The open-air service was good. The chaplain is a dear old chap. I had
to go and fetch him from headquarters and take him back after the
service, which was rather touching, though he managed to put a bit of
fun into it. He gave us a text which I think I shall remember all my
life; it fitted the occasion so good. It was: “The Lord shall preserve
thy going out and thy coming in.” I am having a rather soft time of it
lately.... Two weeks ago I was out buying bullocks, and that journey
lasted ten days. I had a nice bed each night, tons of good food, and a
good bath. It was the first time I had taken my clothes off since we
landed: _A Soldier with the 4th Division Train_.
Polus!
Our fellows get on very well with the Frenchmen; I suppose it is
because most of us can talk the lingo after a style. There was one old
chap called Polus, a short, tubby little fellow with bright eyes and
black moustache, we palled up to quite a lot. He could sing quite well,
and was very funny when we called him Signor Caruso. We had him by the
fire the other night; you can imagine us round a fire in a corner,
formed up against the outside wall of the station, and a lean-to shed,
ourselves, some of the Scottish, and some Frenchmen, and this old chap
singing and keeping us laughing all the time. He had really a fine
voice, and sang the “Marseillaise” and “Toreador,” and one or two other
songs very well indeed: _Sergt. Sandle, of the H.A.C._
“Gey Hard!”
Two of our chaps one day had a wrangle about when we were likely to
reach Berlin. One thought it would be by Christmas, but the other,
being more patriotic, was for St. Andrew’s Day, and said there was
no prospect of any haggis for the occasion. They made a bet on it,
and it was duly registered by a chum, who acted as bookmaker for them
frequently. Next day they were in action, and one of them was badly
hit. His mate found him, and he saw he hadn’t long to live. The wounded
man was far gone, but he had enough sense to recognize his chum, and
in a weak voice he said, “I’m thinkin’, Geordie, that wee bet o’ oors
wull hae tae be aff noo. It’s gey hard, but the Almighty kens best”: _A
Sergeant of the Seaforth Highlanders_.
“Terribly Put Out”
I see men of the other Irish regiments now and again, and they’re
terribly put out over the way these German heathens are destroying
churches and sending priests out to starve by the roadside in order
that the Germans may be free to live in their swinish way in the houses
and churches and sacred buildings. There’s not a man in any of the
regiments, Protestant or Roman, that doesn’t mean to make the Germans
pay for this, and, with all their bitterness against our faith, there
are Protestants from the North who are wilder than we are about it, and
declare they won’t stand by and see such things done by dirty Germans
without making a row about it. One of them said the other day in his
solemn Presbyterian way, “I hate the Pope as much as any man, and I
wouldn’t think twice about shutting down all your chapels, but it’s
another story when the Germans try it on.” That’s the way most of the
men from the North look at it: _Pte. Harkness, Royal Irish Regiment_.