About this time I went to H.Q. Tanks, and painted the General and Hotblack, and had a most interesting time. General Elles was a great chap, full of "go," and a tremendous worker. Hotblack, mild and gentle, full of charm; one could hardly imagine he had all those D.S.O.'s, and wound stripes--Hotblack, who liked to go for a walk and sit down and read poetry. He said it took his mind off devising plans to kill people better than anything else.

Then there was the "Colonel" of the Tanks--"Napoleon," they called him. A great brain he had. Before the war he knew his Chelsea well, and the Cafe Royal and all the set who went there. And there was a (p. 063) dear young Highlander also, a most gentle, shy youth. He was very happy one day; he had a "topping" time. He was out with the Tanks, and he killed a German despatch-rider and rode home on his bicycle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: XXVI. _Some Members of the Allied Press Camp._]

One morning when I was painting the General, he told me that my old "Colonel" from G.H.Q. was coming to lunch. I hadn't seen him since he sent the telegram, "When do you return?" When he arrived we were all in the hall, but he didn't take the slightest notice of me. Presently, we went in to lunch. He sat opposite to me, and about halfway through the meal, he said, "h.e.l.lo, Orpen! I didn't see you before." To which I replied, "You have the advantage over me, sir. I don't remember ever having seen you before." It was no good. We would never have made good friends.

I regret that one night, while I was staying at G.H.Q. Tanks, I got "blotto." It wasn't altogether my fault, people were so hospitable. It was a night when I dined with General Sir John Davidson, "the Poet,"

at G.H.Q. I left "Tanks" on a bitterly cold, wet evening, and called at the Canadian chateau at Hesdin. I found them all sitting round a big fire. It was tea-time. The Colonel, who saw I was cold, gave me a whisky-and-soda, which he repeated when I left. I then went on to the C.-in-C.'s chateau to see Major Sir Philip Sa.s.soon, and found him in his hut outside the chateau. As soon as I sat down he rang his bell.

The orderly came. "A whisky-and-soda for Major Orpen," said he. This came. When I had got through about half of it, his telephone rang.

"Run upstairs, Orp," said he, "and see Allan (Colonel Fletcher), he's laid up in bed." So off I went and found his bedroom. As soon as I (p. 064) came in he rang his bell. His servant came. "Whisky-and-soda," said he. When I was about halfway through this, there were footsteps on the stairs. "That's the Chief coming," said the Colonel. "Gosh!" said I, and I pushed my whisky-and-soda well under the bed. In came the C.-in-C. "h.e.l.lo, little man!" said he, "you look cold; and they don't seem to be very hospitable to you here, either." He rang the bell. The orderly came. "Bring Major Orpen a whisky-and-soda," said he. That did it. He talked for about ten minutes, and left. And in came Philip with my half-finished drink, cursing. "I've been standing on those d.a.m.ned stairs with Orp's drink for the last half-hour waiting for the Chief to leave." So, of course, I had to finish it. And then the Colonel's.

And I went off to General Davidson's, and he had a nice c.o.c.ktail ready for me, and a good "bottle" for dinner--after which I do not remember anything. But it was a bit of bad luck, one thing happening after another like that.

When I went back to Amiens I saw a good bit of the Press. The "Major"

had gone, and Captain Hale of the Black Watch had charge. A fine fellow, Hale, as brave as a lion. He told endless stories, which one could hardly ever understand, and he laughed at them so much himself that he usually forgot to finish them. Rudolf de Trafford was there, and old Inge, a much-travelled man; also Macintosh, a Parisian Scot.

It was very peaceful; no one dreamt that sh.e.l.ls were soon to come crashing through that old chateau. Ernest Courage, with his eyegla.s.s fixed in his cap, used to come into Amiens and finish lunch with his usual toast, and then sing Vesta Tilly's great old song:--

"Jolly good luck to the girl who loves a soldier. (p. 065) Girls, have you been there?

You know we military men Always do our duty everywhere!

"Jolly good luck to the girl who loves a soldier.

Real fine boys are we!

