THE WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS AT THE FRONT
SPREAD OF THE EXAMPLE SET BY IRISH SOLDIERS
"Nearly every man out here is wearing some sort of
Catholic medallion or a rosary that has been given him,
and he would rather part with his day's rations or his
last cigarette than part with his sacred
talisman."--Extract from a letter written from the Front
by a non-Catholic private in the Hussars.
The wearing of religious emblems by soldiers of the British Army is
much talked of by doctors and nurses in military hospitals in France
and at home. When wounded soldiers are undressed--be they non-Catholic
or Catholic--the discovery is frequently made of medals or scapulars
worn around their necks, or sacred badges stitched inside their
tunics. It is a psychological phenomenon of much interest for the
light it throws upon human nature in the ordeal of war. It shows, too,
how war is a time when supernatural signs and wonders are multiplied.
Testimony to the value of these religious favours as safeguards
against danger and stimulants to endurance and heroism was given in a
most dramatic manner by Corporal Holmes, V.C., of the King's Own
Yorkshire Light Infantry, who also holds the highest French
decoration, the Medaille Militaire. He visited the Catholic schools at
Leeds. All the girls and boys were assembled to see him. One of the
nuns told the children how Corporal Holmes won his honours during the
retreat from Mons. He carried a disabled comrade out of danger,
struggling on with his helpless human burden for three miles under
heavy fire. Then taking the place of the driver, who was wounded, he
brought a big gun, with terror-stricken horses, out of action, through
lines of German infantry and barbed wire entanglements. At the
crossing of the Aisne a machine-gun was left behind, as the bridge
over which it was hoped to carry it was shelled by the enemy. Corporal
Holmes plunged into the river with it, some distance below the bridge,
and, amid shot and shell, brought it safely to the other bank. When
the nun had finished recounting his deeds, Corporal Holmes
unexpectedly turned back his tunic, and saying, "This is what saved
me," pointed to his rosary and medal of the Blessed Virgin.
There is the equally frank and positive declaration made by
Lance-Corporal Cuddy of the Liverpool Irish (the King's Liverpool
Regiment), who was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal for
gallantry in saving life after the great battle of Festubert. He was
in the trenches with his regiment. Cries for help came from some
wounded British soldiers lying about fifteen yards from the German
trenches. The appeal smote the pitying heart of Cuddy. He climbed the
parapet of his trench, and, crawling forward on his stomach,
discovered two disabled men of the Scottish Rifles. One of them had a
broken thigh. Cuddy coolly bound up the limb, under incessant fire
from the German trenches, and crawled back to his trench, dragging the
man with him. Then, setting out to bring in the second man, he was
followed by Corporal Dodd of the same battalion, who volunteered to
assist him. On the way a bullet struck Dodd on the shoulder and passed
out through his leg. Cuddy bandaged him and carried him safely back.
Once more he crawled over the fire-swept ground between the trenches
to the second Scottish rifleman. This time he took an oil-sheet with
him. He wrapped it round the wounded man and brought him in also. All
this was the work of hours. Not for a moment did this brave and simple
soul flinch or pause in his humane endeavours. He seemed to be
indifferent, or absolutely assured, as to his own fate. And he had the
amazing good luck of going through the ordeal scathless, save for a
slight wound in the leg. As is the way with soldiers, the comrades of
Cuddy joked with him on his success in dodging the bullets of the
bloody German snipers. "They were powerless to hit me. I carry the
Pope's prayer about me, and I put my faith in that," he answered, in
accordance with his simple theology. This prayer of Pope Benedict XV
is one "to obtain from the mercy of Almighty God the blessings of
Peace."
Both soldiers were convinced, as Catholics, that, being under the
special protection of the Heavenly Powers whose symbols they wore,
they were safe and invincible until their good work was done. Psalm
civ. speaks of God, "who maketh the sweeping winds his angels, and a
flaming sword His ministers." Why should He not work also through the
agency of the religious emblems of His angels and saints? With this
belief strong within them, Holmes and Cuddy leaped at the chance of
bringing comfort to comrades in anguish, and help to those sorely
pressed by the enemy.
