THE BATTALION IS BROKEN UP
We were not in England three weeks when orders came for a draft of men
to reinforce a battalion that had suffered severe losses at the front.
In a few days one hundred and fifty men left for France. We thought at
the time that reinforcements would soon come to us from Canada, but not
much more than a week passed till we were called on for another draft.
This time the order was that three hundred and fifty men be sent to the
Eighty-seventh Battalion.
This second order came as a shock to us all. Many of the officers had
been in the battalion for almost a year; they had watched it grow
strong and numerous and had helped to form, the thing most essential
in a battalion, an “esprit de corps.” I had never thought of going to
the front except as a unit. The idea of our being broken up had never
entered my mind, but before Christmas came our battalion had lost
its identity as the One Hundred and Thirty-second Battalion, and the
majority of the men had gone to join different units at the front.
It was impossible for me to be with all my men, as there were no two
drafts in the same brigade; still, I thought that I might be permitted
to go as chaplain to the brigade in which was the largest number of my
men, so I obtained permission to go to London to explain matters to the
senior chaplain. He was very kind, but he said I must await my turn;
there were other chaplains whose battalions had undergone the same
process of annihilation as had mine. These must go first; work would be
found for me in England till my turn would come to go to the front.
I returned to Bramshott Camp a somewhat wiser man as to the workings
of things military. But as I sat in the cold first class compartment,
with my feet on a stone hot water-bottle (seemingly this is the only
way they heat the cars in England) my mind was busy with many things.
One was that I never should have offered my services as chaplain had
I foreseen the catastrophe which had befallen us. I had counted on
being with my men till the last. Before leaving for overseas many of
the mothers of the lads had come to me and had told me what a great
consolation it was to them to have the assurance that a Catholic priest
would be with their sons. Now I was not going with them; still, I had
been convinced that the lads would be well cared for spiritually.
At Bramshott I became assistant for a time to the camp chaplain, Father
John Knox.