THE CENACLE
Not more than three miles from the camp was situated the convent of
the Sisters of the Cenacle, a beautiful three-story building of red
brick and stucco hidden away among great hemlock, spruce and cypress
trees. It is a kind of rest house, where at certain seasons of the year
retreats are given for ladies, who come from different parts of England
and pass a week at the convent.
All during the war there was an open invitation to the Catholic
soldiers of Bramshott Camp to visit the convent on Sunday afternoon and
assist at Benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament.
There were three or four different ways of going to Grayshott, near
which the Convent of the Cenacle was situated. One of these was a
foot-path which led first through a moor, covered in summer with
purple heather, then through bracken, almost as high as an average
man, and bunches of green gorse bushes that blazed light yellow at
certain seasons with flowers resembling in shape the sweet-peas. It
was a quaint little path, passing on its way “Wagner’s Wells” a chain
of what we on this side of the Atlantic would call ponds, in a low,
wooded valley. In summer these were very pretty when the full-leafed
branches of the trees hung low over the Wells, and the water was
almost wholly hidden by tiny white flowers that rested on the surface.
All during the war, on Sunday afternoons, a long, irregular line of
khaki-clad figures went leisurely along the foot-path to Grayshott,
passed scenery strange though pleasing, mounted quaint rustic stiles
till they came to the convent of the Sisters of the Cenacle.
The first Sunday I visited the Convent there were so many soldiers
present that the little chapel could not contain all. I learned
afterwards that this had happened so frequently that, in order that all
might be present at Benediction, the good Sisters had asked for and
obtained a general permission to have the services on the lawn just in
the rear of the chapel.
Benediction was given by a little Belgian who was doing chaplain’s
work among the Canadians at Bramshott, while Father Knox, a recently
converted Anglican clergyman, led the soldiers in singing the hymns.
Little red hymn-books, which the English government had supplied
the Catholic soldiers, were passed around to each soldier. It was
a beautiful sight there on that English lawn, as all knelt grouped
together, officer and soldier, priest, sister, while the white Host was
raised to bless us all. Then the lads sang strongly and clearly that
beautiful hymn, “Hail, Queen of Heaven,” that was sung so often during
the war under many different conditions. The Irishmen sang it as they
advanced to take a difficult position that the English had failed to
take at Féstubert.
The Sisters dispensed hospitality; large teapots of tea and plates
stacked high with thin slices of bread and butter, and baskets of thick
slices of yellow cake with currants in it. Then in the evening the
soldiers walked back to camp through winding foot-paths and over stiles.
I am sure there are many men scattered over the country who will
remember gratefully the Sisters of the Cenacle at Grayshott. It must
have inconvenienced them greatly, yet Sunday after Sunday, all during
the war, soldiers went to the convent, and always the Sisters treated
them most hospitably.
On Sundays, when the number of men present was not too large,
Benediction was given in the Sisters’ chapel. It was a very pretty
little chapel and on the altar, day and night, the Sacred Host was
exposed for perpetual adoration; and always two Sisters knelt to
adore. On the Gospel side of the altar stood a beautiful statue of the
Blessed Virgin which was almost covered with the military badges worn
by soldiers of the different battalions. In some way known to women
the good Sisters had draped a mantle about the statue, and to this was
pinned the badges of these modern knights.
After Benediction the lads would all come to a large room where tea
would be served. Often among the little khaki-clad groups a Sister
of the Cenacle would be seen standing, or sitting, listening to the
stories told of the country far away across the seas. The Sisters wore
a black habit, a small purple cape which reached to the elbows, and a
white cap covered by a black veil, except for a one inch crimped border
around the face. Sometimes, when it was time to leave the convent, a
certain group would step forward to say good-bye to the Sisters and to
ask their prayers. These would be men ordered to leave during the week
as a draft for some battalion in the trenches. And the lads “would be
remembered in the Sacred Presence there, where remembrances are sacred
and each memory holds a prayer.” Day and night, as the Sisters knelt
before the Lord and offered their continuous prayers for a world that
seemed to have forgotten Him, special prayers were said for those whose
badges hung on Our Lady’s mantle.