In Flanders Flooded Fields

by Paul Van Pul

St Omer was another of those picturesque small towns that dotted le plat pays of Flanders. In 1678, through the Treaty of Nijmegen, the Spanish Netherlands, or Flanders, had been forced to turn over this town on an isolated mound to the French but a lot of ordinary folk here still spoke Flemish.

  The field marshal‘s headquarters was set up in a stern-looking, three-level, stuccoed manor house at number 37 in the rue St Bertin. Upon entering British General Headquarters it was as if the three men stepped into another world. The portly field marshal greeted King Albert with his omnipresent Irish charm and, as a surprise to the monarch, immediately invited him and his small party to the dinner table. In the mess room, surrounded by his complete staff, it seemed as if the horrors of war were the last thing on Sir John French’s mind.

  A month before Sir John had turned sixty-two. With his heavy, white moustache and thin white hair he was another of those military leaders who was many years King Albert’s senior. But his disposition towards the king of the Belgians was entirely different from that of the French generals. Here was a man with an intense devotion towards his own monarch, first King Edward VII and, since 1910, King George V. This entrenched philosophy together with his warm-hearted nature immediately translated into a mutual, unspoken affection.

  In his long career as a brave cavalry officer Sir John had seen a lot of galloping action in the vast expanses of the British Empire. On the contrary here on the European continent, his forces had faced a well-organized, disciplined and massive aggressor. The bloody battles and subsequent retreats since August had made him uneasy about British involvement in the whole affair. As a man of action he had always favoured operating on an open flank where he could manoeuvre his troops at will, but in the present situation he feared that the flexible front was slowly being transformed into a ruinous war of attrition.

  After dinner Sir John, his chief of staff and King Albert withdrew to an adjoining salon for a tête à tête. Of the subjects discussed at this private meeting, nothing is known. Relying on the available information and indications on the ground, we have tried to reconstruct the likely topics.

  The two commanders recognized that they were both facing an identical tactical situation. Their respective forces were exhausted by a difficult and dangerous retreat and both men were looking for a safe area to rest and reorganize their troops before any new attack could be ordered. Contrary to their wishes nevertheless, the French Generalissimo had been constantly asking for offensive action in an effort to turn the German right.

  To avoid a collapse of the overstretched front line the field marshal had been contemplating for some time setting up an entrenched camp around Calais and Dunkirk if his forces had to again give way under German pressure. There, behind the fortifications and floods the BEF could then more comfortably be reinforced from England. With a short supply line across the Channel, protected by the British Fleet, it could await the opportune moment to debouch into the German flank. Up until that moment it would be a painful thorn in the German side. In fact, such a manoeuvre would keep the front moving for a while and buy time to reverse the odds. The French on their part could then withdraw deeper into France, allowing them to shorten their front and supply lines considerably as well.

  As the field marshal pointed out on a wall map, a retreat of the French left flank on the Avre/Somme rivers for instance would shorten the front line by no less than seventy kilometres.

  King Albert on the other hand was determined to hold on to whatever was left of his kingdom, as long as a British soldier was on Belgian soil. Here the monarch thought he had found a common interest: perhaps the whole Furnes-Dunkirk-Calais area could be transformed into an Anglo-Belgian fortified camp? He went on to explain to the British commander that the situation for his troops was now desperate. Perhaps the field marshal could send some help? Even a battalion or so of British troops joining the Belgians in their trenches would give at least the morale boost that was now so desperately needed.

  Sir John had to disappoint the monarch. His own Expeditionary Force was now stretched to the limit and he had to keep a watchful eye on the area between Ypres and Dixmude. Two French territorial divisions and four French cavalry divisions were the only troops that now covered a potential retreat for the British towards the coast. These meagre French forces faced Houthulst Wood where he suspected the 3rd German Reserve Corps was assembled in preparation for an attempt to turn his front. If this manoeuvre succeeded the BEF would be cut off from the Channel ports, its supply and escape route.

