Civilians on the Canal
THE YPRES TIMES
109
By Sidney Rogerson,
Author of Twelve Days."
ON November 1917, the Dead End of the Canal was a more salubrious locality
than it had been at any time since the war began. Not for nothing had the
great Ypres offensive been fought. It had at least pushed the invader away
from the immediate outskirts of the city, until by November the outposts of both armies
faced each other across the sea of mud at Passchendaele. For three years the Canal
had been almost a part of the front line system. Now it was the seat of a double Di
visional H. Qrs., safe therefore from any attentions of the enemy except an occasional
long range shell fired as much with the idea of agitating the officials of the rearward
services as of hurting anyone.
On the top of the forward bank the terrain was almost uncomfortably congested
with the huts and elephant shelters which housed the personnel of infantry Divisional
H.Qrs., the rear H.Qrs. of batteries, medium and heavy, the balloon sections, the sappers
of all varieties, and the other odd specialists who clung round the outskirts of the battle
line. For them, the comparative unprotectedness of the upper ground. The staffs
of the two divisions, better advised if less venturesome, adhered to custom and had
their abode in the ancient dug-outs driven into the forward bank itself and reached by
a duckboard track built on piles just above the turbid water. Once these had been
.funk-holes for weary infantry, with all the dirt and discomfort their use implied. Now
they were very commodious residences, some of them boasting brick fire-places, eloquent
reminders of Canadian occupation. (Surely the Canadians were the war's greatest
fire and grate builders Of course they had their minor disadvantages. They were
damp. Moreover their chimney pots protruding through the earth were indis
tinguishable to the casual soldier from the latest pattern urinal tin. Was there not an
occasion when a gallant Major-General entertaining his staff after dinner nearly had
his fire put out by a careless bombardier on the floor above Taking it all in all they
were comfortable quarters. They were safe from all ordinary risks from artillery. The
enemy was separated from them by five impassable miles of mud, while above them
rode in daylight a line of balloons, swaying pig-like at their mooring ropes.
It was this aerial display which provided our only source of amusement. The
Boche could never resist the temptation of having a go at the balloons. On fine days
his frightfulness would take the form of air-burst H.E. There would be a scream
and a crash and a ball of yellowish-green smoke would appear near a balloon, expanding
slowly before it evaporated, while the sharp, armour-piercing head would hurtle down
into the rubble heaps behind the canal where the transport lines stood. Down the
offended balloonist would be hauled, only to ascend again after a spell, and the whole
performance would be re-enacted. On days when the clouds hung low there would be
a buzz and drone, a flurry of machine guns, and German triplanes, spitting fire from
their spandaus, would hurtle down on the balloon line. In a trice the sky would re
semble some umbrella-maker's advertisement on a grand scale as the observers jumped
out with their parachutes. Seldom were there any casualties to the crews, whatever
might happen to the balloons, though there was one memorable day when two observers
made an amusing if watery landing in the canal itself.
There were in short many worse places for a divisional H.Qrs., as we were destined
to learn a few months later when the offensive roles were reversed. For the moment
