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Between Poperinghe and Ypres were numerous small villages with narrow, twisting streets. They were filled with soldiers at rest, with tethered horses being re-shod by army blacksmiths, with small fires in sheltered corners on which an anxious cook had balanced a kettle. In each town a proclamation had been nailed to a wall and the townspeople stood about it, gaping.
The chauffeur slapped his hands at every break in the journey, and sentries along the road hugged such shelter as they could find. As we left Poperinghe the French officer, Commandant D , pointed to a file of men plodding wearily through the mud. "The heroes of last night's attack," he said. "They are very tired, as you see." We stopped the car and let the men file past.
Now, if the mists will only clear, we shall see Ypres! But, alas, they lie heavy over the plain, and we descend the hill again without that vision. Now we are bound for Poperinghe, and must go warily, because there is a lively artillery action going on beyond Poperinghe, and it is necessary to find out what roads are being shelled.
I wonder if it's a German they're bombing hospitals it's British, silly no, it's a German, I saw one just like that over Poperinghe it's coming right over." "Stand by your cars, ladies, please." The tall "chief's" sharp voice scattered the groups. "He's dropping something it's a bomb no, it's a message bag. Look at the streamers!"
On the 4th October the Battalion entrained on a light railway, and soon reached Poperinghe, where it remained until darkness and then entrained on a broad gauge train at Poperinghe Station for Ypres. It was a new experience for the men to be in a train and yet within range of the enemy's artillery. The personnel detrained just by the railway station at Ypres and went into billets close by.
Little children and old men and women struggled along under loads almost beyond their powers, none of them knowing whither they went or what the curtain of fate would reveal when next it was drawn aside. It was a blind flight into the darkness of the unknown. Our orders were to make for Poperinghe, a little town lying about fifteen miles due south of Furnes, in the direction of Ypres.
The burghers of Poperinghe had refused to continue recognizing the privileges of those of Ypres; and the Ypres men, enraged, had taken up arms, and, after a sanguinary melley, had forced the folks of Poperinghe to give in. Then the Ypres men, proud of their triumph, had gone and broken the weavers' machinery at Bailleul, and in some other towns.
"That's Dunkerque" one of them pointed it out with his pipe "and there's Poperinghe, just under us; that's Furnes beyond, and Ypres and Dixmude, and Nieuport..." And at the mention of those names the scene grew dark again, and we felt the passing of the Angel to whom was given the Key of the Bottomless Pit. That night we went up once more to the rock of Cassel.
Several times I bumped over soft things in the road and felt rather sick. We got out o' the town with the shrapnel a bit in front all the way. Then the old 'bus jibbed for a bit. Every time a shell burst near us the lunatics screamed and laughed and clapped their hands, and trod on the wounded, but I got 'er goin' again. I got 'er to Poperinghe.
After the third battle of Ypres had cooled down, we were permitted to go to the rear as far as Poperinghe, for the purpose of giving ourselves a scouring, as we were filthy with dirt and lousy with lice. My particular chum on this journey was the little telephonist, Fox, who had been through every big battle up to that time, including the Sanctuary Woods carnage.
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