*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67512 ***

  THE IRISH NUNS AT YPRES
  AN EPISODE OF THE WAR

  [Illustration: The Mother Prioress of Ypres.

  The Lady Abbess of Oulton.        The Lady Abbess of Ypres.

  OULTON AND YPRES.]




  THE IRISH NUNS
  AT YPRES

  AN EPISODE OF THE WAR


  BY

  D. M. C.
  O.S.B. (MEMBER OF THE COMMUNITY)

  EDITED BY
  R. BARRY O’BRIEN, LL.D.


  WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
  JOHN REDMOND, M.P.


  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS


  LONDON
  SMITH, ELDER & CO.
  15 WATERLOO PLACE
  1915

  [_All rights reserved._]




PREFACE


The following narrative was originally intended, as a record of the
events it relates, for the use of the Community only. But, shortly
after the arrival of the Mother Prioress in England, the manuscript was
placed in my hands. I soon formed the opinion that it deserved a larger
circulation. My friend Reginald Smith shared this view, and so the
story has come before the public.

It is in truth a human document of thrilling interest, and will, I
believe, make an abiding contribution to the history of this world-wide
war. D. M. C., though a novice in literary work, describes with
graphic force the transactions in which she and her Sisters played so
conspicuous and so courageous a part. The moving pictures, which pass
before our eyes in her pages, are full of touching realism, and throw
curious sidelights on the manifold aspects of the titanic struggle
which comes home to everyone and everything.

The heroism, the self-devotion, the religious faith, the Christian
zeal and charity of those Irish nuns at Ypres, in a terrible crisis in
the history of their Order, will, I venture to say, command universal
respect and admiration, mingled with pity for their fate, and an
earnest desire, among all generous souls, to help them in retrieving
their fortunes.

A Note by the Prioress, and an Introduction by Mr. Redmond, who, amid
his many onerous occupations, is not unmindful of the duty which
Irishmen owe to the historic little Community of Irish Nuns at Ypres,
form a foreword to a narrative which belongs to the history of the
times.

The illustration on the cover is a reproduction of the remnant (still
preserved in the Convent) of one of the flags captured by the Irish
Brigade at the battle of Ramillies. On this subject I have added a Note
in the text.

There are names in Belgium which revive memories that Irishmen cannot
forget. Fontenoy and Landen are household words. Ypres, too, brings
back recollections associated with deeds which mark the devotion of the
Irish people to Faith and Fatherland.

  R. BARRY O’BRIEN.

  100 SINCLAIR ROAD,
  KENSINGTON, W.
  _May 1915._




NOTE BY PRIORESS


These simple notes, destined at first for the intimacy of our Abbey, we
now publish through the intervention of Mr. Barry O’Brien to satisfy
the numerous demands of friends, who, owing to the horrors of the
fighting round Ypres, have shown great interest in our welfare.

Owing, also, to the numerous articles about us, appearing daily in the
newspapers--and which, to say the least, are often very exaggerated--I
have charged Dame M. Columban to give a detailed account of all that
has befallen the Community, since the coming of the Germans to Ypres
till our safe arrival at Oulton Abbey. I can therefore certify that all
that is in this little book, taken from the notes which several of the
nuns had kept, is perfectly true, and only a simple narrative of our
own personal experiences of the War.

May this account, to which Mr. Redmond has done us the honour of
writing an introduction at the request of Dame Teresa, his niece,
bring us some little help towards the rebuilding of our beloved and
historic monastery, which, this very year, should celebrate its 250th
anniversary.

  M. MAURA, O.S.B.,
  _Prioress_.

 _April 1915._




INTRODUCTION


I have been asked to write an introduction to this book, but I feel
that I can add little to its intense dramatic interest.

Ypres has been one of the chief centres of the terrible struggle which
is now proceeding on the Continent, and it is well known that this same
old Flemish town has figured again and again in the bloody contests of
the past.

It may, perhaps, be well to explain, in a few words, how the tide of
war has once more rolled to this old-world city.

On Sunday, June 28, 1914, in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia, the
Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary and his wife, the Duchess
of Hohenberg, were assassinated. Although it was known throughout
Europe that there was in existence in Serbia an anti-Austrian
conspiracy (not of a very formidable character), and although
suspicion pointed towards the assassinations being due in some way to
the influence of this conspiracy, no one dreamt for a moment that the
tragedy which had occurred would have serious European consequences;
and, as a matter of fact, it was not until July 23 that the
Austro-Hungarian Government presented an ultimatum to Serbia. On that
day, however, a note of a most extraordinary and menacing character was
delivered to the Serbian Government by Austria-Hungary. It contained no
less than ten separate demands, including the suppression of newspapers
and literature; the disappearance of all nationalist societies; the
reorganisation of Government schools; wholesale dismissal of officers
from the army; and an extraordinary demand that Austro-Hungarian
officials should have a share in all judicial proceedings in Serbia;
besides the arrest of certain specified men, and the prevention of all
traffic in arms.

It at once became evident to the whole world that no nation could
possibly agree to these demands and maintain a semblance of national
independence; and, when it was found that the ultimatum required a
reply within forty-eight hours, it became clear that the whole of
Europe was on the brink of a volcano.

Great Britain, through Sir Edward Grey, had already urged Serbia
to show moderation and conciliation in her attitude towards
Austria-Hungary; and, when the ultimatum was submitted to her, Great
Britain and Russia both urged upon her the necessity of a moderate and
conciliatory answer.

As a matter of fact, Serbia agreed to every one of the demands in
the Austro-Hungarian ultimatum, with only two reservations, and on
these she proposed to submit the questions in dispute to The Hague.
Serbia received no reply from Austria-Hungary; and, immediately on the
expiration of the forty-eight hours, the Austro-Hungarian Minister
quitted Belgrade. During those forty-eight hours, Great Britain and
Russia had urged (1) that the time-limit for the ultimatum should be
extended, and that Germany should join in this demand; but Germany
refused. Sir Edward Grey then proposed (2) that Great Britain, France,
Germany, and Italy should act together, both in Austria-Hungary and in
Russia, in favour of peace. Italy agreed; France agreed; Russia agreed;
but Germany again held back. Sir Edward Grey then proposed (3) that
the German, Italian, and French Ambassadors should meet him in London.
Italy and France agreed; Russia raised no objection; but Germany
refused.

On July 29, the German Imperial Chancellor made to the British
Ambassador in Berlin the extraordinary and historic proposal that Great
Britain should remain neutral, provided that Germany undertook not to
invade Holland, and to content herself with seizing the colonies of
France, and further promised that, if Belgium remained passive and
allowed German troops to violate her neutrality by marching through
Belgium into France, no territory would be taken from her. The only
possible answer was returned by Great Britain in the rejection of what
Mr. Asquith called ‘an infamous proposal.’

On July 31, the British Government demanded from the German and French
Governments an undertaking, in accordance with treaty obligations, to
respect Belgium’s neutrality, and demanded from the Belgian Government
an undertaking to uphold it. France at once gave the necessary
undertaking, as did Belgium. Germany made no reply whatever, and from
that moment war was inevitable.

On Monday, August 3, the solemn treaty, guaranteeing the neutrality
of Belgium, signed by Germany as well as by France and Great Britain,
was treated as ‘a scrap of paper,’ to be thrown into the waste-paper
basket by Germany; Belgian territory was invaded by German troops;
and, on the next day, Tuesday, August 4, German troops attacked Liège.
From August 4 to August 15, Liège, under its heroic commander, General
Leman, barred the advance of the German armies, and, in all human
probability, saved Paris and France and the liberties of Europe.

On August 17, the Belgian Government withdrew from Brussels to Antwerp.
On August 20, Brussels was occupied by the Germans. On August 24,
Namur was stormed. On August 25, Louvain was destroyed, and, after
weeks of bloody warfare, after the retreat from Mons to the Marne, and
the victorious counter-attack which drove the Germans back across the
Aisne and to their present line of defence, Antwerp was occupied by the
Germans on the 9th of October. On October 11, what may be called the
battle of Ypres began in real earnest; but the town, defended by the
Allies, held heroically out; and by November 20, the utter failure of
the attempt of the Germans to break through towards Calais by the Ypres
route was acknowledged by everyone.

During the interval, Ypres was probably the centre of the most terrible
fighting in the War. This delightful old Flemish town, with its
magnificent cathedral and its unique Cloth Hall, probably the finest
specimen of Gothic architecture in Europe, was wantonly bombarded day
and night. The Germans have failed to capture the old city; but they
have laid it in ruins.

The following pages show the sufferings and heroism of the present
members of a little community of Irish nuns, which

  ‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot,’

has existed in Ypres since the days, some two hundred and fifty years
ago, when their Royal Abbey was first established. It is true that,
during those centuries, Ypres has more than once been subjected to
bombardment and attack, and, more than once, Les Dames Irlandaises of
the Royal Benedictine Abbey of Ypres have been subjected to suffering
and danger. But never before were they driven from their home and
shelter.

Why, it may be asked, is there a little community of Irish Benedictine
nuns at Ypres? During the reign of Queen Elizabeth, three English
ladies--Lady Percy, with Lady Montague, Lady Fortescue and
others--wishing to become Religious, and being unable to do so in their
own country, assembled at Brussels and founded an English House of the
ancient Order of St. Benedict. Their numbers increasing, they made
affiliations at Ghent, Dunkerque, and Pontoise.

In the year 1665, the Vicar-General of Ghent was made the Bishop of
Ypres, and he founded there a Benedictine Abbey, with the Lady Marina
Beaumont as its first Lady Abbess. In the year 1682, on the death of
the first Lady Abbess, Lady Flavia Cary was chosen as the first Irish
Lady Abbess of what was intended to be at that date, and what has
remained down to the present day, an Irish community. At that time, the
Irish had no other place for Religious in Flanders. A legal donation
and concession of the house of Ypres was made in favour of the Irish
nation, and was dedicated to the Immaculate Conception under the title
of ‘Gratia Dei.’ Irish nuns from other houses were sent to Ypres to
form the first Irish community. From that day to this, there have
been only two Lady Abbesses of Ypres who have not been Irish, and the
community has always been, so far as the vast majority of its members
are concerned, composed of Irish ladies.

Its history,[1] which has recently been published, contains the names
of the various Lady Abbesses. They are, practically, all Irish, with
the familiar names Butler, O’Bryan, Ryan, Mandeville, Dalton, Lynch,
and so on.

In 1687, James II of England desired the Lady Abbess of the day, Lady
Joseph Butler, to come over from Ypres to Dublin and to found an Abbey
there under the denomination of ‘His Majesty’s Chief Royal Abbey.’ In
1688, the Lady Abbess, accompanied by some others of the community
at Ypres, arrived in Dublin, and established the Abbey in Big Ship
Street, leaving the House at Ypres in the charge of other members of
the community. It is recorded that, when passing through London, she
was received by the Queen, at Whitehall, in the habit of her Order,
which had not been seen there since the Reformation. In Dublin, James
II received her, and granted her a Royal Patent, giving the community
‘house, rent, postage’ free, and an annuity of £100. This Royal Patent,
with the Great Seal of the Kingdom, was in the custody of the nuns at
Ypres when this War began. It was dated June 5, 1689.

When William III arrived in Dublin, in 1690, he gave permission to the
Lady Abbess, Lady Butler, to remain. But she and her nuns refused,
saying ‘they would not live under a usurper.’ William then gave her
a pass to Flanders, and this particular letter was also amongst the
treasures at Ypres when the War broke out.

Notwithstanding William’s free pass, the Irish Abbey in Dublin was
broken into and pillaged by the soldiery, and it was with difficulty
that the Sisters and the Lady Abbess made their way, after long and
perilous journeys, home to their House at Ypres. They brought with them
many relics from Dublin, including some old oak furniture, which was
used in the Abbey at Ypres up to the recent flight of the community.

And so the Irish Abbey at Ypres has held its ground, with varying
fortunes. In January, 1793, forty or fifty armed soldiers broke into
the Abbey; but the Lady Abbess of the day went to Tournai to seek aid
from the General-in-Chief, who was an Irishman. He withdrew the troops
from the Convent. The following year, however, Ypres was besieged by
the French; but, although the city was damaged, the Convent, almost
miraculously, escaped without injury.

An order for the suppression of Convents was issued in the very height
of the Revolution. The heroic Lady Abbess Lynch died. She was succeeded
by her sister, Dame Bernard Lynch, and the Community were ordered
to leave. They were, however, prevented from so doing by a violent
storm which broke over the town, and next day there was a change of
government, and the Irish Dames and the Irish Abbey were allowed to
remain, and, for several years the Irish Abbey was the only Convent of
any Order existing in the Low Countries.[2]

So it has remained on to the present day, from the year 1682 down to
1915, when, for the first time during that long period, this little
Irish community has been driven from Ypres and its Convent laid in
ruins.

Amongst the other relics and antiquities treasured by the Community at
Ypres, at the opening of this war, was the famous flag, so often spoken
of in song and story, captured by the Irish Brigade in the service of
France at the battle of Ramillies; a voluminous correspondence with
James II; a large border of lace worked by Mary Stuart; a large painted
portrait of James II, presented by him to the Abbey; a church vestment
made of gold horse-trappings of James II; another vestment made from
the dress of the Duchess Isabella, representing the King of Spain in
the Netherlands; and a number of other most valuable relics of the
past.

All these particulars can be verified by reference to the Rev. Dom
Patrick Nolan’s valuable history.

This little community is now in exile in England. Their Abbey and
beautiful church are in ruins. Some of their precious relics are
believed to be in places of safety. But most of their property has
been destroyed. They escaped, it is true, with their lives. But what
is their future to be? Surely Irishmen, to whom the subject especially
appeals, and English sympathisers who appreciate courage and fortitude,
will sincerely desire to help those devoted and heroic nuns to go
back to Ypres--the home of the Community for over two centuries--to
rebuild their Abbey and reopen their schools, to continue in their
honourable mission of charity and benevolence, and to resume that work
of education in which their Order has been so long and so successfully
engaged.

  JOHN E. REDMOND.

 _April 1915._

[1] _The Irish Dames of Ypres._ By the Rev. Dom Patrick Nolan, O.S.B.

[2] At the time of the Revolution, the nuns of Brussels and Dunkerque
(to which Pontoise had been united) and Ghent fled to England, and
these three Houses are now represented by Bergholt Abbey (Brussels),
Teignmouth (Dunkerque), and Oulton Abbey (Ghent).




  CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                        PAGE

  PREFACE                                         v

  NOTE BY PRIORESS                               ix

  INTRODUCTION                                   xi

  I. THE COMING OF THE GERMANS                    1

  II. THE ALLIES IN YPRES                        14

  III. INCIDENTS OF THE STRUGGLE                 24

  IV. IN THE CELLARS                             47

  V. THE BOMBARDMENT                             70

  VI. FLIGHT                                     92

  VII. VISITING THE WOUNDED                     107

  VIII. AN ATTEMPT TO REVISIT YPRES             128

  IX. PREPARING TO START FOR ENGLAND            137

  X. A SECOND ATTEMPT TO REVISIT YPRES          143

  XI. THE RETURN JOURNEY TO POPERINGHE          157

  XII. ON THE WAY TO ENGLAND                    171

  XIII. OULTON                                  192




  ILLUSTRATIONS


  OULTON AND YPRES                              _Frontispiece_

  _The Lady Abbess of Oulton, The Lady Abbess
  of Ypres, The Mother Prioress of Ypres._

  THE IRISH DAMES OF YPRES                     _To face p._ 48

  _D. Patrick, D. Columban, D. Bernard, D.
  Teresa, D. Walburge, D. Placid, Mother
  Prioress, D. Aloysius._

  THE MOTHER PRIORESS, DAME TERESA,
  AND THE THREE NUNS WHO REVISITED
  YPRES                                                    144




THE IRISH NUNS AT YPRES




CHAPTER I

THE COMING OF THE GERMANS


The War, with all its horrors, into which the Emperor of Germany
plunged the world in August 1914, had been raging nearly six weeks,
when, towards the end of September, vague rumours of the enemy’s
approach reached us at Ypres. Several villages in the neighbourhood
had had visits from the dreaded Uhlans, and, according to report, more
than one prisoner had avowed that they were on their way to Ypres. An
aeroplane had even been sent from Ghent to survey the town, but had
lost its way. In these circumstances, the burgomaster sent round word
that from henceforward, until further orders, no strong lights should
be seen from the outside, and no bells should be rung from six in the
evening till the following day. Consequently, when night came on, the
Monastery remained in darkness, each nun contenting herself with the
minimum of light; and a few strokes of a little hand-bell summoned the
community to hours of regular observance, instead of the well-known
sound of the belfry-bell, which had, for so many years, fearlessly
made known each succeeding hour. Another result of the burgomaster’s
notice was that we were no longer able to say the office in the choir,
as on one side the windows looked on the street, and on the other to
the garden, the light being thus clearly visible from the ramparts.
We, therefore, said compline and matins, first in the work-room, and
afterwards in the chapter-house, placing a double set of curtains on
the windows to prevent the least little glimmer of light from being
seen from the outside.

An uneasy feeling of uncertainty took possession of the town. This
feeling increased as news reached us, in the first days of October,
that the enemy had been seen several times in the neighbourhood. At
length, on October 7--a never-to-be-forgotten day for all those then at
Ypres--a German aeroplane passed over the town, and shortly afterwards,
at about 1.30 P.M., everyone was startled by the sound of firing at no
great distance. In the Monastery, it was the spiritual-reading hour, so
we were not able to communicate our fears; but, instead of receding,
the sound came nearer, till, at 2 o’clock, the shots from the guns
literally made the house shake. Unable to surmise the cause of this
sudden invasion, we went our way, trying to reassure ourselves as best
we could. Shortly after vespers the sound of the little bell called
us all together, and Reverend Mother Prioress announced to us, to our
great dismay, that what we had feared had now taken place--the Germans
were in the town. Some poor persons, who came daily to the Abbey to
receive soup, had hastened to bring the dreadful tidings on hearing
the bell ring for vespers, because an order had been issued (of which
we were totally ignorant) that no bells might be rung, for fear of
exciting suspicion. The poor, often more unselfish and kind-hearted
than the rich, showed themselves truly so on this occasion, being more
anxious for our safety than their own--one poor woman offering her
little house as a shelter for Lady Abbess. She had only one penny for
all her fortune, but still she was sure that everything would be well
all the same; for, as she wisely remarked, the Germans were less likely
to think of pillaging her bare rooms than our splendid monastery.

The cannonading which we had heard at 1.30 was a gallant defence
made by 100 Belgian police, who had been obliged to retreat before
the 15,000 Germans, who, from 2 till 8 P.M., poured slowly into the
affrighted town, chanting a lugubrious war-song. M. Colaert, the
burgomaster, and the principal men were obliged to present themselves.
It was arranged that the town would be spared on the payment of 75,000
francs, and on condition that no further violence should be offered. M.
Colaert and another gentleman were kept as hostages.

We looked at one another in consternation. We might then, at any
moment, expect a visit, and what a visit! What if they were to come
to ask lodgings for the night? We dared not refuse them. What if they
ransacked the house?... Would they touch our beloved Lady Abbess, who,
owing to a stroke she had had two years before, remained now partially
paralysed?... We instinctively turned our steps to the choir. There,
Mother Prioress began the rosary and, with all the fervour of our
souls, an ardent cry mounted to the throne of the Mother of Mercy,
‘Pray for us now, and at the hour of our death.’ Was that hour about to
strike?... After the rosary, we recommended ourselves to the endless
bounty of the Sacred Heart, the Protector of our Monastery, ‘Cœur Sacré
de Jésus, j’ai confiance en Vous.’ And putting all our confidence in
the double protection of our Divine Spouse and His Immaculate Mother,
we awaited the issue of events.

Our old servant-man Edmund--an honest, a fearless, and a reliable
retainer, with certainly a comical side to his character--soon came
in with news. Prompted by a natural curiosity, he had gone out late
in the afternoon to see the troops; for the Germans, as in so many
other towns, made an immense parade on entering Ypres. For six long
hours they defiled in perfect order before the gazing multitude, who,
although terrified, could not repress their desire to see such an
unwonted spectacle. Following the army came huge guns, and cars of
ammunition and provisions without end. The troops proceeded to the post
office, where they demanded money from the safes. The Belgian officials
stated that, owing to the troubled times, no great sum was kept there,
and produced 200 francs (the rest having been previously hidden).
The railway station had also to suffer, the telegraph and telephone
wires being all cut; while four German soldiers, posted at the corners
of the public square, and relieved at regular intervals, armed with
loaded revolvers, struck terror into the unfortunate inhabitants of
Ypres. After some time, however, the most courageous ventured to open
conversation with the invaders--amongst the others Edmund, who, coming
across a soldier, more affable-looking than the rest, accosted him.
The German, only too glad to seize the opportunity, replied civilly
enough, and the two were soon in full conversation. ‘You seem to be
in great numbers here.’--‘Oh! this is nothing compared to the rest!
Germany is still full--we have millions waiting to come! We are sure
to win, the French are only cowards!’ ‘Where are you going to when you
leave Ypres?’--‘To Calais!’ ‘And then?’--‘To London!’ ‘Ha-ha-ha! You
won’t get there as easy as you think, they’ll never let you in!’--‘We
can always get there in our Zeppelins.’... With this the German turned
on his heel and tramped off.

It was now time to think of finding lodgings for the night. A great
number of horses were put in the waiting-rooms at the station,
destroying all the cushions and furniture. The soldiers demanded
shelter in whatever house they pleased, and no one dared refuse them
anything. Our Abbey, thanks to Divine Providence, of whose favour we
were to receive so many evident proofs during the next two months,
was spared from these unwelcome visitors--not one approached the
house, and we had nothing to complain of but the want of bread. Our
baker, being on the way to the convent with the loaves, was met by
some German soldiers, who immediately laid hands on his cart, and
emptied its contents. We therefore hastily made some soda-scones for
supper, which, though not of the best, were nevertheless palatable.
However, all did not escape so easily as we did, and many were the
tales told of that dreadful night. The most anxious of all were those
who were actually housing wounded Belgian soldiers! If they were
discovered, would the brave fellows not be killed there and then? And
it happened, in more than one case, that they escaped by the merest
chance. Before the convent of exiled French nuns, Rue de Lille, whom
we were afterwards to meet at our stay at Poperinghe, and where at
that moment numbers of Belgians were hidden, a German stopped a lady,
who was luckily a great friend of the nuns, and asked if there were
any wounded there. ‘That is not a hospital,’ she replied, ‘but only
a school’; and with a tone of assurance she added, ‘If you do not
believe me, you can go and see for yourself.’ The soldier answered, ‘I
believe you,’ and passed on. In another case, the Germans entered a
house where the Belgians were, and passed the night in the room just
underneath them! A jeweller’s shop was broken into, and the property
destroyed or stolen; and in a private dwelling, the lady of the house,
finding herself alone with four officers--her husband having been
taken as hostage--she took to flight, on which the Germans went all
through the place, doing considerable damage. In other cases, they
behaved pretty civilly. Our washerwoman had thirty to breakfast, of
whom several had slept in her establishment, leading their horses
into her drawing-room! On seeing her little boys, they had exclaimed,
‘Here are some brave little soldiers for us, later on!’ And, on the
mother venturing a mild expostulation, they added, ‘Yes, you are all
Germans now--Belgo-Germans’; while, before leaving, they wrote on
her board--‘We are Germans; we fear no one; we fear only God and our
Emperor!’ What troubled her the most was that her unwelcome guests had
laid hold of her clean washing, taking all that they wanted; amongst
other things, our towels had disappeared. We were, as may well be
imagined, but too pleased to be rid of the dread Germans at so little
cost.

