Looking for "Thrills"—And How I Got Them—I Pass Through "Sausage Valley," on the Way to Pozières—You May and you Might—What a Tommy Found in a German Dug-out—How Fritz Got "Some of His Own" Back—Taking Pictures in What Was Once Pozières—"Proofs Ready To-morrow."
Things, from my point of view, were slackening down. Plenty of preparatory action was taking place, and here and there small local engagements, but the fact that they were local made it very difficult for me to get to hear of them. None of the Corps Commanders knew exactly when or where the nibble would develop, or, if they did know, they were naturally chary of giving me the information. On occasions too when I did know I had not sufficient time to make my arrangements, I had to be content with scenes which unfolded themselves after the action had taken place.
This was getting rather monotonous. The aftermath of one attack was to all intents and purposes an exact replica of the previous one, except that the surroundings were different. There was the return of the attackers; the bringing in of prisoners, the wounded, the dead; and to vary these scenes to make my pictures generally interesting required a lot of thought and a careful choice of view point.
In the course of the "push," which began in July, there were hundreds, I might almost say thousands, of incidents that to the eye were of enthralling interest, but to have filmed them with the idea of conveying that interest on the screen would have been so much wasted effort. Even the kinematograph has its limitations.
Over my head all the time, like a huge sword, hung the thought of British public opinion, and the opinion of neutral countries. They would accept nothing unless there was great excitement in it; unless the pictures contained such "thrills" as they had never seen before, and had never dreamed possible. Once I had secured that thrill I could then—and only then—take the preparatory scenes, depicting the ordinary life and action of the men and the organisation which are necessary to run the war. Such scenes—interesting as they undoubtedly are—without that "thrill" would have fallen flat, would have been of no use, from the exhibition point of view, and I had always to bear that fact in mind.
I have spent many sleepless nights wondering how and where I was to obtain that magnetic thrill, that minute incident, probably only ten per cent of which would carry the remaining ninety per cent to success. One that would positively satisfy the public.
I had been filming a lot of stuff lately, but when I looked through my list, excellent as the scenes were—many of which I would probably never be able to get again—they struck me as lacking "thrill." That was what I required. So I set out to get it.
The Australians had just captured Pozières, and hearing that the Bosche were continually "strafing" it I decided to make for that quarter with the object of getting a good bombardment. If possible, I would also get into the village itself where there ought to be some very good pictures, for the capture had only taken place two days previously.
Pozières then it should be. Leaving my base early in the morning I made my way through Becourt Wood and beyond, up "Sausage Valley"—why that name I don't know. The whole area was crowded with men of the Australian division.
As there was no road I took my car over the grass, or rather all that was left of it. The place was covered with shell-holes. Driving between, and more often than not into them, was rather a tiresome job, but it saved several miles of tramping with heavy stuff. "Sausage Valley" during this period was anything but healthy. I was warned about it as I left an Australian battery where I had stayed to make a few enquiries. A major told me the place was "strafed" every day, and I soon found that this was so when I arrived. Several "crumps" fell in the wood behind me, and two on the hill-side among some horses, killing several. If I saw one dead horse I must have seen dozens; they were all over the place. But everyone was much too busy to bury them at the moment. The stench was decidedly unpleasant, and the flies buzzed around in swarms. I soon had a couple of cigarettes alight. What a boon they were at times.
After much dodging and twisting I halted the car close to a forward dressing station. While I was there several shells dropped unpleasantly near, and I could not restrain my admiration for the medical staff who tended the wounded, quite oblivious of the dangers by which they were surrounded in so exposed a position. I obtained several very interesting scenes of the wounded arriving.
I waited awhile to watch the Bosche shelling before going over the ridge to Pozières. I could then tell the sections he "strafed" most. I would be able to avoid them as much as possible. I watched for fully an hour; the variation in his target was barely perceptible. On one or two occasions he "swept" the ridge. I decided to make a start after the next dose.
