The German Offensive.
March, 1918.

Over four months had passed away since my return from Rome, so leave was again due. Immediately after the unveiling of the Artillery monument I started off in a car for Boulogne, and the next afternoon arrived in London. Conditions there were worse than they had been the year before. The streets were darker and food was scarcer. I went as far north as Edinburgh, but when I arrived at that city I found it cold and wintry and wrapped in mists. There were many naval men there, and I paid an interesting visit to a damaged submarine which was being repaired in the dry-dock. It was of course nice to meet friends again, but, beyond that, my last leave was not a pleasant one. It was a time of great anxiety. The Americans had come into the war, but they were not yet ready. Another campaign was before us, and the issue of it none could foresee. I was haunted perpetually by the dread of meeting with some accident, and so being sent back from the front. Several times I had a vivid dream, that I had got back to Canada and found that the war was still going on and I could not return to it. I shall never forget the joy of waking on such occasions and looking with dawning consciousness upon my surroundings and feeling that I was still at the front. It was a happy day for me, therefore, when on March 8th I arrived once more at Bracquemont, in the midst of my beloved war-family, and able to re-visit Liévin, Loos, and Hill 70.

My favorite home in the trenches was the dugout in the chalk-pit, which I have just described, and I often wish I could be suddenly transported there and revive old memories. We were planning at this time to make a big gas-attack along the Canadian Corps front. Three thousand gas-cylinders were to be fired by electricity upon the enemy. As I wanted to see this, I made my way to the chalk-pit. The time fixed for the event was five minutes to eleven at night. If the attack was to come off, the word "Japan" was to come through on the wires; if, owing to the wind being in the wrong direction, the attack had to be postponed, the word "Russia" would be sent. At 10.45 I climbed up the steps to the observation post at the back of the chalk-pit and waited. From this point I had a good view of the line towards Lens. I watched the luminous hands of my watch, and they passed the hour of eleven without anything occurring, as the breeze came from the East. I knew the word "Russia," the name of the country that failed us, must have been sent over the wires. It was a queer sensation to sit up there in the dark with no sound but the soft murmur of the night wind in our ears, and the crash of an occasional shell. In those long dark stretches of waste land around me, thousands of human beings on both sides of the line were awake and active, either burrowing like ants in the ground or bringing up rations and war material along the communication trenches.

I spent four nights that week in the chalk-pit waiting for the attack, and on March 21st, the night of the day on which the Germans launched their fierce attack against our Fifth Army, my patience was rewarded and the wind was propitious. I mounted the observation post and once more peered over the black stretches of country under the starlit sky. Suddenly, at five minutes to eleven, there was a burst of artillery fire, and over our heads with the usual swishing sound the gas-cylinders sped forth. The German lines were lit with bursting shells. Up went their rockets calling to their artillery for retaliation. I could hear their gas bells ringing to warn their men of the poison that was being poured upon them. It must have been a drenching rain of death. I heard gruesome tales afterwards of desolate enemy trenches and batteries denuded of men. The display of fireworks was magnificent, and the German artillery in the rear were not slow in replying. A great artillery duel like that in the darkness of the night over a waste of ground on which no human habitation could be seen had a very weird effect, and was wonderful to behold. I climbed down into the dugout and made my way through it to the chalk-pit, and then up to an outpost beyond. Here were four men, and I found that three of them had just come up from the base and that this was their first night in the line. They did not seem to be enjoying it as much as I thought they should, so I remarked that it was a beautiful night and pointed out to them the extraordinary romance of being actually out in the front line during such a bombardment. They seemed to get more enthusiastic later on, but the next morning I was wakened in my room by the laughter of men on the other side of the canvas wall, and I heard one old soldier telling, to the amusement of his fellows, of my visit on the previous evening. He said "We were out there with the shells falling round us, and who should come up but the Canon, and the first thing the old beggar said was, 'Boys, what a lovely night it is.'" The men roared at the idea. It was always illuminating to get a chance of seeing yourself as others saw you.

That day, before I had gone to the chalk-pit, I heard from a staff officer at Corps of the German attack in the South, and I gathered from his manner that things were not going well. On March 29th we suddenly shifted our headquarters to Chateau de la Haie. Here we were told that we had to be ready to move again at a moment's notice. Very bad news had come from the South, for the Germans were advancing, and our Fifth Army had been pushed back. The enemy had now got the initiative into his hands, and things were exceedingly serious. The Americans would not be ready for some time, and the question was how to stay the onrush of the fresh divisions which the Germans were hurling against us. An order from General Currie, couched in beautiful language, told us that there was to be no retreat for Canadians, and that, if need be, we should fall where we stood. There was no panic, only firmer resolve and greater activity in every department. Though I made it a point of never questioning our staff about war secrets, I soon became aware that our Division was to be sent South to try and stem the oncoming tide.

Every night the 4th Divisional concert party gave an entertainment in the theatre, which was crowded with men. A stranger could not have told from the roars of laughter that shook the audience from time to time that we were about to face the fiercest ordeal of the war. The 2nd Brigade was quartered round us first, and one night in the theatre an officer appeared in front of the stage between the acts and ordered all the officers and men of the 5th Battalion, who were present, to report at once to their headquarters. Instantly the men got up and left, the rows of vacant seats looking quite tragic. The play went on. Again, another battalion, and another, was called off. The audience dwindled. It reminded one of the description in the "Tale of Two Cities" of the condemned men in prison waiting for the call of the executioner. Before the close of the performance the theatre was almost empty. The 2nd Brigade moved away that night and the 3rd took their places the next day. I knew that they, too, would have to move suddenly, so I arranged that at night we should have a service followed by a Celebration of the Holy Communion in the theatre after the play was over. Once again the building was crowded with an enthusiastic audience, and, after the play was ended, I announced the service. To my astonishment, most of the men stayed and others crowded in, so we must have had nearly a thousand men present. The concert party had received orders to pack up their scenery immediately and move off. While I was on the stage getting the altar ready the scene shifters were hard at work behind me. In spite of this disturbance, we had a wonderful service. I gave them a short address, and spoke about the high call which had come to Canadians to do big things, and how the eyes of the world were upon us. We were the champions of right, and I asked them to go forth in the power of God and do their duty. Then I began the Communion Service. The colours of the flag which hung over the altar glowed like an inspiration. The two altar lights shone like stars above it. At the back of the stage (but we heeded them not) were the busy men packing up the scenery. We sang the hymn "O God our help in ages past," and at the time of communion about two hundred officers and men mounted the stage in turn and knelt in rows to receive the Bread of Life. It was a thrilling moment, and it showed how, underlying the superficial thoughtlessness of the soldier's life, there was the deep and abiding sense of the reality and need of God. The service ended about eleven p.m.

After shaking hands with some of the men I went back to my billet and there found that we had to start that night for parts unknown. All our surplus baggage had been sent off and only what was absolutely necessary was retained. The members of "C" mess were sitting round the table having a little liquid refreshment and waiting for the bus which was to take them off. Our A.D.M.S., who was starting at once, kindly offered to take me with him in an ambulance. Alberta and I, with two or three men, got into the vehicle, and I bid farewell for the last time to Chateau de la Haie. It was a bright moonlight night and the air was cold, but the roads were dry and dusty. The A.D.M.S., who was the only person who knew our destination, sat in front with the driver and told him the various turns to take. Clouds of dust blew back into the ambulance as we sped onward. It was a curious expedition. The war seemed to be more real than ever. One felt that a new page in its history was being turned. I wonder............