THE NEW ZEALANDERS
Of all the lads of different nationalities who visited the little
chapel in the evening and who came so often to Holy Communion in the
early morning, I think I liked the best the New Zealanders. They were
nearly all tall, lithe men, dark-haired, with long, narrow faces, and
eyes that had a strange intensity of expression: perhaps one might
call them piercing. They were quiet-voiced men and spoke with rather
an English accent. They were the gentlest, finest men it was my good
fortune to meet in the army. They were excellent Catholics, many of
them daily communicants. The Maoris, the aborigines of New Zealand,
were treated by the white men with the same courtesy that they showed
one to another. The Maoris were the most intelligent looking men of the
yellow race I had ever met. In fact, it was only by their color--which
was almost chocolate--that one could distinguish them from the New
Zealanders themselves. Those of the Maoris who were Catholics were
excellent ones.
I recall one incident which impressed me very much with New Zealand
courtesy. I had come to a segregation camp, just outside the little
village of Etaples, to arrange for the Sunday church parade of the
soldiers on the following day. The soldiers who were quartered in the
segregation camp were men who had come in contact with those suffering
from contagious diseases. They usually stayed in this camp about three
weeks. If after this period no symptoms of any contagious disease
appeared they returned to their different units. The day I speak of,
three officers were sitting in the mess when I went to announce the
services, two Englishmen and one New Zealander. I told the officer in
charge that I should like to have the Catholic men paraded for Mass the
following day, suggesting to him to name the hour most suitable. He, an
Englishman, said eleven o’clock. I was about to say, “Very well,” when
the New Zealand officer interposed gently but firmly. “You will have
to make the hour earlier than that, Captain,” he said. “You know the
Father will be fasting till after his Mass.”
The English officer looked at me quickly. “Why, Padre,” he said, “it
did not occur to me that you would be fasting. Certainly, we’ll have it
earlier. How about nine o’clock?” Nine would suit perfectly, I assured
him. As I was to say an early Mass for the nurses at 7:30, I would just
have time to move my altar to the dunes, where I was to celebrate Mass,
before the soldiers would arrive.
The Mass was finished very early that Sunday, and there was no long
fast. I was very grateful to the New Zealander for his thoughtfulness.
As I have said before, they were the gentlest, finest men I had ever
met.