Girls, if you want to love a soldier You can all (diddley-dum) love me!"

and very well he did it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: XXVII. _Poilu and Tommy._]

General Seely asked Maude and myself to dine one night at the "Rhin."

Prince Antoine of Bourbon was there--he was Seely's A.D.C. During dinner I arranged to go to the Canadian Cavalry H.Q. and paint Seely, which I did, and had a most interesting time. Munnings was painting Prince Antoine at this period, on horseback. He used to make the poor Prince sit all day, circ.u.mnavigating the chateau as the sun went round. I remember going out one morning and seeing the Prince sitting upon his horse, as good as gold. Munnings was chewing a straw when I came up to them. "Here," said he. "You're just the fellow I want. What colour is that reflected light under the horse's belly?" "Very warm yellow," said I. "There! I told you so," said he to the Prince.

Apparently there had been some argument over the matter. Anyway, he mixed a full brush of warm yellow and laid it on. Just before lunch I came out again. There they were in another spot. "Hey!" said Munnings, "come here. What colour is the reflection now?" "Bright violet," said I. "There! what did I tell you?" said he to the Prince; and he mixed a brush-load of bright violet, and laid it on.

As the sun was sinking I went out again, and there was the poor Prince, still in the saddle. Munnings had nearly as much paint on (p. 066) himself as on the canvas. He was very excited. I could see him gesticulating from a distance. When he saw me he called out: "Come here quickly before the light goes. What colour is the reflection on the horse's belly now?" "Bright green," said I. "It is," said he, "and the Prince won't believe me." And he quickly made a heap of bright green and plastered it over the bright yellow and bright violet reflections of the morning and midday. So ended the day's work, and the bright green remained in full view till the next sitting.

The day I arrived Munnings was much upset because he had no sable brushes. He was telling me about this, and said, "Do you mind my asking you three questions?" "Not at all," said I. "First," he said, "have you got a car?" "Yes," said I. "Second," said he, "have you got any sable brushes?" "Yes," said I. "Third," said he, "will you lend me some?" "Yes," said I, and handed him over all I had. When I was leaving I said to Munnings, "What about those sable brushes, Munnings?" He replied: "Don't you remember I asked you three questions?" "I do remember your asking me something," said I. "Well,"

said he, "the first question I asked was, 'Have you got a car?'" "What the h.e.l.l has that got to do with my sable brushes?" said I. "A great lot," said he. "You can d.a.m.n well drive to Paris and get some more for yourself. I haven't a car."

About a week later I painted the Prince. He was a most devoted A.D.C.

to the General. It was very sad his getting killed afterwards.

[Ill.u.s.tration: XXVIII. _Major-General the Rt. Hon. J. E. B. Seely, C.B., etc._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: XXIX. _Bombing: Night._]

CHAPTER X (p. 067)

LONDON (MARCH-JUNE 1918)

I was now ordered back to London--I forget what for, something about expenses, I think. Lord Beaverbrook had become my boss, and they were going to pay all my expenses. It was a nice thought, but they never did.

I went with my brother up to G.H.Q. on March 20th to get warrants from Major A. N. Lee, D.S.O., and went on to Boulogne, and there met Ian Strang, who dined with us at the "Morny." There was a raid on when we came out from dinner, and people wished us to take shelter; but we had dined very well. The next morning there was a thick mist low down, with a clear sky above. When I got on the boat I met General Seely, who introduced me to General Sir Arthur Currie, who said: "You used to billet at St. Pol, usedn't you?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Well," said he, "I have just come through it. They got seven fourteen-inch sh.e.l.ls into it this morning." "Has the offensive started?" said I. "That's about it," said he.

London seemed very strange to me at first. I felt very out of things.

n.o.body I met, except the soldiers, or those who had been to France like myself, seemed to have any thoughts in common with mine: they did not appear to want to think about the fighting man or of the colossal deeds that were being done daily and nightly on the several fronts.

