Читать книгу How I Filmed the War - Geoffrey H. Malins - Страница 20

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I am Appointed an Official War Office Kinematographer—And Start for the Front Line Trenches—Filming the German Guns in Action—With the Canadians—Picturesque Hut Settlement Among the Poplars—"Hyde Park Corner"—Shaving by Candlelight in Six Inches of Water—Filming in Full View of the German Lines, 75 yards away—A Big Risk, but a Realistic Picture.

During the early days of the war I worked more or less as a free lance camera man, both in Belgium and in France, and it was not till the autumn of 1915 that I was appointed an Official Kinematographer by the War Office, and was dispatched to the Front to take films, under the direction of Kinematograph Trade Topical Committee. When offered the appointment, I did not take long to decide upon its acceptance. I was ready and anxious to go, and as I had had considerable experience of the work, both in Belgium and in the Vosges, I knew pretty well what was expected of me. Numerous interviews with the authorities and members of the Committee followed, and for a few days I was kept in a fever of expectation.

Eventually arrangements were completed, and the announcement was then made that Mr. Tong (of Jury's Imperial Pictures) and myself had been appointed Official War Office Kinematographers. I was in the seventh heaven of delight, and looked forward to an early departure for the Front in my official capacity. This came soon enough, and on the eve of our going Tong and I were entertained to dinner by the members of the Topical Committee, and during the post-prandial talk many interesting and complimentary things were said.

We left Charing Cross on an early morning in November, and several members of the Committee were there to see us off, and wish us God-speed. We reached the other side safely, after a rather choppy crossing, and soon I was on my way to the Front—and the front line trenches, if possible.

Passing through Bailleul, Armentières and Plœgsteert, I was able to film some hidden batteries in action. As the whole road was in full view of the German lines we had to go very carefully. Several shells dropped close by me when running across the open ground. I managed at last to get into a house, and from a top window, or rather what was once a window, filmed the guns in action.

While doing so an artillery officer came and told me not to move too much as the Germans had been trying to find this battery for some considerable time, and if they saw any movement they would undoubtedly start to shell heavily. Not wishing to draw a cloud of shells on me, needless to say, I was very careful. Eventually I obtained the desired view, and making my way through the communication trenches to the front of the guns, I obtained excellent pictures of rapid firing. I had to keep very low the whole of the time. About forty yards on my right a small working party of our men had been seen, and they were immediately "strafed."

During the next few days it rained the whole of the time, and there was little opportunity for photography; but I obtained some excellent scenes, showing the conditions under which our men were living and fighting, and their indomitable cheerfulness.

the state of the trenches in which we lived and slept (?) for weeks on end during the first and second winter of war

our dug-outs in the front line at picantin in which we lived, fought, and many died during 1914-15, before the days of tin hats

About this time I arranged to go to the Canadian front trenches, in their section facing Messines. Arriving at the headquarters at Bailleul, I met Lieutenant-Colonel ——, and we decided to go straight to the front line. Leaving in a heavy rain, we splashed our way through one continuous stream of mud and water. Mile after mile of it. In places the water covered the entire road, until at times one hardly knew which was the road and which was the ditch alongside. Several times our car got ditched. Shell-holes dotted our path everywhere.

Apart from the rotten conditions, the journey proved most interesting; vehicles of all kinds, from motor-buses to wheelbarrows, were rushing backwards and forwards, taking up supplies and returning empty. Occasionally we passed ambulance cars, with some poor fellows inside suffering from frost-bite, or "trench-foot" as it is generally called out here. Though their feet were swathed in bandages, and they were obviously in great pain, they bore up like true Britons. Line after line of men passed us. Those coming from the trenches were covered in mud from head to foot, but they were all smiling, and they swung along with a word and a jest as if they were marching down Piccadilly. Those going in to take their places: were they gloomy? Not a bit of it! If anything they were more cheerful, and quipped their mud-covered comrades on their appearance.

We drew up at a ruined farm-house, which the Colonel told me used to be their headquarters, until the position was given away by spies. Then the Germans started shelling it until there was hardly a brick standing. Luckily none of the staff were killed. Leaving the farm, we made our way on foot to Plœgsteert Wood. A terrible amount of "strafing" was going on here. Shells were exploding all round, and our guns were replying with "interest." As we made our way cautiously up to the side of the wood, with mud half way up to our knees, we scrambled, or rather waddled, round the base of the much-contested hill, which the Germans tried their hardest to keep, but which, thanks to the Canadians, we wrested from them.

Under cover of canvas screens, which in many places were blown away by shell-fire, and bending low to save our heads from the snipers' bullets, we gained the communication trenches. Again wading knee-deep in mud and water, we eventually reached the firing trench.

The German front line was only sixty-five yards away, and the town of Messines could be seen in the distance.

Staying in this section of trench, I filmed several scenes of the men at work repairing and rebuilding the sides which the night previous had been destroyed by shell-fire and the heavy rains. Then followed scenes of relief parties coming in, and working parties hard at it trying to drain their dug-outs. This latter seemed to me an almost superhuman task; but through it all, the men smiled. Bending low, I raced across an open space, and with a jump landed in an advanced sniper's post, in a ruined farm-house. I filmed him, carefully and coolly picking off the Germans foolish enough to show their heads.