It appears that while the German army was still in Ypres, some 12,000
British soldiers, having followed on its track, stopped at a little
distance from the town, sending word to the burgomaster that, if he
wished, they were ready to attack the enemy. M. Colaert, however, not
desiring to see the town given up to pillage and destruction, was
opposed to a British advance.

By this time the whole town was on the _qui vive_, and no one thought
of anything else but how best to secure any valuables that they had;
for the stories of what had happened in other parts of Belgium were not
at all reassuring. Several tried to leave the town; but the few trains
that were running were kept exclusively for the troops, while the
Germans sent back all those who left on foot. To increase the panic,
no less than five aeroplanes passed during the day; and the knowledge
that the enemy had left soldiers with two mitrailleuses at the Porte
de Lille, to guard the town, completed the feeling of insecurity.
Moreover--as the soldiers had literally emptied the town of all the
eatables they could lay their hands on--sinister rumours of famine were
soon spread abroad. Reverend Mother Prioress sent out immediately for
some sacks of flour, but none was to be got; and we were obliged to
content ourselves with wheatmeal instead. Rice, coffee, and butter we
had, together with some tins of fish. The potatoes were to come that
very day, and great was our anxiety lest the cart would be met by the
Germans and the contents seized. However, the farmer put off coming for
some days, and at length arrived safely with the load, a boy going in
front to see that no soldiers were about. The milk-woman, whose farm
was a little way outside the town, was unable to come in, and no meat
could be got for love or money; so we were obliged to make the best of
what we had, and each day Mother Prioress went to the kitchen herself
to see if she could not possibly make a new dish from the never varying
meal--rice, Quaker oats, and maizena.

Ultimately the Allies came to our help, and a motor-car, armed with a
mitrailleuse, flew through the streets and opened fire on the Germans.
Taken by surprise, the latter ran to their guns; but, through some
mishap, the naphtha took fire in one of them, whereupon the Germans
retreated. Three of their men were wounded, and one civilian killed.
On the Friday, we began to breathe freely again, when suddenly news
came, even to the Abbey, that one hundred Germans were parading round
the town. On Sunday, the Allies came once more to chase them; but, for
the moment, the Germans had disappeared. Things continued thus for some
days, until, to the delight of the inhabitants, the British took entire
possession of the town, promising that the Germans would never enter it
again. Just one week after the coming of the Germans, the troops of the
Allies poured in, until, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the people,
21,000 soldiers filled the streets. Those who came by the monastery
passed down the Rue St. Jacques singing lustily:

  ‘Here we are, here we are, here we are again:
  Here we are, here we are, here we are again!’

Then alternately each side repeated: ‘Hallo! Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!’
The crowd, whose knowledge of the English language did not extend far
enough to enable them to grasp the meaning of ‘Here we are again’ soon,
however, caught up the chorus of ‘Hallo! Hallo!’ and quickly the street
resounded with cries, which were certainly discordant, but which,
nevertheless, expressed the enthusiastic joy of the people.




CHAPTER II

THE ALLIES IN YPRES


The contrast between the reception of the two armies was striking. On
the arrival of the Germans, people kept in their houses, or looked at
the foe with frightened curiosity; now, everyone lined the streets,
eager for a glimpse of the brave soldiers who had come to defend Ypres.
A week before, the citizens had furnished food to the enemy, because
they dared not refuse it--and only then what they were obliged to give.
Now, each one vied with the other in giving. Bread, butter, milk,
chocolate--everything they had--went to the soldiers, and sounds of
rejoicing came from all sides. Perhaps, the most pleased of all were
the poor wounded Belgians, who had been so tried the preceding week.
All those who were able to drag themselves along crowded to the windows
and doors, to welcome their new comrades; and the latter, unable to
make themselves understood by words, made vigorous signs that they were
about to chop off the Germans’ heads. What excited the most curiosity
were the ‘petticoats,’ as they were styled, of the Highlanders, and
everyone gave their opinion on this truly extraordinary uniform,
which had not been previously seen in these parts. The soldiers were
quartered in the different houses and establishments of the town. Once
more the Abbey was left unmolested, though once again also the want of
bread was felt--not, that it had been this time stolen, but that, in
spite of all their efforts, the bakers could not supply the gigantic
demand for bread necessary to feed our newly arrived friends. Seeing
that we were likely to be forgotten in the general excitement, Edmund
was sent out to see what he could find. After many vain efforts, he at
last succeeded in getting three very small-sized loaves, with which he
returned in triumph. Scarcely had he got inside the parlour, when there
came a vigorous tug at the bell. The new-comer proved to be a man who,
having caught sight of the bread, came to beg some for ‘his soldiers.’
Edmund was highly indignant, and loudly expostulated; but the poor
man, with tears in his eyes, turned to Mother Prioress (who had just
entered), and offered to pay for the bread, if only she would give
him a little. ‘I have my own son at the front,’ he exclaimed, ‘and I
should be so grateful to anyone that I knew had shown kindness to him;
and now I have been all over the town to get bread for my soldiers,
and there is none to be had!’ Mother Prioress’ kind heart was touched,
and telling the good man to keep his money, she gave him the loaves as
well, with which he soon vanished out of the door, Edmund grumbling
all the time because the nuns (and himself) had been deprived of their
supper. Mother Prioress, laughing, told him the soldiers needed it
more than we. She turned away, thinking over what she could possibly
give the community for supper. She went--almost mechanically--to the
bread-bin, where, lifting up the lid, she felt round in the dark. What
was her delight to find two loaves which still remained, and which had
to suffice for supper--as well as breakfast next morning. We retired
to rest, feeling we were, at any rate, well guarded; and the firm tread
of the sentries, as they passed under our windows at regular intervals,
inspired us with very different feelings from those we had experienced
the week before, on hearing the heavy footsteps of the German watch.

The officials of the British Headquarters entered the town with the
army, and for several weeks Ypres was their chief station, from which
issued all the commands for the troops in the surrounding districts.
We were not long, however, in knowing the consequences of such an
honour. The next day, at about 10.30 A.M., the whirr of an aeroplane
was heard. We were becoming accustomed to such novelties, and so did
not pay too much attention, till, to our horror, we heard a volley of
shots from the Grand’ Place saluting the new-comer. We knew from this
what nationality the visitor was. The firing continued for some time,
and then ceased. What had happened? Our enclosure prevented us from
following the exciting events of those troubled times, but friends
usually kept us supplied with the most important news. It was thus
that, soon afterwards, we heard the fate of the air monster which had
tried to spy into what was happening within our walls. The first shots
had been unsuccessful; but at last two struck the machine, which began
rapidly to descend. The inmates, unhurt, flew for their lives as soon
as they touched ground; but, seizing the first motor-car to hand, the
soldiers chased them, and at last took them prisoners. What was their
horror to find in the aeroplane a plan of the town of Ypres, with
places marked, on which to throw the three bombs, one of these places
being the Grand’ Place, then occupied by thousands of British soldiers.

Endless were the thanksgivings which mounted up to heaven for such
a preservation, and prayers and supplications for Divine protection
were redoubled. Since the beginning of the War, everyone, even the
most indifferent, had turned to God, from Whom alone they felt that
succour could come; and those who before never put their foot in church
were now amongst the most fervent. Pilgrimages and processions were
organised to turn aside the impending calamity; and, heedless of human
respect, rich and poor, the fervent and the indifferent, raised their
voices to the Mother of God, who has never yet been called upon in
vain. Even the procession of Our Lady of Thuyn--so well known to all
those who yearly flock to Ypres for the first Sunday in August--with
its groups, its decorations, its music, had been turned into a
penitential procession; and the ‘Kermess’ and other festivities, which
took place during the following eight days, were prohibited. Needless
to say, the Monastery was not behindhand. Every day the community
assembled together at 1 o’clock for the recitation of the rosary, and,
when possible, prayed aloud during the different employments of the
day. Numberless were the aspirations to the Sacred Heart, Our Lady of
Angels, Our Holy Father St. Benedict, each one’s favourite patron,
the Holy Angels, or the Souls in Purgatory. Each suggested what they
thought the most likely to inspire devotion. Perhaps the best of all
was that which Dame Josephine--_Requiescat in Pace_--announced to us
one day at recreation. It ran as follows: ‘Dear St. Patrick, as you
once chased the serpents and venomous reptiles out of Ireland, please
now chase the Germans out of Belgium!’ The Office of the Dead was not
forgotten for those who had fallen on the battle-field, and we offered
all our privations and sacrifices for the good success of the Allies,
or the repose of the souls of the poor soldiers already killed. We also
undertook to make badges of the Sacred Heart for the soldiers, though
at the moment we saw no possible means of distributing them. At length,
to our great joy, the arrival of the British troops, among whom were
many Irish Catholics, opened an apostolate for us, which went on ever
increasing. The idea had first come to us when, weeks before, a number
of Belgian soldiers were announced, of whom 250 were to have been
quartered at the college. Reverend Mother Prioress had then suggested
that we should make badges, so as at least to help in some little
way, when everyone else seemed to be doing so much. We set to work
with good will--some cutting the flannel--others embroidering--others
writing--till at last we had finished. What was our disappointment to
hear that not a single soldier had come to the college. We then tried,
in every way possible, to find a means of distributing our handiwork;
but all in vain, till one day, a poor girl, called Hélène, who washed
the steps and outer porch leading to the principal entrance of the
convent, came to beg prayers for her brother who was at the front.
Mother Prioress promised her we should all pray for her brother, at
the same time giving her a badge of the Sacred Heart for him, together
with a dozen others for anyone else she might know to be in the same
position. Hélène soon returned for more, and the devotion spreading
through the town, everyone came flocking to the parlour to get badges
for a father, a brother, a cousin, a nephew at the front, many even
also asking them for themselves, so that they might be preserved from
all danger. Even the little children in the streets came, to ask for
‘a little heart!’ until the poor Sister at the door was unable to get
through her other work, owing to the constant ringing of the bell. In
despair, she laid her complaints before her Superior, saying that a
troop of children were there again, of whom one had come the first
thing in the morning for a badge. On receiving it she had gone outside,
where, changing hats with another child, she promptly returned,
pretending to be some one else. The Sister, who had seen the whole
performance through the _guichet_, had smiled at her innocent trick,
and given her another. But now here she was again, this time with some
one else’s apron on, and bringing half a dozen other children with her.
Mother Prioress then saw the little girl herself, who, nothing abashed,
put out her hand saying, ‘Des petits cœurs, s’il vous plaît, ma Sœur!’
This was too much for Mother Prioress’ tender heart, and, instead of
scolding, she told them there was nothing ready then; but for the
future, if they came back on Mondays, they might have as many ‘petits
cœurs’ as they wished. The little troop marched quite contentedly out
of the door, headed by the girl--who could not have been more than
seven years old--and diminishing in size and age down to a little mite
of two, who toddled out, hanging on to his brother’s coat. The devout
procession was brought up by a tiny black dog, which seemed highly
delighted with the whole proceeding. This little digression has brought
us away from our subject, but was perhaps necessary to show how we were
able to send badges to the soldiers, by means of this somewhat strange
manner of apostolate; for a young girl, hearing of the devotion,
brought them by dozens to St. Peter’s parish (where an Irish regiment
was stationed), impressing on each man, as she pinned the badge to his
uniform, that it was made by ‘the Irish Dames!’




CHAPTER III

INCIDENTS OF THE STRUGGLE


Meanwhile, in the distance, we could hear the sound of cannonading,
which told us of the approach of the enemy; and when we met at
recreation, the one and only topic of conversation was the War.
Each day brought its item of news--such or such a town had fallen,
another was being bombarded, a village had been razed to the ground,
another was burning, so many prisoners had been taken, such a number
wounded, many alas! killed. As often as not, what we heard one day
was contradicted the next, and what was confirmed in the morning as
a fact, was flatly denied in the afternoon; so that one really did
not know what to believe. We could at least believe our own ears, and
those told us, by the ever-approaching sound of firing, that the danger
was steadily increasing for the brave little town of Ypres. It was
therefore decided that, in case of emergency, each nun should prepare a
parcel of what was most necessary, lest the worst should come, and we
should be obliged to fly.

Soon, crowds of refugees, from the towns and villages in the firing
line, thronged the streets. The city was already crowded with soldiers.
Where, then, could the refugees find lodging and nourishment? How were
they to be assisted? All helped as far as they were able, and dinner
and supper were daily distributed to some thirty or forty at the Abbey
doors. This meant an increase of work, which already weighed heavily
enough on our reduced numbers; for we had, since September 8, lost four
subjects--one choir dame and three lay-sisters--owing to the law then
issued, commanding the expulsion of all Germans resident in Belgium.
This had been the first shock. Nothing as yet foretold the future, nor
gave us the least subject for serious alarm, when, on the afternoon
of September 7, an official came to the parlour to acquaint us with
the newly published law, and to say that our four German nuns would
have to leave within thirty-six hours. We were literally stunned.
Benedictines! Enclosed nuns! All over twenty-five years in the convent!
What harm could they do? Surely no one could suspect them of being
spies. Telegrams flew to Bruges, even to Antwerp, to obtain grace--all
was useless, and at 3.30 P.M., September 8, we assisted at the first
departure from the Abbey, which we innocently thought would be at the
worst for about three weeks, little dreaming what we should still live
to see. These first poor victims were conducted by our chaplain to his
lordship the Bishop of Bruges, who placed them in a convent just over
the frontier in Holland, where we continued corresponding with them,
until all communication was cut off by the arrival of the Germans, as
has already been stated. In the result, we found our labours increased
by the loss of our three lay-sisters; but we divided the work between
us, and even rather enjoyed the novelty. Poor old Sister Magdalen (our
oldest lay-sister), however, failed to see any joke in the business;
and when she found herself once again cook, as she had been when she
was young and active, her lamentations were unceasing. We tried to
assist her, but she found us more in the way than anything else. She
discovered at last a consoler in the person of Edmund, who offered to
peel apples, pears, and potatoes; and when the two could get together,
Sister Magdalen poured forth the tale of her endless woes into Edmund’s
sympathetic ear, whilst he in return gave her the ‘latest news’; and
it was a curious spectacle to see the two together in the little court
anxiously examining a passing aeroplane, to know of what nationality
it was, though which of the pair was to decide the matter was rather
questionable, Edmund being exceedingly short-sighted, and Sister
Magdalen not too well versed in such learned matters. To return to the
refugees: Mother Prioress took some of us to help her in the children’s
refectory, and with her own hands prepared the food for them. For
dinner they had a good soup, with plenty of boiled potatoes, bread, and
beer: for supper, a plateful of porridge in which we mixed thin slices
of apple, which made a delicious dish, and then potatoes in their
jackets, bread, and beer. We had to work hard, for it was no small task
to get such a meal ready for about forty starving persons. We left
Sister Magdalen to grumble alone in the kitchen over the mysterious
disappearance of her best pots and pans; especially one evening,
when, forgetting to turn the appetising mixture which was preparing
for supper, we not only spoilt the porridge, but burnt a hole in a
beautiful copper saucepan.

The sound of hostilities came ever nearer and nearer. Dreadful rumours
were current of an important battle about to be fought in the proximity
of Ypres. What made things worse was the great number of spies that
infested the neighbourhood. Daily they were arrested, but yet others
managed to replace them. Four soldiers and one civilian kept a vigilant
watch on the town, examining every one who seemed the least suspicious,
as much as the prisoners themselves.

Roulers, Warneton, Dixmude, and countless other towns and villages
had succumbed; and at last, to our great grief, news reached us that
the Germans were in Bruges, and had taken possession of the episcopal
palace--and our much-loved Bishop, where was he? Alas! we were doomed
not to hear, for all communication was cut off, and for the future
we only knew what was happening in and around Ypres. And was it not
enough? The windows already shook with the heavy firing. The roar of
the guns in the distance scarcely stopped a moment. From the garret
windows, we could already see the smoke of the battle on the horizon;
and to think that, at every moment, hundreds of souls were appearing
before the judgment-seat of God! Were they prepared? Terrifying problem!

As everywhere else, the German numbers far exceeded those of the
Allies. It consequently came to pass that the latter were forced to
retreat. It was thus that on Wednesday, October 21, we received the
alarming news that the town would probably be bombarded in the evening.
We had already prepared our parcels in case we should be obliged to fly
and now we were advised to live in our cellars, which were pronounced
quite safe against any danger of shells or bombs. But our dear Lady
Abbess, how should we get her down to the cellar, when it was only
with great difficulty that she could move from one room to another? If
we were suddenly forced to leave, what then would she do? We could
only leave the matter in God’s hands. We carried down a carpet, bed,
arm-chair, and other things, to try to make matters as comfortable as
possible for her--then our own bedding and provisions. The precious
treasures and antiquities had already been placed in security, and
we now hastened to collect the remaining books and statues, which we
hoped to save from the invaders. We had also been advised to pile up
sand and earth against the cellar windows to deaden the force of the
shells should they come in our direction. But if this were the case,
they would first encounter the provision of pétrole in the garden--and
then we should all be burnt alive. To prepare for this alarming
contingency, Dame Teresa and Dame Bernard, armed with spades, proceeded
to the far end of the garden, where they dug an immense hole, at the
same time carrying the earth to block the entrances to the different
cellars. After a whole day’s hard labour, they succeeded in finishing
their excavation and in tilting the huge barrel, which they could
neither roll nor drag--it being both too full and too heavy--to the
place prepared. Their labour, however, proved all in vain; for Edmund,
displeased at the barrel’s disappearance, then highly amused at the
brilliant enterprise, declared he could not draw the pétrole unless put
back in its old position.

The reported fortunate arrival of a large number of Indian troops (they
said 400,000, though 40,000 would be nearer the mark) had a reassuring
effect: but we still remained in suspense, for if the Allies came by
thousands, the Germans had a million men in the neighbourhood. The
Allies and Germans also sustained frightful losses. The ambulance cars
continually brought in the unfortunate victims from the battle-field,
till at last the town was full to overflowing. One Sunday morning, a
French officer and military doctor came to visit the convent to see if
it would not be possible to place their wounded with us. We willingly
offered our services, and Mother Prioress showing them the class-rooms,
it was decided that the whole wing facing the ramparts, including
the class-rooms, children’s dormitory and refectory, the library,
noviceship and work-room, should be emptied and placed at their
disposal. The great drawback was the lack of bedding; for already,
before the arrival of the Germans in the town, we had given all we
could possibly spare for the Belgian wounded, who had at that time
been transported to Ypres. The two gentlemen took their leave, very
pleased with their visit, the officer--who seemed to all appearances
a fervent Catholic--promising to send round word in the afternoon,
when all should be decided. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, we
listened (after having obtained permission) to the proverb, ‘Many hands
make light work,’ and soon the rooms in question were emptied of all
that would not serve for the soldiers, and were ready for their use.
What was our disappointment, in the afternoon, to hear that the French
officer, thanking us profusely for our offer, had found another place,
which was more suitable, as being nearer the site of the engagement.
We had always shown our goodwill, and were only too pleased to help in
any little way the brave soldiers, who daily, nay hourly, watered with
their blood Belgium’s unfortunate soil. This was not the last we heard
of the officer; for we soon had a visit from a French deacon, who was
serving as infirmarian at the ambulance, begging for bandages for the
wounded soldiers. All our recreations and free moments were spent in
‘rolling’ bandages, for which were sacrificed sheets and veils, and
in fact anything that could serve for the purpose--to all of which
we of course added dozens of badges of the Sacred Heart. The deacon
was overjoyed and returned several times ‘to beg,’ giving us news of
the fighting. One day he brought a little souvenir, by way of thanks
for our help. It consisted of a prayer-book found on a German wounded
prisoner, who had died. The prayers were really beautiful, being taken
mostly from passages of the Psalms, adapted for the time of war; while
the soiled leaves showed that the book had been well read.

One afternoon, about this time, the Sister who acted as portress
announced the visit of an ‘English Catholic priest,’ serving as army
chaplain. Mother Prioress went immediately round to the parlour to
receive the reverend visitor, who stated that he had been charged by a
well-known English lord, should he ever pass by Ypres, to come to our
convent, to see the ‘English flag’ which one of his ancestors had sent
to the Abbey. Mother Prioress assured him that the only flag in the
convent was the famous one captured by the Irish Brigade in the service
of France at the battle of Ramillies.[3] She added that she would
be happy to give him a photograph of the flag. He said he would be
enchanted, promising to call the next day to fetch it. Accordingly, the
following day he returned, accompanied by two officers. Dame Josephine,
together with Dame Teresa and Dame Patrick, were sent to entertain
them. On entering the parlour, Dame Josephine immediately knelt to
receive the ‘priest’s’ blessing, who looked rather put out at this
unwonted respect. After an interesting conversation on various topics,
she asked how long he had been attached to the army. He said he had
volunteered as chaplain, being in reality a monk, having also charge
of a community of nuns. More and more interested at not only finding a
‘priest’ but a ‘monk,’ Dame Josephine expressed her admiration of the
sacrifice he must have made in thus leaving his monastery, and asked
to what Order he belonged. The reverend gentleman said that he was of
the Order of St. John the Evangelist, and that he was indeed longing to
be able to put on once more his holy habit. Then, making a sign to the
officers, he abruptly finished the conversation, stating that he had
an appointment, which he could by no means miss, and quickly vanished
out of the parlour. Dame Teresa and Dame Patrick, who had hardly been
able to keep in their laughter, now told Dame Josephine of her mistake;
for they had truthfully divined that the supposed ‘priest’ was a
Protestant clergyman. In fact he had stated on his introduction that he
was ‘a priest of the Church of England,’ from which Dame Josephine had
inferred that he was an ‘English Catholic priest’; and so her special
attention to him. Dame Teresa and Dame Patrick had rightly interpreted
the visitor’s description of himself as a Protestant clergyman, and
enjoyed Dame Josephine’s mistake.

Outside, the noise grew ever louder. The roar of the cannon, the
rolling of the carriages, Paris omnibuses, provision and ambulance
cars, the continual passage of cavalry and foot soldiers, and the
motor-cars passing with lightning-like speed, made the quiet, sleepy
little town of Ypres as animated as London’s busiest streets. At night
even the Allied regiments poured in, profiting by the obscurity to hide
their movements from the Germans; while, contrasting with the darkness,
the fire from the battle-field showed up clearly against the midnight
sky. One evening, as we made our usual silent visit to the garrets
before going to bed, a signal of alarm announced that something more
than ordinary had occurred. In the distance thick clouds of smoke rose
higher and higher, which, from time to time rolling back their dense
masses, showed sheets of fire and flame. Were the Germans trying to
set fire to the town? No one was near to enlighten us; so, anxious and
uneasy, we retired to our cells, begging earnest help from Heaven.
Since the first warning of bombardment one or other of us stopped up at
night, being relieved after some hours, in case anything should happen
while the community took their rest.

The most alarming news continued to pour in. The soldiers, by means
of their telescopes, had descried two German aeroplanes throwing down
pétrole to set the country and villages on fire. Were we to expect the
same fate? Stories of German atrocities reached us from all quarters;
but what moved us most was the account of the outrageous barbarities
used upon women, even upon nuns.