No, they all talked of their own war-work. Overworked they were, (p. 068) breaking up--some at munitions; some at shoemaking cla.s.ses; others darning socks--and they were all suffering terribly from air raids. In fact, to put it in a few words, they were well in the middle of the world war; they were just the same as the fighting man in France or on some other front.

Then it was that the definite thought came to me: the fighting man, the Hero, will be forgotten; that the people of England who have not been "overseas" and seen them at work, would never realise what these men have been through--win or lose, they would never know.

Their constant talk was of the terrible things they at home were going through on air-raid nights. It hurt me--their complaining about their little chances of damage, when I knew that millions of men were running a big risk of being blown into eternity at any moment, day or night. It is true, my first visit home made me realise that the fighting man after the war would be ignored, and I knew the reason--"Jealousy." I had been given the chance of looking on, and I had seen and worshipped. But if I had not seen, I might have felt just the same as those who stayed at home. Jealousy is one of the strongest things the human mind has to struggle against. Even now, after joint victory, it is one of the things the Allied nations have to guard against, for it exists between them, but surely the bond of the dead, that great community:--

"The Chosen Few, The very brave, The very true,"

French, British, Belgian, Italian, Portuguese and American, surely (p. 069) they should be enough to hold us together in love and respect, without jealousy, or any envy, hatred or malice in our hearts!

It was decided that an exhibition of my stuff should be held, so photographs had to be taken of each little thing, a t.i.tle given to each, and the whole bunch sent to G.H.Q. for Major Lee to censor, which he did, refusing to pa.s.s nearly all of them. But General MacDonough, however, squashed all that. Then one of my t.i.tles got me into trouble. My first "Colonel's" set had been waiting all the year to get something against me, and now they worked up a molehill to a mountain. I had to go constantly to the War Office, and I was talked to very severely. In fact, I was in black disgrace. My behaviour could not have been worse, according to Intelligence (F), or whatever they were then called at G.H.Q.

I was lunching with Maurice Baring at the "Ritz" one day, and he told me McCudden was in London. I said I would like him to sit. "Well, write and ask him," said Baring. "But," said I, "I don't know him."

"Right," said Baring, "I'll write to him." The thing was arranged, and one morning I heard a cheery voice below and someone came bounding upstairs, and before I saw him he shouted: "h.e.l.lo, Orps! Have you a ping-pong table here?" He was the little unknown boy at the 56th Squadron with whom I used to play ping-pong only a few months before.

Now he was the great hero, Major McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc., and well he wore his honours, and, like all great people, sat like a lamb.

The news one got in those days was terrible--one could not realise it--it seemed utterly impossible. Peronne taken! Bapaume taken! The (p. 070) Huns were back over the old Somme battlefields; they had taken Pozieres; the great American stores there had gone; they were back over the great mine of La Boisselle. Terrible! And the golden Virgin had fallen from the Cathedral tower, and one remembered the old prophecy, "When the Virgin of Albert falls from her tower the end of the war is at hand," and now she was down in the dirt of the street.

Did it mean defeat? Amiens was being sh.e.l.led, the Boche swarmed on the heights of Villers-Bretonneux, and they could see clearly that great landmark of Picardy, Amiens Cathedral.

The railroad from the North to Paris was smashed, and they very nearly destroyed the great railway bridge near Etaples--great ma.s.ses of masonry were blown out of it--everything was bombed right back to the sea. Then the Huns turned South. On they rushed--Montdidier sh.e.l.led, Clermont in danger, on they went to Soissons and Chateau Thierry. One Sunday news came to the War Office that Paris had been bombed all day.

A few minutes later this was corrected to "Paris has been sh.e.l.led all day." It was awful! unbelievable! Paris sh.e.l.led! Where had the Huns got to? Was the prophecy true of the Virgin falling from her tower?

Were the Allies beaten? All the towns in Germany were ringing their victory bells, and we had our backs to the sea. It was a black period.