There is another aspect of this question of the psychology of war. It
is a boast of the age that we have freed ourselves from what is called
the deadening influence of superstition. Nevertheless, since the
outbreak of the war there has been an extraordinary revival of the
secular belief in omens, witchcraft, incantations and all that they
imply--the direct influence of supernatural powers, of some sort or
other, on the fortunes of individuals in certain events. One amiable
form of it is the enormously increased demand for those jewellers'
trinkets called charms and amulets, consisting of figures or symbols
in stone and metal which are popularly supposed to possess powers of
bringing good fortune or averting evil, and which formerly lovers used
to present to each other, and wear attached to bracelets and chains,
to ensure mutual constancy, prosperity and happiness. Even the
eighteenth-century veneration of a child's caul--the membrane
occasionally found round the head of an infant at birth--as a sure
preservative against drowning is again rife among those who go down to
the sea in ships. The menace of the German submarine has revivified
the ancient desire of seafaring folk to possess a caul, which was laid
dormant by the sense of security bred by years of freedom from piracy,
and the article has gone up greatly in price in shops that sell
sailors' requirements at the chief ports. Fortune-tellers,
crystal-gazers, and other twentieth-century witches and dealers in
incantations, who pretend to be able to look into the future and
provide safeguards against misfortune, are being consulted by mothers,
wives and sweethearts, anxiously seeking for some safe guidance for
their nearest and dearest through the perils of the war.
So far as the Army is concerned, the belief that certain things bring
good luck or misfortune has always been widely held by the rank and
file. Formerly there were two talismans which were regarded as
especially efficacious in warding off evil, and particularly death and
disablement in battle. These were, in the infantry, a button off the
tunic of a man, and, in the cavalry, the tooth of a horse, in cases
where the man and the horse had come scathless through a campaign. A
good many years ago the old words "charm," "talisman," "amulet,"
dropped out of use in the Army. The French slang word "mascot," which
originated with gamblers and is applied to any person, animal or thing
which is supposed to be lucky, came into fashion; and some animal or
bird--monkey, parrot, or goat, or even the domestic dog or cat--was
appointed "the mascot of the regiment." But since the outbreak of the
war the Army has returned to its old faith in the old talisman. A
special charm designed for soldiers, called "Touchwood," and described
as "the wonderful Eastern charm," has had an enormous sale. It was
suggested by the custom, when hopes are expressed, of touching wood,
so as to placate the fates and avert disappointment, a custom which is
supposed to have arisen from the ancient Catholic veneration of the
true Cross.
"Touchwood" is a tiny imp, mainly head, made of oak, surmounted by a
khaki service cap, and with odd, sparkling eyes, as if always on the
alert to see and avert danger. The legs, either in silver or gold, are
crossed, and the arms, of the same metal, are lifted to touch the
head. The designer, Mr. H. Brandon, states that he has sold 1,250,000
of this charm since the war broke out. Not long ago there was a
curious scene in Regent's Park. This was the presentation of
"Touchwood" to each of the 1200 officers and men of a battalion of the
City of London Regiments (known as "The Cast-Irons") by Mdlle.
Delysia, a French music-hall dancer, before they went off for the
Front. Never has there been such a public exhibition--uncontrolled and
unashamed--of the belief in charms. Mr. Brandon has received numerous
letters from soldiers on active service, ascribing their escape from
perilous situations to the wearing of the charm. One letter, which has
five signatures, says--
"We have been out here for five months fighting in the trenches,
and have not had a scratch. We put our great good fortune down
to your lucky charm, which we treasure highly."