  He told King Albert that he had talked to General Joffre five days earlier and that the French Commander-in-Chief had informed him that the 9th French Army Corps was due to arrive in Ypres, with more troops to follow later. In the meantime he, unfortunately, could not spare any forces.

  The Royal Consort’s separate and sudden journey inland and the simultaneous lowkey visit of the king to Sir John French cannot be called a coincidence. Undoubtedly King Albert also broached the subject of the queen’s trip that evening. Queen Elisabeth’s personal diary could possibly give more clues, but it was not accessible at the time of writing. So for now we can only voice our strong assumptions.

  The king went on to explain to Sir John that, due to the precarious situation along the Yser front line, he had asked his spouse to leave their provisional residence at La Panne in the afternoon and motor inland, towards the British held sector. The king asked the field marshal to provide the queen with an armed escort if necessary and, in case the BEF had to withdraw towards the coast, to give her safe passage to the United Kingdom. Sir John F. replied that he was extremely honoured by this request and that he would take every step possible to secure the safety of Her Royal Highness the Queen Consort.

  Due to the highly sensitive character of this personal agreement and perhaps even the disastrous impact this news could have on the morale of the Belgian soldiers, it was agreed that this discussion would be kept secret at all costs.

  For the local inhabitants of the polder the perils of war were of a more practical nature. A village schoolmaster from the Furnes-Ambacht region wrote in his diary that night: ‘October 26: There is talk about opening the sluices. Centuries ago, when there were no locks yet, this region was often submerged. But who will prevent the water from receding at ebb tide?’

  The news of the monarch’s secret visit to the BEF Headquarters could not be kept quiet, at least not at the highest military level. The next morning at 09:00 Colonel Brécard at the French Mission sent the following warning to the Generalissimo: ‘I learned that the king has visited Field Marshal French yesterday evening to ask that the Belgian Army be relieved and put in second line.’

  NOTES

  1. Halfway between Matadi and Léopoldville a town was established along the railway called Thysville, today Mbanza-Ngungu.

  2. Six months later – and within three weeks – a 500-bed army hospital, made out of prefabricated buildings, would be erected here.

  3. For more details of Charles Cogge’s rewards see Appendix III: ‘A royal treatment’.

  4. For a critical review of the actions of these engineers see Appendix II: ‘Roads & Bridges Mysteries’.

  Chapter XIII

  At the Spanish Lock

  Around midnight the rain let up and slowly a black, star filled sky unfurled. Earlier Captain Thys had taken Charles Cogge from Furnes to Nieuport. Before entering the town, at the Pelican Bridge across the Furnes Canal, Thys had left the car and had sent Cogge with a gendarme 1 as an escort, on foot the half a mile through the fields towards the Arch Bridge across the West Vaart. He himself had walked through the mud to the weir at the Koolhof Vaart where the emergency dyke was being built, to pick up a few soldiers to assist them at the lock.

  Because of the fierce bombardment Cogge and his companion, upon arrival at the West Vaart took cover behind a small dwelling near the bridge. While waiting there, bundled up in their greatcoats, both were surprised to discover that they knew each other. The constable, a man from the v
illage of Forthem near the Loo Canal had at one time worked as a cabinetmaker for Cogge!

  The Koolhof Vaart Weir in October 1914 while it was temporarily being heightened with sand bags to counter the seawater. In the background the railway levee. Later a more permanent modification was built in brick.

  Nieuport 1914–1918, R. Thys, 1922.

  For two hours the shelling prevented the captain from joining them at the Arch Bridge. Finally, during a lull, Thys and some troopers arrived and together they continued along the West Vaart towards the Spanish Lock where they arrived at 02:30. Along the vaart Cogge had stopped in a few places to indicate some ditches that emptied into the vaart and needed to be blocked off.

  Once at the lock, on top of the west bank of the Yser Channel, they were now in full view from the opposite side. Since the French had evacuated the bridgehead on that side only hours before, there was a good chance that the Germans had moved in. In that case the enemy would spot any movement of lanterns or be alerted by any unusual noise. Hence all the work had to be done quietly and in the dark.