Strapping the camera on my back, my man taking the tripod, we started off. There was a light railway running towards Contalmaison. I followed this until I got near the spot brother Fritz was aiming at, hugging a trench at the side of a by-road. The bank was lined with funk-holes, which came in very useful during the journey, and I had to seek their shelter several times, but the nearest shell fell at a junction between that road and a communication trench. Just this side lay a very much dead horse. The shell came over. Down I went flat on my stomach. My man dived into a hole. The shell exploded, and the next thing I remember was a feeling as if a ton of bricks had fallen on top of me. I managed to struggle up and make quickly for the trench, my man following; and you may be quite sure I took care that I was well out of line of the next before I eased up. Beyond a few scratches on the camera-case and a torn coat, I was quite sound.
I was told of a Hun battery of 77 mm. guns on the left-hand side of the valley leading to Pozières, so I decided to make for that spot. I enquired of a man as to the whereabouts of them.
"Well, sir," he said, "you may come to them if you keep straight on, but I shouldn't advise you to do so as you have to cross the open. Bosche has a pretty sharp eye on anyone there; he knows the lay of the battery and he just plasters it. You might get round at 'Dead Man's Corner,' on the Contalmaison Road. It's pretty bad there, but I think it's the best place to try, and once you are round the corner you may be all right."
"Well, which way do I take?"
"Down this way, then turn to your left at the corner; the battery is about two hundred yards along on the hill-side."
"But, man alive," I said, "they're strafing it like blazes. Look!"
They were, too, and 8-inch shells were dropping wholesale.
"No, I think I will take the risk and run over the open. Are there any dug-outs at the battery?"
"Yes, sir, jolly good ones; forty feet deep; regular beauties. Evidently made up their minds to stay the winter. Electric light, libraries, and beds with real spring mattresses. My, sir, but they were comfortable. And what do you think I found there, sir?"
"Heaven knows," I replied.
"Well, sir, several ladies' fringe nets and hair-pins."
"The devil you did. Well, Fritz knows how to make himself cosy."
With that remark we parted, Tommy having a broad grin on his face.
"You will see the place where you get out of this ditch, sir," he called out; "a shell has blown it in; strike off on your left straight ahead. You'll see them in front of you."
The shelling was getting very unpleasant, and I had to keep low in the trench the whole of the time. At length we reached the point where we had to get over the top.
"Well, come on, let's chance it," I said to my man. I saw the battery in the distance before getting over.
Up we went and bending low raced for the spot. On the way I passed several dead bodies, all Bosche, and numbers of pieces blown to bits by our shell fire. A whizz-bang came over whilst we were crossing. Down we went into a shell-hole. Another, and another came over. Murderous little brutes they were too. Seven of them. Then they ceased. We immediately jumped up again and reached our objective. Then getting under cover of some twisted ironwork, which once formed the roofing of the emplacement, I took breath. "Anyway," I thought, "here I am."
In a few minutes I had a look round. What an excellent view of Pozières, about eight hundred yards away on my left. On the right was Contalmaison, which had only been taken a short time previously. The Bosches were shelling the place pretty frequently. I set up the camera and waited. Away on the opposite hill shells were falling thickly. I started filming them and got some interesting bursts, both high explosive and H.E. shrapnel.
Now for Pozières. The enemy must have been putting 9-inch and 12-inch stuff in there, for they were sending up huge clouds of smoke and débris. I secured some excellent scenes. First Pozières, then Contalmaison. My camera was first on one then on the other. For a change Bosche whizz-banged the battery. I could see now why he was so anxious to crump it, for lying all around me in their carriers, were hundreds of gas shells. I was in fact standing on them. They were all unused, and if Fritz got a good one home, well good-bye to everything.
One time I thought I would seek the shelter of a dug-out, but the fire swept away in the opposite direction. By careful manœuvring I managed to film the German guns there. Every one of the four was quite smashed up. An excellent example of artillery fire, and by the date upon them they were of the latest pattern.
In all there were three batteries in that small area, making twelve guns. But out of the twelve sufficient parts were found intact to make one good one, so that Fritz would get "some of his own" back in a way that he least expected; for there were thousands of rounds of ammunition found in the dug-outs beneath the gun pits.
How to get into Pozières was the next problem. I had, while filming, been making mental notes as to the section which Fritz did not "strafe," and that place, by all that's wonderful, was the actual thing he was undoubtedly trying for—the road.
