Geoffrey H. Malins

The "Hindenburg" Line—A Diabolical Piece of Vandalism—Brigadier H.Q. in a Cellar—A Fight in Mid-air—Waiting for the Taking of St. Quentin—L'Envoi.

Still the great German retreat continued. Village after village fell into our hands; mile after mile the enemy was relentlessly pursued by our cavalry and cyclist corps. Still the Germans burnt and devastated everything in their path although, in some instances, there was evidence that they were shifted from their lines of defence with far more force and promptitude than they imagined we would put up against them in this particular section. The enemy had arranged his operations, as usual, by timetable, but he had failed to take into consideration the character of the British soldier, with the result his schemes had "gone agley." To save men the German high command gave orders for a further retirement to their Hindenburg defences, a fortified line of such strength as had never been equalled.

If this line was not impregnable, nothing could be. It was the last word in defence system and it had taken something like two years to perfect.

The barbed wire, of a special kind, was formidable in its mass; three belts fifty feet deep wound about it in an inextricable mass in the form of a series of triangles and other geometric designs. The trenches themselves were constructional works of art; switch lines were thrown out as an extra precaution; in front of the most important strategical positions, machine-gun posts and strong points abounded in unlimited quantities. It was the Hun's last and most powerful line of defence this side of the Franco-German frontier. This "Hindenburg" line stretched from a point between Lens and Arras where it joined the northern trench system, which had been occupied for the past two years, down to St. Quentin, passing behind the town at a distance of about five kilos, with a switch line in front to take the first shock of the Allies' blow when it came.

Behind this trench the Huns thought they could safely rest and hold up the Allies' advance. But, with their wonderful and elaborate system of barbed-wire defence which they anticipated would keep us out, they probably forgot one point—it would certainly keep them in—tightly bolted and barred. Therefore, under such conditions, it was the side which had the predominance in guns and munitions that could smash their way through by sheer weight of metal, and force a passage through which to pour their troops, taking section by section by a series of flanking and encircling movements, threaten their line of communication, finally cracking up the whole line and compel a further extensive falling back to save their armies.

Against the front portion of this line we thrust ourselves early in March, 1917, and our massed guns poured in the most terrible fire the world had ever known. Lens was practically encircled—the Vimy ridge was taken by assault, and dozens of villages captured, resulting in the capture of eighteen thousand prisoners and over two hundred guns. Hindenburg threw in his divisions with reckless extravagance; he knew that if this section gave way all hope of holding on to Northern France was gone. Time and again he sent forward his "cannon fodder" in massed formation—targets which our guns could not possibly miss—and they were mown down in countless numbers; his losses were appalling. In certain places his attacking forces succeeded for a time in retaking small sections of ground we had gained, only to be driven out by a strong counter-attack. His losses were terribly disproportionate to his temporary advantage.

I moved down to the extreme right of the British line; St. Quentin was the goal upon which I had set my mind. In my opinion the taking of that place by a combined Franco-British offensive with the triumphant entry of the troops would make a film second to none. In the first place the preliminary operations pictorially would differ from all previous issues of war films, and in the second place it would be the first film actually showing the point of "liaison" with the French and their subsequent advance—making it, from an historical, public, and sentimental point of view, a film par excellence. Therefore in this section of the British line I made my stand.

I left my H.Q. early in April, 1917. I intended to live at the line in one of the cellars of a small village situated near the Bois de Holnon, which had been totally destroyed.

I proceeded by the main St. Quentin road, through Pouilly into Caulaincourt. The same desolation and wanton destruction was everywhere in evidence; but the most diabolical piece of vandalism was typified by the once beautiful ChÂteau of Caulaincourt, which was an awful heap of ruins. The ChÂteau had been blown into the Somme, with the object of damming the river, and so flooding the country-side; partially it succeeded, but our engineers were quickly upon the scene and, soon, the river was again running its normal course. The flooded park made an excellent watering-place for horses. The wonderful paintings and tapestries in the library on the ChÂteau had been destroyed. As I wandered among the ruins, filming various scenes of our engineers at work sorting out the dÉbris, I noticed many things which must have been of inestimable value. Every statue and ornamentation about the grounds was wilfully smashed to atoms; the flower-pots which lined the edges of the once beautiful floral walks had been deliberately crushed—in fact a more complete specimen of purposeless, wanton destruction it would be impossible to find.

