OFF TO FRANCE.
_January To March, 1915._
Towards the end of January, rumors became more frequent that our
departure was close at hand, and we could see signs of the coming
movement in many quarters. The disposition of the chaplains was still
a matter of uncertainty. At last we were informed that only five
chaplains were to proceed with the troops to France. This was the
original number which the War Office had told us to bring from Canada.
The news fell like a thunderbolt upon us, and we at once determined to
get the order changed. The Senior Roman Catholic Chaplain and myself,
by permission of the General, made a special journey to the War
Office. The Chaplain-General received us, if not coldly, at least
austerely. We told him that we had come from Canada to be with the men
and did not want to leave them. He replied by saying that the
Canadians had been ordered by Lord Kitchener to bring only five
chaplains with them, and they had brought thirty-one. He said, looking
at me, "That is not military discipline; we must obey orders." I
explained to him that since the Canadian Government was paying the
chaplains the people thought it did not matter how many we had. Even
this did not seem to convince him. "Besides", he said, "they tell me
that of all the troops in England the Canadians are the most
disorderly and undisciplined, and they have got thirty-one chaplains."
"But", I replied, "you ought to see what they would have been like, if
we had brought only five." We succeeded in our mission in so far that
he promised to speak to Lord Kitchener that afternoon and see if the
wild Canadians could not take more chaplains with them to France than
were allotted to British Divisions. The result was that eleven of our
chaplains were to be sent.
Early in February we were told that our Division was to go in a few days.
In spite of the mud and discomfort we had taken root in Salisbury
Plain. I remember looking with affection one night at the Cathedral
bathed in moonlight, and at the quaint streets of the dear old town,
over which hung the shadow of war. Could it be possible that England
was about to be crushed under the heel of a foreign tyrant? If (p. 035)
such were to be her fate, death on the battlefield would be easy to bear.
What Briton could endure to live under the yoke or by the permission of
a vulgar German autocrat?
On entering the mess one evening I was horrified to read in the orders
that Canon Scott was to report immediately for duty to No. 2 General
Hospital. It was a great blow to be torn from the men of the fighting
forces. I at once began to think out a plan of campaign. I went over
to the G.O.C. of my brigade, and told him that I was to report to No.
2 General Hospital. I said, with perfect truth, that I did not know
where No. 2 General Hospital was, but I had determined to begin the
hunt for it in France. I asked him if he would take me across with the
Headquarters Staff, so that I might begin my search at the front. He
had a twinkle in his eye as he told me that if I could get on board
the transport, he would make no objection. I was delighted with the
prospect of going over with the men.
When the time came to pack up, I was overwhelmed by the number of things
that I had accumulated during the winter. I disposed of a lot of
useless camp furniture, such as folding tables and collapsible chairs,
and my faithful friend the oil stove. With a well-filled Wolseley
kit-bag and a number of haversacks bursting with their contents, I was
ready for the journey. On February 11th, on a lovely afternoon, I
started off with the Headquarters Staff. We arrived at Avonmouth and
made our way to the docks. It was delightful to think that I was going
with the men. I had no batman and no real standing with the unit with
which I was travelling. However, I did not let this worry me. I got a
friend to carry my kit-bag, and then covering myself with haversacks,
till I looked, as the men said, like a Christmas tree, I made my way
to the ship with a broad grin of satisfaction on my face. As I went up
the gangway so attired and looking exceedingly pleased with myself, my
appearance excited the suspicion of the officer in command of the ship,
who was watching the troops come on board. Mistaking the cause of my
good spirits, he called a captain to him and said, "There is an officer
coming on board who is drunk; go and ask him who he is." The captain
accordingly came over and greeting me pleasantly said, "How do you do,
Sir?" "Very well, thank you," I replied, smiling all the more. I was
afraid he had come up to send me back. Having been a teetotaler for
twenty-two years, I knew nothing of the horrible suspicion under (p. 036)
which I lay at the moment. The captain then said, "Who are you, Sir?"
and I, thinking of my happy escape from army red tape, answered quite
innocently, with a still broader grin, "I'm No. 2, General Hospital."
This, of course confirmed the captain's worst suspicions. He went back
to the O.C. of the ship. "Who does he say he is?" said the Colonel.
"He says he is No. 2 General Hospital," the Captain replied. "Let him
come on board" said the Colonel. He thought I was safer on board the
ship than left behind in that condition on the wharf. With great
delight I found all dangers had been passed and I was actually about
to sail for France.