We were far from an end of our troubles. Despite the danger and
anxiety, we strove to keep up religious life, and the regular
Observances went on at the usual hours. Instead of distracting us, the
roar of the battle only made us lift up our hearts with more fervour
to God; and it was with all the ardour of our souls that we repeated,
at each succeeding hour of the Divine Office: ‘Deus, in adjutorium
meum intende! Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina!’ The liturgy of Holy
Mass, also--one would have said it had been composed especially for the
moment.

On Wednesday, October 28, between 1.30 and 2 P.M.--the hour for
our pious meditation--we were suddenly interrupted by a noise to
which we were not as yet accustomed. It seemed at first to be only a
cannon-ball, flying off on its deadly errand; but instead of growing
feebler, as the shell sped away towards the German ranks, the sound
and whirr of this new messenger of death grew ever louder and more
rapid, till it seemed, in its frightful rush, to be coming straight
on our doomed heads! Instinctively some flew to the little chapel of
Our Blessed Lady at one end of the garden; others remained still where
they were, not daring to move, till after a few seconds, which seemed
interminable, a deafening explosion told us that something dreadful
(alas! we knew not what) must have occurred. We learned, afterwards,
that it was the first of the bombs with which the enemy, infuriated at
the resistance of what they disdainfully styled ‘a handful of British
soldiers,’ determined to destroy the town which they already feared
they would never retake. The first bombs, however, did no damage--the
one which had so frightened us falling into the moat which surrounds
Ypres, behind the Church of St. James, and two others just outside the
town. At about 9.30 P.M., when we were retiring to our cells after
matins, another sound, far from musical, fell on our ears. As usual,
some sped silently to the garrets, where, though hearing strange
noises, they could see nothing; so everyone went to rest, concluding it
was the sound of bombs again. In fact the Germans were bombarding the
town. We heard, the next day, that several houses in the Rue Notre-Dame
had been struck, and all the windows in the street broken. The owners
innocently sent for the glazier to have the panes of glass repaired,
little thinking that, in a few weeks, scarce one window would remain in
the whole of Ypres.

Not content with fighting on the ground, it seemed as though the sky
also would soon form a second battle-field. Aeroplanes passed at
regular hours from the town to the place of encounter, to bring back
news to the Headquarters how the battle was waging. Besides this,
German Taubes made their appearance, waiting to seize their opportunity
to renew, with more success than their first attempt, the disastrous
ruin caused by the bombs. It was high time to think of our dear Abbess’
safety. It was therefore decided that she should take refuge at
Poperinghe, and Mother Prioress sent out for a carriage to convey her
there; but in the general panic which reigned, every possible means of
conveyance had been seized. After several enquiries, a cab was at last
secured, and soon drove up to the convent. Our dear Lady was so moved,
when the news was broken to her, that four of us were obliged to carry
her downstairs. After a little rest, we helped her to the carriage,
which had driven round into the garden, to avoid the inconveniences
which would necessarily have arisen had the departure taken place in
the street. It proved almost impossible to get her into the carriage,
owing to her inability to help herself. At length, thanks to the
assistance of one of the Sisters of Providence, who had been more than
devoted to her ever since her stroke, we succeeded; and accompanied
by Dame Josephine, a Jubilarian, Dame Placid, and Sister Magdalen,
our beloved Abbess drove out of the enclosure,[4] the great door soon
hiding her from our sight. Sad, troubled, and anxious, we turned back,
wondering what would become of our dear absent ones. Would they arrive
safely at their destination? Would they find kind faces and warm hearts
to welcome them? Only the boom of the guns mockingly answered our
silent enquiries.

[3] See Note at end of Chapter.

[4] By the Constitution of the Order, the enclosure may be broken in
times of war, and in other cases provided for.


NOTE TO CHAPTER III

THE ‘FLAG’ AT YPRES

BY R. BARRY O’BRIEN

There is a ‘legend’ of a ‘blue flag’ said to have been carried or
captured by the Irish Brigade at the battle of Ramillies, and which
was subsequently deposited in the Irish convent at Ypres. This is a
sceptical age. People do not believe unless they see; and I wished
to submit this ‘blue flag’ to the test of ocular demonstration.
Accordingly, in the autumn of 1907, I paid a visit to the old
Flemish town, now so familiar to us all in its misfortunes. I was
hospitably received by the kind and cheerful nuns who answered all my
questions about the flag and the convent with alacrity. ‘Can I see the
flag?’--‘Certainly.’ And the ‘flag’ was sent for. It turned out not
to be a blue flag at all. Blue was only part of a flag which, it would
seem, had been originally blue, red, and yellow. An aged Irish nun
described the flag as she had first seen it.

‘It was attached to a stick, and I remember reading on a slip of paper
which was on the flag “Remerciements Refuged at Ypres, 170....” The
flag consisted of three parts--blue with a harp, red with three lions,
and yellow. The red and yellow parts were accidentally destroyed,
and all that remains is the blue, as you see it, with a harp; and we
have also preserved one of the lions. The story that has come down to
us is that it was left here after the battle of Ramillies I think,
but whether it was the flag of the Irish Brigade, or an English flag
captured by them at the battle, I do not know.’

The flag, of course--blue with a harp, red with three lions, and
yellow--suggests the royal standard of England, with a difference. At
the time of the battle of Ramillies, the royal standard, or ‘King’s
Colour,’ consisted of four quarterings: the first and fourth quarters
were subdivided, the three lions of England being in one half, the
lion of Scotland in the other. The _fleurs-de-lis_ were in the second
quarter; the Irish harp was in the third.[5] But this (the Ypres) flag
had, when the nun saw it, only three quarters--blue with harp, red with
three lions, and yellow; the rest had then been apparently destroyed.

At the famous battle of 1706, the Irish Brigade was posted in the
village of Ramillies. They fought with characteristic valour, giving
way only when the French were beaten in another part of the field. The
Brigade was commanded by Lord Clare, who was mortally wounded in the
fight. Charles Forman writes, in a letter published in 1735:--

‘At Ramillies we see Clare’s regiment shining with trophies and covered
with laurels even in the midst of a discomfited routed army. They
had to do with a regiment which, I assure you, was neither Dutch nor
German, and their courage precipitated them so far in pursuit of their
enemy that they found themselves engaged at last in the throng of our
army, where they braved their fate with incredible resolution. If you
are desirous to know what regiment it was they engaged that day, the
colours in the cloister of the Irish nuns at Ypres, which I thought had
been taken by another Irish regiment, will satisfy your curiosity.’[6]

Mr. Matthew O’Conor, in his ‘Military Memoirs of the Irish Nation,’
says:--

‘Lord Clare ... cut his way through the enemy’s battalions, bearing
down their infantry with matchless intrepidity. In the heroic effort to
save his corps he was mortally wounded, and many of his best officers
were killed. His Lieutenant, Colonel Murrough O’Brien, on this occasion
evinced heroism worthy of the name of O’Brien. Assuming the command,
and leading on his men with fixed bayonets, he bore down and broke
through the enemy’s ranks, took two pair of colours from the enemy, and
joined the rere of the French retreat on the heights of St. Andre.’

Forman does not state to what regiment the colours belonged.
O’Callaghan, in his ‘History of the Irish Brigade,’ quotes him as
saying: ‘I could be much more particular in relating this action, but
some reasons oblige me, in prudence, to say no more of it.’

O’Conor says that the colours belonged to a celebrated English
regiment. O’Callaghan is more precise. He says:--

‘According to Captain Peter Drake, of Drakerath, County of Meath (who
was at the battle with Villeroy’s army, in De Couriere’s regiment),
Lord Clare engaged with a Scotch regiment in the Dutch service,
between whom there was a great slaughter; that nobleman having lost
289 private centinels, 22 commissioned officers, and 14 sergeants; yet
they not only saved their colours, but gained a pair from the enemy.
This Scotch regiment in the Dutch service was, by my French account,
“almost entirely destroyed”; and, by the same account, Clare’s engaged
with equal honour the “English Regiment of Churchill,” or that of the
Duke of Marlborough’s brother, Lieutenant-General Charles Churchill,
and then commanded by its Colonel’s son, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles
Churchill. This fine corps, at present the 3rd Regiment of Foot, or
the Buffs, signalized itself very much in the action with another,
or Lord Mordaunt’s, “by driving three French regiments into a morass,
where most of them were either destroyed or taken prisoners.” But the
“Régiment Anglois de Churchill,” according to the French narrative,
fared very differently in encountering the Regiment of Clare, by
which its colours were captured, as well as those of the “Régiment
Hollandois,” or “Scotch regiment in the Dutch service.”’

The question may, or may not, be problematical, but it seems to me that
what I saw in the convent at Ypres was a remnant of one of the flags
captured, according to the authorities I have quoted, by the Irish
Brigade at the battle of Ramillies; and that flag was, apparently, the
‘King’s Colour’ which reproduces the royal standard.

[5] _Enc. Brit._ 11th ed.

[6] _Courage of the Irish Nation._




CHAPTER IV

IN THE CELLARS


We were soon recalled from our reflections; for Mother Prioress,
emerging from the parlour, announced to us that we were to have
visitors that night. Two priests and five ladies had begged to be
allowed to come to sleep in our cellars, as news had been brought that
the Germans might penetrate into the town that very evening. One could
not refuse at such a moment, though the idea was a novel one--enclosed
nuns taking in strangers for the night. But in the face of such
imminent peril, and in a case of life or death, there was no room for
hesitation. So to work we set, preparing one cellar for the priests,
and another for the ladies. In the midst of dragging down carpets,
arm-chairs, mattresses, the news soon spread that there was word from
Poperinghe. We all crowded round Mother Prioress in the cellar, where,
by the light of a little lamp, she endeavoured in vain to decipher a
letter which Dame Placid had hurriedly scribbled in pencil, before
the driver left to return to Ypres. The picture was worth painting!
Potatoes on one side, mattresses and bolsters on the other--a carpet
half unrolled--each of us trying to peep over the other’s shoulder,
and to come as near as possible to catch every word. But alas! these
latter were few in number and not reassuring. ‘We can only get one room
for Lady Abbess.... Everywhere full up.... We are standing shivering
in the rain.... Please send ----’ Then followed a list of things which
were wanting. Poor Lady Abbess! Poor Dame Josephine! What was to be
done? Mother Prioress consoled us by telling us she would send the
carriage back the first thing next morning to see how everyone was,
and to take all that was required. We then finished off our work as
quickly as possible, and retired to our own cellar to say compline and
matins; for it was already 10 o’clock. After this we lay down on our
‘straw-sacks’--no one undressed. Even our ‘refugees’ had brought
their packages with them, in case we should have to fly during the
night. Contrary to all expectations, everything remained quiet--even
the guns seemed to sleep. Was it a good or evil omen? Time would show.

[Illustration:

  D. Patrick.   D. Columban.   D. Bernard.   D. Teresa.   D. Walburge.

  D. Placid.      Mother Prioress.      D. Aloysius.

THE IRISH DAMES OF YPRES.]

At 5 o’clock next morning the alarm-clock aroused the community,
instead of the well-known sound of the bell. There was no need,
either, of the accustomed ‘Domine, labia mea aperies’ at each cell
door. At 5.30, we repaired to the choir as usual for meditation, and
at 6 recited lauds--prime and tierce. At 7, the conventual Mass began;
when, as though they had heard the long-silent bell, the guns growled
out, like some caged lion, angry at being disturbed from its night’s
rest. The signal given, the battle waged fiercer than before, and the
rattling windows, together with the noise resounding through the church
and choir, told that the silence of the night had been the result
of some tactics of the Germans, who had repulsed the Allies. Day of
desolation, greater than we had before experienced! Not because the
enemy was nearer, not because we were in more danger, but because,
at the end of Holy Mass, we found ourselves deprived of what, up till
then, had been our sole consolation in our anguish and woe. The sacred
species had been consumed--the tabernacle was empty. The sanctuary lamp
was extinguished. The fear of desecration had prompted this measure of
prudence, and henceforth our daily Communion would be the only source
of consolation, from which we should have to derive the courage and
strength we so much needed.

The Germans nearer meant greater danger; so, with still more ardour, we
set to work, especially as we were now still more reduced in numbers.
The question suddenly arose, ‘Who was to prepare the dinner?’ Our cook,
as has already been said, had been one of the three German Sisters
who had left us on September 8; subsequently, Sister Magdalen had
replaced her, and she, too, now was gone. After mature deliberation,
Dame Columban was named to fulfil that important function. But
another puzzle presented itself--What were we to eat? For weeks, no
one had seen an egg! Now, no milk could be got. Fish was out of the
question--there was no one left to fish. To complete the misery, no
bread arrived, for our baker had left the town. Nothing remained but to
make some small loaves of meal, and whatever else we could manage--with
potatoes, oatmeal, rice, and butter (of which the supply was still
ample), adding apples and pears in abundance. Edmund was sent out
to see if he could find anything in the town. He returned with four
packets of Quaker oats, saying that that was all he could find, but
that we could still have a hundred salted herrings if we wished to send
for them.

We had just begun the cooking, when the tinkling of the little bell
called everyone together, only to hear that a German Taube was sailing
just over the Abbey; so we were all ordered down to the cellars, but
before we reached them there was crack! crack! bang! bang! and the
rifle-shots flew up, from the street outside the convent, to salute
the unwelcome visitor. But to no purpose, and soon the sinister
whistling whirr of a descending projectile grated on our ears, while,
with a loud crash, the bomb fell on some unfortunate building. We
had at first been rather amused at this strange descent to our modern
catacombs; but we soon changed our mirth to prayer, and aspiration
followed aspiration, till the ceasing of the firing told us that the
enemy was gone. We then emerged from the darkness, for we had hidden
in the excavation under the steps leading up to the entrance of the
Monastery, as the surest place of refuge, there being no windows.
This was repeated five or six times a day; so we brought some work to
the cellars to occupy us. The firing having begun next morning before
breakfast was well finished, one sister arrived down with tea and bread
and butter. Later on, while we were preparing some biscuits, the firing
started again; so we brought down the mixing-bowl, ingredients and all.
We continued our work and prayers and paid no more attention to the
bombs or the rifle-shots.

Our dear Lady Abbess was not forgotten. The next day Mother Prioress
sent for the carriage, while we all breathed a fervent ‘Deo gratias’
that our aged Abbess was out of danger; for what would she have done
in the midst of all the bombs? Owing to the panic, which was now at
its height, all the inhabitants who were able were leaving the town,
abandoning their houses, property--all, all--anxious only to save their
lives. There was no means of finding a carriage.

Our life, by this time, had become still more like that of the
Christians of the first era of the Church, our cellars taking the
place of the catacombs, to which they bore some resemblance. We
recited the Divine Office in the provision cellar under the kitchen,
which we had first intended for Lady Abbess. A crucifix and statue
of Our Lady replaced the altar. On the left were huge wooden cases
filled with potatoes, and one small one of turnips--on the right, a
cistern of water, with a big block for cutting meat (we had carefully
hidden the hatchet, in case the Germans, seeing the two together,
should be inspired to chop off our heads). Behind us, other cases were
filled with boxes and sundry things, whilst on top of them were the
bread-bins. We were, however, too much taken up with the danger we
were in to be distracted by our surroundings. We realised then, to the
full, the weakness of man’s feeble efforts, and how true it is that God
alone is able to protect those who put their trust in Him. The cellar
adjoining, leading up to the kitchen, was designed for the refectory.
In it were the butter-tubs, the big meat-safe, the now empty jars for
the milk. A long narrow table was placed down the centre, with our
serviettes, knives, spoons, and forks; while everyone tried to take as
little space as possible, so as to leave room for her neighbour. The
procession to dinner and supper was rather longer than usual, leading
from the ante-choir through the kitchen, scullery, down the cellar
stairs, and it was no light work carrying down all the ‘portions,’
continually running up and down the steps, with the evident danger of
arriving at the bottom quicker than one wanted to, sending plates and
dishes in advance.

Time was passing away, we now had to strip the altar--to put away
the throne and tabernacle. Some one suggested placing the tabernacle
in the ground, using a very large iron boiler to keep out the damp,
and thus prevent it from being spoilt. This plan, however, did not
succeed, as will be seen. Dame Teresa and Dame Bernard flew off to
enlarge the pit they had already begun, watching all the time for any
Taube which might by chance drop a bomb on their heads, and, indeed,
more than once, they were obliged to take refuge in the Abbey. Strange
to say, these things took place on Sunday, the Feast of All Saints.
It was rather hard work for a holiday of obligation, but we obtained
the necessary authorisation. Towards evening the hole was finished and
the boiler placed in readiness. But how lift the throne, which took
four men to carry as far as the inner sacristy? First we thought of
getting some workmen, but were any still in the town? No, we must do
it ourselves. So, climbing up, we gradually managed to slip the throne
off the tabernacle, having taken out the altar-stone. We then got down;
and whether the angels, spreading their wings underneath, took part
of the weight away or not, we carried it quite easily to the choir,
where, resting it on the floor, we enveloped the whole in a blanket
which we covered again with a sheet. The tabernacle was next taken
in the same manner, and, reciting the ‘Adoremus,’ ‘Laudate,’ ‘Adoro
Te,’ we passed with our precious load through the cloisters into the
garden. It was a lovely moonlight night, and our little procession,
winding its way through the garden paths, reminded us of the Levites
carrying away the tabernacle, when attacked by the Philistines. We
soon came to the place, where the two ‘Royal Engineers’--for so they
had styled themselves (Dame Teresa and Dame Bernard)--were putting all
their strength into breaking an iron bar in two, a task which they were
forced to abandon. We reverently placed our burden on the edge of the
cauldron, but found it was too small. Almost pleased at the failure,
we once more shouldered the tabernacle, raising our eyes instinctively
to the dark blue sky, where the pale autumn moon shone so brightly,
and the cry of ‘Pulchra ut luna’ escaped from our lips, as our hearts
invoked the aid of Her, who was truly the tabernacle of the Most High.
As we gazed upwards, where the first bright stars glittered among the
small fleecy clouds, wondering at the contrast of the quiet beauty of
the heavens and the bloodshed and carnage on earth, a strange cloud,
unlike its smaller brethren, passed slowly on. It attracted our
attention. In all probability it was formed by some German shell which
had burst in the air and produced the vapour and smoke which, as we
looked, passed gradually away. We then re-formed our procession and
deposited the tabernacle in the chapter-house for the night. Needless
to say, it takes less time to relate all this than it did to do it,
and numberless were the cuts, blows, scrapes, and scratches, which we
received during those hours of true ‘hard labour’; but we were in time
of war, and war meant suffering, so we paid no attention to our bruises.

Our fruitless enquiries for a means to get news of Lady Abbess were
at last crowned with success. Hélène, the poor girl of whom mention
has been already made, and who now received food and help from the
monastery, came, on Sunday afternoon, to say that two of her brothers
had offered to walk to Poperinghe next day, and would take whatever we
wished to send. After matins, Mother Prioress made up two big parcels,
putting in all that she could possibly think of which might give
pleasure to the absent ones. The next day was spent in expectation of
the news we should hear when the young men returned.

Breakfast was not yet finished, when the portress came in with a tale
of woe. One of our workmen was in the parlour, begging for help. During
the night a bomb had been thrown on the house next to his; and he was
so terrified that, not daring to remain in his own house any more, he
had come with his wife and four little children to ask a lodging in our
cellars. For a moment Reverend Mother hesitated; but her kind heart was
too moved to refuse, and so the whole family went down into the cellar
underneath the class-room, which was separated from the rest, and there
remained as happy as could be. We were soon to feel the truth of the
saying of the gospel, ‘What you give to the least of My little ones,
you give it unto Me.’

In the afternoon, we heard that the cab-driver, who had been to the
convent on Friday, had spread the news that he had been ordered to
Poperinghe the next day, to bring back the Lady Abbess and nuns. What
had happened? Could they not remain in their lodgings? Did they think
that the bombardment had stopped--just when it was raging more fiercely
than ever--when, every day, we thought we should be obliged to flee
ourselves? They must be stopped--but how? Hélène, who was again sent
for, came announcing her two brothers’ return. Mother Prioress asked
if it would be too much for them to go back to Poperinghe to stop
Lady Abbess from returning. They, however, declared they would never
undertake it again, the danger being too great, and it being impossible
to advance among the soldiers. Mother Prioress then determined to go
herself, asking Hélène if she would be afraid to go with her to show
the way. Hélène bravely replied that she was not afraid and would
willingly accompany Mother Prioress. As usual, Mother Prioress would
allow none of us to endanger our lives. She would go herself--and on
foot, as the price demanded for the only carriage available was no
less than 40 francs. In vain we begged her to let one of us go. It was
to no purpose; and on Tuesday morning she started off, accompanied
by Hélène, leaving the community in a state of anxiety impossible to
describe. ‘Would she be able to walk so far?’ we asked ourselves. ‘What
if a bomb or shell were to burst on the road?’ ‘Would she not probably
miss Lady Abbess’ carriage?’ We were now truly orphans, deprived both
of our Abbess and our Prioress, and not knowing what might happen to
either of them. After an earnest ‘Sub tuum’ and ‘Angeli, Archangeli,’
we went about our different tasks; for we had promised Reverend Mother
to be doubly fervent in her absence. At 11 o’clock we said the office
and afterwards sat down to dinner, for which no one felt the least
inclined. The latter was not yet finished, when there was a ring at the
door-bell, and in a few moments our Prioress stood before us. We could
hardly believe our eyes. She then related her adventures which, for
more accuracy, I give from her own notes:--

 ‘When I heard the door shutting behind me, and the key turning in
 the lock, in spite of all my efforts, the tears came to my eyes. I
 was then really out of the enclosure--back again in the world--after
 twenty-seven years spent in peaceful solitude. The very sight of
 the steps brought back the memory of the day when I mounted them to
 enter the Monastery. I hesitated.... There was still only the door
 between us, but no! my duty lay before me. I must prevent Lady Abbess
 returning; so, taking courage, I started off with Hélène, who was
 trying all she could to console me. I followed her blindly. As we
 advanced, the traffic increased more and more. Motor-cars, cavalry,
 foot-soldiers, cyclists, passed in rapid succession. On the pavement,
 crowds of fugitives blocked the passage. Old and young, rich and poor,
 alike were flying, taking only a few small packets with them--their
 only possessions. Mothers, distracted with grief, led their little
 ones by the hand, while the children chattered away, little knowing
 the misery which perhaps awaited them. And the soldiers! they never
 ceased. The Allies, in their different uniforms, passed and repassed
 in one continued stream, while the motor-cars and bicycles deftly
 wended their way between soldiers and civilians. I was stupefied,
 and thought at every moment we should be run over; but my companion,
 amused at my astonishment, assured me there was nothing to fear. We
 had called on the burgomaster for our passports; but he was absent,
 and we had been obliged to go to the town hall. After that, I called
 on M. le Principal du Collège Episcopal, our chaplain, to state that
 it was impossible to obtain a carriage (as I had arranged with him
 that morning), owing to our poverty, and that I should therefore
 be obliged to go on foot. He approved of our undertaking, and even
 advised me to take the whole community straight away to Poperinghe. I
 told him I must first prevent Lady Abbess from coming back; but that,
 once at Poperinghe, I intended certainly to look out for a convent
 which would receive us all. The British ambulance was established in
 the college, and it seemed really like barracks.

