The White Road to Verdun

The Bridge At Meaux

The Bridge at Meaux, destroyed in the course of the German retreat, has not yet been entirely repaired. Beneath it rushes the Marne and the river sings in triumph, as it passes, that it is carrying away the soil that has been desecrated by the steps of the invader, and that day by day it is washing clean the land of France.

In the fields where the corn is standing, the tiny crosses marking the last resting places of the men are entirely hidden, but where the grain has been gathered the graves, stand out distinctly marked not only by a cross, but also by the tall bunches of corn which have been left growing on these small patches of holy ground. It has always been said that France has two harvests each year. Certainly in the fields of the Marne there is not only the harvest of bread; there is also springing up the harvest of security and peace.

The peasants as they point out the graves always add: "We of the people know that those men sacrificed their lives that our children might live. Those who have died in vain for an unjust cause may well envy the men of France who have poured out their blood for the benefit of humanity."

Looking on the crosses on the battlefield of the Marne, I realised to the fullest extent the sacrifices, borne with such bravery, of the women of France. I thought of the picture I had seen in Paris of a group of mothers standing at the foot of Calvary, looking out over the fields of small black crosses, lifting their hands to Heaven, with the words: "We also, God, have given our sons for the peace of the world."

At Montmirail the real activity of the war zone first became apparent. We drew the car to the side of the road and waited whilst a long procession of empty munition wagons passed on the way back from the munition parks near the fighting line. There was a smile on the face of every one of the drivers. Each of them had the satisfaction of knowing that there was no chance of his returning with an empty wagon, as there is no lack of provisions to feed the hungriest of the "75's" or any of her larger sisters.

The fact that it is known that there is an ample supply of munitions plays an important part in the "morale" of the troops. The average Poilu has no sympathy with the man who grumbles at the number of hours he may have to spend in the factory. We heard the tale of a munition worker who was complaining in a cafe at having to work so hard. A Poilu who was en permission, and who was sitting at the next table, turned to him saying: "You have no right to grumble. You receive ten to twelve francs a day for making shells and we poor devils get five sous a day for stopping them!"

Recruiting Rat-Catchers

We lunched in the small but hospitable village of Sezannes in company with a most charming invalided officer, who informed us that he was the principal in that district of the S.D.R. R.D. (Service de Recherche des Rattiers) (the Principal Recruiting Officer for Rat-Catchers). In other words, he is spending his time endeavouring to persuade suitable bow-wows to enlist in the service of their country. Likely dogs are trained until they do not bark, and become entirely accustomed to the sound of firing; they are then pronounced "aptes a faire campagne" or "fit for service," receive their livret militaire, or certificates--for not every chance dog is allowed in the trenches--and are despatched to the trenches on a rat-hunting campaign.

At the commencement of the .War, dogs were not utilized to the extent they are at present. A large number are now with the French Army and the wonderful training they have received, aided by their natural sagacity, renders them a holy terror to prowling bodies and spies. Those employed in carrying messages or tobacco to the soldiers in dangerous trenches now wear gas masks, as many of these high trained animals have been lost in consequence of too closely investigating the strange odour caused by this Hun war method.

From Sezannes we proceeded direct to the new camp for German prisoners at Connantre. The prisoners were mostly men who had been taken in the recent fighting on the Somme or around Verdun. The camp was already excellently installed and the prisoners were busy in groups gardening, making bread, or sitting before great heaps of potatoes preparing them for the evening meal. In one corner the inevitable German Band was preparing for an evening concert. The German sense of order was everywhere in evidence. In the long barracks where the men slept the beds were tidy, and above each bed was a small shelf, each shelf arranged in exactly the same order, the principal ornaments being a mug, fork and spoon; and just as each bed resembled each other bed, so the fork and spoon were placed in their respective mugs at exactly the same angle. There were small partitioned apartments for the non- commissioned officers.

The French Commander of the camp told us that the German love of holding some form of office was everywhere apparent. The French made no attempt to command the prisoners themselves, but always chose men from amongst the prisoners who were placed in authority over their comrades. The prisoners rejoiced exceedingly and promptly increased in self-importance and, alas, decreased in manners, if they were given the smallest position which raised them above the level of the rest of the men.

In the barrack where they were cutting up bread for the prisoners, we asked the men if they deeply regretted their captivity. They replied unanimously that they were "rather glad to be well fed," which seemed an answer in itself. They did not, however, appreciate the white bread, and stated that they preferred their own black bread. The French officers commanding the camp treat the prisoners as naughty children who must be "kept in the corner" and punished for their own good. In all my travels through France I have never seen any bitterness shown towards the prisoners. I remember once at Nevers we passed a group of German prisoners, and amongst them was a wounded man who was lying in a small cart. A hand bag had fallen across his leg, and none of his comrades attempted to remove it. A French woman pushing her way between the guards, lifted it off and gave it to one of the Germans to carry. When the guards tried to remonstrate she replied simply: "J'ai un fils prisonnier la bas, faut esperer qu'une allemande ferait autant pour lui." ("I have a son who is a prisoner in their land; let us hope that some German woman would do as much for him.")