Thus we see that mankind has not outgrown old superstitions, as so
many of us thought, but, on the contrary, is still ready to fly to
them for comfort and protection in danger. The truth is that the human
mind remains at bottom essentially the same amid all the changes made
by time in the superficial crust of things. Man is still the heir of
all the ages. Some taint of "the old Popish idolatries" survives in
the blood of most of us, no matter how Protestant and rationalistic we
may suppose ourselves to be. And now that the foundations of
civilisation are disrupted, and humanity is involved in the coils of
the most awful calamity that has ever befallen it, is it to be
wondered at that hands should be piteously stretched out on all sides,
and in all sorts of ways--unorthodox as well as orthodox--groping in
the dark for protective touch with the unseen Powers who rule our
destinies.
It is in these circumstances that non-Catholic soldiers of the new
Armies are turning from materialistic charms to holy emblems. It may
be thought that this new cult is but a manifestation, in a slightly
different form, of the same primal superstitious instinct of mankind
as inspired the old, but as it has a religious origin and sanction and
is really touched by spiritual emotion, it seems to me to be far
removed from the other in spirit and intention. Non-Catholic soldiers
appear to have been led into the new practice by the example of
Catholic soldiers. These religious objects, commemorative of the
Blessed Virgin and other saints, have always been carried about their
persons by Irish Catholic soldiers, to some extent, as well as by
Catholics generally in civil life. The custom is now almost universal
among Catholic officers and men at the Front. It resembles, in a way,
the still more popular practice of carrying photographs of mother,
wife and child. Will it be denied that the soldier, as he looks upon
the likenesses of those who cherish him, and hold him ever in their
thoughts, does not derive hope and consolation from his consciousness
of their watchful and prayerful love?
There are several little breastplates thus worn by Catholics to shield
them from spiritual evil and bodily calamity. The chaplet of beads,
known as the rosary, is well known. The brown scapular of St. Mary of
Mount Carmel is made of small pieces of cloth connected by long
strings, and is worn over the shoulders in imitation of the brown
habit of the Carmelite friars. Then there are the Medal of Our Lady of
Perpetual Succour, a reproduction of the wonderful picture discovered
by the Redemptorist Order in Rome; and the Miraculous Medal of Our
Lady, revealed by the Immaculate Virgin to Catherine Laboure, Sister
of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, in Paris. Another is the "Agnus
Dei" ("Lamb of God"), a small disc of wax, impressed with the figure
of a lamb supporting a cross, and blessed by the Pope, which is the
most ancient of the sacramentals, or holy objects worn, used or
preserved by Catholics for devotional purposes. But what is now
perhaps the most esteemed of all is the Badge of the Sacred Heart. On
an oval piece of red cloth is printed a picture of Jesus, standing
before a cross, with His bleeding heart, encircled by thorns and
flames, exposed on His breast. The badge is emblematical of the
sufferings of Jesus for the love of and redemption of mankind. It is
the cognisance of a world-wide league, known as the Apostleship of
Prayer, conducted by the Society of Jesus, and having, it is said, a
membership of 25,000,000 of all nations. The promotion of these
special devotions in the Catholic Church has been assigned to
different Orders: such as the rosary to the Dominicans; the scapular
to the Carmelites; the Way of the Cross to the Franciscans. So the
spread of the devotion of the Sacred Heart is the work of the Jesuits.
The headquarters of the Apostleship of Prayer in this country is the
house of the Jesuits in Dublin, who publish as its organ a little
monthly magazine called _The Messenger_. There has been so enormous a
demand for the badge since the war broke out that the Jesuits have
circulated a statement emphasising that it is not to be regarded as "a
charm or talisman to preserve the wearer from bullets and shrapnel."
To wear it in this spirit would, they say, be "mere superstition."