The boat which took us and the 3rd Artillery Brigade, was a small vessel
called "The City of Chester." We were horribly crowded, so my bed had
to be made on the table in the saloon. A doctor lay on the sofa at the
side and several young officers slept on the floor. We had not been out
many hours before a terrific gale blew up from the West, and we had to
point our bow towards Canada. I told the men there was some satisfaction
in that. We were exceedingly uncomfortable. My bed one night slid off
the table on to the sleeping doctor and nearly crushed him. I squeezed
out some wonderfully religious expressions from him in his state of
partial unconsciousness. I replaced myself on the table, and then slid
off on to the chairs on the other side. I finally found a happy and
safe haven on the floor. On some of the other transports they fared
even worse. My son, with a lot of other privates, was lying on the
floor of the lowest deck in his boat, when a voice shouted down the
gangway, "Lookout boys, there's a horse coming down." They cleared
away just in time for a horse to land safely in the hold, having
performed one of those miraculous feats which horses so often do
without damage to themselves.
On the 15th of February we arrived off the west coast of France and
disembarked at St. Nazaire. Our life now took on fresh interest.
Everything about us was new and strange. As a Quebecer I felt quite at
home in a French town. A good sleep in a comfortable hotel was a great
refreshment after the voyage. In the afternoon of the following day we
entrained for the front. I spread out my Wolesley sleeping bag on the
straw in a box car in which there were several other officers. Our
progress was slow, but it was a great thing to feel that we were (p. 037)
travelling through France, that country of romance and chivalry. Our
journey took more than two days, and we arrived at Hazebrouck one week
after leaving Salisbury Plain. The town has since been badly wrecked,
but then it was undamaged. The Brigadier lent me a horse and I rode
with his staff over to Caestre where the brigade was to be billeted.
In the same town were the 15th and 16th Battalions and the 3rd Field
Ambulance. I had a room that night in the Chateau, a rather rambling
modern house. The next morning I went out to find a billet for myself.
I called on the Mayor and Mayoress, a nice old couple who not only gave
me a comfortable room in their house, but insisted upon my accepting
it free of charge. They also gave me breakfast in the kitchen downstairs.
I was delighted to be so well housed and was going on my way rejoicing
when I met an officer who told me that the Brigade Major wanted to see
me in a hurry. I went over to his office and was addressed by him in a
very military manner. He wanted to know why I was there and asked what
unit I was attached to. I told him No. 2 General Hospital. He said,
"Where is it?" "I don't know", I replied, "I came over to France to
look for it." He said, "It is at Lavington on Salisbury Plain," and
added, "You will have to report to General Alderson and get some
attachment till the hospital comes over." His manner was so cold and
businesslike that it was quite unnerving and I began to realize more
than ever that I was in the Army. Accordingly that afternoon I walked
over to the General's Headquarters, at Strazeele, some five miles
away, and he attached me to the Brigade until my unit should come to
France. I never knew when it did come to France, for I never asked.
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof" was my motto. I held on
to my job at the front. But the threat which the Brigadier held over
me, that if I went into the trenches or anywhere out of his immediate
ken I should be sent back to No. 2 General Hospital, was something
which weighed upon my spirits very heavily at times, and caused me to
acquire great adroitness in the art of dodging. In fact, I made up my
mind that three things had to be avoided if I wished to live through
the campaign--sentries, cesspools, and generals. They were all sources
of special danger, as everyone who has been at the front can testify.
Over and over again on my rambles in the dark, nothing has saved me
from being stuck by a sentry but the white gleam of my clerical (p. 038)
collar, which on this account I had frequently thought of painting
with luminous paint. One night I stepped into a cesspool and had to sit
on a chair while my batman pumped water over me almost as ill-savoured
as the pool itself. On another occasion, when, against orders, I was
going into the trenches in Ploegsteert, I saw the General and his
staff coming down the road. Quick as thought, I cantered my horse into
an orchard behind a farm house, where there was a battery of Imperials.
The men were surprised, not to say alarmed, at the sudden appearance
of a chaplain in their midst. When I told them, however, that I was
dodging a general, they received me with the utmost kindness and
sympathy. They had often done the same themselves, and offered me some
light refreshments.
On the following Sunday we had our first church parade in the war
zone. We were delighted during the service to hear in the distance the
sound of guns and shells. As the war went on we preferred church
parades when we could not hear guns and shells.
