An Ex-Prisoner Returns.
168
THE YPRES TIMES
By G. H. Johnson.
WE engaged a French taxi at Arras, the driver's name was Marcel, the roads
were reminiscent of war roads, and it was a blazing hot day. All the
ingredients for a day's tour.
Passing through Croiselles, Bullecourt and Noreuil, we stopped at Lagnicourt,
the last village towards the front line prior to the March offensive of 1918. It is
almost rebuilt, but a few of the billets and other evidences still remain. Going
along the sunken road, we passed what was once the front line trenches, but now
covered in waving crops. This would not take much levelling, as the German
gunners made a good job of that at the time. The last time I used this road I was
doing dashes across at night to avoid machine-gun bullets, and now to stand upright
on it and have a good look round was a new experience.
The next village was Quéant, the first place I had been a prisoner, and where
I had done about a couple of months' salvaging, and we saw huge heaps of rusty
materials still being brought in, from fragments of grenades to steel helmets,
possibly from the selfsame dumps we set up. I tried to find the reserve dug-outs
in which we were billeted, but they had been filled up. A villager took us
into his garden and showed us a dug-out leading to a tunnel with light railway
lines in that stretched for 20 miles all underground. He was living in a makeshift
house until his own had been rebuilt, and the front door was perforated with bullet
holes. Most of the village, including the church, had been replaced, and his house
was about the last to be done. He must have been unlucky, because he explained
that when a village was going to be rebuilt all the names were put in a hat and
drawn for in rotation. Where I could once have found my way blindfold over the
debris, it now took several minutes of careful study to find any landmarks. An
estaminet stands at the spot where we used to line up for our small portion of
potato bread and senna tea.
We took the same route to Cambrai, 12 miles away, by far a better way of
travelling than when I used to trudge there and back in a day to be deloused. On
the Quéant road stands a small English cemetery, a very quiet and restful place in
this sparsely inhabited countryside. A few yards farther on we went through the
archway that formed part of the Hindenberg Line; the timber barricades are still
hanging on the sides. In Inchy I found a prison billet, a large barn, but minus
the roof. I was not surprised at this, as we had removed most of the timber
supports to make fires. The blackened smoke still stood out plainly. Bourlon
village had been rebuilt, but the shell of a fine chateau is still left as a souvenir of
war's destruction. We visited the Canadian memorial on the hilltop, a plain stone
amidst laurels and evergreens beautifully set out in a small park. The large trees
with battle scars had been treated with cement to hold them in place. This is well
worth a visit, and commemorates the taking of the hill, and one has a fine pano
rama of the Hindenberg Line and its defences and can appreciate the strength of the
German position, and also the Canadians' joy of their first view of Cambrai with
the tables turned.
Down the other side of the hill I looked for a ditched tank, but it had gone.
We stood on the Cambrai-Bapaume road, now strangely quiet, but, as I knew it a
very busy thoroughfare. One of the main arteries towards the German front it
was always crowded with transport. We went up the side road to Anneux