"What it stands for and signifies is something far nobler and
greater," they also say. "It is, in a sense, the exterior livery or
uniform of the soldiers and clients of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, King
of heaven and earth, just as the brown scapular is the livery of the
servants and soldiers of Mary, heaven's glorious Queen. As such it
procures for those who wear it in the proper spirit the grace and
protection of God; and the scapulars the special protection of Mary,
much more than the livery or uniform of a country procures for those
who fight under its flag the help and protection of the nation to
which they belong."
What is the attitude of the Irish Catholic soldier towards this
religious movement as a means of preservation and grace in the trials
and perils of war? I have read many letters from Irish Catholics on
service in France, Flanders and the East in which the matter is
referred to, and have discussed it with some of those who have been
invalided home. All this testimony establishes beyond question that
the mystical sense of the Irish nature, which has been developed to a
high degree by the two tremendous influences of race and religion,
leads the Irish Catholic soldier profoundly to believe that there is
a supernatural interference often with the chances and fortunes of the
battlefield in answer to prayers. Michael O'Leary, V.C., a splendid
type of the Irish soldier in body and mind, gave a brief but pointed
statement of his views on the matter. "A shell has grazed my cheek and
blown a comrade by my side to pieces," he said, "though there was no
reason, so far as I could see, but the act of God, why the shell
should not have knocked my head off and grazed my comrade's cheek."
The average Irish soldier probably knows nothing of the materialistic
theory that Nature is a closed system; that the laws of the universe
are fixed and immutable; that no wearing of holy objects, and no
amount of praying even, will ever disturb their uniform mechanical
working; and that the sole reason why any soldier on the battlefield
escapes being hit by a bullet or piece of explosive shell is that he
was not directly in its line of flight. Such a doctrine would be
regarded, at least by the simple and instinctive natures in the Irish
ranks, as the limit of blasphemy. Their belief in the reality and
power of God is most profound. God is to them still the lord and
master of all the forces of Nature; and the turning aside of a bullet
or piece of explosive shell would be but the slightest manifestation
of His almighty omnipotence. Mystery surrounds the Irish Catholic
soldier at all times. His realisation of the unseen is very vivid. The
saints and angels are his companions, not the less real and potent
because they are not visible to his eyes. But it is on the field of
battle that he is most closely enveloped by these spiritual presences.
He is convinced that he has but to call upon them, and that, if he be
in a state of grace, they will come to his aid as the ministers of
God. So he prays that God may protect and save him, and he wears next
his heart the emblems of God's angels and saints. Thus he feels
invincible against the powers of darkness in both the spiritual and
material worlds. For these devotions have also the effect of putting
him in train to receive submissively whatever fate God may will him.
He knows that God can safeguard him in the fight if He chooses; and he
believes that if God does not choose so to do it is because in His
wisdom He does not deem it right. "Blessed be the holy will of God!"
The old, familiar Irish ejaculation springs to his lips, that variant
of Job's unshakable trust in the Almighty: "Though He slay me, yet
will I trust Him." Thus it is that the sight of his comrades lying
around him, dead and wounded, who prayed like him and, like him,
carried rosary beads or wore the badge of the Sacred Heart, has no
effect in shaking his belief in his devotions and his holy emblems. So
when the hour of direst peril is at hand he is found not unnerved and
incapable of standing the awful test. There is an ancient Gaelic
proverb which says: "What is there that seems worse to a man than his
death? and yet he does not know but it may be the height of his good
luck." Even if death should come, what is it but the shadowy gate
which opens into life everlasting and blissful?