By hugging the bank-side, along which here and there I could spot a few funk-holes, I managed to get into the chalk-pit. Here I filmed various scenes, but Bosche, as usual, kept me on the jump with his shrapnel, forcing me to take hurried shelter from time to time.
There is one thing I shall always thank Fritz for, and that is his dug-outs. If he only knew how useful they had been to me on many occasions I am sure he would feel flattered.
From the chalk-pit to Pozières was no great distance. The ground was littered with every description of equipment, just as it had been left by the flying Huns, and dead bodies were everywhere. The place looked a veritable shambles. Believe me, I went along that road very gingerly, picking my way between the shell bursts. Just before I reached the place the firing suddenly ceased. The deadly silence was uncanny in the extreme; in fact I seemed to fear it more than the bombardment. It seemed to me too quiet to be healthy. What was Bosche up to? There must be some reason for it. I took cover in a shallow trench at the roadside. Along the bottom were lying several dead Bosches, and a short distance away fragments of human remains were strewn around.
The place was desolate in the extreme. The village was absolutely non-existent. There was not a vestige of buildings remaining, with one exception, and that was a place called by the Germans "Gibraltar," a reinforced concrete emplacement he had used for machine-guns. The few trees that had survived the terrible blasting were just stumps, no more.
Fritz's sudden silence seemed uncanny, but taking advantage of his spell of inactivity I hastily rigged up the camera and began exposing. In a few minutes I had taken sufficient, and packing up I hurried down the road as fast as I could.
I reached the chalk-pit safely and then, cutting across direct to the gun pits, I took up my original position and awaited Fritz's good pleasure to send a few more crump to provide me with scenes. But not a shell came over.
Before leaving this section I thought I would film Contalmaison, a name immortalised by such fighting as has rarely been equalled even in this great war. To get there it was necessary to go to "Dead Man's Corner." The road was pitted with shell-holes, and dead horses lay about on both sides. Bosche was still uncannily quiet. I was beginning to think I should just manage to get my scenes before he interfered with me. But no! Either he had finished his lunch or had some more ammunition, for he started again. One came over and burst in the village in front of me, with a noise like the crashing of ten thousand bottles. I took shelter behind a smashed-up limber, and waited to see where the next would fall. It burst a little further away. Good enough, I thought. Here goes before he alters his range.
Jumping up I ran and scrambled on to the ruins of a house, and took some fine panoramic views of the village, first from one position then from another. Some of the scenes included a few of our men in possession. Altogether a most interesting series, including as it did both Pozières and Contalmaison. It was the first time they had been filmed since their capture.
At that moment I heard another crump coming over. It seemed to be unpleasantly near, so I made a running dive for a dug-out entrance, from which poked the grinning face of an officer.
"Look out," I yelled.
Crash came the crump.
"Near enough anyhow," I said, as a piece flew shrieking past close overhead.
"Are you the 'movie' man? I'm pleased to meet you," he said. "Did you get me in that last scene?"
"Yes," I said. "Proofs ready to-morrow." And with a laugh I hurried down the road.
CHAPTER XIX
along the western front with the king
His Majesty's Arrival at Boulogne—At G.H.Q.—General ——'s Appreciation—The King on the Battlefield of Fricourt—Within Range of the Enemy's Guns—His Majesty's Joke Outside a German Dug-out—His Memento from a Hero's Grave—His Visit to a Casualty Clearing Station—The King and the Puppy—Once in Disgrace—Now a Hospital Mascot.
That evening I reported at headquarters. "Well, Malins," said Colonel ——, "I have a special job for you. Will you be on the quay at Boulogne to-morrow morning by twelve o'clock? Captain —— is going down; he will make all arrangements for you there; he will also tell you who it is that's coming. Start at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. It is very important; so don't fail to be there."
Leaving the Colonel I met Captain —— outside. "Who's coming?" I asked.
"Don't know," he said. "Tell you to-morrow."
"Is it the King?" I asked.
"Well," he said, "as a matter of fact it is. He arrives to-morrow. I shall have the full programme in the morning, and will give you a copy."
What a film! My first thought was whether he would visit the battlefield. What scenes I conjured up in my imagination. To see Britain's King on the battlefield with his troops; to see him inspecting the ground; to see him in trenches lately captured from the Germans. My imagination began to run away with me. No, I thought, it will be just the ordinary reviews and reception.
