CHRISTMAS AT THE FRONT
We had planned to have midnight Mass in one of the large moving-picture
huts at Chateau de la Haie, for here in reserve were four full
battalions: one belonging to Father MacDonnell, one to Father Murray,
a young chaplain whom I met just before Christmas, and two, the
Fourteenth and Sixteenth, belonging to me. My other battalions were
only about two miles beyond these, the Thirteenth at Petit Servans and
the Fifteenth at Grand Servans. But First Divisional Headquarters,
which was then at Chateau de la Haie, reconsidered the matter. They
thought the Catholic soldiers coming in at such an early hour might
disturb others who would wish to sleep; and, also, that there might
be too many lights used, so that some aerial Santa Claus from across
the line might wing his way above the camp, dropping a few Christmas
bombs in passing. We then decided to have two Masses in the large hut
at Chateau de la Haie and one in the church at Petit Servans. Fathers
Murray and MacDonnell were to say the Masses at Chateau de la Haie and
I was to go to Petit Servans.
I found that not only had I to notify the men of my own battalions,
but also all the units in my area. As there were about ten other
units--labor groups, engineers, divisional trains, etc.--this took
me quite a while. In fact, it took all Monday afternoon. But the
following morning, which was Christmas, when I turned around after
the gospel to say a few words to the lads, I felt more than repaid
for any inconvenience, including my four mile walk from Carency to
Petit Servans before Mass, for the church was filled. All the seats
were occupied and the large space in the rear was packed with standing
soldiers--kilted laddies from the Thirteenth and Fifteenth, with their
officers; soldiers from the engineers; members of the labor groups;
stretcher-bearers from the First Field Ambulance. With a full heart I
thanked the Christ Child for bringing together all my Catholic men. It
was the first time in four months that I had been able to assemble such
a large number. At the hospital, naturally, the groups were small. And
as I looked at the sea of faces, so reverently attentive, many bearing
marks of the terrible conflicts through which they had passed, I felt
a twitching at the throat, so that it was a few seconds before I could
begin to speak.
It was a long while that Christmas Day before I finished giving Holy
Communion, for nearly all the men in the church came.
On my way home I learned from Father Murray that the Fourteenth and
Sixteenth had attended Mass in a body in the moving-picture hut at
Chateau de la Haie, and that great numbers had gone to Holy Communion.
My Christmas dinner was a piece of dry roast beef, almost burnt, some
potatoes, bread and margarine, with a little apricot jam and a cup of
tea; that was all. Yet I think it was the happiest Christmas I ever
spent, for, as I thought of that first wonderful meeting with those
Canadian Catholic soldiers on the Western Front, I felt that in their
midst those words, written so long ago, “There was no room in the inn,”
could not be said that Christmas Day.