After a brief stay in Caestre the whole brigade marched off to
Armentieres. Near Fletre, the Army Commander, General Smith-Dorrien,
stood by the roadside and took the salute as we passed. I went with
the 15th Battalion, and, as I told the men, being a Canon, marched
with the machine gun section. We went by the delightful old town of
Bailleul. The fields were green. The hedges were beginning to show
signs of spring life. The little villages were quaint and picturesque,
but the pave road was rough and tiring. Bailleul made a delightful
break in the journey. The old Spanish town hall, with its tower, the
fine old church and spire and the houses around the Grande Place, will
always live in one's memory. The place is all a ruin now, but then it
formed a pleasant home and meeting place for friends from many parts.
We skirted the borders of Belgium and arrived at Armentieres in the
afternoon. The place had been shelled and was partly deserted, but was
still a populous town. I made my home with the Brigade transport in a
large school. In the courtyard our horses and mules were picketed. I
had never heard mules bray before and I had a good sample next morning
of what they can do, for with the buildings around them the sound had
an added force. The streets of Armentieres were well laid out and some
of the private residences were very fine. It is astonishing how our
camp life at Salisbury had made us love cities. Armentieres has (p. 039)
since been destroyed and its church ruined. Many of us have pleasant
memories of the town, and the cemetery there is the resting place of
numbers of brave Canadians.
I ran across an imperial Chaplain there, whom I had met in England. He
told me he had a sad duty to perform that night. It was to prepare for
death three men who were to be shot at daybreak. He felt it very
keenly, and I afterwards found from experience how bitter the duty
was.
We were brought to Armentieres in order to be put into the trenches
with some of the British units for instruction. On Wednesday evening,
February the 24th, the men were marched off to the trenches for the
first time and I went with a company of the 15th Battalion, who were
to be attached to the Durham Light Infantry. I was warned to keep
myself in the background as it was said that the chaplains were not
allowed in the front line. The trenches were at Houplines to the east
of Armentieres. We marched down the streets till we came to the edge
of the town and there a guide met us and we went in single file across
the field. We could see the German flare-lights and could hear the
crack of rifles. It was intensely interesting, and the mystery of the
war seemed to clear as we came nearer to the scene of action. The men
went down into the narrow trench and I followed. I was welcomed by a
very nice young captain whom I never heard of again till I saw the
cross that marked his grave in the Salient. The trenches in those days
were not what they afterwards became. Double rows of sandbags built
like a wall were considered an adequate protection. I do not think
there was any real parados. The dugouts were on a level with the
trench and were roofed with pieces of corrugated iron covered with two
layers of sandbags. They were a strange contrast to the dugouts thirty
feet deep, lined with wood, which we afterwards made for our trench
homes.
I was immensely pleased at having at last got into the front line.
Even if I were sent out I had at least seen the trenches. The captain
brought me to his tiny dugout and told me that he and I could squeeze
in there together for the night. He then asked me if I should like to
see the trench, and took me with him on his rounds. By this time it
was dark and rainy and very muddy. As we were going along the trench a
tall officer, followed by another met us and exchanged a word with the
captain. They then came up to me and the first one peered at me in (p. 040)
the darkness and said in abrupt military fashion, "Who are you?"
I thought my last hour had come, or at least I was going to be sent
back. I told him I was a chaplain with the Canadians. "Did you come
over with the men?" "Yes", I said. "Capital", he replied, "Won't you
come and have lunch with me tomorrow?" "Where do you live?" I said.
The other officer came up to my rescue at this moment and said, "The
General's Headquarters are in such and such a place in Armentieres,"
"Good Heavens", I whispered in a low tone to the officer, "Is he a
general?" "Yes" he said. "I hope my deportment was all that it ought
to have been in the presence of a general," I replied. "It was
excellent, Padre," he said, with a laugh. So I arranged to go and have
luncheon with him two days afterwards, for I was to spend forty-eight
hours in the trenches. The first officer turned out to be General
Congreve, V.C., a most gallant man. He told me at luncheon that if he
could press a button and blow the whole German nation into the air he
would do it. I felt a little bit shocked then, because I did not know
the Germans as I afterwards did. I spent nearly four years at the
front hunting for that button.