But I was wrong. The scenes that I had pictured to myself I was soon to witness.
On the morrow the Captain, the still picture man and myself, left G.H.Q. for Boulogne. Arriving at the quay I looked around for any signs of preparation, but the whole place was as usual. The Captain called at the A.M.L.O.
"Do you know what time the King is due?" he asked.
The A.M.L.O. in tones of amazement ejaculated a long-drawn-out "What; never heard of his coming."
"Well, he is," said the officer. "He's arriving at midday."
"I was never informed," said the other. "I will ring up the M.L.O." He did so, and after a short time the information came through. "The King will not arrive to-day; he will be here to-morrow at 9 a.m. His sailing was altered at the last moment."
That night I turned in at the Hôtel Folkestone, making arrangements for my car to take me and my apparatus to the quay at 8.30 in the morning.
The morning fortunately was beautifully bright. I sincerely hoped it would continue. What excellent quality it promised in the films. I compared it with the weather during the last visit to France of the late Lord Kitchener; unfortunately it rained all the time.
I arrived at the quay. The French officials were gathered there, and lined up was a guard of honour, formed by the North Staffordshire Regiment. Every man had been through many engagements during the war.
I fixed up the camera. The boat had already drawn up by the quay-side. There was a hushed whisper from several officials standing by: "There he is." I looked and saw the King gaily chatting to the Naval Officer in charge.
I wondered whether His Majesty would like being photographed, therefore I carefully kept my camera under cover of a shelter close by. At that moment the King's equerry came ashore. I asked him what time His Majesty was due to land.
"Another half an hour yet," he said, "the Governor of Boulogne and other French officials are just going aboard to be introduced."
I arranged some wheeled railings in such a manner that the opening was close by my camera, thereby making sure that the King would pass very near me.
The moment arrived. My camera was in position. At that moment the King came down the gangway—he was in Field-Marshal's uniform—followed by his suite, including Lord Stamfordham, Sir Derek Keppel, Lieutenant-Colonel Clive Wigram, and Major Thompson. I started turning as he stepped on the shores of France. He gravely saluted.
Passing close by he reviewed the guard of honour, giving them a word of praise as he went. I filmed him the whole of the time, until he reached his car, bade adieux to the many officers present, and drove away to G.H.Q.
I had made an excellent start. The landing was splendid. Now to follow. The King was going to G.H.Q., breaking his journey to lunch with Sir Douglas Haig on the way. I knew I should have ample time therefore to get well ahead and film the arrival at General Headquarters.
Arriving at G.H.Q. I took up my stand near the entrance to the building. The Prince of Wales and other officers were there. I noticed that the Prince, as soon as he saw me, turned and said something to a friend near by. He evidently remembered my two previous attempts to film him.
His Majesty arrived. The Prince of Wales came to the salute, then His Majesty—not as a king, but as a father—embraced his son. I should have obtained a better view of that incident, but unluckily an officer side-stepped and partly covered the figures from my camera.
I obtained many scenes during the day of His Majesty visiting, in company with General Sir Douglas Haig, various headquarter offices, where he studied in detail the general position of the armies. I noticed that Sir Douglas did not look upon my camera very kindly. He was rather shy of the machine, though latterly he has looked with a more sympathetic eye upon it.
On the second day of the King's visit I started out and proceeded to an appointed place on the main road, where the King's car would join us.
The weather was very dull. It was causing me much concern, for to-day of all days I wanted to obtain an excellent film.
The cars pulled up. We had about fifteen minutes to wait. I fixed up my camera ready to film the meeting with General Sir Henry Rawlinson. While waiting, the General came over to me and began chatting about my work.
"I hear," he said, "that you filmed the attack of the 29th Division at Beaumont Hamel on the 1st July, and have been told of the excellence of the result."
He seemed much impressed by what I told him of the possibilities of the camera.
A patrol signalled the King's arrival. His car drew up; His Majesty alighted and heartily greeted the General. I filmed the scenes as they presented themselves.
All aboard once more—the King leading—we started on our journey for the battlefield of Fricourt.
Having hung about until the last second turning the handle, it was a rush for me to pack, and pick them up again. My car not being one of the best, I had great difficulty in keeping up with the party.