There are on record numerous cases of protection and deliverance
ascribed by non-Catholics as well as Catholics to the wearing of
religious emblems. The Sisters of Mercy, Dungarvon, Waterford, tell
the story of the marvellous escape from death of Private Thomas Kelly,
Royal Munster Fusiliers, at the first landing on the Gallipoli
peninsula on April 25, 1915. Kelly had emerged with his comrades from
the _River Clyde_--the steamer which had brought his regiment to the
landing-place, Beach V--and was in the water wading towards the shore
when this happened to him--
"A bullet struck him, passing through his left hand, which at
the moment was placed over his heart. The bullet hit and
shattered a shield badge of the Sacred Heart, which was sewn
inside his tunic, then glanced aside and passed over his chest,
tearing the skin. The mark of its passage across the chest can
still be plainly seen. The bullet then passed through the pocket
of his tunic at the right-hand side, completely destroying his
pay-book. When wounded he fell into the water, where he lay for
about two hours under a perfect hurricane of bullets and
shrapnel. In all that time, while his companions were falling on
every side, he received only one slight flesh wound. He is now
in Ireland, loudly proclaiming, to all whom he comes in contact
with, his profound gratitude to the Sacred Heart. He is quite
recovered from his wounds, and expects soon to be sent to the
Front. His trust in the Sacred Heart is unbounded, and he is
fully convinced that the Sacred Heart will even work miracles
for him, if they are necessary, to bring him safely home again."
Private Edward Sheeran, Royal Irish Rifles, relating his experiences
in France, says--
"We were waiting in reserve, and were shelled heavily before the
advance. Four of us were lying low in the traverse of a trench.
Every time I heard a shell approaching I said, 'O Sacred Heart
of Jesus, have mercy on us!' Just as I was reciting this
ejaculation a shell burst in our midst. For a minute I was
dazed, and when I surveyed the damage, imagine my surprise to
find the man next to me blown to pieces, parts of him over me.
Another never moved again to my knowledge, while the remaining
one had his arms shattered. As regards myself, my pack was blown
off my back, but all the injury I received was a very slight
wound in the left shoulder. Thanks to the mercy of the Sacred
Heart I was able to rejoin my battalion two days afterwards."
"A very grateful sister," writing to the _Irish Messenger_, in
thanksgiving for "a great favour obtained through Our Blessed Lady of
Perpetual Succour," states--
"My brother was ordered out to the war and was in the fighting
line from the first. I sent him a miraculous medal of Our
Blessed Lady and promised publication if he came back safe. He
has been in twelve battles and got nine wounds, none dangerous,
only on his hands and one leg badly broken. He was being carried
off the field by his comrades and the shells were falling so
fast that they had to leave him and fly for their lives. He lay
there three hours, bleeding and faint, until he was picked up
again, and, thanks to Our Blessed Lady's protection, he is now
safe in a London hospital and making a speedy recovery."
The brother of an Irish Catholic nurse in a British military hospital
in France writes to the _Irish Messenger_--
"I was speaking lately to my sister, the nurse to whom you sent
the parcel of badges, beads, etc. She says if every parcel of
badges did as much good as hers has done and is doing, you will
have a big reward in eternity. The poor Irish and English
Catholic lads in their torments find the greatest comfort in
their beads and badges, and put more trust in the Sacred Heart
than in surgeons and nurses. One poor man said: 'I know I am
dying, but, nurse, write to my poor wife and tell her that my
beads and a sip of Holy Water was my consolation. Tell her I put
my trust in the Sacred Heart and die confident. Send her this
old badge which I wore all through the war.'"