The captain and I had very little room to move about in his dugout. I
was very much impressed with the unostentatious way in which he said,
"If you want to say your prayers, Padre, you can kneel over in that
corner first, because there is only room for one at a time. I will say
mine afterwards"--and he did. He was a Roman Catholic, and had lived
in India, and was a very fine type of man. When I read the words two
years afterwards on a cross in a cemetery near Poperinghe, "Of your
charity pray for the soul of Major Harter, M.C.," I did it gladly and
devoutly.
I had brought with me in a small pyx, the Blessed Sacrament, and the
next morning I gave Communion to a number of the men. One young
officer, a boy of eighteen, who had just left school to come to the
front, asked me to have the service in his dugout. The men came in
three or four at a time and knelt on the muddy floor. Every now and
then we could hear the crack of a bullet overhead striking the
sandbags. The officer was afterwards killed, and the great promise of
his life was not fulfilled in this world.
There was a great deal of rifle fire in the trenches in those days.
The captain told me the Canadians were adepts in getting rid of (p. 041)
their ammunition and kept firing all night long. Further down the
line were the "Queen's Own Westminsters." They were a splendid body of
young men and received us very kindly. On my way over to them the next
morning, I found in a lonely part of a trench a man who had taken off
his shirt and was examining the seams of it with interest. I knew he
was hunting for one of those insects which afterwards played no small
part in the general discomfort of the Great War, and I thought it
would be a good opportunity to learn privately what they looked like.
So I took a magnifying glass out of my pocket and said, "Well, my boy,
let me have a look for I too am interested in botany." He pointed to a
seam in his shirt and said, "There, Sir, there is one." I was just
going to examine it under the glass when, crack! a bullet hit the
sandbags near-by, and he told me the trench was enfiladed. I said, "My
dear boy, I think I will postpone this scientific research until we
get to safer quarters, for if I am knocked out, the first question my
congregation will ask will be, "What was our beloved pastor doing when
he was hit?" If they hear that I was hunting in a man's shirt for one
of these insects, they will not think it a worthy ending to my life."
He grinned, put on his shirt, and moved down the trench.
That afternoon a good many shells passed over our heads and of course
the novelty of the thing made it most interesting. After a war
experience of nearly four years, one is almost ashamed to look back
upon those early days which were like war in a nursery. The hideous
thing was then only in its infancy. Poison gas, liquid fire, trench
mortars, hand grenades, machine guns, (except a very few) and tanks
were then unknown. The human mind had not then made, as it afterward
did, the sole object of its energy the destruction of human life. Yet
with a deepening knowledge of the instruments of death has come, I
trust, a more revolting sense of the horrors and futility of war. The
romance and chivalry of the profession of arms has gone forever. Let
us hope that in the years to come the human mind will bend all its
energies to right the wrongs and avert the contentions that result in
bloodshed.
On the following Sunday, we had a church parade in the square in
Armentieres. Two or three men watched the sky with field glasses lest
an enemy plane should come up. We had now finished our instruction in
trench warfare and were going to take over part of the front line. (p. 042)
We were marched off one afternoon to the village of Bac St. Maur,
where we rested for the night. I had dinner with the officers of the
15th Battalion, and went out afterwards to a big factory at the end of
the straggling brick village to see my son, whose battalion was
quartered there. On returning I found the night was very dark, and
every door and window in the long rows of houses was tightly closed.
No lights were allowed in the town. Once more my faculty for losing my
way asserted itself, and I could not tell which was the house where I
had dined. It was to be my billet for the night. The whole place was
silent, and I wandered up and down the long street. I met a few
soldiers and when I asked if they could tell me where I had had dinner
they naturally began to eye me with suspicion. At the same time it was
no laughing matter. I had had a long walk in the afternoon and had the
prospect of another on the following day. I was separated from my
kit-bag and my safety razor, which always, at the front, constituted
my home, and the night was beginning to get cold. Besides it was more
or less damaging to one's character as a chaplain to be found
wandering aimlessly about the streets at night asking where you had
dined. My habits were not as well known to the men then as they were
after a few years of war. In despair I went down the road behind the
village, and there to my joy I saw a friendly light emerging from the
door of a coach house. I went up to it and entered and found to my
relief the guard of the 16th Battalion. They had a big fire in the
chimney-place, and were smoking and making tea. It was then about one
o'clock, and they were both surprised and amused at my plight, but
gave me a very glad welcome and offered me a bed and blankets on the
floor. I was just going to accept them when I asked if the blankets
were "crummy". The men burst out laughing. "You bet your life they
are, Sir," they cried. "Well, boys," I said, "I think that I prefer to
spend the night walking about the village and trying to compose a
poem." Once more I made my way down the dark street, examining closely
every door and window. At last I found a crack of light which came
from one of the houses. I knocked at the door and it was opened by an
officer from Quebec, who had been engaged with some others in a quiet
game of cards. He was amused at my homeless condition and kindly took
me in and gave me a comfortable bed in his own room. On the next (p. 043)
morning of course I was "ragged" tremendously on my disappearance during
the night.