The news of the King's arrival and journey to Fricourt seemed to have spread well ahead, for everywhere numbers of troops were strewn along the roadside, and even far behind as I was, I could hear the echoing cheers which resounded over hills and valleys for miles around.
Finally the cars came to a halt at an appointed place near the ruins of the village and once beautiful woods of Fricourt, well within range of the enemies' guns.
The spot where the King alighted was known as the Citadel, a German sandbag fortification of immense strength.
It was arranged in the form of a circle, with underground tunnels and dug-outs of great depth. In various sections of the walls were machine-gun emplacements, and the whole being on the top of the hill, formed a most formidable obstacle to the advance of our troops. I may add that the hill is now known as "King George's Hill."
The King and his party had already alighted when I arrived to set up my camera, and hurrying forward was very difficult work, especially as I had to negotiate twisted masses of enemy barbed wire entanglements. But eventually, after much rushing, and being very nearly breathless, I got ahead, and planted my machine on the parapet of an old German trench and filmed the party as they passed. To keep ahead after filming each incident was very hard work. It meant waiting here and there, jumping trenches, scrambling through entanglements, stumbling into shell-holes, and at times fairly hanging by my eyebrows to the edge of trenches, balancing my camera in a way that one would have deemed almost impossible. But I am gratified to think that I managed to keep up with the King, and I succeeded in recording every incident of interest.
At a point on the hill-top the King halted, and General —— described the various movements and details of the attack and capture of the village, the King taking a very keen interest in the whole procedure.
I continued turning the handle. I did not allow a single scene to pass. Such a thing had never been known before. Throughout it all the guns, large and small, were crashing out, and the King could see the shells bursting over the German lines quite distinctly.
The guide, who was a lieutenant in the Engineers, suddenly called attention to an old German trench. The Prince of Wales first entered and examined from above the depths of an old dug-out.
With a jump I landed on the other side of the trench and sticking the tripod legs in the mud I filmed the scene in which His Majesty and the Prince of Wales inspected the captured German trenches.
The party halted at the entrance to another dug-out. The guide entered and for some moments did not reappear, the King and the General meanwhile standing and gazing down. Suddenly a voice echoed from the depths:
"Will you come down, sir?"—this remark to the King.
His Majesty laughed, but did not avail himself of the invitation.
All the party joined in the laughter, and all those who have seen that picture on the screen of His Majesty's visit to his troops, will recall the incident to which I refer. Many of the London papers in their articles, referring to the film, wondered what the joke was that the King so thoroughly enjoyed outside a German dug-out.
The party passed on, but some difficulty was experienced when they tried to get out of the trench again. The King was pulled out by the Prince of Wales, and another officer, but some members of the party experienced a difficulty which provided quite an amusing episode.
At times I had to stop and change spools. Then the party got well ahead, and on several occasions His Majesty, with his usual thoughtfulness and courtesy, hung back and debated on various things in the trenches, in order to allow me time to catch them up again.
His Majesty passed over old mine craters, and stood with his deer-stalking glasses, resting against a tree which had been withered during the fighting, watching the bombardment of Pozières. He made sympathetic enquiries by the side of a lonely grave surmounted by a rough wooden cross, on which the name and number of this hero were roughly inscribed. A shrapnel helmet, with a hole clean through the top, evidently caused by a piece of high-explosive shell, rested upon the mound.
The King stooped and picked up a piece of shell and put it in his pocket.
It was now time for His Majesty's departure. Gathered near his car was a crowd of Tommies, ready to give their King a rousing cheer as he drove away. I filmed the scene, and as the car vanished over the brow of the hill, three more were called for the Prince of Wales.
Hurriedly picking up my kit I chased away after them. On the way masses of Anzacs lined both sides of the road, and the cheers which greeted His Majesty must have been heard miles away. The scene made a most impressive picture for me. At that moment a battalion of Anzacs just out of the trenches at Pozières were passing. The sight was very wonderful, and the King saw with his own eyes some of his brave Colonials returning from their triumph, covered with clay, looking dog-tired but happy.