 ‘Once in the street again, I heard, click! clack!! the British
 soldiers were shooting at a German Taube passing over the town. We
 hastened on. Many houses were already empty--nearly all the shops were
 closed. Here and there a heap of ruins showed where a shell had made
 its way, while out of the broken windows, the curtains blowing in the
 wind showed the remains of what had once been sumptuous apartments.
 We soon left the station behind us, and continued on the main road,
 with here and there a few houses which seemed more safe by being out
 of the town; yet some of them had also been struck. The regiments
 filled the road more numerously than ever, while the unfortunate
 fugitives, with a look of terror on their pale faces, fled from the
 doomed city. Some, who had left days before, were venturing back again
 in the hope of finding their homes still untouched. We continued our
 way, stopped now and then by some unfortunate creature, asking where
 we were going, and relating in return his story of woe. Suddenly I
 heard myself called by name. “Dame Maura! Yes, it is really she!”
 and, at the same moment, Marie Tack (an old pupil) flew into my arms.
 Her brother, who accompanied her, now came forward, and took great
 interest in everything concerning the convent. “Well!” he said, “we
 are benefactors of the Carmelites at Poperinghe--my brother even
 gave them their house. Say that it is I who have sent you, and you
 will surely be well received.” I thanked him for his kindness and we
 parted, they returning to Ypres, where they had not dared to sleep. In
 my heart I sent a grateful aspiration towards the Divine Providence
 of God, which thus gave me this little ray of hope. Meanwhile, the
 parcels we were carrying began to weigh more and more heavily on us.
 We helped each other as best we could, as I saw that poor Hélène
 was almost out of breath, having taken the heaviest for herself.
 The roads also were very bad, and we could hardly advance owing to
 the mud. At length, after walking two hours, we saw the steeple of
 Vlamertinghe in the distance. It was time, for I felt I could not go
 farther. I remembered that Louise Veys (another old pupil) lived at
 Vlamertinghe, though I had forgotten the address. I asked several
 people in the streets if they could direct me, but I received always
 the same answer: “I am sorry not to be able to oblige you, Sister.
 I am a stranger, I come from Ypres--from Roulers--from Zonnebeke.”
 At last, I ventured to ring at the door of one of the houses. It
 happened to be the very one I was looking for. Louise, who was at
 the ambulance, came running to meet me, with Mariette and Germaine
 Tyberghein, and Marie-Paule Vander Meersch. The latter told me that
 the church of their village, Langemarck, was burnt, and she feared
 that their house, which was close by, would have met with the same
 fate. At this moment, her sister Claire, who had remained with the
 wounded soldiers, came running in, crying out: “Lady Abbess is here,
 and Dame Josephine.”--“Where?” I exclaimed. Instead of answering, she
 took me by the hand, and we both ran out to where a cab was standing.
 I flew to the door, and was soon in Lady Abbess’ arms. I could hardly
 restrain my tears. How was it then that the carriage on its way from
 Poperinghe to Ypres had stopped just in front of the Veys’ house,
 when neither the driver nor anyone else knew to whom it belonged, or
 still less that I was there? Once again Divine Providence had come
 to our help, otherwise we should have missed each other. The cabman,
 who had innocently been the means of our happy meeting, by stopping
 to get refreshments, now appeared. I explained that it was an act
 of the greatest imprudence to conduct Lady Abbess to Ypres; but he
 would listen to nothing--meaning to go. He declared the danger was
 far greater at Poperinghe, and then drove away with Mother Abbess to
 Ypres, leaving me in consternation. Mariette and Germaine Tyberghein
 offered me their carriage, to return to Ypres. It was soon ready,
 and we started back once more. Half-way to Ypres, we saw the other
 cab again stationary, and a British officer talking to the nuns
 through the window. We called out to our coachman to stop, knocking
 at the window with might and main. All was useless. The noise of the
 innumerable horses, provision and ammunition carts, passing, deafened
 him, and he continued peacefully, quite unaware that anything had
 happened. When we arrived at Ypres, the Germans were shelling it in
 real earnest. I wished to go back again, to stop Lady Abbess at any
 price, but was not allowed. They said no one would be permitted to
 come into the town, and that the other cab would probably have been
 sent back.’

This day was not to pass without another surprise; for what was our
astonishment, at about eight o’clock, to see Dame Placid once more in
our midst! The officer whom Mother Prioress had seen talking through
the carriage-window, had said that on no account could Lady Abbess
think of going on to Ypres, which was actually being bombarded. The cab
had thereupon gone back to Poperinghe; but Dame Placid had alighted,
and come to Ypres on foot. We crowded round her to get news of all that
had happened during the last four days, which seemed like four weeks.
After we had related all that had passed in the Monastery since her
departure, Dame Placid told us in return what she had gone through. On
the Friday afternoon, when our poor refugees had driven to Poperinghe,
they went straight to the Benedictine Convent, making sure they would
be received without any difficulty. But alas! the Monastery was full of
soldiers, and no less than fifty other fugitives were waiting at the
door. From there, they drove to the Sœurs Polains where, also, every
corner was taken up--then they went on to a private house, but always
with the same result, until at last some one directed them to La Sainte
Union, where they found a lodging. It had been pouring rain the whole
time, and they were all cramped and cold. Poor Lady Abbess missed so
much the little comforts she had had at the Abbey, and finally resolved
to return to Ypres, with the result we know.

What could we now do to help her? It was decided that Sister Romana
should go back with Dame Placid to see if she could not be of use.
The two fugitives left at about 4 o’clock, pushing before them a kind
of bath-chair filled with packets and parcels for Lady Abbess and the
old nuns. A rather strange equipment, which was doomed never to reach
its destination. Having, with the greatest difficulty--owing to the
condition of the roads--arrived at Vlamertinghe, they were stopped by
several regiments passing. They waited, waited, waited, till at last
an officer, seeing their distress, gave a signal, and the soldiers
halted to allow them to cross. Despairing of ever reaching Poperinghe
with their load, they called at the house where Mother Prioress had
been received that morning, and begged to leave the little carriage and
its contents there. They then walked on more easily, and were able to
get to Lady Abbess before nightfall.




CHAPTER V

THE BOMBARDMENT


To return to the Abbey. Everything had become suddenly animated there;
for, at the departure of Dame Placid and Sister Romana, Reverend Mother
Prioress had declared that we should all follow, taking advantage of
the occasion, as there was a cessation of hostilities for the moment.
In vain some of us begged to be allowed to remain behind; but we had
all to make our last preparations and go. When, however, the packages
turned up, each bigger than the other, we looked at one another in
dismay. How should we ever drag such a load with us? Dame Columban and
Dame Bernard offered to try to find a workman to help us, and their
offer was finally accepted. What happened they record.

 ‘Mother Prioress gave us her blessing, and let us out of the enclosure
 door. Oh dear! What a sensation! Happy prisoners for so many years,
 we now found ourselves in the streets. With a shudder, we started
 on our errand. We had not gone a hundred paces, when, whizz ...
 bang! a shell passed over our heads; a moment after, whizz ... bang,
 another--then another--and another. Half-way down the street, a
 British officer on horseback cried out to us: “Mes Sœurs ... à la
 maison.” Where were we to go? We knew no one. We looked round to
 find a place of refuge; and, seeing a man standing on his doorstep,
 timidly asked if we might take shelter there. He willingly agreed,
 seeming only too delighted to bid us welcome. As soon as the officer
 had vanished, we asked our kind host if he could tell us where the
 workman (Chinchemaillie) we were seeking lived, and on being directed
 to his abode, we left the house. Once more in the street, we hurried
 on. While crossing the Grand’Place, a perfect hail of shells and
 shrapnel came down on all sides. Explosion followed explosion. The
 soldiers and civilians crouched down by the side of the houses
 whenever a shell burst; but we, ignorant of the great risk we were
 running, walked bravely on. At length we concluded we must have taken
 a wrong turning; so, meeting a pale-faced gentleman, we asked him
 if he would be so kind as to put us on the right road again. He was
 hurrying along, burdened with parcels of all sizes, and carrying a jug
 of milk. When we spoke to him, he seemed almost dazed. “Yes, Sisters,”
 he answered “... certainly ... but ... the Germans have just shelled
 my house ... I am running to save my life.” We understood then why he
 looked so disturbed; offering our deepest sympathy, we begged him not
 to trouble. Recovering himself, he assured us that he was going our
 way, and would willingly accompany us. We took some of his parcels
 from him, and went along. At a turning in the street we parted, having
 received further directions from him and thanked him for his kindness.
 Another man, having overheard our conversation, came forward, and
 offered to conduct us to the house in question. We went on, passing
 several buildings which had been much injured, and finally, the
 bombardment raging all the time, arrived at our destination, only
 to hear that the workman had left the town in the morning, and had
 not been able to re-enter it. The people of the house showed us the
 greatest kindness, especially on hearing who we were, and insisted
 on our spending the night in their cellar, saying it was far too
 dangerous to go out again. We thanked them for their offer, but of
 course set off again for the Monastery. Just as we arrived at the
 Grand’Place, Hélène, who had already rendered such valuable services
 to the community came running towards us. She was breathless and
 almost crying, having been searching for us everywhere; we had been
 out so long, and the bombardment had been so continuous, that the nuns
 thought we must have been killed. We soon got safely home, where we
 found everyone in a dreadful state of anxiety.’

On hearing the continual explosions, Mother Prioress and the community
had knelt down by the enclosure door, to pray for the safe return of
Dame Columban and Dame Bernard. As they delayed so long, Reverend
Mother sent Edmund to ask Hélène to look for them. Having done so,
Edmund returned and did his best to persuade the nuns that there was no
need to leave the Abbey. ‘You have your cellars to shelter you, why do
you want to go? What will become of me, when you are gone? If a bomb
falls on the convent, well, it will be the will of God. Why not die
here as well as anywhere else?’ We shall see later, that when the shell
really did fall on the Abbey, the good man was anything but resigned
to die. As he perceived that he gained nothing by his eloquence, he
went out into the street, and soon returned with a soldier, to see if
the new-comer might not be more successful. The soldier was at first
rather bewildered at his new surroundings, being an English Protestant,
but was soon set at ease on finding that we talked English. At this
moment the two wanderers came back, and set everyone’s heart at ease.
Of course there was no longer a question of our leaving that night,
especially as the soldier assured us that there was no danger that the
Germans would get into Ypres, adding that our cellars would be proof
against all their bombs. Edmund, by this time, was triumphant, and
pulling out his cigar-case, offered it to the ‘Tommy,’ who insisted on
his accepting a cigarette in return. Edmund then began to relate the
story of his woes. ‘What should I have to eat, if they were to go?’
he exclaimed. ‘Imagine, the other day the Sister brought me my dinner.
What did I see? I could hardly believe my eyes! A piece of beef-steak.
I sat down in high glee; for I do not remember when I had had a piece
before. What was my disappointment to find what I had taken to be a
beef-steak was nothing else than a piece of fried brown bread. I could
have thrown it in the fire.’ The soldier then took his leave, though
not before Mother Prioress had given him a badge of the Sacred Heart,
which he promised to wear always as a souvenir of his visit to our
Abbey. We took care, also, to give him as many apples and pears as he
could put into his pockets.

The number of people seeking shelter for the night in the convent
increased constantly. Already, some thirty persons had come; some
bringing their own mattresses, the others depending on our charity. We
gave all that we had. In the end, no fewer than fifty-seven persons
came for a night’s lodging. Numberless poor came also during the
day for food, for they could not find anything to eat in the town;
bakers, butchers, grocers--all had fled to save their lives. We were
in the greatest necessity ourselves, but still gave to all who asked.
We experienced the truth of our Lord’s words, ‘Give, and you shall
receive,’ when, a few days later, we were in the streets--without
a house, without food, without money. It was then, indeed, that we
received a hundredfold the charity we showed towards those who applied
to us in their distress.

On the Wednesday morning, Our Lord gave us a little surprise. Our
chaplain had been obliged to leave Ypres the evening before, to place
the nuns who lived in his college in safety. But the Divine Master
watched over us, and instead of the one Mass which we had lost, He
sent us two French military priests to offer up the Holy Sacrifice for
us. Reverend Mother presented her excuses for the poor breakfast they
received--for we had nothing to give them but the bread which we had
made ourselves out of meal, and some pears--asking their opinion of
the situation. They strongly advised us to leave while there was yet
time and enquired where we thought of going. Mother Prioress told
them that the Lady Abbess of Oulton Abbey in England had offered, from
the very outset of the War, to take the whole community, but the great
question was how to get so far. They said that we ought to apply to
the British Command for help, expressing the opinion that the English
ambulance, established at the college of which our chaplain was the
President, would surely come to our assistance. They then left, saying
how delightful it had been to have found such a peaceful spot in which
to say Mass, after the noise and horrors to which they had been so long
accustomed.

The day passed slowly. The Germans were gaining ground. The noise of
the Allied guns was now deafening. We were obliged to leave all the
windows ajar, to prevent the glass being broken by the shocks, which
made the house tremble from the garrets to the cellar. Monoplanes and
biplanes, friendly and hostile, passed continually overhead--the former
chasing the latter, which were dropping bombs without end on the town.
At last, two friendly aeroplanes undertook to mount guard, and remained
continually hovering round and round; but even then, the Taubes came;
and the fighting went on in the air, as well as on all sides of us. The
risks of remaining were certainly great; and yet--why leave our Abbey,
when it was still untouched? We were sure of a warm welcome at Oulton;
but how could the whole community get there, and, above all, our
beloved Lady Abbess? On the other hand, how were we to live in Ypres?
Not only were we in danger of being killed at any moment, but there was
no longer any means of getting food. For several days Edmund had, with
the greatest difficulty, procured two pints of skimmed milk; but even
this would soon cease. Again, there was certainly no more prospect of
receiving any money in Belgium, where the banks had all been robbed. We
had paid our debts prior to the commencement of hostilities; and so had
very little money left. In the afternoon, Mother Prioress determined
to go out and seek for information at the British Headquarters; for
everyone seemed to have deserted the stricken town. She took Dame
Columban and Dame Patrick with her. They went first to the college.
At the end of the Rue St. Jacques, a French soldier gave a military
salute and advanced towards them. It was one of the priests who had
said Mass for the community in the morning. He accompanied the three
nuns as far as the college, but told them that the ambulance had left
during the night, which was a very bad sign; for when the wounded were
removed, it showed that there was great danger. He also promised to
attend the next morning at 5 o’clock to say Mass. It was notified that
the Headquarters were to be found a mile and a half out of Ypres. The
burgomaster had also left the town. Going to the houses of several
influential people--M. and Mme. le Sénateur Fracy de Venbeck and Mme.
Van den Berghe and others--friends of the Monastery, Mother Prioress
and her companions found them all locked up, and the inhabitants gone.
One big shop was burning, and the French soldiers were trying to put
the fire out. A baker’s establishment had a large hole in the roof.
It was pouring rain, and the nuns had no umbrella; so they turned
their steps homewards. But their mission was not to prove useless; for
Divine Providence had arranged that they were to help one of His poor
creatures. Having arrived at the Grand’ Place, they were stopped by an
English officer, who pointed to a cart, driven by a soldier, which was
following them. In it was an old woman lying, apparently helpless. He
explained to them that, passing by a deserted village, which had been
destroyed by the Germans, he had found her lying in a ditch. He had
lifted her into the cart and taken her along with him, and he now asked
if the nuns could not direct him to some hospital or institute where
she would be taken care of. They went with him as far as the Hospice,
where the officials declared they had more work than they could
possibly attend to; still, as Mother Prioress begged so hard, they
took her in. The poor old woman was over ninety. How many are there
who, like her, find themselves turned out of the little home, which
had perhaps cost them their whole life’s savings. Why should the poor,
the aged, the infirm, the innocent, suffer to satisfy the ambition
of the unjust? Truly, ‘My ways are not your ways, saith the Lord.’
In eternity, lost in the blissful contemplation of God’s infinite
perfections, we shall understand the wisdom of those things which now
surpass our poor intelligence.

On Thursday morning, we arose at 4.30 from what might truly be styled
‘our humble couch,’ to be ready for the promised Mass at 5 o’clock.
During the night, we had harboured the Sisters of Providence, who were
leaving next day. Having waited half an hour, and no priest coming,
we recited lauds, prime, and tierce. We again waited in all patience,
but no one appeared. We could not miss Holy Mass and Communion--it
was the only source of consolation left to us; besides, we never knew
if, perhaps, we should live to see the following day. The regiment to
which the priests belonged had probably been ordered off during the
night--hence the reason of their non-arrival. At 7.30 Mother Prioress
assembled us all at the enclosure door, and, leaving Edmund in charge
of the convent, we put down our veils, and two by two, started for
the Carmelite Convent, situated a little way down the street. There
we learned that the nuns had left the day before. We were determined
not to miss Mass at any cost, so continued as far as the Church of St.
James, where we arrived in the middle of one Mass, after which we
received Holy Communion, and then had the happiness of assisting at
another Mass--celebrated also by a French chaplain, though not one of
those who had been at the Abbey the day before. On our way home, we
were met by a priest of the parish, who had served Mass for a long time
in our chapel, when he was a young boy, and, returning to Ypres years
after, had always remained attached to the community. He was touched to
see us thus obliged to break our beloved enclosure, and spoke words of
courage and consolation to us.

The day passed in great anxiety, relieved by one little incident,
which, in spite of all our perils and troubles, afforded us amusement.
Dame Columban, busy cooking in the kitchen, found no dishes coming from
the scullery, where Sister Winefride now presided at the washing up.
She looked in, asking when the things would be clean, and found the
Sister, bending over a tub of boiling water, looking very tired and
hot, and received an answer, that all would soon be finished. Some time
passed, but no dishes came. Being at a loss to know the cause of the
delay, she went once more to the scullery to enquire, and found things
in exactly the same state as before. On asking what was wrong, Sister
Winefride exclaimed, in a piteous tone of voice: ‘Do you _really_ think
we are going this morning?’--‘Of course not! who said so?’ ‘I don’t
know, but I thought perhaps we might; so, in order not to have too much
to carry, I have put on two habits, two scapulars, two petticoats, and
I _do_ feel so hot! If I may just go to our cell and change, I think
I’ll get on better!’ Having, as may easily be imagined, obtained the
permission, she soon came joyfully back to her work.

We no longer believed the assurance the British soldiers gave us, that
we were quite safe, and we now set to work to lighten our packages as
much as possible, only taking what was strictly necessary; it being
even decided that we should only take one breviary each, and leave the
other three behind. There still remained a good deal to carry; for we
were to take some provisions, not knowing if we should find refuge at
Poperinghe, or if we should have to go straight to England. It was
absolutely necessary to find some means of carrying our packages,
were it but a wheelbarrow. Mother Prioress now found a reward for her
charity, for the poor workman, whom she had so kindly received with his
family in the cellar, hearing of our distress, found a hand-cart, and,
what was more, promised to push it for us.

The next day, Friday, we went out again to Holy Mass in St. James’s,
having had very few people in the cellar, for all those who could
possibly leave the town had already done so. When we returned, Mother
Prioress announced her decision to go to the Headquarters, and set
off immediately, accompanied by Dame Patrick, without even taking
her breakfast. The rest of the community went about their different
occupations, until she should return. Nine o’clock struck, half-past
nine, ten, half-past ten, still no Mother Prioress! To say we were
anxious but feebly expresses our state of mind. The shells and bombs
were flying in all directions; and the explosions--joined to the firing
of the guns--resembled some huge machinery with its never-ceasing boom
and crash. We prepared the dinner, which consisted of salt herrings
and fried potatoes; but there was no account of the Mother Prioress as
yet. Each ring at the door made us crowd round in joyful expectation,
but each time a disconsolate ‘No’ was all the answer we received from
the portress. We recited Sext and None, but no Mother Prioress as
yet! We consulted together as to what should be done. Some thought
Reverend Mother must have been kept--others that she had perhaps found
a motor-car, and had seized the opportunity to go to Poperinghe to see
Lady Abbess. The dinner was spoiling on the fire, yet no one cared to
sit down to eat. The bell rang, but we scarcely had the heart to answer
it--we had been disappointed so often. We felt sure we should only
hear another ‘No.’ Suddenly a joyous ringing of the little hand-bell,
which had served alike to announce the Divine Office, and to warn us of
German Taubes passing overhead, brought everyone to their feet, and we
soon crowded round our dear Prioress to beg her blessing, asking all
together for an explanation of her long absence. For greater surety we
shall cite her own notes:--

 ‘The Headquarters had left the town, we had therefore a long way to
 go. In town, there was ever the same movement of troops, but the
 aspect seemed still more mournful. The shells had begun their work
 of destruction on the Grand’Place. A corner of the Halles had been
 struck. A house had received a bomb on the roof, which, penetrating
 the building, carried away half of the front, making its way through
 ceilings and floors, throwing the furniture to right and left,
 carrying chairs down into the very cellar. The people standing around
 were looking on aghast. We passed on, but soon a poor woman stopped
 us: “And you Sisters, from where do you come?”--“We are the Irish
 Dames of St. James’s Street.” “Oh yes! I know the convent well. Are
 you also leaving?”--“I am afraid we shall be obliged to do so!”--and
 we continued our walk. We had already turned off into another street,
 when we heard hurried steps behind us, and some one crying out:
 “Sisters, Sisters! Zusters, Zusters!” It was the good woman again,
 with her kind face, her big handkerchief round her head, and her blue
 Flemish apron. “Zuster! Don’t leave the town, come home with me, we
 are poor, but still you can have my house and all I have.”--“Good
 woman,” I said, taking her two hands, “thank you a thousand times,
 do not be anxious for us. Our Lord will take care of us.” I could
 have kissed the dear creature then and there. We could not stop. Soon
 a crowd blocked our passage. “A shell struck here last night” they
 explained to us--it was the Cercle Catholique--“and penetrated into
 the cellar where a poor man had taken refuge with his three children,
 thinking he would be more protected here than in his own home, and
 there is his house (just two buildings farther on) untouched. The man
 has his hand off, two children are killed, and the third, a girl, is
 dying!”