The afternoon my exhibition opened, they sent a message for me to go to the War Office immediately. There a Colonel showed me a minute from Intelligence (F), G.H.Q. My former Colonel's followers had really put their backs into it this time. They got me fairly and squarely. The _Daily Express_ (I think it was Lord Beaverbrook's little joke) published a supposed interview with me in which I laughed long and (p. 071) loud at "the Censor fellow." This, of course, I had never done, but there it was in print. Intelligence (F) saw it and sent it to the W.O.

with the minute. I don't remember the exact words, but the gist of it was this: "That Major Orpen's behaviour had been such that they thought it undesirable that he should be allowed to set foot in France again under any circ.u.mstances until the war was terminated." I asked the Colonel what I could do. He said sternly: "Nothing." I asked him if I might have the minute for half an hour. He said: "No," and then "Yes," so I took it away to another and higher office. Here its career ended in the waste-paper basket. I went back to the Colonel, and said: "I regret, sir, I cannot return the minute, it has been destroyed."

The expression on his face was priceless, and it gave me the only pleasure I had that day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: x.x.x. _Major J. B. McCudden, V.C., D.S.O., etc._]

Shortly afterwards I lunched at a house--a large party, including two Generals. One sitting near me was telling a lady that he and the other General were going to G.H.Q. the next morning for two days. I said: "Sir, don't you want an extra batman with you?" He said: "Have you any business you want to go to France for?" "Yes, sir," said I, "I have a lot of my stuff moved to Boulogne from Amiens, and I want to see to it." He said: "All right, telephone to ---- at the War House and he will have your warrant ready and will get your seat for to-morrow morning." Gee! I was excited when I left that lunch, and darted back to my studio and telephoned to the War Office. Everything was arranged.

They even telephoned Intelligence (F) that my car was to meet me at Boulogne. That must have been a nasty knock for Intelligence (F), but my faithful Howlett was there with the car when I got off the boat. We went and had lunch at the "Morny," and I saw my stuff was quite safe (p. 072) at the "Windsor Hotel," then I motored off to St. Valery-sur-Somme and visited the Allied Press Chateau (Captain Rudolf de Trafford was now the Chief of the Allied Press, Captain Hale having gone back to his regiment, the Black Watch), and arranged with them that I could get a billet there if I could manage to break down the opposition at Intelligence (F). Then I motored back to the ecole Militaire at Montreuil, where I was to meet General Sir John Davidson, who was giving me dinner and putting me up. After dinner he had to go and see the Chief at his chateau, and he asked me to go with him. The C.-in-C., as usual, was more than kind, and asked me to dinner the next night. Then I got a bright thought and I asked his A.D.C., Colonel Fletcher, if he would be so kind as to do me a real good turn.

He said: "Certainly." So I explained that I wanted him to ring me up at "b.u.mpherie" (H.Q. Intelligence (F)) at 10 o'clock the next morning, and say the C.-in-C. wanted to know would I dine with him. At 9.15 a.m. the next morning I got down to the little wooden huts which were H.Q. Intelligence (F). There I saw, through the windows in the pa.s.sage, the two Colonels and Major Lee talking. They saw me all right, but pretended not to, so I walked up and down till a few minutes after 10 a.m., when out came the Major. "h.e.l.lo, Orpen! is that you? I didn't know you were here." I said cheerfully: "Oh yes, I've been here quite a long time. How are you, old bean? Lovely morning, isn't it?" He said: "Look here, a telephone message has just come through from the C.-in-C. He wants to know if you will dine with him to-night." I said: "A telephone message from the C.-in-C. to me! But why did you come out here?" He said: "To tell you, of course." "But,"

I said, "you didn't know I was here!" He said: "Answer 'Yes' or (p. 073) 'No.'" "Oh," I said, "answer 'Yes.' I want to fix up with him what date I am coming back to France to work."

[Ill.u.s.tration: x.x.xI. _The Refugee._]

That did the trick. Intelligence (F) saw they were beaten. No more opposition! Perfect harmony was established. I at once became "Orps."

Drinks were offered, lunches, dinners--any old thing that could be done was "a pleasure."

The dinner at the Chief's was most interesting. Some American Generals were there, and I learnt a lot about how things were going on, and returned to London the next day, and started making arrangements to go back and work in France again.