His Majesty was now going to view some ruins near the front, but unfortunately, owing to burst tyres, I could not keep up with the party, and by the time I got on the move again it would have been impossible for me to reach the place in time to film this scene. Therefore, knowing that he was due at No. 18 C.C.S. or "Casualty Clearing Station," I made hurried tracks for it. A most interesting picture promised to result.
I arrived at the C.C.S. and was met by the C.O. in charge.
"Hullo, Malins," he said, "still about? Always on the go, eh? The last scenes you took here came out well. I saw them in London on the R.A.M.C. film. What do you want now?"
"Well, sir," I said, "I am chasing the King, and some chase too, my word. I lost him this morning when my old bus broke down. But up to the present I have obtained a most excellent record. Topping day yesterday on the battlefield of Fricourt. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."
Half an hour later the royal car drew up. The King and the Prince of Wales alighted, and were conducted around the hospital by the C.O.
I did not miss a single opportunity of filming, from His Majesty's talk to some wounded officers, to his strolling through the long lines of hospital tents and entering them each in turn. At one point my camera was so close to the path along which the King passed, that the Prince of Wales, evidently determined not to run into my range again, quickly slipped away and crossed higher up between the other tents. An officer standing by me remarked with a laugh, "The Prince doesn't seem to like you."
A touching incident took place when the King was on the point of leaving. He stooped down and tenderly picked up a small puppy, and gently caressed and kissed it, then handed it back to the Colonel. This scene appears in the film, and illustrates His Majesty's affection for dumb animals.
I had just finished turning, when an officer came up to me and said in a low tone: "That's funny."
"What's funny?" I asked.
"Why that incident. Do you know that dog only came in here yesterday, and he has done so much mischief through playing about, that at last the C.O. determined to get rid of him. But we won't now. I shall put a red, white, and blue ribbon round his neck and call him George. He shall be the hospital's mascot."
Before I had time to reply His Majesty prepared to leave, so running with my camera I planted it in the middle of the road and filmed his departure, amid the cheers of the officers and men of the hospital.
CHAPTER XX
king and president meet
An Historic Gathering—In which King and President, Joffre and Haig Take Part—His Majesty and the Little French Girl—I Am Permitted to Film the King and His Distinguished Guests—A Visit to the King of the Belgians—A Cross-Channel Journey—And Home.
I heard that night that the King was going to meet M. Poincaré, the French President, at the house of Sir Douglas Haig, and very possibly General Joffre might be there, as well.
In the morning there was an excellent light, the sun was blazing; and at 9 a.m. sharp we started off, the royal car leading. By cutting across country I was able to save a considerable distance as I wished to get there first, in order to film the arrival.
The château was a typical French one, not very large, but situated in a charming spot, seemingly miles away from such a thing as war. Everything was as peaceful indeed as if we were at home in the midst of the beautiful Surrey Hills.
Yet in this scene of profound peace the rulers of England and France, with the leading Generals, were meeting to discuss the future policy of the greatest and most bloody war of all time.
I took my stand on a grass patch in a position that commanded views of both the main gates and the entrance to the house. Lining the drive from the main gates were men of Sir Douglas Haig's regiment, the 17th Lancers, standing to attention, their lance points glistening in the sun.
The sentries at the gates came smartly to the salute as the royal car, in which were the King and Sir Douglas Haig, drew up. I started turning as he entered the gates. At that moment a little French girl ran out with a bunch of flowers and presented them to the King, who, smiling, stopped and patted her cheek, passed a remark to Sir Douglas, and then proceeded down the lines of troops, and entered the house, the Prince of Wales following close behind.
Shortly afterwards a signal was given. His Majesty and Sir Douglas came down the steps and reached the gates as the car, bringing M. Poincaré, the French President, and General Joffre, drew up. What a scene it would make.
M. Poincaré came first, and was warmly greeted by the King. He was immediately followed by General Joffre, and an incident then occurred which took "Papa" Joffre unawares. For the moment he was perplexed. The same little French maid ran out with another bunch of flowers and offered them to the General.
"No, no," he said, "not for me, give them to the President."
But the child thought otherwise. She intended that Papa Joffre, the idol of France, should have them. He must have them. But no; the General, taking the child gently by the arm, led her to where M. Poincaré was speaking to the King and Sir Douglas Haig, and drew their attention to the child. They all smiled, and were greatly amused by the incident. Then the little one gave her flowers to the President, who taking them, stooped and kissed her forehead, and the little one satisfied with her success ran away.