In Ireland there are tens of thousands of Catholic mothers, wives and
sisters, ever praying for the safe return of their men from the Front,
or else that they be given the grace of a happy death, and there is
nothing that tends more to prevent them brooding when the day, the
hour, the moment may come with a dread announcement from the War
Office, than the consoling thought that these dear ones are faithful
in all the dangers and emergencies of their life to the practices of
their religion. That is why Private Michael O'Reilly, of the Connaught
Rangers in France, writes to his mother: "I have the Sacred Heart
badge on my coat and three medals, a pair of rosary beads and father's
Agnus Dei around my neck, so you see I am well guarded, and you have
nothing at all to fear so far as I am concerned." Even for the
mother, death loses its sting when she gets news of her son which
leaves her in no doubt as to his soul's eternal welfare. Here is a
characteristic specimen of many letters from bereaved but comforted
mothers which have been printed in _The Messenger_--
"DEAR REV. FATHER,--I beg to appeal to you for my dear good son
who was killed in action on the 25th of March, and who died a
most holy death. I have heard from Father Gleeson that he died
with his rosary beads round his neck and reciting his rosary. He
got a gunshot wound in the head and lived several hours after
receiving the wound. I know perfectly well that it was owing to
his having St. Joseph's Cord about him that he got such a happy
death, and had the happiness of receiving his Easter duty on
Sunday the 21st. He also had the Sacred Heart Badge, a crucifix,
and his Blue and Brown Scapulars on him, so that I am content
about the way he died. He is buried in Bethune cemetery. I am a
subscriber to _The Messenger_, and my son was in the Apostleship
of Prayer and used to get the leaflets in his young days at the
school he was going to, taught by the Christian Brothers. He was
twenty-one years and seven months the day of his sad death. He
belonged to the Royal Munster Fusiliers."
Some people, no doubt, will smile indulgently or mockingly--according
to their natures--at what appears to them to be curious instances of
human credulity. Others will cry out in angry protest against "Popish
trumperies"; "idolatrous practices"; "fetishism." No religion can be
truly understood from the outside. It must be lived in, within, to be
apprehended. But surely those who are not altogether cursed with
imperfect sympathies--those, at least, who take pleasure in the happy
state of others, will shout aloud in joy to know that there is
something left--no matter what--to sustain and console in this most
terrible time of youth's agony and motherhood's lacerated heart.
It must not be supposed that the religious practices of the Irish
Catholic troops are confined to the wearing of scapulars, medals and
Agnus Deis. There are among them, of course, many who attribute all
kinds of phenomena to natural rather than to miraculous causes. By
them, also, beads, medals and scapulars are venerated, and proudly
displayed over their tunics--often, too, rosary beads are to be seen
twisted round rifle barrels--as outward symbols of the spirit of their
religion, as aids to worship, as bringing more vividly before them the
God they adore and the saints whose aid they invoke. But their faith
gives, in addition, to the Catholic troops the Mass, which is
celebrated by the Army chaplains up at the Front in wrecked houses or
on the open, desolate fields, and attended by many hundreds of men in
silent and intent worship, the sacraments of Confession and Communion,
and makes possible that solemn spectacle of the priest administering
the General Absolution, or forgiveness of sin, to a whole battalion,
standing before him with bared and bowed heads, before going into
action. All these religious scenes have greatly impressed non-Catholic
soldiers. They wonder at the consolation and inspiration which
Catholic comrades derive from their services and their symbols. They
feel the loneliness and the dread of things. They are impressed by the
number of wayside shrines, with Crucifixes and Madonnas, which have
survived the ravages of war. In their hearts they crave for spiritual
companionship and help which the guns thundering behind them cannot
give any more than the guns thundering in front; and they, too, put
out their hands to grasp the supernatural presences, unseen but so
acutely felt in the shadowy arena of war. If there was scoffing at a
praying soldier in barracks, there is respect for him in the trenches.
Non-Catholics join in the prayers that are said by Catholics. "Plenty
of shells were fired at our trenches, but, thank God, no harm was
done," writes an Irish soldier. "When the shells came near us we used
to pray. Prayers are like a double parapet to them, I think. Yesterday
we were reciting the Litany of the Sacred Heart while the shells were
annoying us. I was reading the beautiful praises and titles of the
Litany, and both my Protestant and Catholic mates were answering me
with great fervour. I was just saying 'Heart of Jesus, delight of all
the Saints, succour us,' when one shell hit our trench and never
burst, and, furthermore, no shell came near us after that, for our
opponents directed their attention elsewhere for the rest of the day."
He adds that every night in the trenches the Rosary of the Blessed
Virgin was recited; and the responses were given by non-Catholics as
well as by Catholics.