 ‘By this time we had made our way through the crowd. The fugitives
 were continually passing, leaving homes and all behind. At length
 we arrived at the residence of the staff officers. We explained our
 case to one of them, who received us very courteously, and who told
 us the best thing to do would be to address ourselves to General Sir
 Douglas Haig. An orderly informed him that Sir Douglas had left for
 Brielen. The officer advised us to go there. It was already 8.30, and
 we had still a good hour’s walk before us. The road resembled that
 to Poperinghe. One must have seen the continual passage of troops,
 motor-cars, horses, fugitives, in the narrow lanes, the roads inches
 thick with mud, to have a true idea of it. Here and there a house
 struck by a shell, or bespattered with mud almost to the roof, gave an
 indescribable air of sadness to the surroundings; while a bouquet of
 flowers, or an odd _bibelot_ discarded in a shop-window, remained as a
 last souvenir of the joys and prosperity of our brave little Belgium.
 Brielen now came in sight. We stopped before the Calvary, erected at
 the entrance to the cemetery, and then paid a visit to the church. On
 coming out, we met the Curé of the village, who interested himself in
 our trials and sorrows. We then asked the way to the Headquarters,
 where we found it was impossible to see Sir Douglas. His aide-de-camp
 gave us some rather vague information, but kindly offered to get us
 seats in a motor-car that was leaving for Poperinghe. It did not
 start, however, till midday, and even then I could not go without
 telling the community at Ypres. We set out on our way back to Ypres.
 Just outside the village a poor woman, all in tears, stopped us,
 showing us a big cavity which a shell had just made in the ground by
 her farm. “I should have been killed,” she exclaimed, “except for the
 brave English soldiers, who, seeing the shell coming in my direction,
 had just the time to take me up and push me into the farm, but my cow
 is gone! Our little farm was all our fortune!” and she wiped away the
 tears with a corner of her apron. Poor dear! How many are there still
 more unfortunate than she! As we approached the town, the whistling
 shriek of the shells became more distinct; the Germans were bombarding
 Ypres as hard as they could. We found ourselves almost alone in the
 streets. Here and there a few soldiers remained in the doorways of the
 houses. A shell flew straight over us! What a protection of Divine
 Providence! A few steps off a building was struck, and we just escaped
 getting a shower of bricks and glass on top of us. “Come to the other
 side!” Dame Patrick called out. We crossed over, murmuring aspirations
 all the time. A little farther on another shell burst, and the house
 we had just passed fell a heap of shapeless ruins. We hastened our
 steps to get out of the street, which seemed to be the chief point
 of attack. We then breathed more freely, till--arrived at the Grand’
 Place--we were welcomed by a regular shower of shells which flew in
 all directions. Happily we had almost reached our destination, though,
 had it not been for Dame Patrick, I should never have known my way,
 but should probably have passed by the Monastery. At the door we met
 two brave Britishers whom I told to come into the parlour, where they
 would be more out of danger. They did not feel afraid, and said they
 were sent to search for some bread; for they could not get any in
 the town. I gave them some of the provisions which we were to take
 with us, with a little pot of butter, and--what I knew they liked so
 much--as many pears as they could carry. They were delighted, and so
 were we. We then talked of the war, and the old story came back again,
 the hope so cherished by all, and yet also not realised: “Oh! it will
 soon be over. We’ll be home for Christmas!”’

Our poor dinner was now served, the last we were to take in the dear
old home. The reading was made aloud as usual. The subject was ‘Holy
Poverty’--truly appropriate for the times and surroundings. The last
words which the reader pronounced before the signal was given, were:
‘The Lord has given, the Lord has taken away! May His Holy Name be
blessed!’ Had we prepared the reading beforehand, it could not have
been better chosen. Our dear Lord had truly given us our Abbey, and
had made it withstand the course of years, with all the changes of
government, wars, and revolutions, which had swept over Belgium,
especially Flanders--and now He was taking it away. May His Holy Name
be blessed!




CHAPTER VI

FLIGHT


During dinner the bombardment had been at its height. In that short
half-hour almost twenty shells had burst quite close to us. It was our
side of the town that was being attacked--already a poor woman, begging
for something to eat, had told the portress that the roof of the
college was struck. Mother Prioress, deaf to all entreaties, said that
everyone without exception was to be ready at 2 o’clock. We went about,
looking--perhaps for the last time--at the dear old scenes, which we
had thought to leave only when death should knock at our door.

We had already placed on every window of the convent a paper badge of
the Sacred Heart, and lastly erected a niche outside one of the garret
windows, in which we put the miraculous statue of Our Lady of the
Angels, which had remained unhurt outside the Monastery in the siege
of Ypres, in 1744. We had done all we could and must now abandon all,
leaving everything under the double protection of the Mother and the
Son.

A little after 2 o’clock the hand-cart came round to the door. All the
packages could not fit in it, in spite of Reverend Mother having made
us take out nearly all we had gathered together; for she had learnt by
experience, in carrying the things she had prepared for Lady Abbess as
far as Vlamertinghe, three days before, the difficulties of walking
so far, and carrying a heavy parcel at the same time. The enclosure
door was then fastened on the inside, and all other important rooms or
cupboards being likewise locked, we passed with a last farewell through
the long-loved choir, which had known the joys and sorrows of our whole
religious life.

We then went through the outer church into the sacristy, locking
the door of the grille behind us. There was but one more door which
separated us from the outside world--one door more! and we should be
out of our enclosure, perhaps never more to return! There was a pause
in our sad procession--the key was not there. Our Lord watched over
us once more; for, had we then continued in our procession, some of
us would inevitably have been badly hurt, if not indeed killed. After
a few minutes’ waiting, the key was brought, and already placed in
the key-hole, when a loud explosion, accompanied by a terrific crash
which shook the entire building, laid us all prostrate.... Bewildered,
rather than afraid, we arose, and saw, through the window, a shower of
bricks and glass falling into the garden. The first--though not the
last--shell had struck our well-loved Abbey.

We now realised that there was no time to waste. Already Edmund was
screaming out from the other side of the still-locked door. ‘Why don’t
you come? I told you, you should have left long ago. The convent is
struck! We shall all be killed if you don’t make haste!’ The door was
opened, and with an indescribable feeling of horror, mingled with
uncertainty, we went out. In the street we raised our eyes in one sad
farewell to our beloved Monastery; and there, out of the cell windows,
principally that of Mother Prioress, a cloud of vapour and smoke told
us of the passage of the shell; while the remains of the garret windows
overhead and other débris of slates, bricks, wood and glass, strewn
on the pavement, proved without a doubt, that Divine Providence had
truly intervened in allowing the little delay in the sacristy, but for
which we should have been just on the spot when all this had happened.
A cry of anguish arose from our hearts as, hurrying along the deserted
street, we saw our convent thus apparently burning.

Half-way down the street, another explosion behind us made us look
round to see if the Abbey had again been struck, but no! this time it
was the Institut Saint-Louis, just in front. Turning the corner, we saw
some ‘Tommies’ scrambling out of a house which had also been shelled.
As we stumbled over the bricks which covered the road, Edmund hurrying
us on for bare life, one of the soldiers caught sight of us, and
calling out to another to come to help ‘the Sisters’ he threw down the
bundle he was carrying, and seizing two of ours, he walked along with
us, his comrade doing the same. We shall continue the narrative from
the notes of Dame Patrick:--

 ‘As we were nearing the Rue de Lille, where the shells were falling
 thickly, two soldiers came forward to help us with our packages. We
 chatted as we hurried along, stopping every one or two minutes, to
 avoid a shower of bricks, as we heard a shell hiss over our heads and
 fall on one of the houses by us. One of us remarked to the soldiers:
 “It is very kind of you to help us.” To our delight they answered,
 “It is our same religion, and our same country.” They were both Irish
 Catholics--one from Kerry, the other from Belfast. When we reached the
 outskirts of the town they were both obliged to turn back, not having
 leave to quit Ypres. The Kerry man left us hurriedly; but our man
 from Belfast ventured a little farther, though in the end he thought
 it wiser to return to his regiment. So we shook hands with him, and
 thanked him heartily, wishing him good luck and a safe return to dear
 old Ireland! Our good Mother Prioress had a bag of pears in her hand,
 so she said to him: “Here, take these pears and eat them, and we will
 pray for you.” But he turned away, and said, “No, no, keep them for
 yourselves.” Here the poor fellow broke down and cried. He hurried
 away, waved his hand, and wished us God-speed. I happened, during this
 little scene, just to have moved on, thinking Mother Prioress was by
 me. However, on looking round, I saw she was some distance behind,
 so I walked back to join her. To my surprise, I found her weeping. I
 felt very shaky myself, but did not want to seem so. I jokingly said,
 “Oh! Mother Prioress, what is the matter?” Then she told me what had
 happened, and said, “I could keep up no longer when I saw that dear,
 kind, genuine Irish-hearted man break down--how I wish I could know
 his name!” “Come along,” I said, “let us hope that one day we shall
 find it out, but don’t cry any more or you’ll have me joining in too.”
 I then thought on my brave, tender-hearted countrymen who had left
 home and country to serve in the British army as Belgium’s friends
 and protectors, and I felt proud and happy that we Irish Benedictines
 should have fallen in so often with Irishmen, always meeting with the
 same kind-heartedness.’

We had left the town in a terrible state. Through several streets which
we passed, we could not see the other side on account of the clouds
of smoke and dust, occasioned by the bursting of the shells and the
falling buildings. Several telegraph posts lay across the road, with
the wires hopelessly twisted and broken. Soldiers were running to
and fro, propping up walls which had been shaken by an explosion in
the vicinity, or making for some new ruin to see if they could be of
any use. At last leaving the terrible sight behind us, we passed by
the Rue d’Elverdinghe, on to the road leading to Poperinghe. Here we
picked up the good fellow who was pushing the hand-cart. He took some
more packages, tying them all together with a stout rope to prevent
them falling off. His wife and little children were also there, for
they dared not remain in the town. How glad were we now that Reverend
Mother had listened to our chaplain, when he told her not to wait till
the last moment to place dear Lady Abbess in safety. What would she
have done in the midst of those dreadful shells, which, although we
had left the town far behind us, still continued--though we heard them
not so loudly now--to fly on their errand of destruction towards poor,
unfortunate Ypres.

There is no need to describe the marching of the troops as they
passed us on the way, as Mother Prioress has already mentioned it in
her notes. What left the deepest impression on our memories was the
thick slimy mire we had to wade through. In some places it was so bad
that it was almost impossible to get on--we seemed to slide back two
steps for every one that we made forward. We trudged bravely on, but
before we had gone a quarter of the way some of us were already _au
bout_. We, who for years had not walked more than six or seven times
round our little garden, were certainly little fitted to go some nine
miles in that dreadful mud, and carrying parcels which, by this time,
seemed to weigh tons. At last Vlamertinghe came in sight. If only it
had been Poperinghe! We were not even quite half-way. We could hardly
push through the crowds of fugitives, each with his or her bundles of
different colour, shape, and size. Some men had four packages, two in
front and two behind, slung over their shoulders; others were bent
in two with huge sacks on their backs; others pushed wheelbarrows or
perambulators in front of them; while some were content with a little
bundle tied up in a pocket-handkerchief. One respectable-looking
man carefully hugged two umbrellas--were they his only treasures?
We passed through the village, and on, on, on! always in company of
troops, motor-cars, and refugees. The latter accosted us from time
to time to ask who we were and where we came from. They nearly all
seemed to know the Iersche Van Damen von S. Jacob’s Straat! Several
officers and soldiers saluted us also as we passed. If only the driver
of some motor-car would have given us a lift, but they flew past so
quickly--they probably did not even see us. The mason’s little children
took turn by turn to have a ride on the hand-cart, seated on the top of
all the bundles, while the others hung out of the poor mother’s arms,
who cheered them on, and told them wonderful tales in Flemish. One
little boy was squeezing an almost imperceptible black puppy, which
he would not let go for all the world. While the young gentleman was
having his turn for a ride there was a sudden halt on the way. The wee
doggie had managed to wriggle out of his master’s tight embrace and,
making good use of his long-sighed-for liberty, had fallen out of the
cart. Luckily, no bones were broken, owing to the soft carpet of mud
into which he sank. Indeed, the poor cart was obliged to stop more
than once, either to make way for two regiments who were marching in
different directions, or for two or three motor-cars passing all at
once, and, often enough, getting literally ‘stuck in the mud,’ or to
give a rest to Edmund and the workman, who had a hard time of it.

It was now getting dark, and a thick mist was rising. The sound of the
firing was getting more and more feeble as we left Ypres farther and
farther behind. From time to time, a dead horse, stretched out in the
ditch or in a field close by, would make us turn away from the mournful
sight. We walked and walked--would we never arrive at our destination?
It became darker at every moment--we were obliged to keep well
together, for fear of being left behind. The trees which lined the road
loomed out as though they had been some unearthly spectres, with their
leafless branches like gaunt arms uplifted towards the sky to call down
vengeance on the earth; while, magnified through the thick mist, the
moon tinged with red seemed to reflect the bloodshed and carnage of the
battle-field.

At last we caught sight of a feeble glimmer which--unlike the lights
of the motor-cars, as they sped along, throwing an electric flash
into our dazzled eyes and then vanishing, leaving the darkness more
intense--grew brighter and brighter as we advanced. Could it really
be Poperinghe? We hastened on, almost forgetting our fatigue. Yes, we
were truly there--it was Poperinghe! But where were we to turn our
steps? Soon we were surrounded by a crowd. Soldiers and civilians, men
and women, looked with commiseration on this new group of fugitives
who added to the number of those who already filled the town. Reverend
Mother asked to be directed to the Carmelites, remembering the
recommendation of Mr. Tack. Two girls offered to conduct us there.
At this moment a gentleman came forward asking what we desired (we
only discovered later that it was the Judge). In a few words, Mother
Prioress explained the situation. On hearing mention made of La
Sainte Union, where Lady Abbess had taken refuge, he informed us it
was quite close at hand, that if we wished he would conduct us there
first; and in case there should not be room for us all, he would
undertake to find us lodgings. Needless to say, we willingly accepted
the proposal, and in a few minutes we found ourselves in a cheery
little parlour, awaiting the Superioress’ decision. The permission was
accorded at first rather hesitatingly, and for one night only. Was it
astonishing? The poor nuns had just given up the school premises to
the French Ambulance; they had also given refuge to a community from
Oostnienukerke, who were afterwards rejoined by their Sisters from
Passchendaele, and now we arrived also! However, when they discovered
that we really were what we made ourselves out to be, and not German
spies, or vagrants--and especially as, during the conversation, one of
the elder nuns found that she had formerly been the mistress of Mother
Prioress when she had been to the convent at Hazebrouck in preparation
for her first Communion, the community having been expelled from France
eleven years before--they soon changed, and for a whole fortnight
showed us every kind of hospitality.

Now Dame Placid and Sister Romana heard the news, and came running
down to welcome us, then Sister Magdalen and dear Dame Josephine. The
meeting was a happy one, which however soon changed to sadness, when we
related what had happened to the old Abbey. We were impatient to see
our beloved Lady Abbess. Soon our dear Prioress, who had gone first to
break the news gently, reappeared, and we all trooped upstairs, little
dreaming of the sad scene which that very little parlour would witness
in less than a fortnight’s time. Lady Abbess was at once both anxious
and pleased; so, after an exchange of greetings, and having received
her blessing, we retired. We now began to realise what we had done.
It was all so strange; we were now truly poor, not knowing what would
befall us. ‘Sacré Cœur de Jésus, j’ai confiance en Vous!’ We were
really and truly destitute of all human aid, and depended solely on our
loving Father in Heaven for everything.

Soon the good nuns had prepared supper for us, after which we made a
visit to the church, and then were not sorry to be shown the way to the
dormitory. It had belonged to the children, who, owing to the war, had
not returned after the holidays. Oh dear! Where were our cells? Here
there were not even alcoves, but some pretty-looking curtains covering
two sides of each bed. We were not even alone in the dormitory,
several beds being already occupied. Suddenly, to our great surprise,
Antoinette Doone, one of our old pupils, who had always remained
especially attached to Mother Prioress, threw herself into Reverend
Mother’s arms saying that she also was stopping at La Sainte Union
with her two servants. She was delighted at the idea of sharing the
dormitory with her old mistresses. Truly the war brought about strange
coincidences, and made us meet with devoted friends when we least
expected it. Soon we were reposing on a soft mattress and spring bed,
and unaccustomed to such luxury, as well as worn out by the fatigues of
the day, we were not long in falling asleep.




CHAPTER VII

VISITING THE WOUNDED


It was late the next morning when we awoke, for there were no guns to
disturb our slumbers. However, we were up in time for the last Mass.
Having breakfasted, we set to work to carry our parcels upstairs, and
to clean our shoes, which, owing to our peregrinations, were hardly
recognisable, being simply clotted with mire and dirt. This finished,
we made our first visit to the wounded soldiers in the ambulance.
What a scene of suffering met our eyes! If it made us realise, more
than ever, that we had left our beloved enclosure, still it gave us
an insight into human misery which we should never have had, had we
remained peacefully in our Abbey. The _ensemble_ was not yet organised,
only those downstairs having bedsteads--the poor soldiers upstairs
lying on straw on the floor. The impression made was ineffaceable. We
now saw what war really meant, and we left, after having distributed
little cakes, biscuits and sweets, with a promise to come back as often
as we could.

Mother Prioress was now called for, to see Edmund and the poor family
who had not been received in the convent, as the Superioress had been
threatened with a summons if she received any refugees. They had been
directed to the police station, where, having presented themselves,
they had been placed in an inn, and had passed the night in an attic on
some straw. They were also starving, having had nothing to eat. They
were quickly given some of our provisions, and Mother Prioress paid the
mason for his hard work of the day before. Being now a little consoled,
he said he would go off with his wife and children to a village close
by, to see if he would not be more successful in getting a lodging
there. Edmund remained, lamenting loudly over his misfortunes. The
chaplain of the community passing by, and hearing his sad tale, had
compassion on the poor man, and told him he might sleep at his house,
while the nuns arranged to give him his meals. After some days,
however, he found the priest’s house too far away from the convent, and
so managed to get a bed in a baker’s establishment just opposite.

Every morning we had the happiness of assisting at two or four Masses;
for besides the Director of the community, whose Mass Edmund served,
some French priests who were attached to the ambulance also requested
permission to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice. Reverend Mother arranged
with the Superioress that we might go to the chapel when we liked to
say our office, where--instead of stalls--turning the chairs to face
each other, we improvised a choir, and recited the Benedictine hours
with the usual ceremonies. We were, of course, obliged to advance the
night office, saying vespers and compline at 2.30 and matins and lauds
at 4.0, it being often necessary to bring the chairs close to the
window to have light to finish, if, as it sometimes happened, we were
unable to keep to the given hours.

On Sunday afternoon, eleven nuns from the Rue de Lille at Ypres came
to beg a refuge. They were expelled French nuns of the Sacred Heart
of Jesus, who had devoted themselves since the outbreak of the war in
our parts to tending the wounded soldiers. It was they who had had
such a narrow escape when the Germans came to Ypres, whilst they had
their convent full of Belgians. They told us afterwards how good their
wounded had been, and how the greater part, as soon as they were well
enough, used to come to Benediction and sing with the nuns.

Now, however, they brought sad news from the town, which was being
bombarded worse than ever. They had been obliged to fly for their
lives; one Sister had been killed by a bomb, a servant badly wounded,
and their Superioress had stopped behind with two nuns, compelling
the others to leave. They had at first taken the wrong road, going
straight to the scene of battle; but being sent back by the British
soldiers, they had made their way, as best they could, to Poperinghe.
They had lost six of their number, not knowing what had become of them;
seventeen had left the convent, and now only eleven had arrived at
Poperinghe.

The next day our servant-man came round to say that he had received
an invitation to go back to Ypres the following day with another man,
who was willing to run the risk of returning. Needless to say we
were delighted to have such a good chance of getting news about our
Monastery; and all prayed for his safety. We anxiously awaited the
result of this venture, hoping that he would be able to get into the
convent, and that, above all, no harm would happen to him. True enough,
he came back in triumph, dragging another huge parcel of things he had
managed to secure for himself. The dreadful account he gave of the
Monastery filled us with despair, for, according to his description,
half the building seemed to have been destroyed. Happily, the person
who had accompanied him called the next day, and told us that Edmund
had greatly exaggerated the mischief done; and he hoped that if the
Germans could be repulsed, we should be able to return in four or five
days.

Mother Prioress determined to ascertain the truth of the case for
herself. She accordingly made enquiries as to whether it would be
possible to go to Ypres in a motor-car. M. Vander Meersch, a solicitor
who lived near the Abbey, came to our help, and an officer was found
who was willing to take two nuns with him. We begged our dear Prioress
not to expose herself to such evident danger; but, as usual, she would
not listen, and it was decided that Dame Placid should accompany her.
God, Who ever protects those who put their trust in Him, arranged
otherwise, and the motor-car was prevented from leaving Poperinghe. We
heard afterwards that at the very time that they should have arrived, a
bomb had fallen on another motor, and killed five officers.

During the next days, news poured in from Ypres. At one time, we heard
that the Germans had been repulsed, and their guns captured, and that
Ypres would soon be quite safe again; shortly afterwards, it was
announced that the enemy was mercilessly bombarding the town, some
houses were falling, others burning. We were more than ever convinced
that we could believe nothing that we heard and must necessarily see
for ourselves. Besides, the guns which we had only heard feebly in
the distance, on our arrival at Poperinghe, could certainly be heard
far more distinctly now; were we going to be bombarded a second time?
It really seemed probable, for German aeroplanes appeared in sight,
apparently scrutinising the movements of the Allies, and had not that
been the beginning of the hostilities at Ypres?

In the streets, the regiments passed and repassed--the poor, brave
fellows marching off to the battle, and the others coming back from the
trenches to have a well-merited repose. It was often touching to see
how those who had not been ordered out would await the return of the
troops, anxiously scanning the lines as they passed, and on perceiving
a comrade, perhaps a ‘chum,’ coming back unhurt, they would run forward
and give a hand-shake with a joyful greeting, as the horses trotted by.
But alas! there were always a number of empty saddles, belonging to
those who had been taken to the ambulance, or--worse still--left dead
on the battle-field. The horses themselves seemed mournful, as they
followed mechanically after the others, as though they felt it must be
partially their fault that their dear masters were no longer there.
Often, also, numbers of German prisoners would march past between two
files of British or French soldiers on their way to the station.

Our poor wounded French soldiers were not forgotten. By this time
things were arranged better; nearly all had beds now, some even
sheets. And this was due to the unflagging devotion of three priests
attached to the ambulance as infirmarians. They certainly preached to
us a silent sermon of self-forgetfulness and heroic charity; and our
greatest pleasure was to hear them relate all they had gone through
since the War broke out. In the French army alone, 40,000 priests
mixed with the common soldiers, the greater number being combatants.
The brave wounded also gave us many a lesson, never finding fault
with anything, never complaining of their dreadful wounds. And yet
how horribly some of them were mutilated! A great number were obliged
to have an arm or leg amputated--one had his lower jaw carried
away--another, his whole face from below the eyes. Most of them
were wounded in the head, which made them suffer dreadfully, some
even being delirious. There were some who belonged to the highest
aristocracy--Counts and Barons were there, lying on straw or hard
stretchers; others again were quite young, only twenty or twenty-one.
Yet all were patient, all courageous, all _sure_ that in the end the
Allies would win, and the Germans be defeated. The unfortunate victims
who died of their wounds were carried out to a little hut or tent
erected in the garden. As we passed by, we would lift up the curtain
which hid them from view, and say a ‘De profundis’ for the repose of
their souls. Sometimes as many as eleven or twelve lay there, awaiting
the coffins which could not be made quickly enough. One poor Zouave,
who had probably been dead some time before it was found out, lay there
with his arms uplifted, as though he still held the gun, with which he
would, even in death, lay low his enemy.

