anything, and I assure you they do it very conscientiously."

I therefore kept as low as possible.

Fixing up the camera, I started to film the scenes from the assembly trenches to the old first line trench, and then into the stretch of ground known as "No Man's Land." Finishing this particular picture, we went along to the old German trenches, and during the whole time we bent nearly double, to keep under the line of the old parapets. In the old German trenches the frightful effect of modern shell-fire was only too apparent. The whole line, as far as one could see, was absolutely smashed to atoms. Only the bases of the parapets were left, and in the bottom of the trenches was an accumulation of water and filth. It was a disgusting sight. The whole place was littered with old German equipment, and whilst wading and splashing along through the water I saw such things, and such stenches assailed my nostrils, as I shall not easily forget. Dotted all over the place, half in and half out of the mud and water, were dead bodies.

But why recount the horrors of the scene? Imagine the sights and the smell. How I got through that section of trench Heaven only knows. It was simply ghastly.

To escape from the scene I hurried to the end of the trench and again crossed "No Man's Land." The sight here was not so bad as in the trenches. To obtain a good view of the spot I got up very gingerly on top of the parapet, fixed the machine, and filmed the scene. But this enterprise nearly put an end to my adventure, and also to the other members of the party. I had finished taking, and had got my camera down on the stand, in the bottom of the trench, and was on the point of unscrewing it, when two shells came hurtling overhead and exploded about forty feet away. The Major ran up to me and shouted that I had been seen, and told me to take cover at once. He and the others, suiting the action to the word, dived below the parapets. Snatching the camera off its stand, I followed, and paddled as close as possible to the mud. The shells began falling in quick succession. Nearer and nearer they came. Some just cleared the parapet top; some burst in front, some immediately behind.

"They have got our line; let's shift along further," some one said.

From one point of the trench to the other we dodged. The shells seemed to follow us wherever we went. Crash! One struck the crumbling parapet on the very spot where, a few seconds before, I had been sheltering. In the rush for cover I had lost the handle of the camera, and as it was the only one I had there, I began to work my way back to find it.

"Don't be a fool," called the Major. "If you show yourself they'll have you, as sure as eggs are eggs." But my anxiety to obtain pictures of the bursting shells was too much for me. I set to to make a handle of wood. Looking round, I spotted an old tree-trunk, behind which I could take cover. Doubling towards it, I crouched down, and finding a piece of wood and an old nail I fashioned a handle of a sort.

At this moment a funny incident occurred. I had momentarily forgotten the existence of the other members of the party. I was hoping against hope that they had escaped injury. What had happened to them? Where were they? It almost seemed as if my thoughts were communicated by telepathy to one of them, for just above the parapet in front of me rose the head of Captain ——.

"I say, Malins," he said, "did you find your handle?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when a shell shot by. Captain ——'s head went down like a jack-in-the-box. The sight was too funny for words. If he hadn't ducked the shell would have taken his head off, for it struck the ground and exploded, as we found out afterwards, only ten feet away.

For three-quarters of an hour this "strafing" continued, then giving Bosche ten minutes to settle down we came out of our holes and corners. What sights we were!

Collecting my apparatus, I again crossed "No Man's Land," and carefully made my way into the village of Neuve Chapelle itself. To describe it would only be to repeat what I said of the devastated city of Ypres. There was nothing whole standing. The place was smashed and ground down out of all recognition. And yet, from its solitary high position upon the cross, the figure of Christ looked down upon the scene. It was absolutely untouched. It stood there—this sacred emblem of our Faith—grim and gaunt against the sky. A lonely sentinel. The scene was a sermon in itself, and mere words fail to describe the deep impression it made upon me.