In like manner, non-Catholic soldiers are being weaned from the use of
pagan charms and talismans, and are taking instead to the Catholic
substitutes which have been blessed by the priest making over them the
sign of the cross. Father Plater stated at a meeting of the
Westminster Catholic Federation that, travelling in the south of
England, he met in the train some soldiers of the Ulster Division, all
Orangemen, and instead of consigning the holy father to other realms,
as they probably would have done in other times and other
circumstances, they actually asked him to bless their miraculous
medals. There is an ever-increasing desire among them for medals,
rosaries, and for holy pictures, such as the little prints of saints
and angels which Catholics carry in their prayer-books. At the
convents in London where the Badge of the Sacred Heart is to be had,
Protestant soldiers are constantly calling to get it, and they tell
stories which they had heard of wonderful escapes by those who wore
it. One nun told me they cannot keep the supply abreast of the demand.
For instance, she said that on the day I saw her a private of the
Royal Welsh Fusiliers got fifty badges for distribution in the
regiment.
Religious emblems have a warmth and intimacy about them which secular
charms lack. They are regarded as representing real spiritual beings,
saints and angels. Secular charms, on the other hand, are devoid of
association with any potentate or power known or believed to exist in
the other world, and seem still to possess something of the mingled
simplicity and grossness of the first dawning of superstition on the
mind of the savage. The curiosity and interest of the non-Catholic
soldier in these religious symbols being thus excited, the moment he
handles one and examines its design, he feels a pleasant sensation of
help and comfort, and a consequent increase in his vitality. He highly
treasures his holy talisman. Should he pass unscathed through the
constant yet capricious menace of an engagement, he ascribes his luck
to supernatural protection. As the English troops were passing through
Hornu, near Mons, a young Belgian lady took a rosary from her neck and
gave it to Private Eves of the West Riding Regiment, telling him to
wear it as a protection against the bullets of the Germans. Eves, a
non-Catholic Northumbrian, wore the rosary during the battle of Mons.
"The air was thick with shells and machine-gun bullets," he says, "and
how I escaped I don't know. A shell burst close to me. A piece of it
struck my ammunition band and bent five cartridges out of shape; but I
escaped with only a bruise on the chest. I always say this rosary had
something to do with it."
Many stories of the like might be told. A driver of the Royal Field
Artillery says: "I think I owe all my luck to a mascot which I carry
in my knapsack. It is a beautiful crucifix, given me by a Frenchwoman
for helping her out of danger. It is silver, enamel and marble, and
she made me take it." Private David Bulmer of the Royal Engineers, an
Ulster Presbyterian, returned home on furlough to his parents at
Killeshandra, wearing a rosary. He declared it was the beads that
saved his life on the battlefield, as he was the only man left in his
company. Sapper Clifford Perry has written to a Cardiff friend:
"Rosaries are very popular here. I think I can safely say that four
out of every ten men one meets wear them around their necks. Strange
to say, they are not all Catholics. Those who are not Catholics do not
wear them as curios or ornaments either, as upon cases of inquiry they
attach some religious value to them even though they cannot explain
what it is. Still, no one could convince them to part with them."
Often the emblems and badges worn by non-Catholic soldiers are gifts
from Catholic wives and children concerned for their spiritual and
temporal well-being. "An Irish mother who trusts in the Sacred Heart"
writes from Kensington in acknowledgment of the "wonderful escape" of
her husband. "He had only gone out from a stable when a German shell
knocked the roof in, killing his two horses, and also killing one man
and wounding five others. My husband, who is a Protestant, is wearing
a Sacred Heart Badge and the Cross belonging to my rosary. He has been
saved during many battles from the most awful dangers, having been
fighting regularly since September 1914." Father Peal, S.J., of the
Connaught Rangers serving in France, relating some of his experiences
as a chaplain after a battle, says: "It was very solemn, creeping in
and out among the wounded, finding who were Catholics. Some could not
speak, others just able to whisper. One poor man lay on his face, with
a hole in his back. He was actually breathing through this hole. I
felt round his neck for his identification disc and found he had a
medal and Agnus Dei. I naturally thought he was a Catholic, but he
whispered to me, 'Missus and the children did that.' We repeated an
act of contrition, and I gave him conditional absolution." So it has
come to pass that rosaries, which were formerly a monopoly of the
religious repositories in French towns and villages, may now be seen
displayed in every shop window, so great is the demand for them, and
that "The League of the Standard of the Cross"--an Anglican
society--has, up to the end of 1916, sent out over 10,000 crucifixes
to Protestant soldiers.