I filmed the most interesting sections; then continued my way through Bouvais on to see the General of a Division. This Division was working near the French left. After a very interesting conversation this officer recommended me to call on a Brigadier-General.

"He is stationed at ——," he said. "I will ring him up and tell him you are on the way. He will give you all the map references of the O.P.'s in the neighbourhood. Anyway, you can make your own arrangements, I suppose, about views?"

"Oh, yes, sir, certainly, so long as I can get very near to the place."

"Right. You go into all these details with General ——."

Thanking him I hurried away. I found the mines which Bosche had exploded at all cross-roads very troublesome, and on one occasion, in endeavouring to cross by way of the field alongside, I got badly stuck; so I had to borrow a couple of horses to get me out on to the road again.

I duly arrived and reported to Brigadier H.Q. It was the cellar of a once decent house by the appearance of the garden. I went down six steps into a chamber reeking with dampness about six feet high by ten feet square; a candle was burning in a bottle on a roughly made table, and, sitting at it, was the General closely studying details on a map.

He looked up as I entered.

"Are you the Kinema man?" he enquired. "General —— told me you were coming; what do you want?"

"Well, sir," I said, "I want to obtain films of all the operations in connection with the taking of St. Quentin; if you have an observation-post from which I can obtain a good view it will suit me admirably."

"I am sure we can fix you up all right. But we are just going to have a meal; sit down and join us. We can then go into details."

Lunch was served in primitive fashion, which was unavoidable under such conditions—but we fared sumptuously, although on a rough plain table with odds and ends for platters, and boxes and other makeshifts for chairs.

During the meal I went into details with the General about my requirements. He quite understood my position and thoroughly appreciated my keen desire to obtain something unique in the way of film story.

"The taking of St. Quentin by the Allied troops, sir, would be one of my finest films."

"Well," he said, "the French are bombarding the suburbs and other places, so far as damage is concerned, to-day; our batteries are also giving a hand. I should advise you to go to this spot"—indicating a position on the map. "What do you think?" he turned to the Brigade Major. "Will this do for him?"

"Yes, sir, I should think so."

"Anyway, I can soon see, if you can put me on the road to find it. But a guide would save time."

"You had better take him," said the General to the Brigade Major; "you know the place quite well."

"Right, sir," he said.

So, getting hold of an extra orderly to help carry my kit, we started off, up through a wood and then for the first time I viewed St. Quentin.

"We had better spread out here," said my guide. "Bosche can observe all movements from the Cathedral tower, and he doesn't forget to 'strafe' us although no harm is ever done."

"He is crumping now by all appearances," I replied, noticing some crumps bursting about three hundred yards away.

"Yes, they are 'strafing' the place we are going to! That's cheerful, anyway. We will make a wide detour; he's putting shrapnel over now. Look out! Keep well to the side of the wood."

We kept under cover until it was necessary to cross a field to a distant copse.

"That's our O.P. We have some guns there, worse luck."

"Hullo, keep down," I said; "that's a burst of four." Crash—crash—crash—crash! in quick succession, the fearful bursts making the ground tremble.

"Very pretty," I remarked. "I will get my camera ready for the next lot."

They came—and I started turning one after the other; it was an excellent scene; but, as the enemy seemed to swing his range round slightly, the pieces were coming much too near to be healthy. So, hastily packing up, we made straight for the copse on the quarry top.

High shrapnel was now bursting, several pieces whistling very unpleasantly near.

"Let's get under shelter of the trees," said the Brigade Major, "the trunks will give us a lot of cover."

We made a run for it, and reached them safely, and, gently drawing near the outer edge, I was in full view of St. Quentin.

The Cathedral loomed up with great prominence—and shrapnel was exploding near the tower.

"That's to keep the Hun observers down," he said. "We are not, of course, shelling the place to damage it at all. Those fires you can see there are of Bosche making; he is systematically burning the place as a prelude to retreat. My Intelligence officer says that the Palace of Justice and the theatre are well alight, and airmen declare the town quite empty; they flew over it yesterday only about two hundred feet above the house-tops and they were not fired at once. Seems to me they've evacuated the populace entirely."