But we cannot do better than take from the notes of Dame Teresa, who
was so devoted in visiting the ambulance:--

 ‘At Poperinghe we spent all our time making badges of the Sacred Heart
 for the wounded soldiers. Almost every day we went to visit them. This
 gave us the greatest joy. The first time we entered the large room No.
 1, where they lay, some on beds, others on stretchers, we were struck
 with horror and pity. There they were, young men and middle-aged, from
 every department of France; some had been struck on the head, others
 on the chest, back, or shoulders, or else wounded in the legs. And
 yet not one complaint escaped their lips--only one poor fellow, who
 was delirious, called out as we passed by: “My head, my head! oh, if
 you only knew what it is to have such a headache.” Another soldier,
 just twenty-one, said to us in the patois of the South of France,
 “Franche! Franche! shall I ever see thee again!” We went from one
 room to another, speaking to each, and cheering them up. We gave them
 pears, and it used to be our greatest pleasure to peel them, cut them
 in small bits, and now and again we would put them in their mouths,
 when they were unable to move. They were as simple as children, and
 loved our visits. “Sister, you’ll come back to-morrow won’t you? It is
 so nice to see you, it cheers us up!” I remember one incident, which
 shows their simplicity. Dame Walburge and I had been going round,
 distributing small bits of pear, which they much relished as very
 comforting to their parched lips; but there came a time when we had
 exhausted our last pear, and still many soldiers had not had a bit.
 Of course next day we would serve them the first; but Dame Walburge
 whispered to tell me one poor fellow had been watching me so anxiously
 for some time. I turned towards him to say a little word of comfort,
 but he interrupted me, saying in a fretful, childish way: “Oh, Sister,
 and you have given me no pear, and I wanted one so badly!” In vain we
 searched our pockets, all the while promising he should be served the
 first next day. He repeated: “It’s to-night I wanted it.” We left the
 room sadly, wishing, for once in our religious lives, that we had a
 penny to buy him a pear. But Almighty God, Who is all-powerful, heard
 the prayer of His children; for hardly had I told this story to one of
 the nuns of La Sainte Union, than she gave me a pear, and though it
 was already dark, we ran back joyfully to our poor wounded soldier,
 who seemed dumb for joy, but his happy face rewarded us beyond words.

 ‘The unselfishness of the soldiers towards each other was marvellous;
 once, while peeling a pear for a soldier--one who was eating a piece
 of bread--he said to me: “Sister, I am sure my neighbour would also
 like a piece.” I turned to the other, who answered timidly: “Yes, I
 should like it; but see, Sister, I have a little bit of meat on my
 bread, and he has none, so give it to him!” Needless to say, I divided
 it between them.

 ‘Sometimes they would give us a little money out of their purses to
 buy biscuits, or cheese, or, as they said, “something to eat.” One
 Zouave asked us to buy him a pair of socks.

 ‘At this French Ambulance we also had the joy of making the
 acquaintance of three soldier-priests, who daily said Mass at the
 convent, thus giving us the happiness of sometimes hearing five Masses
 a day. I do not quite remember the names of the priests. I think one
 was called M. l’Abbé Tecq, another M. l’Abbé Couq of Dijon, and the
 third was M. l’Abbé Louis Charbonnel of Avignon. This latter was very
 fond of Benedictines, and gave us a special blessing before leaving,
 assuring us that we should immediately feel “at home” among our
 Sisters at Oulton.

 ‘These priests were more than devoted to the soldiers, administering
 the last sacraments, and bringing Holy Communion to them, no matter at
 what time of the day. The little badges of the Sacred Heart also did
 their work; all the soldiers asked to have them, and insisted on our
 pinning them ourselves on their clothes; the priests wore them, and
 distributed hundreds, so that we could scarcely keep pace with their
 fervour, except by working at them every free minute we had. Some
 of the infirmarians even asked to have a few to send away in their
 letters.

 ‘They wrought many conversions--the soldiers all wanted to have them.’

Again there was dreadful news from Ypres. The hospital was entirely
destroyed. The British soldiers had gone with their motor-cars to take
away the four nuns, who still risked their lives by staying to tend the
poor victims, who were daily struck down in or about the town. Four
other nuns had been killed in their cellar. A priest carrying the holy
oils to a dying person had been struck down in the street. The Germans
had even made new bombs, bigger and more destructive than those used
before. What should we do? Would it not be wiser to accept Lady Abbess
of Oulton’s kind invitation, and go straight on to England while there
was yet time? But our Abbey! Why leave it, if we could possibly return?

We found ourselves surrounded at Poperinghe by every attention which
charity could suggest; and although the community of La Sainte Union
had often the greatest difficulty to provide for the increased number
of fugitives, there being two other communities as well as ourselves,
still we received everything that was possible in the circumstances.
However, as the officer in charge of the ambulance demanded one thing
after another for his soldiers, he came at last to claim the room
which had been placed at our disposal. The Superioress was obliged to
yield, and the ‘chef’ soon established the supplies of food in what
had been our refectory. We were now forced to take possession of the
nuns’ refectory, going to our meals before or after theirs. We thus
found ourselves at table not only with the two other communities
above mentioned, but also with the servants of one of our old pupils,
who were also stopping in the convent to help at the ambulance. We
managed as best we could, and still kept up our tradition of entering
in procession, saying the ‘De profundis,’ and then reciting the
Benedictine grace before and after meals. This was not all. There was
a door at one end, which led into the room given up to the soldiers;
consequently, at any moment, one would appear in the refectory to
fetch a loaf of bread, or some meat, &c., and then repass again on his
way out. Once, when a priest came, Mother Prioress gave him a pear,
as also to the soldier who came after him; but soon the Superioress
put up a large screen, which enabled them to enter without disturbing
the community. They had a very hard life. Often we saw their shadows
through the mat glass as they stood at the windows, eating their
dinners in the rain and snow.

And now Our Lord was preparing a cross which we had not counted on,
and which added to the grief that already weighed down our hearts. Our
poor dear Dame Josephine, already fifty-two years professed, now left
us. Feeble and infirm, the shock had been too much for her. The want of
good nourishment had also told on her--she was soon obliged to keep her
bed, having caught cold. The doctor, on seeing her, declared the case
dangerous, and proposed that she should receive the last sacraments.
This took place on Friday, November 13, Feast of all the Saints of the
Benedictine Order. Alas! we little expected that another one would so
soon increase their happy company. Saturday, our dear patient seemed to
rally a little, and none of us believed the infirmarian, when, in the
evening, she told us she was dying. However, Mother Prioress remained
some time alone with Dame Josephine, helping her to renew her vows,
and offer up holy aspirations. She herself did not think she was so
bad; but, always ready to obey, she followed the prayers suggested
by her whom she had known when she had been Sister Maura--a lively,
fervent, eighteen-year-old postulant, and whom she had always cared for
as a mother. Now that her dearly-loved little novice had grown into her
Superioress, she submitted herself with child-like simplicity, asking
her blessing morning and evening, thus edifying greatly the whole
community. She therefore now made, when Dame Maura proposed it, her act
of resignation, should God demand the sacrifice of her life.

Two of us offered to divide the night between us to watch by her
bedside. After 1 A.M. she slept a little, though her breathing was
difficult. At 2.30 she awoke, and seemed rather restless. Before going
down in the morning, Mother Prioress paid Dame Josephine another visit;
but we could no longer distinguish what she said. We replaced each
other during the Masses; but about 7.30 everyone was called out of
church, there being now no more doubt. The Superioress of the house
knelt with Mother Prioress close by the bed, and several nuns of both
communities joined their prayers to ours, during which our dearest
jubilarian breathed forth her innocent soul. It was the Feast of the
Dedication of the Churches. Our Lord had chosen the day Himself, for
had she not passed her whole religious life in the service of the
altar as sacristine? And by a curious coincidence, in which we may
again detect the loving attention of the Divine Master, the burial,
settled at first for Tuesday, was put off till Wednesday, Feast of the
Dedication of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. Sad at any time, the loss
of our dear Dame Josephine now appeared doubly so--in exile, and in
the midst of so many other trials. She had truly ‘chosen the better
part,’ and we felt a sort of relief to know that she had been spared
the horrors which we should, in all probability, live to see. Every
one showed us the kindest sympathy in our loss. Dame Aloysius and Dame
Columban performed the last duties to the dear departed one, and laid
her out in the same little parlour where she had come to welcome us,
just nine days before, on the evening of our arrival. Every one came
to pray by her corpse, all the nuns, the chaplain, even several of our
old pupils, who, having taken refuge in Poperinghe, heard of our sad
loss--and last of all, poor old Edmund who for a moment forgot his own
troubles to grieve over dear Dame Josephine whom, like everyone else,
he had esteemed and respected. Each, as they left the little room,
where such a peaceful silence reigned, declared they had never before
seen such a holy and happy death.

Thanks to the intervention of M. Vander Meersch, already mentioned,
and who was a personal friend of the burgomaster of Poperinghe, Mother
Prioress obtained permission to place the dead body, having previously
secured it in a double coffin, in a private vault in the cemetery;
so that if--which God grant--we are able to rebuild our Monastery at
Ypres, we shall then lay dear Dame Josephine with her other religious
Sisters.

We recited the Office of the Dead round the holy remains, in the
convent chapel, and sang the Requiem Mass at the funeral. This latter
should have really taken place in the parish church, but the Curé,
kindly sympathising with our numerous trials, offered to perform it at
the convent so that we should be thus enabled to keep our enclosure
as much as possible. We sang the Mass (at which all attended) with
great devotion, in spite of the severe colds we had all caught. At the
moment of consecration, when, in deepest recollection, we adored ‘Our
Lord and our God,’ Who thus deigned to come down from Heaven among
His sorrowing children, the well-known hiss of a descending bomb made
itself heard, and in the same moment a formidable explosion took place
quite close to us. The Holy Sacrifice continued without interruption.
It was only afterwards we heard that the Germans had aimed at the
ambulance established, as has been said, in La Sainte Union. Missing us
by a few yards only, the bomb had struck the house next door, doing,
however, but little damage. Four girls of the Congregation of Our
Blessed Lady carried the coffin to the cemetery, while the nuns of the
house accompanied our community. The sad little procession wound its
way along the muddy streets, amidst troops of civilians and soldiers.
Nearly all saluted as it passed. The prayers being sung at the grave,
the coffin was deposited in the vault, and we returned silently,
stopping to recite ‘De profundis’ at the little portion of ground
allotted to the dead nuns of La Sainte Union.




CHAPTER VIII

AN ATTEMPT TO REVISIT YPRES


When we arrived at the convent, we found that a soldier had called to
say that a motor-car would be starting for Ypres at 4.30, but which
would not return until the next day. We felt hardly inclined to accept
the invitation, but dared not miss the opportunity which would perhaps
not present itself a second time. Mother Prioress and Dame Placid
decided to go, and to pass the night in the abbey and come back the
following day in the motor. We were all so anxious at the idea that two
of us, viz. Dame Columban and Dame Patrick, offered to go on foot to be
able to help in case of danger. The narrative will be continued from
the notes of Dame Columban and Dame Patrick:--

 ‘We set off at 2.30 as we should, of course, take longer than the
 motor. Two of the servants of Madame Boone, who were also in the
 convent, accompanied us, to be able to see in what state her house
 was. At their suggestion we decided to follow the railway line,
 instead of going by the high road; and thus we were spared the
 dreadful mud and constant traffic we should otherwise have had. On
 our way we met many poor people who were flying from Ypres; for the
 Germans were still shelling it. They tried their best to dissuade
 us from our purpose, depicting in vivid colours the great danger we
 were incurring--we, however, continued on our way. Several aeroplanes
 passed overhead, one of which received a volley of shots, so we knew
 it must have been an enemy. Sad to say, it escaped untouched. As we
 advanced we heard the sound of the guns louder and louder, till at
 last we found ourselves once again in the noise and confusion we
 had left a week and a half ago. Our hearts beat faster as we began
 to distinguish in the distance the tower of St. Martin’s and of the
 Hall; and we hastened our steps, wondering if the motor-car, which
 was to bring Mother Prioress and Dame Placid, were already there,
 and making plans as to what we should do for the night. The fugitives
 had told us that the Germans were principally shelling the station,
 so we determined to go round the town, and come in by the Porte de
 Menin which would bring us immediately to the Abbey. As we were thus
 settling everything in advance, we came to where the railway lines
 pass over the high road, and were about to continue by the latter,
 when a French policeman suddenly stopped us, asking where we were
 going. We bravely replied, “To Ypres!” What was our dismay when he
 politely informed us he was forbidden to allow anyone to enter the
 town. In vain we expostulated, saying how far we had come, that we
 only desired to see our Monastery once again, that it was quite
 impossible to walk back to Poperinghe that night. It was all useless.
 As we spoke, some poor persons endeavoured also to pass, but were
 sent back. We then asked the officer if he had seen a motor-car with
 two nuns in it. He replied in the negative, but promised to stop them
 should they pass. He tried to mend matters by explaining that he was
 obliged to obey orders, and that it was to prevent deserted houses
 being broken into and robbed that persons were not allowed to enter
 the town. “For,” he said, “people pass by empty-handed in the morning,
 saying they want to see if their houses are still standing; they come
 back in the evening loaded with things; is it their own belongings
 they have, or some one else’s?” This, however, did not console us, and
 we turned our steps disconsolately towards Poperinghe.

 ‘It was nearly six o’clock. The cold wind beat pitilessly in our
 faces, for it was freezing hard. The stars were shining, but there
 was no moon, so the road was dark. Should we _ever_ reach Poperinghe
 again? What if Mother Prioress and Dame Placid were waiting for us at
 the Abbey? They would assuredly think we were killed!... We walked
 slowly on, debating what was to be done. At last we decided to try
 to find a lodging for the night, and get into Ypres the first thing
 in the morning. We stopped at the first group of houses which came
 in sight. What was our joy to see a motor outside. Perhaps we could
 get a ride home. We addressed ourselves to the French soldier who
 was standing by, and asked if by chance he was going to Poperinghe
 that night. “Yes!” was the rather laconic reply. “And would it be
 possible to take us also?” That was another thing. We must wait for
 the officer, who would be back, perhaps, in half an hour, perhaps
 later. Then, as if to excuse his apparent unwillingness, the soldier
 told us they were strictly forbidden, under pain of thirty days’
 imprisonment, to take anyone in the motors, as it had been discovered
 that German spies had been acting as chauffeurs to several French
 officers. Did we look like German spies? Be that as it may, it was not
 inviting to think of waiting in the cold for half an hour or more,
 and then meeting with a probable refusal. We consequently returned to
 our first idea of getting a night’s lodging. We knocked at the first
 door, but found the house full of French soldiers. We went farther on,
 and, through a window, saw some English “Tommies” seated round the
 fire with the members of the family. This looked more inviting. We
 pushed the door open (there being no sign of a bell or knocker), and
 at our enquiry, were told that the house was full, there being four
 officers lodging there, as well as the private soldiers. We asked if
 it would be possible to speak to an officer, and were requested to
 step inside. Our visit being announced, a cheery voice called out,
 “Entrez, mes Sœurs, entrez!” We entered the little room, and found
 ourselves in presence of four officers, who were actually engaged in
 making their tea, and who were more than delighted on learning our
 nationality. They were very interested in our story, and pressed us to
 take tea with them. We thanked them for their kindness, but refused,
 not wishing to deprive them of what they so well deserved. Two of
 them next offered to go in search of some means of conveying us back
 to Poperinghe, as we were not likely to find a lodging anywhere. They
 were also sure that the officer had never left with Mother Prioress,
 for--as one of them remarked--“Ypres is a very unhealthy place for
 the moment.” After some time, the two returned, saying they had
 found a French vehicle, which would conduct us to within a mile of
 Poperinghe. So, thanking our kind hosts, we followed our two guides
 to the place where the carriage (if so we may call it, it being
 rather a closed cart, drawn by mules) was standing. The soldiers
 were busy unloading it. As we were talking, two lights appeared in
 the distance, which rapidly grew bigger and brighter, as a motor-car
 dashed past us. The two officers soon chased it, calling on the driver
 to stop. He accordingly slowed down, and we learned, to our great
 delight, that the officer (an English one this time) would take us
 straight to Poperinghe. We were soon spinning along the road, leaving
 Vlamertinghe, houses, carts, horses, soldiers, far behind us; and in
 a good quarter of an hour, we stopped at the door of La Sainte Union.
 We begged our kind benefactor to accept something for our drive;
 but he refused, saying he was only too pleased to have been able to
 render us this little service. As soon as we were safe inside, we were
 surrounded, all asking what had happened to us, for everyone had been
 more than anxious on our account, owing to the alarming news which
 was brought from Ypres. We related our adventures in a few words, and
 then had to go quickly upstairs to show ourselves to dear Lady Abbess,
 who was greatly troubled over our absence, and enquired constantly if
 we had yet arrived.

 ‘In our turn we now desired to know what had happened to Mother
 Prioress and Dame Placid, so, during recreation, which we shared with
 the other nuns, refugees like ourselves, we heard of their doings.
 After going out in search of the officer who was to take them to
 Ypres, and waiting in the rain and cold, the soldier who had called
 in the morning found them and said the captain had been delayed,
 and would not leave before 4 or 4.30. They had then returned to the
 convent and set out once again, this time taking the key of the
 Abbey, which they had previously forgotten. Arrived in the market
 square, they saw a long row of motors drawn up, with soldiers busy
 taking off the cakes of mud and mire which literally covered them.
 In vain they looked for their driver. At this moment a regiment of
 Chasseurs Français rode up four abreast. They had hardly gone when
 the Dragoons, with their uniform of pale blue and silver, galloped
 past also. This state of things lasted almost an hour. The captain
 not yet making any appearance, they had gone in quest of something to
 take with them to eat, in case no food should be found in Ypres. By a
 strange coincidence, on entering the shop, they were accosted by the
 manageress of one of the hotels of Ypres, who immediately recognised
 them. At last, on coming once more out into the square, the soldier
 met them again, saying that the bombardment was raging so fiercely
 that there was no question of leaving Poperinghe that afternoon. It
 was useless to think of sending after us, so every one had remained in
 the greatest anxiety until our return.’




CHAPTER IX

PREPARING TO START FOR ENGLAND


Reverend Mother, despairing of getting into Ypres, was now determined
to leave Poperinghe and go to England; but again the question presented
itself--How were we to get there? As the English officers had been so
kind to us in our efforts to get to Ypres on the previous evening, she
thought that perhaps they would help us also for the journey. Dame
Teresa offered to accompany her, as, being the niece of Mr. Redmond,
it was felt she might be specially useful. So, accompanied by Dame
Columban and Dame Patrick, Mother Prioress set out to try to find the
officer who had given them seats in his motor the day before. He had
said he belonged to the aeroplane encampment, which we knew to be
just outside the town. Meeting an English soldier, we asked him to be
so kind as to show us the way. On hearing our story, he advised us
to apply rather to another officer, who would be better able to help
us, and directed us to the convent where this officer was staying.
The convent proved to be that of the Penitents of St. Francis, where
we received a warm welcome, and were introduced to two nuns from the
Hospice of Ypres who had taken refuge there. The captain in question
was not in; so the nuns insisted on our seeing their lovely little
church and sacristy, after which they found a soldier who conducted us
to the British Headquarters which were then actually at Poperinghe.
There we were received with the greatest courtesy by Captain Liddell
who promised to do everything in his power to help us, but advised
us, at the same time, to apply to Commandant Delporte, of the Belgian
Constabulary, who would be better able than he to find a train to
convey us to Dunkerque or Boulogne.

We thanked the captain, and left to find the Belgian police station.
Having been directed several different ways, we eventually arrived
at our destination, and were received by an official who promised to
acquaint the Commandant with the reason of our visit as soon as he
should return, he being absent at the moment. We were about to leave,
when the door opened and M. le Commandant Delporte entered, and after
courteously saluting us, he begged us to take seats, and showed the
greatest interest in all that Mother Prioress related. He then said
that a train of refugees had left only the day before, and he could not
tell us when another would start. He referred us again to the general
staff, saying that, as we were British subjects, they ought certainly
to take us either in their ambulance cars or in a train for the wounded
on account of Our Lady Abbess who was paralysed, adding that he would
speak in our favour. We therefore turned our steps once more to where
we had come from, and having made known the result of our visit, we
were told to return the next day at 1.30 P.M., before which time
Captain Liddell would consult the Chief Medical Officer, and see what
could be done for us. We then took the road back to the convent, where
we were glad to find a warm shelter.

The next day was Friday. Captain Liddell had promised to call on
us, should anything be decided before 1.30. The town was, however,
suddenly thrown into a state of excitement by the passing of a German
Taube which dropped a bomb on St. Bertin’s Church. Fortunately it only
slightly injured the porch, though it wounded several persons standing
by. Amongst the injured was the chaplain of La Sainte Union, whose hand
was hurt. We were next informed that the British Headquarters had left
the town. What then would become of the arrangements for our journey
to England? Immediately Dame Columban and Dame Patrick offered to go
and see if any message had been left for us, poor Mother Prioress being
unwell, and therefore not able to go herself. The narrative is again
continued from the notes of Dame Columban and Dame Patrick:--

 ‘Having received Mother Prioress’ blessing, we started off, wondering
 what we should find, perhaps an empty house? On our way we passed St.
 Bertin’s Church, where a group of persons were gathered, watching
 French soldiers clearing the road of the remains of bricks, stones,
 glass, which were strewn about. Every window in the whole street
 was broken. Hastening our steps we were soon in presence of Captain
 Liddell, to whom we apologised for our early call, relating what we
 had heard. He said that the staff had no intention of leaving as
 yet, that as to our journey it would take several days to arrange,
 for different persons would have to be consulted. The situation did
 not seem very satisfactory, so, on taking our leave, we determined
 to have recourse once more to the Belgian authorities. Just as we
 arrived in sight of the building, to our great disappointment, we
 saw the Commandant leaving in company with two British officers. We
 immediately drew back, but, recognising us, he came forward, all
 three officers giving a military salute. We begged him not to stop
 for us, saying that we would call again, but he insisted on bringing
 us into the house, telling the officers he would rejoin them shortly.
 We stated, as briefly as possible, the unsatisfactory result of our
 visit to the English Headquarters, and asked what was the best thing
 to do. He told us that there was a train leaving the next day at 2.30
 P.M., but that in all probability we should not enjoy the company.
 We, of course, declared that this did not matter. However, he told us
 to decide nothing as yet, saying he himself would go to arrange with
 the British officers, and would call on Mother Prioress next morning.
 We thanked him profusely, and once more turned our steps towards
 La Sainte Union to acquaint Reverend Mother with the result of our
 negotiations.’




CHAPTER X

A SECOND ATTEMPT TO REVISIT YPRES


Were we, then, to leave Belgium without seeing our beloved monastery
again? The thought was too dreadful. This time Dame Placid begged to
be allowed to venture back, and asked Dame Columban and Dame Patrick
if they would go with her. They at once agreed; and having begged a
blessing from Mother Prioress, started off, accompanied by the two
servants of Madame Boone, poor Mother Prioress being still unwell and
quite unable to accompany them, to her great disappointment. Dame
Columban and Dame Patrick will again tell the story.

       *       *       *       *       *

‘We were now _determined_ to succeed--it was our last chance.

‘We had not gone far, when the whirr of an aeroplane was heard
overhead. It flew too low to be an enemy, so we wished it good-speed,
and passed on. Shortly after, some fugitives met us, who, seeing the
direction we were taking, stared aghast, and told us that the Germans
were bombarding Ypres worse than ever. Should we turn back? Oh no!
it was our _last_ chance. We continued bravely. Soon, others stopped
us with the same story, but, turning a deaf ear to the horrors they
related, we pushed on. Over an hour had passed, when, after a brisk
walk, Vlamertinghe came in sight. More than half our journey was
accomplished. Just as we approached the railway station (we had again
taken the railway track) we heard the whirr of an aeroplane, then
a volley of shots flew up towards the aeroplane. We knew what that
meant. We could see the shots of the Allies bursting in the air, some
near the Taube, some far away; alas! none hit it. What should we do?
We determined to risk it; and passing under Taube, bombs, shots, and
all, we hastened through the railway station--soldiers, men, women and
children staring at “these strange Benedictine nuns!”

