THE SPIRIT OF GOD.
The extraordinary thing in our hut was that the quietest and most
decent member of our little society was, in reality, the most powerful.
This was Billy Greens, generally known as ‘The Padre.’ In controversy
Ginger or Tosher could simply bowl him out, but for all that there was
a sweetness and a kindness about him that made him a very dear pal.
He was always so broad, ever willing to understand us, but quietly
and effectively he was pitting his moral weight against our immoral
and careless code. Billy had no physical strength to speak of. It was
really a shame to see him in khaki, for temperamentally he was unfitted
for the awful strain. But he was there of his own choosing. As he
always said, ‘It is a holy war.’ This gave him a great standing. He
was fighting for a moral cause, and we did think him a cut above the
ordinary parson.
Billy Greens was a ‘white man.’
His strength lay in his private conduct, which was above suspicion.
A fair sportsman, in a ‘rag’ he took his punishment. We never heard
him speaking about ‘the Cross’ or ‘salvation,’ but in his own charming
way he would lug one or more of us out for a walk, and land us in the
Y.M.C.A., where he regaled us with refreshments and kept us to hear
the entertainments. And the most amusing thing was that he and Ginger
(the so–called Rationalist) were the best of pals. Ginger, however,
was no Rationalist; he was just an argumentative beggar, so brilliant
that he could flatten every one of us out. At all hours of the day and
the night Billy and Ginger were going it, but it was quite evident
that the padre was coming out top–dog, and taking the sting out of
Ginger’s oratory. As a matter of fact, after they had lived three
months together, Ginger ceased to batter the Church, and often helped
his clerical chum to get up concerts for the Y.M.C.A.
The padre was making good.
Even Tosher, the dear old dollar–loving Canadian, was a champion of
the padre. He was so powerful in the physical sense that he elected
himself as a bodyguard. When there was a rough–and–tumble on, Tosher
always rescued the gasping curate. There was something real good in the
Canadian. If he was no great Christian, he was the best–hearted man
in our platoon, and certainly the bravest of the crowd. His M.M. and
D.C.M. were evidence of that. And if he did blow his own trumpet, it
was not meant seriously, for Tosher, like all Canadians, was fond of
‘chewing the rag.’ The padre made it his business to take Tosher round
all the nice people; indeed, he got Tosher fixed up with a neighbouring
merchant’s daughter, a most charming girl.
Tosher ceased to violate the moral code.
So far as Beefy and I were concerned, the padre had a lot of work to
do. But he kept at it in his own quiet way, and although we never said
it, we secretly felt in touch with a better man, and we always accepted
a good deal of his advice. Billy worked on ‘the chum principle.’
He simply wormed himself into our confidence, with the result that
we never cared to offend him. When he called me ‘John,’ there was
something so very paternal in it that I became submissive, and a
supporter of Billy, if not a perfect ornament of the Church.
The padre was smashing our lax code.
‘You know, John,’ he said one night, ‘I shall be sorry to leave here.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s a lot of good work going on.’
‘Oh!’
‘You fellows are not what you were. There’s not half the filthy
language or the false bravado there used to be. None of those
disgusting photos are around now. And nearly all the boys read in the
hut at night. They’re _thinking_, and that’s all we want them to do.’
‘What’s done it?’
‘Well, the fresh air, the games, the discipline, and the general
goodwill. The commandant, of course, is an asset. He’s such a dear old
man that they feel they must be decent. And unquestionably Captain
Cheerall has been an enormous influence. Just look at all those fellows
swotting up military history,’ he said, pointing to the crowd with
their noses well down on books.
‘You like army life, then, padre?’
‘Not a bit of it. It has great good in it, and great dangers. All
depends on the men you live with. Of course, this is an educated crowd,
and they are easy to handle. But I had an awful time in the ranks. And
yet I wouldn’t have missed this war for worlds. My eyes are open now. I
have seen the good in men, also the bad. And I hope it will help me in
the future.’
‘Do you think we’ll be the better for this war—I mean, in the moral
sense?’
‘That’s a big question. I think all the educated men will reason more,
and I believe they will glorify the home and a good woman. But for the
great crowd I’m not sure.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, war loosens things. Women go wrong, and the marriage vows get
broken. Men in the ranks are like children. One fool can contaminate
a thousand. That’s the danger. Still, if we can educate them, and if
the parsons will work, we can keep the Old Land going. And, of course,
the Y.M.C.A. is a powerful force. I tell you, John, if we had had no
Y.M.C.A. in this war, the army would have been a hotbed of drunkenness
and immorality. Kitchener was the man who saw this at the beginning. By
Jove, that _was_ a MAN!’
‘You’re a Kitchener yourself, Billy.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s you that’s cleaning this hut up. You’ve been a good pal, and we
shall be sorry to leave you.’
‘Not I, John! Not I!’
‘Who, then?’
‘The Spirit of God. Good–night, old boy.’
As he walked away a lump came into my throat. I’m a sentimental ass, I
know, but still _that’s_ the sort of padre for AFTER THE WAR.