"Jove," I said, "the French are letting them have it over there," pointing in the distance.

"That is, of course, south of the town, very nearly running due east and west—it's an excellent barrage—and all H.E., too."

I soon got my camera into action and, carefully concealing the tripod behind a tree trunk or rather a little to one side, I began exposing.

The firing was very heavy. I continued exposing on various sections which gave me the most comprehensive idea of barrage fire.

"The French are bang up against the 'Hindenburg' line there, and it's pretty deep in wire—as you know," said my guide, "but I think they will manage it all right; it's only a matter of time. Hullo! they are 'strafing' their confounded guns again with H.E. Look out! keep down!" And keep down we did. "Those 5·9 of brother Fritz's are not very kind to one; we had better stay for a few minutes; he may catch us crossing the field."

Ten minutes went by; things were a bit quieter, so, hastily packing up, we doubled back to the road.

"I never did like getting near forward gun position," I said, "but, curiously enough, my best view-points compel me on many occasions to fix up in their vicinity."

We got on to the road without casualties and in time to see the H.L.I. forming up to leave at dusk for the front line, or the series of strong points which comprised it in this section.

They were having the operation orders read out to them by their officer in charge. The scenes made very interesting ones for me—the men, alert and keen to the last degree, stood there in line, listening intently to the words until the end.

The next morning I had a wire from H.Q. asking me to take charge of two French journalists for a day or two; they were most anxious to see the British troops in action before St. Quentin. Towards midday they arrived—M. Gustave Babin, of L'Illustration, Paris—and M. EugÈne Tardeau, of the Echo de Paris. I presented these gentlemen to the General, who kindly extended every facility to them.

I took them up to the observation post from which they could look down on St. Quentin.

"It will be a great moment for me," said M. Babin, "to obtain the first impression of the Allied entry in the town."

For myself the day was quite uneventful, beyond obtaining extra scenes of the preparatory work of our artillery. The heavy bombardment was continuing with unabated fury, the horizon was black with the smoke of bursting high explosives, huge masses of shrapnel were showering their leaden messengers of death upon the enemy. Towards evening the weather changed for the worse. It began with a biting cold sleet, which quickly turned into snow.

That night we slept in an old greenhouse which was open to the four winds of heaven. The cold was intense. I rolled myself up tight in my bag and drew my waterproof ground-sheet well over my body. It was a good job I did so for the snow was blowing in through the many fissures and cracks and settling upon me like fallen leaves in autumn.

The heavy shelling continued throughout the night. Several Bosche shells came unpleasantly near, shaking my rickety shelter in an alarming manner.

The next day the weather continued vile and the operations were indefinitely postponed. Therefore there was nothing further to do but to return to H.Q.

St. Quentin, for the present, was to me a blank, although I had continued for some time preparing all the scenes leading up to its capture.

The weather was changing, the ground was drying. Our line, just north of the town, was being pushed further forward. Holon-Selency, Francilly-Selency, Fayet and Villerete had fallen to our victorious troops, but the main attack was not yet.

To obtain scenes of our men actually in the front line trenches facing the town, I made my way through Savy and Savy Wood, in which not a single tree was left standing by the Bosche. Through the wood I carefully worked forward by keeping well under cover of a slight rise in the ground. I met a battalion commander on the way who kindly directed me to the best path to take.

"But be careful and keep your head down. Hun snipers are very active and he is putting shrapnel over pretty frequently. Although it doesn't hurt us—it evidently amuses him," he said, with a smile. "There is one section where you will have to run the gauntlet—for you are in full view of the lines. Keep down as low as possible."

I thanked the C.O. and went ahead. The weather was now perfect—a cloudless blue sky flecked here and there by the furry white balls of our bursting shrapnel around Hun aeroplanes, keeping them well above observation range.

I noticed a flight of our men winging their way over enemy lines. I could hear the rapid fire of the Bosche anti-aircraft guns, and see their black balls of shrapnel burst. But our birdmen went on their way without a moment's hesitation. I recalled the time when I was up among the clouds, filming the Bosche lines thirteen thousand feet above mother earth.