The wearing of Catholic emblems by the rank and file is encouraged by
many officers who understand human nature, and make allowance for what
some of them, no doubt, would call its inherent weaknesses. The
practice has been proved to have on conduct a profound influence for
good. It seems to incite and fortify the soldiers' courage. Man's will
and resolution often prove to be weak and fickle things, especially on
the field of battle, where they are put to the sternest and most
searching of tests. Fear of death, which, after all, is but a
manifestation of the primal instinct of self-preservation, often
militates against the efficiency of the soldier. It disorganises his
understanding; it paralyses his power to carry out orders. The
elimination of fear, or its control, is therefore part of the training
of the soldier. How fortunate, then, is the soldier who can find such
tranquillity in battle that he has passed beyond the fear of death.
Psychologists tell us, such is the influence of the body upon the
mind, that whether a man shall act the hero or the coward in an
emergency depends largely on his physical condition at the time. The
body of the soldier must, as far as possible, be made subordinate to
his mind. Religious sensibility and emotion, in whatever form it may
manifest itself, tends to the exaltation of the mental mood; and as
good officers know they cannot afford to neglect any means which
promises to steady their men, calm them and give them confidence in
action or under fire, they have enlisted this tremendous force on
their side by favouring and promoting the Catholic custom of wearing
holy objects.
A nun writing from a convent in South London says: "The colonel at
---- sent twenty-two medals to Father X---- to be blessed. The Father
took the medals to the barracks himself, where the colonel informed
him that he wanted them for Protestant officers who were going to
France." The girls of the Notre Dame Convent School, Glasgow, sent a
parcel of 1200 medals to a Scottish regiment. They received a letter
of thanks from one of the officers, in which he says: "You will be
glad to know that most, if not all the men, Protestants though they
be, have put your medals on the cord to which their identity discs are
tied, so that Our Lady may help them."
Thus is the wearing of scapulars and medals in the Army welcomed as an
aid to our arms, a reinforcement of our military power. In it may be
found the secret of much of the dash and gallantry of the Irish
troops. Up to the end of 1916, 221 Victoria Crosses have been awarded
for great deeds done in the war. As many as twenty-four have been won
by Catholics, of whom eighteen are Irish, a share out of all
proportion to their numbers, but not--may I say?--to their valour. In
order to appreciate adequately the significance of these figures it is
necessary to remember the nature of the deed for which the Victoria
Cross is given. It must be exceptionally daring, involving the
greatest risk to life. It must be of special military value, or must
lead to the saving of comrades otherwise hopelessly doomed. Above all,
it must be done not under orders but as a spontaneous act on the
soldier's own motion. It is largely due to their religion and the
emblems of their religion, and their views of fate and destiny, that
Irish Catholic soldiers are so pre-eminently distinguished in the
record of the highest and most noble acts of valour and self-sacrifice
in war. There is the significant saying of Sergeant Dwyer, V.C., an
Irishman and a Catholic, at a recruiting meeting in Trafalgar Square.
"I don't know what the young men are afraid of," said he. "If your
name is not on a bullet or a bit of shrapnel it won't reach you, any
more than a letter that isn't addressed to you." He, poor fellow, got
a bullet addressed to him on the Somme. "'Twas the will of God," was
the lesson taught him by his creed.