[Illustration:

  D. Teresa.      D. Placid.      D. Columban.      D. Patrick.

  Mother Prioress.

THE MOTHER PRIORESS, DAME TERESA, AND THE THREE NUNS WHO REVISITED
YPRES. ]

‘Hurrying on, we met two priests coming from Ypres. We stopped to ask
advice. They told us that our undertaking was decidedly dangerous.
There was hardly a person left in the town; they had gone in in the
morning to see if they could be of any use, and were now leaving, not
daring to stop the night. They told us that there was still one priest
who remained in the establishment of the mad people, just outside
Ypres, and that we could always call on him, if we could not manage to
reach our convent; but they added that he also was leaving the next
day with all his poor protégés. We made up our minds to risk all; so,
asking the priests’ blessing, we went our way. Other people tried in
vain to make us turn back, especially two men who assured us we should
never be able to accomplish our project. We thanked them for the
interest they showed in our behalf, and asked them if they would be so
kind as to call at the convent at Poperinghe and tell Mother Prioress
not to be anxious if we did not return that night, and not to expect us
till the next day. We were now approaching the cross-roads which had
proved so fatal on Wednesday. A Belgian officer on a bicycle stopped
to ask where we were going. We told him. He said it was simple madness
to think of doing such a thing. He had been with his soldiers trying
to mend the roads a little farther on, and had been obliged to leave
off on account of the shells which were flying in all directions. We
thanked him, but said we would risk it all the same. Arriving on the
high road, we soon found ourselves in presence of a French policeman
who asked where we were going. “To Ypres!” was the determined reply.
“No one can pass. You must go back.” What were we to do? We determined
to go on. Were there no means of getting in by another way? While we
stood as though rooted to the ground, we caught sight of a French
Chasseur on the other side of the road, who seemed to have some
authority, and who was trying to console a woman and two weeping
children. We immediately applied to him, and told him our distress.
He answered kindly, but told us, all the same, that he was afraid we
should not be able to enter Ypres. We begged to be allowed to continue,
if only to _try_. He smiled and said: “If you _really_ wish it, then
pass on.” And on his writing down a passport, we went on triumphantly.
It seemed as though God were helping us.

‘We had been so taken up with all that had passed that we had thought
of nothing else, but now that we were in sight of the goal we realised
that it was freezing hard. The stars were shining brightly, from
time to time a light flashed in the distance, then a sinister whirr,
followed by an explosion, which told us that the Germans were not going
to let us pass as easily as did the French Chasseur. Wondering as to
how we should succeed, we came across an English sentinel, and so asked
his advice. He told us that he thought there was no chance whatever of
our getting into the town. He said that he himself had been obliged to
abandon his post on account of the shells, that the troops in the town
had been ordered to leave, and that those coming in had been stopped.
(We now remembered having seen a regiment of French soldiers setting
out from Poperinghe at the same time as we had done, and then they were
suddenly stopped, while we went on and saw them no more.) Despite what
the sentinel told us, we remained unpersuaded. Seeing several soldiers
going in and out of a house just opposite, we thought it would be as
well to ask a temporary shelter till the bombardment should lessen. We
ventured to ask admission, when what was our surprise to receive the
warmest of welcomes and the kindest offers of hospitality. We could
not have found a better spot. The family was thoroughly Christian;
and, in this time of distress, the door of the house stood open day
and night for all who were in need. How much more for nuns, and more
especially enclosed nuns like ourselves! They had seen us passing on
our way to Poperinghe, just a fortnight before, and had accompanied
our wanderings with a prayer. A few days ago they had also given
refreshment to the Poor Clares who had taken refuge at Vlamertinghe;
and now their only desire was that God would spare their little house,
that they might continue their deeds of mercy and true charity. To
give us pleasure, they introduced an Irish gentleman who was stopping
with them, since the Germans had chased him out of Courtrai. A lively
conversation soon began, while the good woman of the house prepared us
a cup of hot coffee and some bread and butter. After this, the Irish
gentleman, whose name was Mr. Walker, went out to investigate, to see
if it would not be possible for us to continue our walk. After about
half an hour’s absence, during which we were entertained by our host
(M. Vanderghote, 10 Chaussée de Poperinghe, Ypres), who made his five
children and two nieces come in to say good-night to us before going to
bed, Mr. Walker returned, saying it was a sheer impossibility to enter
the town that evening, as the shells were falling at the rate of two
every three minutes. He had called on M. l’Abbé Neuville, the priest
above mentioned, Director of the Asylum, who said he would give us
beds for the night, and then we could assist at his Mass at 6.30 next
morning. The latter part of the proposition we gladly accepted; but as
to the first, we were afraid of abusing his goodness, and preferred,
if our first benefactor would consent, to remain where we were until
morning. Our host was only too pleased, being sorry that he could not
provide us with beds. He then forced us to accept a good plate of warm
butter-milk; after which, provided with blankets and shawls, we made
ourselves as comfortable as we could for the night. Needless to say,
we did not sleep very well and were entertained, till early morning,
with explosions of bombs and shells, and the replying fire of the
Allies’ guns. Once a vigorous rattling of the door-handle aroused us,
but we were soon reassured by hearing M. Vanderghote inviting the poor
half-frozen soldier, who had thus disturbed us, to go to the kitchen
to take something warm. Before 6, we began to move, and performed our
ablutions as best we could. The eldest son of the family now came to
fetch us, to show us the way to the church of the asylum, where we
had the happiness of hearing Holy Mass and receiving Holy Communion.
When Mass was over we wound our way once more through the dimly-lit
cloisters of the asylum, while we could not help smiling at the
apparent appropriateness of the place we had chosen with the foolhardy
act we were undertaking--of risking our lives in thus entering a town
which even our brave troops had been obliged to evacuate.

‘Once outside the asylum, we found Mr. Walker waiting for us, with the
eldest daughter and three sons of M. Vanderghote, who were pushing a
hand-cart. We set off at a brisk pace along the frozen road. Passing
by a few French soldiers, who looked amazed at our apparition, we
soon entered the doomed town. There, a truly heart-breaking sight
awaited us. Broken-down houses, whose tottering walls showed remains
of what had once been spacious rooms--buildings, half-demolished,
half-erect,--met our wondering gaze everywhere. Windows, shattered
in a thousand pieces, covered the ground where we walked; while, in
the empty casements, imagination pictured the faces of hundreds of
starving, homeless poor, whose emaciated features seemed to cry to
heaven for vengeance on the heartless invaders of their peaceful native
land.

‘But we durst not stop; the thought ever uppermost in our hearts was
our own beloved Abbey. How should we find it? We pushed on as quickly
as we could, but the loose stones, bricks, beams and glass made
walking a difficult matter, and twice, having passed half-way down a
street, we were obliged to retrace our steps, owing to the road being
entirely blocked by overthrown buildings. Here and there, we saw some
poor creature looking half-frightened, half-amazed at seeing us, while
suddenly turning a corner we came to a pool of frozen water, where
three street boys were amusing themselves sliding on the ice. Their
mirth seemed almost blameful among so many trophies of human misery! We
now came in sight of St. Peter’s Church, which at first glance appeared
untouched; but coming round, past the calvary, we saw that the porch
had been struck.

‘One moment more, and we were in La Rue St. Jacques--nay, in front
of our dear old home. The pavements were covered with débris of all
kinds, but the other buildings had largely contributed to the pile.
We hardly dared to raise our eyes; yet the Monastery was there as
before, seemingly untouched, save for the garrets over the nuns’ cells,
where the shell had burst before we had left. We were now greeted by
a familiar voice, and looking round found the poor girl, Hélène, who
was anxiously enquiring if we were returning to the convent. But there
was no time to waste. The Germans, who had stopped bombarding Ypres
at about 3 A.M., might recommence at any moment, and then we should
have to fly; so we went to the door of the Director’s house to try
to get into the Abbey. What was our astonishment to find Oscar, our
old servant-man, there. Probably he was still more astonished than
we, for he had never dared to come to the convent since he had left,
and would surely feel, at the least, uncomfortable at our unexpected
arrival. However, it was certainly not the moment to think of all these
things, so we went in. The whole building seemed but one ruin. In the
drawing-room, where the priest’s breakfast things--laid a fortnight
before--were still on the table, the ceiling was literally on the
floor; the staircase was quite blocked with cement, mortar, wall-paper,
and bricks; the sacristy, where we were assembled when the first shell
fell, was untouched. The church, except for some five or six holes
in the roof, was as we left it; but the altar, stripped of all that
had once made it so dear to us, spoke volumes to our aching hearts.
Mounting the seven steps which led into the choir, we found ourselves
once more in that beloved spot. The windows on the street side were
in atoms; otherwise, all was intact. Our dearest Lord had watched
over His House, His Royal State Chamber, where He was always ready to
hold audience with His Beloved Spouses. We tore ourselves away, and
flew to secure our breviaries, great-habits, and other things which
the other nuns had recommended to us. Everywhere we went, dust and
dirt covered the rooms, while a great many windows were broken. The
statues of Our Blessed Lady and St. Joseph were unharmed, as also those
of Our Holy Father St. Benedict and our Holy Mother St. Scholastica.
Little Jesus of Prague had His crown at His feet, instead of on His
head; one crucifix was broken in two! The cells were almost quite
destroyed, big holes in the ceilings, the windows broken, the plaster
down, frozen pools of water on the floor. We hastened to the garrets,
where things were still worse. The roof in this part was completely
carried away, leaving full entrance to hail, snow, and rain; strong
rafters and beams, which seemed made to last unshaken till the end of
the world, were rent asunder or thrown on the floor; the huge iron
weights of the big clock had rolled to the other end of the garrets;
the scene of destruction seemed complete. We turned away; the other
part looked secure, the apples and pears lying rotting away on the
floors, where we had put them to ripen. In the noviceship, the ceiling
was greatly damaged; whilst down in the cloisters, by the grotto of our
Lady of Lourdes, a bomb had perforated the roof, the grotto remaining
untouched. These seemed to be the principal effects of the invaders’
cruelty, as far as our Abbey was concerned.

‘We now came across our old carpenter, who had also come into the house
with Oscar, and who had already put up planks on the broken windows in
the choir, promising to do all he could to preserve the building. He
also told us that one of the biggest German bombs had fallen in the
garden, but had not exploded, so the French police had been able to
take it away--another mark of God’s loving care over us; for, had the
bomb burst, it would have utterly destroyed our Monastery. We were now
obliged to leave. When should we see the dear old spot again? and in
what state would it be if we ever did return?’




CHAPTER XI

THE RETURN JOURNEY TO POPERINGHE


‘The hand-cart being overloaded, we had to carry some of the things
ourselves; and we must have looked a strange sight, carrying books and
clothes, stuffed in white pillow-cases--even Mr. Walker had one, which
he hoisted on his shoulder. We did not trouble about this, but silently
made our way back, through the deserted streets. We left the town by
a different way from that by which we had entered it, as a sinister
boom from the station warned us of the presence of the enemy. Our
road took us this time through the Grand’ Place. The whole back part
of the hospital was destroyed; and although the walls of the façade
were still standing, one could see, through the empty windows, that
the interior was almost entirely demolished. The Cloth Hall, also, had
not been spared, one corner being severely damaged, and the greater
number of the statues maimed and mutilated. If it could have remained
so, there might have been some consolation; but now everyone knows the
ruthless barbarity which has prompted the Huns of the twentieth century
to utterly destroy this wonderful monument of medieval architecture,
of which Ypres had been so justly proud during hundreds of years. It
appears that the belfry, the chimes of which were only surpassed by
those of Bruges and Antwerp, was struck just twenty-four hours after we
had passed it on our exit from the town. St. Martin’s, too, had also
been struck. We would, nevertheless, have entered, but Mr. Walker was
afraid to let us prolong our stay, as the shells were already flying
over us. Our thoughts naturally turned to the much revered and esteemed
M. le Doyen, who, victim of his heroic courage, had remained at his
post to the last, tending the wounded, and even helping to extinguish
the fires which the incendiary bombs caused in so many places; till at
last, seeing the interior of his beloved church already in flames, he
had fallen, struck down by a cerebral congestion, and had been carried
to the Dean of Poperinghe in the ambulance car. (Since, we have heard
that he is better, D. G., one of our old pupils having seen him in the
church at Poperinghe.)

‘On emerging from the town, a little incident occurred.

‘We came up with a British cavalry regiment. They were coming from the
trenches. They looked at us and shouted: “Who are you, Sisters, and
where do you come from?” Dame Columban answered: “We are English nuns
from the Benedictine Convent of the Rue St. Jacques.” This was too much
for Dame Patrick, who called out: “We are no such thing. We are _Irish_
Benedictines!” “Irish!” shouted half a dozen of them, “and so are we,”
and they all began singing, “It’s a long way to Tipperary,” and, thus
escorted, we took a long, last look at the dear old town. Needless to
say, it was an Irish regiment--every man wore the harp and shamrock on
his collar and cap.

‘We soon arrived at the house where we had taken refuge during the
night, and were not sorry to have a good cup of coffee and some bread
and butter and jam. Mr. Walker had told us of some of his experiences,
among which was the burning of Madame la Baronne Coppens’ house, this
lady being the mother of one of our former pupils. M. Vanderghote’s
eldest son had been left in charge of their house, sleeping in the
cellar at night. On one occasion when the bombardment was raging
fiercely, Mr. Walker had offered to accompany him. They kept watch in
turns. As Mr. Walker was sleeping, the son woke him suddenly crying
out, “Quick! get up! the house is on fire!” Half-dazed, he had seized
hold of his candlestick and followed the son to the door. All was in
flames. They turned back, half-stifled with the smoke, but could find
no exit. At last they managed to break the glass of the window, and
jumping out, just escaped from the place as, with a loud crash, the
roof fell in. Mr. Walker had his candlestick still in his hand, which
he showed us among pieces of shrapnel and shells, all souvenirs of the
war. They had also saved the dog, which was slightly burnt.

‘We now hurried the preparations for our departure, as time was
passing quickly, and we had still a long walk before us. Our kind
host accompanied us as far as the cross-roads where the French
police mounted guard, for he was not allowed farther. By a strange
coincidence we met once more the Belgian officer who had seen us the
evening before. He was more than astonished at what we had done, and
was very pleased that all had succeeded so well. We thanked Monsieur
Vanderghote warmly for all that he had done for us, promising that,
if it were possible, we should assuredly call on him on our return to
Ypres. We then set off, two of us pushing the cart. We had taken but
a few steps, when a French official stopped us once more, saying that
no carts were allowed on the high-road, except those belonging to the
army. We had therefore to take a country lane, which had the double
inconvenience of being twice as long as the straight road and, indeed,
of being also almost impassable. However, there was nothing to be done
but to go forward as best we could; so off we went. Oh dear! One wanted
Goliath’s strength to push the cart over the stones and ruts. After a
few yards we came to a dead stop. The cart was stuck. We pushed and
pushed with might and main--vain efforts. We could not move it. We
were finally obliged to pull backwards, and thus managed to extricate
it. Taught by experience, we took more care next time, looking where we
were going to; so things went pretty well for about a hundred paces,
when, glancing behind us, what was our dismay to see a number of French
soldiers coming by the same road, some on horseback, others on foot,
others driving carts. There was only the narrow lane in front of us,
with no means of turning visible to the right or left. What _was_ to
be done? We hurried on as best we could, but what was the use?--in ten
minutes they would surely overtake us. At last, turning round a corner,
what was our relief to see an open gateway leading into a farmyard. We
boldly pushed our precious load in, thus leaving room for the soldiers
to pass. We then tried if it were possible to find some one to help us;
because, judging from the difficulties we had met with so far, it was
really questionable if we should arrive at Poperinghe before evening.
After grumbling a bit, two men offered to come with us as far as
Vlamertinghe. This was better than nothing; and, as we followed them,
we fervently prayed that we should meet with some one else later on.

‘On we trudged, wondering what had happened in the convent since our
departure. What if the Belgian Commandant had found a train, and
everyone had been obliged to leave without us! No, surely that was not
possible. We passed soldiers, men, women, children, wading through
pools of mud and water, and lamenting our long detour, which had made
us waste so much precious time. Vlamertinghe at last--still five long
miles to Poperinghe--should we _ever_ get there? On arriving at the
village, our two good fellows set about finding some one else to push
our cart, and finally succeeded. Having paid them, we set off once more
on our journey, when behold! a barrier was placed across the road, and
we had to come to a standstill. They told us a train was coming. We
looked and looked, but saw no sign of it in either direction. Meanwhile
a crowd of people assembled, who, accustomed to such proceedings,
pushed past, right up to the railing, to be the first to pass, and we
were left at the back. We waited and waited, still no train. What a
waste of time! Then came the sound of horses’ hoofs, and up trotted a
whole regiment of soldiers, who, of course, rode to the front, pushing
the crowd back, and us along with them. Still no train! We now happened
to look across to the other side of the barrier, and discovered another
regiment, waiting on the opposite side, with again a crowd of people
behind them. Should we ever get through? Still no train! Decidedly, the
good man’s watch must have been considerably in advance, or else he
possessed the virtue of prudence in its highest perfection. At length
a feeble whistle told us that the long-expected locomotive was coming.
But it must have been a train of wounded soldiers; for first it moved
forward at a snail’s pace, and secondly it seemed, to our worn-out
patience, to be at least one mile in length. However, it passed at
last; and, the barriers being withdrawn, the two regiments crossed
four abreast, then the crowds pushed through, and last but not least
came the representatives of the Irish Benedictine Abbey, with their
stylish-looking hand-cart. Once more, on we pushed; but the five miles
must have been German ones, which, like their dreadful soldiers, never
come to an end.

‘Our guide kept bravely on, from time to time stopping to wipe the
perspiration off his face; for, although it was freezing, the poor
fellow had no light work to try to advance through the mud and dirt.
At last, passing by some houses, he left the cart in the middle of
the road, and vanished. The reason soon became evident, for a moment
afterwards he came out with a glass of foaming beer, wherewith to
refresh himself. Once again, on we went. Would the road ever come
to an end? Would we ever arrive at our destination? We scanned the
horizon to find some vestige of our approaching goal, but could
discover nothing but an endless succession of trees, hop-gardens,
fields. Finally, however, some houses came in sight, so plucking up
our courage, we pushed forward, and soon reached the convent door.
At last we should get a rest. Alas, how we were deceiving ourselves!
Once inside, we were soon surrounded by our Sisters, one more anxious
than the other to know what had happened, and to tell us what had been
decided during our absence. Parcels of every shape and dimension next
met our eyes. Arrived at the room which we generally occupied, what
was our astonishment to find dear Lady Abbess downstairs, surrounded
by the nuns of both communities. On catching sight of us, she was more
than delighted. We knelt for her blessing, and to tell her some of our
adventures, and then learnt the reason of all this excitement.’

       *       *       *       *       *

Mother Prioress will now tell what happened during the absence of Dame
Columban, Dame Patrick, and Dame Placid.

       *       *       *       *       *

‘As soon as the three nuns had set out for Ypres, we went to the chapel
to recommend them to the protection of God, and by a fervent “Sub tuum”
we commended them to the care of the Blessed Virgin. They had promised
me to be back if possible that night, or at least the next morning,
if they could remain in the convent cellars without too much danger.
At 3 P.M. I was called to see Captain Liddell, who told me that the
British Headquarters would place two ambulance cars at our disposal to
conduct Lady Abbess and the community to St. Omer. The cars would be
ready between ten and eleven next morning. He also said that, once at
St. Omer, I had only to address myself to the mayor, or to the general
staff. I thanked him profusely, and told him of my anxiety for the
three nuns who had gone to Ypres. “It was a very imprudent thing to
attempt,” he answered. “I trust they will not be allowed to enter the
town, for it is being fiercely shelled.” I was very alarmed, as were
the rest of the community, to whom I related what the captain had said.
In the evening, we were assembled with the nuns from Oostmieunkerke
in the big parlour, which the Superioress had kindly allotted for our
use. The gas being cut off, we had only one pétrole lamp between us. We
spent our time working and praying.

‘From time to time, on hearing a ring at the bell, we would ask if
the nuns had yet come back; one of the younger nuns would go and
enquire, but always returned disappointed. We looked at each other
anxiously. What would become of them this night? We could only
recommend them to God. Suddenly I had an inspiration. “Let us put
them under the protection of St. Raphael,” I said, “and promise him
a Mass to-morrow--there are several priests at the ambulance, one of
them will surely be free to say it.” Everyone was pleased with the
idea, and Dame Teresa went to make enquiries. She soon came back in
triumph, saying that the priest from Avignon was outside. We told him
our distress, and respectfully begged him to be so kind as to say the
Mass in honour of St. Raphael for the safe return of our three absent
ones. He willingly agreed. At the same moment the appearance of the
portress brought the cry to our lips: “They are there!” “No! it is
the Commandant Delporte, of the Belgian police, who wishes to speak
to Mother Prioress.” I went to the parlour, fear and hope alternately
taking possession of my heart. He came to ask if Captain Liddell had
called, and if the decision of the Headquarters suited us. I told him
of the arrangement and added, “Once at St. Omer, what shall I do with
our honoured Lady Abbess? May she remain in the motor, which they
say must return to Poperinghe that evening, while I go to the mayor
and general staff?” He reflected a moment, and then, taking one of
his cards, he wrote a few words recommending us to Major Kirke. “Take
this,” he said, rising, “and give it to the major, who is a great
friend of mine, and rest assured that all will be well.” I could not
thank him enough, and conducted him to the door. There I found myself
in presence of two men, who asked to see me. They brought me a message
from our nuns, telling me not to be anxious; they would not return
that night, but the next day, as soon as possible. I felt a little
relieved, but again the question presented itself, at what hour would
they arrive? Would they be in time? The next morning we arranged our
modest parcels, which--thanks to the dexterity of Dame Aloysius--were
soon ready, thinking all the time of our missing Sisters. For my part,
I went to prepare Lady Abbess for our departure, for the hour was fast
approaching. We must come to a decision--the three must remain at La
Sainte Union until the opportunity of joining us in England should
present itself. We had now to get Lady Abbess down the stairs which
were narrow and steep, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we
succeeded. We made her as comfortable as we could in an arm-chair in
the big parlour, where the nuns of the three communities gathered round
her, for everyone was filled with an affectionate respect for her,
mingled with compassion for her age and infirmity. We tried to hide
our perplexity and anxiety from her. It was now time to start, and the
three were not yet back. At this moment the portress entered the room
smiling--what was it? Captain Liddell had just called to say the motors
would not be round till 1.30. “Deo gratias!” To complete our happiness,
the absent ones soon arrived, covered with dust and mud, but producing
in triumph the great-habits and breviaries they had been able to save.’




CHAPTER XII

ON THE WAY TO ENGLAND


There was now no time to waste. The few treasures we had brought with
us were promptly added to the other packages; while it was decided that
each nun should wear her great-habit, as much to lessen the number of
parcels, as to preserve us from the cold, especially when crossing the
sea. We bade adieu to the Superioress and community of La Sainte Union,
who had given us such a warm welcome, and shown us such hospitality
during the past fortnight. They asked us in return to beseech Our Lord
not to allow the Germans to bombard Poperinghe, that they might be
able to stop in their convent, which they had only built during the
past eleven years, since the French Government had driven them from
Hazebrouck.