  The Arch Bridge on the West Vaart. While waiting for Captain Thys, Charles Cogge and his gendarme had to take cover here in the early hours of 27 October.

  Nieuport 1914–1918, R. Thys, 1922.

  On the tidal side the flood doors were locked with a chain and padlock. Cogge had expected to find the key to the padlock in the lock shed nearby but they couldn’t find it there, nor any tools they needed. Presumably all useful equipment had been pillaged during the previous days. After some struggling they managed to open a link in the chain with a crowbar. They then opened both sets of flood doors and pulled them into their recesses.

  Originally – that is before 1870 – this lock had been used as a navigation lock for barges travelling to and from Furnes, the West Vaart originally being the Furnes Canal. With the building of the new Furnes Lock and canal on the east side of town, the West Vaart had been cut off and the lock was now solely used to drain water from the polder. For this purpose only the small gate paddles in the doors were raised and lowered while the swing doors themselves remained locked. With the building of the railway line towards Nieuport-Bains, over the head gate, the lock had also lost its upstream ebb doors. The remaining downstream ebb doors had been replaced with so-called ‘set-doors’. This type of door that cannot be manoeuvred but that moves freely with the current, is only wood-cladded at the lower part of the frame, up to a well-determined height. The reason for this unusual construction was simple. If in a normal setting the flood doors in a lock are secured in an open position then the polder will gradually flood since the ebb doors will automatically close at each low tide, thereby trapping the surplus water in the polder.

  But if the ebb doors are replaced with set-doors then the excess water will return to the sea over the top of the closed part of the door. As such one will maintain a constant, preset water level in the polder.

  This peculiar set-up was of course not installed to protect the polder from flooding – for that purpose one had the flood doors – but it was meant to inundate the polder and to automatically maintain a well-determined water level in it – just the kind of action Captain Thys wanted to initiate.

  Since they had no tools available, including the metal racks to crank open the doors, the soldiers had to push the heavy doors open by hand and this could only be done once the water level on both sides of the doors was equal. Then all they could do was wait.

  An example of a set-door in an inundation lock. Only the lower part of the doorframe is boarded. This type of door could swing freely in the lock chamber and was not operated by a capstan like the flood door in the background.

  ‘The water rose … and it would not go faster than nature wanted it to go,’ Cogge said some years later.

  As long as the tidal water in the channel was lower than the water level of the vaart the set-doors stayed shut under the inland water pressure thereby preventing any loss of polder water. But after some time the rising tide slowly reached the top of the closed section of the set-door. At first seawater rippled over the top in a thin trickle, then, as the water flow gradually increased, the set-doors slowly opened up. But with the rising water flow a distressing situation developed.

  When the lock had been discarded as a navigational structure forty-five years earlier, the retaining rings for the doors had been removed as a precautionary measure. This simple procedure, evidently unknown to Cogge and Thys, now prevented both men from anchoring the doors with their proper gate hooks in their recesses. With the rising tide the drag slowly increased and the soldiers were having a hard time holding the doors back. By 03:45 the situation was becoming dangerous, to such an extent that the men had to let go of the doors for fear of being thrown into the deep, narrow lock chamber to a certain death in the treacherous rising waters. Distraught and helpless they all watched the doors close! With the water pressure steadily increasing there was no way that the doors could be opened again before the next low water. The flood attempt, at least for the time being, had failed.

  To save at least some of the effort Captain Thys decided to raise the small gate paddles in each door. This allowed for an opening of two square metres, the best they could do for the time being. Depressed the men walked back along the West Vaart to the Pelican Bridge where the motorcar was still waiting. From there they drove towards Wulpen where they reported to General Dossin and later continued towards Furnes where they arrived around 07:30.

  View of the Yser Channel from the Spanish Lock, shortly after the events of October 1914. The opposite bank – and possible German sharpshooters – were not far off.