Then I set my camera up behind what I thought quite a safe screen, to film a general view of our front line, but I had hardly started exposing when, with murderous little shrieks, two bullets whizzed close by my head—quite as near as I shall ever want them. Dropping as low as possible, I reached up, and still turning the handle finished the scene. Then followed several pictures of scouts and snipers making their way across the ground, taking advantage of any slight cover they could get, in order to take up suitable positions for their work.

By this time the light was getting rather bad, and as it was still raining hard I made my way back. During the return journey, an officer who accompanied me showed himself unknowingly above the parapet, and "zipp" came a bullet, which ripped one of the stars off his coat.

"Jove!" said he, with the greatest of sang-froid, "that's a near thing; but it's spoilt my shoulder-strap": and with a laugh we went on our way.

Again we had to cross the open ground to the covered way. Accordingly we spread out about fifty yards apart, and proceeded. Careful as we were, the Germans spotted us, and from thence onwards to the top of the hill shrapnel shells burst all round us and overhead. Several pieces fell almost at my feet, but by a miracle I escaped unscathed.

For some minutes I had to lie crouching in a ditch, sitting in water. It was a veritable inferno of fire. I cautiously worked my way along. Where the rest of the party had gone I did not know. I hugged my camera to my chest and staggered blindly on. In about half an hour I gained the cover of some bushes, and for the first time had a chance to look about me. The firing had momentarily ceased, and from various ditches I saw the heads of the other officers pop out. The sight was too funny for words. With a hearty laugh they jumped up and hurried away. My chauffeur, who incidentally used to carry my tripod, was the most sorry spectacle for he was absolutely covered from head to foot with clay, and my tripod was quite unrecognisable. Hurrying over the top of the hill we gained our cars, and rapidly beat a retreat for headquarters.

The following day I went to film the ruins of Richebourg St. Vaaste. What an awful spectacle! A repetition of the horrors of Ypres on a smaller scale. Nothing left, only the bare skeletons of the houses and the church. With great difficulty, I managed to climb to the top of the ruined tower, and filmed the town from that point. I was told by an observation officer to keep low, as the Germans had the church still under fire. Naturally I did so, not wishing for a shell that might bring the tower down, and myself with it.

Remarkable to relate, the figure of Christ upon the Cross was untouched in the midst of this terrible scene of devastation. Subsequently the tower was completely destroyed by German shells.

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.

choosing a position for my camera in the front line trench at picantin, with the guards. winter, 1915-16

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.

Our object in putting up this temporary screen was to hide the erection of my tripod and camera, and then at the moment the bombardment began it was to be taken away, and I would risk the rest.

Just when the bullets came through I was bending to fasten the tripod legs. A few seconds earlier and one or other of them would have surely found my head. Getting some sandbags, we carefully pushed them on to the parapet, in order to break the contact as much as possible, and we put one in front of the camera in a direct line to cover the movement of my hand while exposing. I was now ready. Raising my head above the parapet for a final look, I noticed I was fully exposed to the right German trenches, and was just on the point of asking Captain —— if there was any possibility of getting sniped from that direction when with a "zipp" a bullet passed directly between our heads. Having obtained such a practical and prompt answer to my enquiry, though not exactly the kind I had expected, I had some more sandbags placed, one on top of the other, to shelter my head as much as possible.

All I had to do now was to focus, and to do that I lifted the bottom edge of the screen gently. In a few seconds it was done, and dropping the screen, I waited for the first shot. I was warned by an observing officer that I had still five minutes to spare. They were not bombarding until 2.15. German shells were continually dropping all round. The part of the hill down which we came was getting quite a lively time of it. The enemy seemed to be searching every spot. On the right a Canadian sniper was at work, taking careful aim. Turning to me, he said:

"Wall, sir, I bet that chap won't want any more headache pills."

The remark caused a good deal of laughter.

Boom—boom—boom. In rapid succession came two shells from our guns. Everyone was alert. I sprang to my camera. Two men were standing by me, ready to take down the screen. Boom came another shell, and at a sign the men dropped the screen.

I was exposed to the full view of the German lines, from my shoulders upwards.

I started exposing; the shells came in rapid succession, dropping right in the middle of the Petite Douve. As they fell clouds of bricks and other débris were thrown in the air; the din was terrific. Nothing in the world could possibly have lived there. After about thirty shells had been dropped there was a slight pause for about half a minute, during which I continued turning the handle. The Germans were too occupied in getting under cover to notice the fine target my head offered, for not a single shot was fired at me.

Once more our guns rang out, and in as many seconds—at least so it seemed to me—another thirty shells dropped into the buildings and tore them wall from wall. Word was then passed to me that this was the finishing salvo.

With the same suddenness as it had begun, the firing ceased. Dropping quickly, and dragging the camera after me, I stood safely once more in the bottom of the trench and, to tell the truth, I was glad it was over. To put one's head above the parapet of a trench, with the Germans only seventy-five yards away, and to take a kinematograph picture of a bombardment, is not one of the wisest—or safest—things to do!