The next day we marched off to the village of Sailly-sur-Lys, which
was to become our rear headquarters during our occupation of the
trenches. The little place had been damaged by shells, but every
available house was occupied. Our battalion moved up the country road
and was dispersed among the farm houses and barns in the
neighbourhood.
I made my home with some officers in a small and dirty farm house. The
novelty of the situation, however, gave it a certain charm for the
time. We were crowded into two or three little rooms and lay on piles
of straw. We were short of rations, but each officer contributed
something from his private store. I had a few articles of tinned food
with me and they proved to be of use. From that moment I determined
never to be without a tin of bully beef in my haversack, and I formed
the bully beef habit in the trenches which lasted till the end and
always amused the men. The general cesspool and manure heap of the
farm was, as usual, in the midst of the buildings, and was
particularly unsavoury. A cow waded through it and the family hens
fattened on it. Opposite our window in one of the buildings dwelt an
enormous sow with a large litter of young ones. When any of the ladies
of the family went to throw refuse on the manure heap, the old sow,
driven by the pangs of hunger, would stand on her hind legs and poke
her huge face out over the half door of her prison appealing in pig
language for some of the discarded dainties. Often nothing would stop
her squeals but a smart slap on her fat cheeks by the lady's tender
hand. In the hayloft of the barn the men were quartered. Their candles
made the place an exceedingly dangerous abode. There was only one
small hole down which they could escape in case of fire. It is a
wonder we did not have more fires in our billets than we did.
The trenches assigned to our Brigade were to the right of Fleurbaix.
They were poorly constructed, but as the time went on were greatly
improved by the labours of our men. The Brigadier assigned to me for
my personal use a tiny mud-plastered cottage with thatched roof and a
little garden in front. It was in the Rue du Bois, a road which ran
parallel with the trenches about 800 yards behind them. I was very
proud to have a home all to myself, and chalked on the door the word
"Chaplain". In one room two piles of straw not only gave me a bed (p. 044)
for myself but enabled me to give hospitality to any officer who
needed a billet. Another room I fitted up as a chapel. An old box
covered with the silk Union Jack and white cloth and adorned with two
candles and cross served as an altar. There were no chairs to be had,
but the plain white walls were not unsuited to the purpose to which
the room was dedicated.
In this chapel I held several services. It was a fine sight to see a
group of tall and stalwart young Highlanders present. Their heads
almost reached to the low ceiling, and when they sang, the little
building trembled with the sound.
Every night when there were any men to be buried, I used to receive
notice from the front line, and after dark I would set out preceded by
my batman, Murdoch MacDonald, a proper young Highlander, carrying a
rifle with fixed bayonet on his shoulder. It made one feel very proud
to go off down the dark road so attended. When we got to the place of
burial I would hold a short service over the open graves in which the
bodies were laid to rest. Our casualties were light then, but in those
days we had not become accustomed to the loss of comrades and so we
felt the toll of death very bitterly.
It made a great difference to me to have a house of my own. Previously
I had found it most difficult to get any place in which to lay my
head. On one occasion, I had obtained permission from a kind-hearted
farmer's wife to rent one corner of the kitchen in her two-roomed
house. It was on a Saturday night and when the family had retired to
their room I spread my sleeping bag in the corner and went to bed. I
got up when the family had gone to Mass in the morning. All through
the day the kitchen was crowded, and I saw that if I went to bed that
night I should not have the opportunity of getting up again until the
family went to Mass on the following Sunday. So I paid the woman five
francs for my lodging and started out in pursuit of another. I managed
to find a room in another little farmhouse, somewhat larger and
cleaner. My room was a small one and had an earth floor. The ceiling
was so low that I could touch the beams with my head when I stood on
my toes. But in it were two enormous double beds, a table and a chair.