  Nieuport 1914–1918, R. Thys, 1922.

  Once back in Furnes Thys conferred with lockmaster Kemp, the man in charge of the locks in town. Since he was apparently the only nautical expert in the region still at his post, Thys had talked with him the previous evening. The lockmaster had warned him about using the Spanish Lock, but only because in his opinion the capacity of this structure was too small for the undertaking the military envisioned. Now Kemp suggested the only option left: open the doors at low tide and insert wedges under them. But this would make the undertaking a lot more complicated: they would have to carry a lot of extra tools, descend into the lock chamber, install the wedges blindly under water and hammer them in place. That would be time consuming and dangerous. On top of it there was always a chance that the wedges would have the wrong dimensions and that the doors would still shut due to the water pressure. A second failure was unacceptable. They needed another solution.

  At High Command Thys discussed the situation with several staff officers, including Prudent Nuyten. Seventeen years later, General Brécard (Head of the French Mission in October 1914) wrote about that day: ‘On several occasions I met with Captain [sic] Nuyten of the Belgian Engineers [sic] who handles the question [of the flood] from the point of view of its realization and the repercussion on the positions occupied by the troops SW of the railway.’

  With a tidal cycle of over twelve hours the next opportunity to open the lock doors would be in the late afternoon. That was an extremely dangerous time: all activity would be highly visible by enemy observers. Therefore it was decided to wait until the next night to make a new attempt.

  The Spanish Lock, later in the war. In the foreground, left the upper part of the inundation door (set-door). Notice also that woven osier mats have been installed to disguise any movement from enemy observation.

  Nieuport 1914–1918, R. Thys, 1922.

  To speed up the flood however there was perhaps still another avenue: tapping into the pool of freshwater now stored by the French in the canals around Dunkirk. Charles Cogge had told Nuyten that the Bergen Vaart was unusable for such a purpose but it seemed possible that water could be ‘pushed’ from Dunkirk through the Dunkirk and Furnes canals instead. If that were to be done someone, quite possibly Cogge, proposed to rupture the southern dyke of the Furnes Canal, somewhere between the railway embankment and the small
East Vaart Lock. The level in the canal being a foot higher than in the vaarts, the water would rapidly invade the polder east of the railway.

  After two cold, miserable weeks of heavy rain, alternating with showers, drizzle and fog, daybreak on 27 October promised a relief: an open sky finally allowed a low, rising autumn sun to project long shadows on the rich, gleaming clay soil and waterlogged grasslands. It seemed even the enemy was taking time off to enjoy the bright day: the shelling was less severe and more sporadic, concentrated mainly on Nieuport, Ramscappelle, Pervyse, the Rode Poort Farm and Dixmude. The assaults were scattered, small scale and lacking vigour. It was a welcome relief for the weary Belgians.

  During the night two enemy attacks had taken place on the railway levee, one towards the Boitshoucke halting place, the other on Pervyse station. The Boitshoucke attack was repulsed by the 4th de Ligne Regiment, the one on Pervyse station by the 1st Grenadiers. Later on some reconnaissance troops were spotted in front of Ramscappelle.

  Taking advantage of the apparent lull in the fighting the Belgians feverishly strengthened their new defence line along the railway embankment. Simultaneously the French, still holding the isolated village of Stuyvekenskerke 2km in front of Pervyse, agreed to withdraw on the railway levee. With this move the front line now coincided with the railway from Nieuport up to almost 2km south of Pervyse. From here the line slowly wandered off towards the south-east, reaching the Yser in the bend at km 16.2 Engineer units meanwhile laboured stubbornly to finish off the closing of the culverts under the railway and the building of the emergency dyke along the Koolhof Vaart.

  With this shortening of the front line the Belgians were able to withdraw most of the Third and Sixth Army Divisions from the front and put them in reserve. As both cavalry divisions had been the only major reinforcements available for a few days this move at once offered High Command some breathing space.