Suddenly a sharp crack, crack and whir of a machine-gun rang out. A fight was going on up there; our anti-aircraft guns ceased, being afraid of hitting our own men, but the Bosche still kept on.

It was impossible to see the progress of the fight; the whole flock was now directly overhead. Watching the "strafe" with such keen interest, this point quite escaped me until pieces of shrapnel began to fall around in alarming proportions, causing me to beat a hasty retreat out of range, though I still hung about in the hope of a Bosche machine being brought down, thereby providing me with a thrilling scene. But it did not happen. The airmen disappeared in a southerly direction, still fighting until the sharp cracks of the guns droned away in the distance.

In a few minutes I came in full view of one of our strong points in the shape of a disused quarry. Around the inner lip our Tommies had made a series of funk-holes, which looked quite picturesque in the bright sunlight.

Machine-gun parties were there ready for anything that might turn up; in the far corner a group of Frenchmen were chattering volubly to a knot of our men.

This certainly was a most interesting scene—the point of "liaison" between the two great armies, France and Britain. I noticed by fresh shell-holes that Bosche had a rather bad habit of annoying the place with his pip-squeaks, but generally they only resulted in scoring a Blighty for more or one of the occupants—and, for others, they were a source of amusement in the shape of gambling on the spot the next one would fall.

I filmed various sections here, then, having partaken of a little tea, I wended my way to the trenches. I kept low, as the tower of the Cathedral was in full view. I had previously covered the aluminium head of my tripod with a sandbag to prevent it glistening in the sun. As I drew nearer to the trench, which I could now see quite distinctly, more and more of St. Quentin came into view. Such a picture gives one rather a queerish feeling. If a keen-eyed Hun observer spotted me, with my load, he would take me for a machine-gunner or something equally dangerous. But, fortunately, nothing happened.

I dropped into the trench of the —— Worcesters who were amazed and amused to see me there, as one of them said:

"Well, sir, I always thought all the War pictures were fakes, but now I know they're not.

"Will you take us, sir? We expect to go over to-night. Please do, sir; our people at home will then in all probability see us. Don't suppose I shall. I have an idea I shan't—but," he said, pulling himself together, "I hope so, yer know, sir."

I liked the man's spirit. It caused all the others to smile. I carefully fixed up my machine and filmed them, holding our front line.

"How close is this to the town?" I asked.

"About nine hundred yards, sir."

Whether or not Bosche had seen movement I don't know, but suddenly a group of four 5·9 came crashing over. Everybody ducked—wise plan, rather, out here—they fell and burst about fifty yards behind us. I awaited the next lot; they came very shortly and fell in almost the same place.

"Before he shortens the range," I thought, "I'll move," and suiting the action to the word I moved out towards the Bois de Savy and was half-way there when another lot burst in my direction. This time I made for the Bois de Holnon, and fortunately the shells ceased.

As I reached the furthest side of the Bois de Savy several tear shells came whistling over and burst just behind me. Needless to say I had fallen flat, and, as I arose, the sweet smell of tear gas made itself evident. Not intending to risk a repetition of my previous experience at Beaumont Hamel, I closed my eyes and ran like—well, you couldn't see me for dust.

Yard by yard we continued to press back the enemy. For me the film story of the taking of St. Quentin is an obsession. It holds me as a needle to a magnet. And in this section, at the present, I remain—waiting and watching.

My leave is fast running out, and I am nearing the end of my story. In all the pictures that it has been my good fortune to take during the two and a half years that I have been kept at work on the great European battlefield, I have always tried to remember that it was through the eye of the camera, directed by my own sense of observation, that the millions of people at home would gain their only first-hand knowledge of what was happening at the front.

I have tried to make my pictures actual and reliable, above all I have striven to catch the atmosphere of the battlefield, and whilst I have dwelt as little as possible upon its horrors, I have aimed at showing the magnificent spirit which imbues our fighting men, from the highest in command to the humblest unit in the ranks.

I am proud to think that the task of doing this has been mine, and in doing it, I have tried "to do my bit" for the land that gave me birth.

THE END