What more could one want? A large cupboard full of straw furnished a
billet for Murdoch and he was allowed to do my simple cooking on the
family stove.
Small as my billet was, I was able on one occasion to take in and (p. 045)
house three officers of the Leicesters, who arrived one night in
preparation for the battle of Neuve Chapelle. I also stowed away a
sergeant in the cupboard with Murdoch. My three guests were very
hungry and very tired and enjoyed a good sleep in the ponderous beds.
I saw a photo of one of the lads afterwards in the Roll of Honour page
of the "Graphic," and I remembered the delightful talk I had had with
him during his visit.
At that time we were all very much interested in a large fifteen-inch
howitzer, which had been placed behind a farmhouse, fast crumbling
into ruins. It was distant two fields from my abode. To our simple
minds, it seemed that the war would soon come to an end when the
Germans heard that such weapons were being turned against them. We
were informed too, that three other guns of the same make and calibre
were being brought to France. The gun was the invention of a retired
admiral who lived in a farmhouse nearby and who, when it was loaded,
fired it off by pressing an electric button. The officer in charge of
the gun was very pleasant and several times took me in his car to
interesting places. I went with him to Laventie on the day of the
battle of Neuve Chapelle, and saw for the first time the effects of an
attack and the wounded being brought back in ambulances.
There was one large barn not far off full of beautiful yellow straw
which held several hundred men. I had a service in it one night. The
atmosphere was smoky and mysterious, and the hundreds of little
candles propped up on mess-tins over the straw, looked like a special
illumination. A large heap of straw at the end of the barn served as a
platform, and in lieu of an organ I had a mandolin player to start the
hymns. The service went very well, the men joining in heartily.
The night before the battle of Neuve Chapelle, I went over to see the
captain in charge of the big gun, and he showed me the orders for the
next day, issued by the British General. He told me that at seven
o'clock it would be "Hell let loose", all down the line. Next morning
I woke up before seven, and blocked up my ears so that I should not be
deafened by the noise of artillery. But for some reason or other the
plans had been changed and I was quite disappointed that the Germans
did not get the hammering it was intended to give them. We were on the
left of the British line during the battle of Neuve Chapelle, and
were not really in the fight. The British suffered very heavily (p. 046)
and did not meet with the success which they had hoped for.
My son was wounded in this engagement and was sent out with the loss
of an eye. On returning from seeing him put into a hospital train at
Merville, I was held up for some hours in the darkness by the British
Cavalry streaming past in a long line. I was delighted to see them for
I thought we had broken through. On the next day to our great
disappointment we saw them going back again.
Near Canadian Headquarters at Sailly there was a large steam laundry
which was used as a bath for our men. It was a godsend to them, for
the scarcity of water made cleanliness difficult. The laundry during
bath hours was a curious spectacle. Scores of large cauldrons of
steaming water covered the floor. In each sat a man with only his head
and shoulders showing, looking as if he were being boiled to death. In
the mists of the heated atmosphere and in the dim light of candles,
one was reminded of Dore's illustrations of Dante's Inferno. In one of
them he represents a certain type of sinner as being tormented forever
in boiling water.
We had now finished our time in this part of the line and the Division
was ordered back for a rest. The General was troubled about my
transportation as I had no horse, but I quoted my favourite text, "The
Lord will provide." It made him quite angry when I quoted the text,
and he told me that we were engaged in a big war and could not take
things so casually. When, however, he had seen me on various occasions
picked up by stray motor cars and lorries and get to our destination
before he did, he began to think there was more in the text than he
had imagined. I was accused of helping Providence unduly by base
subterfuges such as standing in the middle of a road and compelling
the motor to stop until I got in. I considered that my being able to
stop the car was really a part of the providing. In fact I found that,
if one only had courage to stand long enough in the middle of the road
without moving, almost any car, were it that of a private or a general,
would come to a standstill. It was only a natural thing, when the car
had stopped, to go to the occupants and say, "I know the Lord has sent
you for the purpose of giving me a lift." It was quite a natural
consequence of this for me to be taken in. One day at Estaires I tried
to commandeer a fine car standing in the square, but desisted when I
was informed by the driver that it was the private property of the (p. 047)
Prince of Wales. I am sure that if the Prince had been there to hear the
text, he would have driven me anywhere I wanted to go.
On the present occasion, I had not gone far down the road before a car
picked me up and took me on my way--an incident which I narrated to
the General afterwards with intense satisfaction.