The President, not knowing what to do with the flowers, looked around for an officer to take them to his car, but General Joffre, anticipating the desire, called up his A.D.C. who took them away. The party then moved into the house. General Foch also entered with the Prince of Wales.
After the lunch and conference, word was sent in to Colonel Wigram who endeavoured to persuade the King and M. Poincaré to pose for a short scene on the balcony. Word came back that they would do so.
To fix my camera up on the balcony was the work of only a few seconds.
The King came out through the French window, followed by M. Poincaré. They were both smiling and seemed to be very interested in the coming experience.
"Where do we go?" said the King.
"Would your Majesty stand over there?" I said, pointing to one end of the terrace. They stood there side by side, King and President laughing and chatting. While I turned on them, General Joffre came out.
"Come along, Joffre, you stand here," said His Majesty, "and you there," he said laughingly to General Foch. Sir Douglas Haig then came out and stood at the end of the line.
For fully a minute they stood there, making a scene, the like of which I had never dreamed.
King, and President, and Generals, who held in their hands the destiny of the world. I continued turning, until His Majesty, thinking I had enough, withdrew, laughing and chatting by the camera, followed by General Joffre, Sir Douglas Haig, and General Foch.
By this time my spool had run out, so quickly changing I got round to the front of the house to film the royal party leaving.
After they had all gone, I heard that Mr. Lloyd George was on his way up from Paris. How late he was, one officer was saying: "We expected him before this." Hearing that I decided to wait. About half an hour later, up he came in a great hurry, and I just managed to film him as he left his car and entered the building.
To-day was Sunday. His Majesty attended Divine Service with some of the troops stationed near by, in a small country church perched high up on the hill-side. Quiet and contentment pervaded everything; not even the sound of a gun was heard.
A visit to His Majesty, King Albert of Belgium, was the next item on the programme.
The King and Prince of Wales and their suite entered their respective cars and, amidst the cheers of the civilian populace, we left the village on the hill. The red and gold of the little Royal Standard on the King's car glittered bright in the morning sun.
Away we went. How my old "bus" did go; every ounce was being obtained from it; she fairly rocked and roared on the tails of the high-power machines ahead. I knew the road only too well; many a time in the early part of the war had I traversed it, and passed through these self-same gates.
On we tore to where, in an unostentatious little villa, lived the King and Queen of the Belgians.
By the time I arrived King George had alighted, and the Belgian Guard of Honour was playing the national hymn. I hurried through the villa gates, ignoring the guards stationed there who tried to hinder me. I wanted to film the meeting. But I was too late, for by the time I had my machine on the stand the two Kings had passed along the line of troops, crossed the sand-dunes and entered the villa. I had unfortunately missed the meeting by a few minutes, but I vowed I wouldn't move far away from them during the afternoon. I heard that after lunch King George, assisted by Prince Alexander of Teck, was going to award decorations and medals to Belgian officers, and during the afternoon I obtained many good scenes. The Queen was there, and with her the two Princes and little Princess Josephine. They were all most interested in the proceedings.
I filmed the King visiting a 6-inch Howitzer Battery. I noticed specially how keen he was in enquiring about every little detail. Not a single thing seemed to miss his eye, from the close examination of the gun's breech, to inspecting the dug-outs of the men. He then left, and knowing he was going to inspect the Canadians I hurried off in order to get there ahead.
When I arrived the Canadian Generals and staff were there waiting. Here I met many old friends of the St. Eloi battle and, curiously enough, it was at this very spot that I filmed the scene of the Northumberland Fusiliers, or Fighting Fifth, returning from battle, fagged out, but happy.
General Burstall was there, and as soon as he saw me he came up and said:
"Hullo, Malins, you here? Why I thought you would have been killed long ago."
"No, sir," I said, "I don't think I am much of a corpse, though really Brother Fritz has tried very hard to send me West."
"You must have a charmed life," he said. "Have you come to film our show?"
"Yes," I replied. "The King will be along shortly. Ah! here he comes now."