A ring at the door interrupted our adieux. The voice of a British
officer was heard, asking if this were the convent where the Irish
Dames of Ypres had taken refuge. The answer was soon given; and while
some went to help Lady Abbess, others seized the ‘baggage,’ and all
were soon at the door, where a group of wondering children and other
people were assembled to see what would be the end of such an unusual
sight. The great difficulty was to get our venerable invalid into the
car; for although able to walk fairly well when helped on both sides,
it was almost impossible for her to mount the two small steps. However,
the soldiers soon came to the rescue; and, with the help of their
strong arms, she was soon established comfortably in a corner of one of
the motors, enveloped in a blanket and numerous shawls to keep out the
cold. The rest of the community were not long in getting in the motors,
and Edmund brought up the rear with a young Irish girl, Miss Keegan,
who had been trying to get home since the war broke out, and had now
begged to be allowed to make the journey with us.

Owing to the heavy fall of rain and the unusual traffic, the roads
were in a very bad condition and consequently our ride was not of
the smoothest; but no accident occurred. Being frosty weather, the
wind was bitterly cold, and we were obliged to keep everything closed
that Lady Abbess might not be inconvenienced. She, however, kept up
bravely. We did not forget to say the ‘Sub tuum,’ nor to invoke our
good St. Raphael with a fervent ‘Angeli, archangeli,’ to which we added
the prayer for travellers. About half-way our kind guides came round
to the entrance of the cars to know if we wanted anything. We passed
through several villages and small towns surrounded by snow-covered
fields and frozen ponds. Nothing of note happened to vary the monotony
of the continual shaking of our motors. A little after 5 P.M. we came
to a standstill, and looking out, found ourselves in what seemed to
be a good-sized town. We were not left long in suspense, for soon
the cheery face of the officer in charge appeared, enquiring where
we wished to be driven, for we were at St. Omer. Mother Prioress
then produced the letter of recommendation given her by Commandant
Delporte for Major Kirke. The officer took the card, and soon we moved
off in another direction. After a few minutes’ run, we came again
to a halt, stopping some time. The officer then reappeared, saying
that the major was absent, and asking where we would like to go now.
Alas! we did not know, and wondered if it would not be advisable to
go straight on to Boulogne that same evening, to take the boat the
first thing next morning. The officer, seeing our perplexity, vanished
once more. Soon we were bowling through busy streets, lined with shops
well lit. Another stop, a few minutes’ wait, and off we were again.
A third halt--then another officer appeared, saluted, and asked in
excellent French if he could render us any service, or replace Major
Kirke, who was absent from St. Omer. On hearing our situation, he told
us that if we would just step out we should find accommodation in
the establishment before which the cars had stopped. As he was still
speaking, the persons who kept the house came out, helping us down,
taking the parcels from us, and seeming more than delighted at our
arrival. We were not sorry to leave the cars, for we were quite cramped
with the long, cold drive. The next question was how to get Lady Abbess
out of her corner, and into the house. At last the officer in charge
had the bright idea of carrying her on a stretcher. Accordingly, one
was brought down and laid on the seat opposite. We then helped her to
sit on the stretcher, and induced her to lie down. She was at first
afraid, not being accustomed to this novel mode of conveyance; but,
being reassured, she allowed the soldiers to carry her into the house,
and she was soon seated in a comfortable arm-chair by a blazing fire.
After expressing our gratitude to the good soldiers, we rejoined Lady
Abbess and soon made acquaintance with our kind hostesses. What was our
delight to find that they were secularised Ursuline nuns, and that the
house had formerly been a convent of La Sainte Union. It is therefore
unnecessary to state that we were received with the greatest charity, a
bed being even carried down to the room where we were for Lady Abbess,
so that she should not be obliged to go upstairs. Poor Edmund had once
more to be sent off, being conducted to almost the other end of the
town, much to his distress.

After a good supper, we retired to rest in what had once been the
children’s dormitory, and fatigued by such an eventful day we slept
well. Next morning we were awakened by the deep tones of church bells.
They were ringing the 6 o’clock Mass in the cathedral, which was quite
close to the convent. We arose, and arrived in time for a late Mass.
We were shown to seats almost at the top of the church. After a few
moments we heard the sound of soldiers marching, and soon we had to
give place to them, for we had come to a Military Mass, celebrated by
an Army Chaplain. Two by two the soldiers advanced, being marshalled to
right and left by an officer. It was an Irish regiment, and there were
altogether about seventy soldiers who attended devoutly to Holy Mass,
and more than one, when the moment of Holy Communion came, mingled with
those who approached the altar. After Mass, we were conducted back to
the convent, promising ourselves a visit during the day to see the
many objects of devotion and interest in the venerable cathedral. We
were not disappointed. Amongst other antiquities is a ‘Descent from the
Cross’ by Rubens, and oil-paintings in memory of a visit which holy
King Louis IX and Charles X paid to the cathedral, in thanksgiving for
the success of their arms. The sacred vessels, also, were for the most
part of great antiquity, especially a very ancient pyx ornamented with
filagree work. Besides the high altar, in the middle of the sanctuary,
having the stalls for the bishop and canons behind, there were numerous
side-altars, among which the most remarkable was that dedicated to Our
Blessed Lady of Miracles. This miraculous statue was held in great
veneration by the inhabitants of the town; and in the great peril they
had gone through some weeks past, when the Germans were advancing on
St. Omer, and when the British had saved it by arriving only just in
time--for had they come but half an hour later, the enemy would have
been before them--in the moment of peril, the people had promised Our
Blessed Lady, to give a new bell to the cathedral if she kept the
dreaded invaders from entering the city. ‘Ex-votos’ without end hung
all round the altar, besides numberless engravings in thanksgiving for
miracles and cures obtained through Our Lady’s intercession.

After our interesting visit, we stopped for vespers, which, since the
beginning of the War, were sung by the entire congregation; during
which time we profited to say our own vespers and compline. We then
went to visit M. le Curé de Furnes who, we knew, was stopping at St.
Omer, Mother Prioress desiring to have news of her cousin the Dean of
Furnes who, we heard, was at Boulogne. We also had the pleasure of
saluting M. le Vicaire.

On our way, we met some soldiers from Morocco--easily distinguished
as Arabs, by their bright blue tunics and long scarlet cloaks, with
their big turbans, their blankets thrown round them, and their lovely
horses. When we returned to the house, we learned that Lieutenant
Stuart-Hayes, who had been so kind to us on the previous evening, had
called to see Reverend Mother. He had, likewise, left a message to
say that he would try to assist at Benediction in the evening; and
afterwards he would come round again. He would be also very grateful
if, before his visit, Mother Prioress would make out all that was
necessary for our passports. All being finished, we set out for the
cathedral once again; for although there were still twenty minutes
before Benediction, yet at St. Omer, as nearly everywhere else, the
churches, since the beginning of hostilities, were crowded, and those
who before never put their foot inside a church were now amongst the
most fervent; so, to secure our places, we had to be there in time.
The rosary was first said aloud, the priest ascending the pulpit, so
as to be better heard by everyone. After the ‘O Salutaris,’ repeated
alternately by the choir and congregation, the ‘Miserere’ was sung,
the people repeating the first lines between each verse of the Psalm.
There was something particularly touching in that cry for mercy which
arose from every heart at the thought of the dear ones who, perhaps
even at that very moment, were being shot down on the battle-field.
But what made the most impression was the hymn sung after Benediction,
and which still rings in our ears--that ardent supplication to ‘La
bonne Mère!’ ‘Vierge d’espérance, Étends sur nous ton voile; Sauve,
sauve la France! Ne l’abandonne pas!’ It was truly a prayer in the real
sense of the word, beseeching the Mother of Mercy not to forsake the
land she had so many times miraculously saved, and where, but a short
while before, had been seen such a wonderful outburst of faith at the
Eucharistic Congress of Lourdes--the spot chosen by Our Blessed Lady
herself, and where the devotion to the Son had ever been united to that
of the Mother. The sound of the grand old organ greatly enhanced the
beauty of the singing; and our hearts also mounted to the throne of
mercy in behalf of our well-beloved Abbey which we were now leaving so
far behind.

Soon afterwards, returning to our lodgings, Mother Prioress received
the promised visit of the lieutenant, accompanied by a military
priest. He brought all the necessary papers with him, together with
a recommendation for the Governor of Boulogne, and took away our
passports to have them signed. Reverend Mother told him she would like
so much to have a Mass celebrated the next day in honour of St. Raphael
for our safe voyage. He promised to see if it would be possible; and
true enough, he returned a short time after with the good news that
not only should we have a Mass said at which we could assist, but that
he had obtained permission for the priest to accompany us as far as
Boulogne. We were now in jubilation and proceeded once more to arrange
our packages. The night soon passed, and next morning we proceeded to
the cathedral wondering where we should find ‘our priest,’ whom we did
not know, and had never seen! At the High Altar preparations were being
made for a funeral; so we passed to the chapel of Our Lady of Miracles
where a Mass was already half finished, hoping that ‘our priest’ would
perhaps say the next one. Towards the end, he came himself to look for
us, and told us he would not be able to come to Our Lady’s Altar as all
the Masses there were reserved, but that he would commence immediately
at St. Antony’s. So we crossed over to the other side of the cathedral
where Father Flynn (as we afterwards found out he was called) said
Mass, at which we all received Holy Communion. After breakfast we made
the last preparations; and, about ten, three ambulance cars drove up
to the house. The exiled nuns helped us as much as they could, giving
us each a postcard with a view of the convent as a souvenir of our
visit. They were sorry to see us leave, and told us to be sure and call
on them again, if we should ever repass by St. Omer. The soldiers now
came in with a stretcher for Lady Abbess; and the nuns were so good
that they insisted on lending a mattress, blankets, and pillows, which
would be returned with the cars. Having placed Lady Abbess on this
portable bed, the soldiers carried her out with the greatest care,
Father Flynn presiding and enlivening the whole proceeding with Irish
wit. We were soon seated in the cars, but had some time to wait, as
Mother Prioress was obliged to get a little money changed. Meanwhile
several people came to speak to us, among whom was the sister of one
of our former pupils, who, recognising our habit, came forward to know
what had happened to the Abbey. After a little while Reverend Mother
returned; but still the cars did not start. We soon learnt the reason
when Lieutenant Stuart-Hayes appeared triumphantly with a bottle of
light wine and a box of biscuits, which he insisted on our accepting.
We could not thank him enough for all that he had done for us; but he
withdrew immediately, after making sure we had all we desired, and
courteously saluting us, he gave word for the motors to start and we
were soon on the road to Boulogne. It was bitterly cold, so we kept the
car in which Lady Abbess was lying well covered. Just outside St. Omer,
a British aeroplane mounted from the aviation field. This was the last
we saw of active hostilities. Father Flynn kept the conversation going,
and, between the prayers and hymns, endeavoured to enliven the company.
He told us he was the first Catholic Chaplain to arrive with the troops
in France. He was going to the front on the following Wednesday--let us
hope that he will be spared.

After running along for some time as smoothly as was possible,
considering the bad state of the roads, the inmates of one of the
motors heard a crack like a report of a revolver. At the same instant
the car stood stock-still--the two others following necessarily did
likewise. On enquiry, it was discovered that a tyre had burst, which
meant a little halt on the way. As we were just outside a village, the
inhabitants, though accustomed by this time to British soldiers passing
by, were not accustomed to seeing nuns with them and consequently
crowded round to examine us a little nearer. None being brave enough
to ask where we came from, they solved the problem themselves, and
christened us ‘Les Petites Sœurs de la Croix Rouge,’ a title which I am
afraid we hardly deserved.

The country through which we passed seemed very picturesque, judging
from the glimpses we got from time to time by lifting up the flap at
the end of the car--fields covered with snow gradually sinking in
gentle slopes or rising in the distance in hilly ranges. From time to
time a woody glade would change the monotony of the succeeding meadows,
then a small village with its quaint little houses. As we were thus
putting more and more distance between Belgium and ourselves, a sudden
crash soon broke the reigning silence. The leading motor having drawn
up when at full speed, the two others--not expecting this--had run
one on top of the other. We were all thrown over on our seats and so
remained, not daring to move, for fear of what might happen next. The
truth was that the first car, owing to a rapid run down a slippery
hill had charged into a telegraph post, and that was the cause of our
being roused so unceremoniously out of the dreams of ‘auld lang syne.’
The drivers soon appeared to make excuses for the fright they had
unwillingly given us, saying that there was no harm done, except for
a window broken. We were quite reassured and started off again. Lady
Abbess had fortunately not realised the danger, and only asked what the
noise meant, and why we had stopped.

We rolled on once more, but our guides soon came to the conclusion that
they had mistaken their way; so, consulting their maps, they turned
back. Uphill and down again, going at the same flying pace, we at last
arrived in the historic old town of Boulogne. There we still continued
to mount and descend, for the streets seemed all very steep. It was now
between 2.30 and 3 P.M. and the boat would not leave till 4. We decided
it would be better to stop in our cars, as it was hardly according to
the nature of our vocation to go about sight-seeing, and if we got down
we should only stand shivering in the cold.

The motor-car in which were Lady Abbess and Mother Prioress was next
driven off to the Governor’s house, and having drawn up, Father Flynn
alighted to arrange everything for us. We patiently awaited his
return, little dreaming of the honour which was being prepared for us,
till we saw the Governor coming in person to salute the Superioress.
Reverend Mother having returned his greeting, told him of the great
kindness we had everywhere received from the British Headquarters, at
which he expressed the hope that we would experience the same from
the French. He then introduced Lieutenant Treillard, to whom he gave
us in charge, with directions to see us all safely on board. With
truly French gallantry the lieutenant saluted the company, and Father
Flynn carefully pocketing his precious papers and jumping up by the
chauffeur, the car with Lady Abbess and Mother Prioress rejoined the
rest of the community.

Our conductors, who were evidently hungry, now produced bread, tinned
meat, and cheese. One, buying some potato chips, promptly came to
share them with us. We declined to accept them, thanking him all the
same for his kindness. We thought we could not do better than follow
their example; so Mother Prioress divided Lieutenant Stuart-Hayes’
biscuits among us. Father Flynn produced a packet of chocolate, and
then each in turn drank some wine from the solitary little mug we had
brought in case Lady Abbess should want anything on the way. As the
soldiers seemed very cold, stamping their feet on the frozen road,
Reverend Mother gave them also a drop of wine; and for one who refused
(having probably taken the pledge) she warmed some milk with the little
spirit-lamp we had. They were all delighted. Poor fellows! it was the
least we could do for them, when they had rendered us such good service.

Captain Dwyer, who had brought our papers from the general staff to
Lieutenant Stuart-Hayes when we were at St. Omer, now joined us once
more (having been sent to Boulogne with despatches) to assure himself
of our safety. Our long stay ended by exciting the curiosity of the
bystanders, and we received rather indiscreet visits of persons who,
apparently passing innocently by the cars, lifted up the flap to look
in. Some ventured to talk, and we discovered one poor man who said he
came from the Rue St. Jacques, Ypres, and an old woman who had walked
all the way from Dixmude.

At last it was time to go on board the boat. The ambulance cars took
us quite close to the gangway. When we had all got down with our
parcels, the soldiers lifted the stretcher on which Lady Abbess was
lying, and gently carried her on board and into the cabin, where we
helped her on to a sofa. Lieutenant Treillard superintended everything,
and good Father Flynn made fun all the time. The latter then gave
special injunctions to Reverend Mother about the papers, &c., and
giving us his blessing, with a special one to Lady Abbess, having in
his turn begged hers, with all possible wishes for a safe arrival
at our destination, he hurried off the boat, which was preparing to
leave. The passage was very calm, but cold and frosty. For more than
one of us it was the first crossing, Lady Abbess having up to this
time never even seen the sea; and, sad to say, nearly all proved ‘bad
sailors’ except, curiously enough, Lady Abbess. Happily, however, the
passage only lasted 1 hr. 20 min., so we were soon at Folkestone.
Thanks to our papers from British and French Headquarters, we were
passed successfully by the doctor and other officials (who stopped
two Belgian peasants following us ashore)--even Edmund got through
without the least difficulty. Arrived in the station, a telegram was
sent to a relative of one of the community in London, who kindly
looked out lodgings for us in advance. It seemed an interminable
time before the train set off, and afterwards, rushing through the
darkness, passing station after station, town after town, we thought
London would never come. However, all things come to an end, and so
did our journey, as at last we steamed into Victoria Station. There,
one would have said we were expected, we were so kindly received by
the ladies on the platform, who helped us out and pressed us to take
something. On hearing where we had come from, and how we had succeeded
in getting honoured Lady Abbess safe through so many difficulties,
everyone was more than interested; and soon porters were running in
all directions to get cabs to convey us to our destination which was
in quite another part of London. A bath-chair was brought for Lady
Abbess who was wheeled out of the station, Mother Prioress holding her
hand. One of the ladies, seeing the impossibility of getting her into
a cab, fetched a private motor-car. The gentleman who owned it, helped
by a soldier, lifted Lady Abbess gently in. Then they drove to the
hospital of SS. John and Elizabeth, whither it was thought better for
the present to take Lady Abbess. The soldier, overcome by the sight
of our dear Abbess’ patience, took her in his arms--exclaiming, when
he came downstairs, ‘I could not help it, she is such a dear good old
lady.’ Dame Patrick’s aunt (Mrs. Adamson) had arranged everything for
us, and so Dame Patrick, with Mother Prioress and Dame Columban, were
cordially received at her house. Lady Abbess remained at the hospital
of SS. John and Elizabeth, where, indeed, she received every attention,
together with seven other members of the community. Dame Teresa, Dame
Aloysius, and Dame Walburge experienced the same charity at the
Sisters of Hope. Edmund was also taken in at Mrs. Adamson’s. Those at
the hospital and the Sisters of Hope heard Mass there next morning; and
Mother Prioress, Dame Columban, and Dame Patrick walked as far as the
Dominicans at Haverstock Hill. We may here note the loving goodness of
Divine Providence, which had not once allowed us to miss Mass or Holy
Communion in spite of all the dangers and fatigues of the past weeks.
We were truly like the Israelites in the desert, for whom the manna
never failed.




CHAPTER XIII

OULTON


Next morning we were all motored from our different lodgings to
Euston Station, where we were met by Mr. Nolan, brother of Rev. Dom
Nolan, O.S.B., and at 10.30 we entered on the last stage of our
never-to-be-forgotten journey. We had three reserved compartments at
our disposal, by the kind intervention of a gentleman at Victoria
Station, who had given a signed card to Mother Prioress, telling her to
show it to anyone who should question her. And so we travelled safely
from Ypres to Oulton. How strange it seemed, for more than one of us,
to pass by those scenes which we had thought never more to see in this
life! We had left our country, home, and all, to shut ourselves up
in the peaceful solitude of Ypres Abbey; and here we were, forced to
retrace our steps and to return temporarily to the world which we had
willingly given up. God was, however, preparing us another place of
refuge from the turmoil of Babylon, into which we had suddenly been
thrown.

After changing trains at Stafford, where Lady Abbess experienced the
same considerate compassion which had been shown to her all along,
we arrived at Stone Station. There we were met by some of the pupils
of Oulton Abbey, who told us how everyone was expecting us, and how
they had tried during the past weeks to obtain news of us, but always
unsuccessfully. Two Dominican nuns from the Stone Convent next came
forward to greet us, one being an old Princethorpian school-companion
of Dame Columban and Dame Teresa.

The carriages awaiting us were soon full, and as there was not room
for all, four of us offered to walk. We lost nothing by this; for
passing by Stone, the two Dominican nuns who had so kindly come to the
station to meet us, obtained permission for us to visit their convent.
We went all round the church (the community were singing vespers in
their choir) and then through the cloisters, which reminded us of the
dear Abbey we had left behind. We saw the community room and several
others, and lastly found ourselves in the parlour, where we awaited
the honoured visit of Reverend Mother Prioress. We passed an agreeable
time, till the sound of carriage wheels told us that one of the
vehicles which had already been up to Oulton had returned to fetch us.

Our honoured Lady Abbess and the community were received with open
arms at St. Mary’s Abbey. It was with true motherly affection that
Lady Laurentia opened the doors of her Monastery to receive the Ypres
community. The two communities--Oulton and Ypres--have always been
closely united, and one of the first thoughts of the Oulton nuns, on
the outbreak of this dreadful war in Belgium, was for the Abbey at
Ypres. As early as September 17 the Lady Abbess had written and offered
us a home, in case we had to leave our Monastery; but for some weeks we
had refused to believe that this would ever happen.

When we arrived we found the Lady Abbess and community assembled to
receive us, and also the chaplain, Monsignor Schobel, who was no
stranger, as he had often visited us at Ypres when staying with his
friends at Bruges. We were very pleased to see him again.

By degrees we learned the trouble we had unwittingly caused the nuns;
for a letter which Mother Prioress had written five days before, from
Poperinghe, to announce our arrival had only come that morning, and
the telegram from London had followed almost immediately. Everyone
had been obliged to set to work to prepare for our accommodation. Two
large rooms were placed at Lady Abbess’ service. There were only two
cells free, so one was allotted to Mother Prioress, and the other to
Dame Placid. The rest of the choir dames were comfortably established
in a dormitory of the new building only completed since the month of
October. The lay-sisters found beds in another large room, and so our
wanderings came to an end.

No one save those who have suffered as we have suffered can realise the
joy which we experienced in finding ourselves once more in the calm and
quiet of monastic life, where Holy Mass and Communion, the singing of
the Divine Office, meditation and spiritual reading, succeeding the
varied duties of the day, tend to soften the memories of the scenes of
bloodshed and wretchedness which can never be forgotten.

Yet the echoes of this war of horrors reach us, even in our haven
of rest. As I write, news reaches us from our chaplain (Monsieur de
Seagher, Principal du Collège Episcopal, Ypres) who has returned to
Ypres to find his college entirely pillaged and almost in ruins. He
says that a third of the population has already re-entered the town;
all are in dismay at the heart-rending sight which meets their gaze. As
to our convent, he writes: ‘The state of your Abbey is also deplorable.
The shells have made great havoc there. The French soldiers occupy it
at present. In several places the water is rising in the cellars. God
alone knows what we shall still see, for the bombardment is not yet
finished.’

And now, what has God in store for us? We know not! When shall we
return to brave little Belgium, and how shall we rebuild our monastery
which, as has been said, should this very year celebrate its 250th
anniversary? God, in His own good time, will raise up kind friends who
will come to our assistance--of this we cannot doubt. In confidence,
patience, and prayer we shall therefore await the moment chosen by Him
Who has said: ‘Seek first the Kingdom of God, and all these things
[_i.e._ temporal gifts] shall be added to you.’

Meanwhile we beg the Father of Mercy and the God of all Consolation
to have pity on the world, and put an end to the dreadful punishment
which weighs so heavily on our unfortunate generation. May He enlighten
our enemies, that, realising the injustice of their cause, they may
be converted, and cease their cruelties. May He also, in His infinite
goodness, purge the entire universe from the crimes which have degraded
humanity and brought it down to the level of ancient paganism, so
that all, seeking only His greater honour and glory, may unite in the
canticle of praise which Holy Church places on our lips during the
Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and which first resounded on Bethlehem’s
plains round the crib of our common Redeemer:--

‘Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.’


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Transcriber’s Notes

In a few cases, obvious errors or omissions in punctuation have been
fixed.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67512 ***