A LITTLE BURLAP ROOM
The following day was Saturday and I began to think of my duties for
the morrow. I had learned that the Thirteenth, Fifteenth and Sixteenth
battalions would remain in the trenches till Monday. I called at the
orderly room of the Fourteenth only to learn that they would be moving
Sunday. When I returned to my billet I found a letter from Father
MacDonnell, telling me to call to see him at the Transport Section of
the Seventy-second Battalion. I did, and found a little man, dressed in
Scotch military costume--tartan riding breeches, round-cornered khaki
tunic and glengarry cap. The Seventy-second was a Scotch battalion from
Canada, but its chaplain was a Canadian from Scotland. He had been a
member of the Benedictine Monastery, at Fort Augustus, Scotland. He
was then busy composing a little work on the Holy Name, for he was
anxious to establish the Holy Name Society among not only the Catholic
soldiers, but also all other denominations. This was accomplished
later with the co-operation of the general commanding officer of the
Canadian Corps, Sir Arthur Currie. He was not a young man: his hair
was beginning to turn grey. I took him to be about fifty years old.
He wished me to work with him on Sunday. This I did, saying Mass in a
large Y. M. C. A. tent, while he said Mass some distance farther down
the valley. I did not have many at Mass, but a good number came to
Communion. Most of the men were in the trenches.
In the afternoon, towards three o’clock, I heard the inspiring strains
of a military march coming up the Valley of Death. I knew the march
well. It was “The Great Little Army,” one of the most popular marches
on the Western Front. I stepped outside and looked down the valley. A
battalion of infantry was marching back from the line.
“It’s the Fourteenth,” said a young soldier standing nearby.
I watched them carefully. The Fourteenth was one of my battalions. I
had heard of it before; it had been the sacrificed battalion in one of
the big battles. The men had advanced without support in order to give
the enemy the impression that we were stronger than we really were.
They had suffered terrible casualties, but their manoeuvre had met
with great success. I watched them till they disappeared round a turn
in the road--Hospital Corner, I think it was called--and still I stood
listening to the band. Very likely I would meet these lads on Christmas
Day--which meant within the week.
I had no sooner returned to my “room” when the young soldier who had
been so thoughtful of my interests came in. “Sir,” he said, “the
colonel and all the headquarters’ officers have gone to Chateau de la
Haie; the battalion is going there tomorrow. I think you should take
the colonel’s room before any one else gets it.”
In ten minutes all my belongings were in the room just vacated by the
colonel. It was a warm room completely lined with burlap: ceiling,
walls and floor were covered with it. There was a small burlap-covered
table and a low bench, about three feet long, also with a covering of
burlap, but above all else, there was a tiny stove with two doors that
slid back so that one could see the fire burning in it. Since then I
have been in very much worse quarters on the Western Front.
The following morning I said Mass on the little table, and the cook,
who had now only four officers to provide for, came to Holy Communion.
The next morning the interpreter, with a young soldier who was being
called home to Halifax to care for his wife and child who had just
passed through the terrible disaster, knelt reverently in the little
burlap room to receive their Lord.