y mind which have happened to me, and the countless
scenes of tragedy and bloodshed, of defeat and victory that I had
witnessed since I first crossed over to France in October, 1914. I
recalled my arrival in Belgium; the wonderful rearguard actions of the
Belgian troops; the holding up of the then most perfect (and devilish)
fighting machine the world had ever known, by a handful of volunteers.
The frightful scenes in the great retreat through Belgium lived again;
the final stand along the banks of the Ypres canal; the opening of the
dykes, which saved the northern corner of France; the countless
incidents of fighting I had filmed. Then my three months with the French
in the Vosges mountains, the great strain and hardships encountered to
obtain the films, and now, after eighteen months with the British army
on the Western Front, I was again going back--to what?

How many had asked themselves that question! How many had tried as I was
doing to peer into the future. They had laid down their lives fighting
for the cause of freedom. "But, although buried on an alien soil, that
spot shall be for ever called England."

I was quickly recalled to the present by the flashing of a light on the
end of the harbour jetty. It was answered by a dull glare seawards;
everybody was looking in that direction; and then....

A sudden clanging of bells, a slipping of ropes from the first boat, a
final cheer from the men on the crowded decks, and, with its bow turned
outwards from the quay, it nosed its way into the open sea beyond. The
second boat quickly followed, and then, with more clanging of bells and
curt orders to the helmsman, she slid through the water like a
greyhound, and, with shouts of "good luck!" from the people on the quay,
we were quickly swallowed up in the mist ahead.

The boats kept abreast for a considerable time and then, our vessel
taking the lead, with a torpedo boat on either side and one ahead, the
convoy headed for France.

The journey across was uneventful. It was quite dark when we backed into
harbour at Boulogne; flares were lit and, as the boat drew alongside the
quay, the old familiar A.M.O. with his huge megaphone shouted in
stentorian tones that all officers and men returning on duty must report
to him at his offices, fifty yards down the quay, etc., etc., etc. His
oration finished, the gangway was pushed aboard and everybody landed as
quickly as possible. _I_ had wired from the War Office earlier in the