And down the road, stretching away in the distance, a line of cars came tearing along in our direction. Everybody came to attention. I got ready my camera. The King drew up, and from that moment, until he passed through the camp, lined with thousands of cheering Canadians, I filmed his every movement.
The five days' continuous rush and tear was beginning to tell on me. I was feeling fagged out. But to-morrow His Majesty was sailing again for England. That night, through a member of the Headquarter Staff, I enquired of Colonel Wigram if it was at all possible for me to accompany the King on his boat across the Channel. It would make a most excellent finish to my film, I pleaded, and it would show the people at home and neutrals that the British Navy still held the seas secure, and that our King could go on the seas where and when he liked, and to film His Majesty on board, among his naval officers, what a splendid record to hand down to posterity.
Colonel Wigram immediately saw the possibilities of such a finish, and agreed to allow me to accompany them.
Very jubilant, I thanked him and promised to be at the boat by midday.
In my hurry and anxiety to obtain permission I had entirely forgotten to enquire at which port the boat was sailing from—Calais or Boulogne. I rushed back to find Colonel Wigram, but unluckily he had gone. I enquired of the Intelligence officers present, but they did not know.
I therefore decided that the only thing to do was to start off early in the morning and go to Boulogne, and then on to Calais, if the boat was leaving from there.
Early next morning, with my kit, I rushed away to Boulogne, but on my arrival I found out that the King was not leaving from there, but from Calais. Off to Calais I went. How the time was going. Ill luck seemed to dog me on the journey, for with a loud noise the back tyre burst. To take it off and replace it with a new one was done in record time. Then on again. How the old "bus" seemed to limp along.
"How many miles is she doing?" I asked the chauffeur.
"Nearly fifty to the hour, sir, can't get another ounce out of her. I shouldn't be surprised if the engine fell out."
"Never mind, let her have it," I yelled.
Down the hills she rocked and swayed like a drunken thing. If there had happened to be anything in the way—well, I don't know what would have happened; but there would have been "some" mess! Anyway, nothing did happen, and I arrived at the dock in due course. No, the boat had not gone, but by the appearance of every one there, it was just on the point of moving off. To get on to the quay I had to pass over a swing bridge; a barrier was across it, and soldiers on duty were posted in order to send all cars round, some distance down, over the next bridge. Knowing that if I went there I should be too late, I yelled out to the man to allow me to pass.
"No, sir," he said. "You must go the other way."
Well, what I said I don't know, but I certainly swore, and this evidently impressed the fellow so much that he removed the barrier and allowed me to pass. I literally tumbled out of the old "bus," and shouting to L—— to bring along my tripod, I rushed to where the boat was lying against the quay.
All the French, British, and Belgian officials were lined up, and the King was shaking hands as a parting adieu. Whether it was right or not I did not stop to think. I swept by and rushed up the gangway as the King turned with a final salute.
So close a shave was it that I barely had time to screw my camera on the stand ere the Prince of Wales saluted the King and went ashore. The gangway was drawn away and, amid salutes from the officers and allied representatives, the boat left the quay. I had filmed it all. Not an incident had passed me.
The King with the Admiral in charge of the ship, entered the cabin, and only then did I have a moment's respite to realise what a narrow squeak I had had.
We were just leaving the harbour. The sea looked very choppy, and just ahead were seven torpedo boats waiting to escort us across.
I went up on to the top deck, and obtained some very interesting scenes of these boats taking up their positions around. Then the King came up and mounted the bridge. How happy he looked! A King in every sense of the word. Who, if they could see him now, could ever have any doubts as to the issue of the war? I filmed him as he stood on the bridge. In mid-channel the sea was getting rather rough, and to keep my feet, and at the same time prevent the camera from being bowled overboard, was rather a task, and this compelled me at times to call in the help of some blue-jackets standing near by.
At last the white cliffs of old England hove in sight, and to make my film-story complete I filmed the cliffs, with Dover Castle perched high above like the grim watch-dog it is.
And then, as the boat drew into the harbour, I got near the gangway in order to land first and film His Majesty as he came ashore. I managed to do this, and entering the royal special (by which I was permitted to travel) I reached Victoria in due course with what, in my humble judgment, was one of the finest kinematograph records that could possibly be obtained of an altogether memorable and historic journey.