Perhaps it would be of interest to give a little account, without, of
course, mentioning names, of the events of one or two days when a
visit was paid to the trenches. On one occasion after motoring
through towns that are a household word, both at home and with our
Allies, towns which have seen the Germans in them and then driven out
of them, places where the buildings are practically level with the
ground, the limit for vehicular traffic is reached and one goes
forward on foot. Soon you reach a cutting in the ground and you
begin to walk along a trench. You turn now and again either to right
or left, seeing sign-posts telling sometimes in comic language and
sometimes only by number the name, as it were, of the underground
street; you then rise a little and find yourself walking in the
inside of houses so shattered that you cannot tell much about what
they originally were until you are told that they formed a street in
a little overgrown village of which nothing is left, and the last
inhabitant of which was the station-master, who refused to leave
though there was neither train, station nor house for himself left,
because so long as he remained on the spot he could claim his pay.
Forcible measures had at last to be used to secure his departure.
Where you are walking you are yourself hidden from the enemy, but are
within the range of their fire. You are taken up to an observation
post, where one of your companions incautiously takes out a white
pocket-handkerchief and is hurriedly told to put it back in his
pocket. You come down again and you proceed cautiously along
trenches. Now and again shells pass over, and your careful guide
looks to see in what direction they are falling, as, though he is
quite unconcerned for himself, he knows that he is responsible for
the safety of the troublesome visitor. You are told to keep your
head down and not to show, for the moment at any rate, any desire to
view the landscape. Soldiers are dotted about here and there, all of
them ready to give a kindly greeting, and then at last you reach a
point where you are told not to speak loudly because practically only
a few yards away is the enemy, who, were he to hear conversation,
might think it worth while to throw over a hand grenade. What looks
like a tiny bit of glass at the end of a short stick is there before
you, and you are asked to look into it; when you do the enemies'
trenches are visible to you. Beyond an occasional ping against a
sandbag, you have heard nothing to note the existence of rifle fire,
except that the men you have passed have got these weapons to hand.
You tell the men at the advanced posts how proud their country is of
them, how thankful you are to have seen them, how you pray that God
may bring them back safe to their homes; you get rid of all cigars or
cigarettes you may have upon you, wishing that you had thousands
more, and then you return home, varying perhaps the route through the
communication trenches.
On another occasion our way took us through a town which is
absolutely razed to the ground and is still under shell fire. There
I saw two soldiers busy with spades, and I asked what kind of
fortification they were putting up, to which, with a broad grin, one
replied that they were looking for souvenirs. He was kind enough to
give me a complete German cartridge case, for which he refused to
take any remuneration. Going on a little farther in this town, we
went down some steps and found ourselves in an underground club full
of soldiers, who were having a hot meal, were reading papers and
playing games, everything being presided over by perhaps the most
magnetic person I met on my travels, a young Chaplain to the Forces,
who would not wish his name to be mentioned, though there is probably
no one out at the Front who will not know to whom I refer. When we
went from this place towards the more advanced trenches, I was taken
along a road which looked perfectly harmless, when suddenly a
stalwart Scotchman told my companion and myself that we must get off
it at once as it was a favourite target for German Maxims. Never was
General more obediently submitted to than was this, I believe,
private soldier. It was on this occasion that we had tea in the
dug-out of the Colonel, who bears a name distinguished in English
naval, military and sporting life. A characteristic of the German
trenches which I noticed on this and other occasions, was that their
sandbags seemed to be generally white in colour, at any rate in those
of the first line. Leaving the trench on this particular day, we had
to go through an almost alarming thunderstorm, which in the course of
half an hour made a sea of mud of the place which had been quite dry
before. It was curious to notice how petty the sound of the guns
appeared as compared with the artillery of heaven.
[Illustration: THE INTERIOR OF RHEIMS CATHEDRAL]
Pathetic incidents occur and touching scenes are visible on these
journeys to the Front. One looked in the trenches upon little mounds
and crosses, marking the resting-places of men who had been
hurriedly, but reverently, buried. There they are side by side with
their living comrades, who are doing their work whilst their brothers
sleep. Dotted all about the country are little cemeteries, which
tell of devotion unto death, and which remind one of all the sorrow
this war has caused. It is strange to see how religious emblems
appear to have been strong against shell. Constantly you would see a
church almost totally destroyed and yet the crucifix untouched, and
who will ever forget that sight which can be seen for miles around,
of the tower which has been almost shattered to pieces and yet the
statue of the Virgin and Child, which was near the top of it, though
bent over completely at right angles, still remains, as it were
blessing and protecting the whole neighbourhood.
This leads to the consideration of the religious condition of our
troops as affected, first, by the churches and worshippers of France,
and, secondly, by their own experience in this war. More than one
mentioned the pleasure felt at the sight of the little wayside
shrines which they passed on their march. Others commented upon the
large numbers of people they saw flocking to their early communion,
and many expressed a hope that permission might be secured for parade
services to be held in the naves of the various parish churches
during the winter time, when the cold is great and when it is almost
impossible to secure any suitable building other than the churches
for worship. Negotiations have been going on upon this matter, and
some of the French ecclesiastics are not unfavourable, but a
difficulty which is prominent to the minds of some of the French
Bishops arises out of the recent separation of Church and State.
There is a considerable party in France anxious to secure the
ecclesiastical buildings for different sects, and even in some cases
for secular purposes. It is felt, therefore, that a precedent might
be made of a dangerous character were permission to be given to our
troops to have services in these sacred buildings. We may, however,
be quite confident that those responsible for the spiritual care of
our soldiers in France will deal with this whole question wisely and
tactfully. It does seem strange that men who are fighting for the
liberties and rights of France, and whose religion is, after all, not
antagonistic to the faith of the people of that country, may not have
the shelter of the less sacred part of a parish church in order to
offer up their prayers to Almighty God. It is when one gets face to
face with such circumstances as these that the pettiness of religious
strife strikes one with force. Is it just possible that out of this
great conflict there may arise a stronger desire for religious unity
than the world has ever yet known?
What his experience of war is doing for the soldier in regard to
religion is remarkable. It would have been possible that the sight
of humanity striving to the death and inflicting horrible suffering
might have made our young fellows despair of Christianity. They
might have argued that it was of no avail to teach the religion of
Jesus when no effect was produced upon international conduct; but
they have been able to look more deeply into matters and to realise
that not Divine intention was at fault, but human refusal to follow
true teaching. They have been able to see God through the cloud of
smoke raised by shot and shell, and the Presence of the Divine has
not been obscured by the horrors of war. Conscious of the
seriousness of the work in which they are engaged, feeling every
moment the nearness of eternity, our soldiers have in no craven
spirit, but with a due remembrance of their relationship to God and
to eternity, turned to religion as a stay in the hour of conflict.
What struck one very much was the desire for the understanding of a
few central truths, and the evident keenness for big dogmatic
statements as to great matters. There was some impatience shown when
small details were pressed too strongly, and when terms were used
familiar to the theologian, but absolutely incomprehensible to a
plain, simple, God-fearing officer or private. It sounds almost an
impertinence to speak of the devotion of the chaplains at the Front,
but I am bound, after having mixed with a large number of them, to
express the deep thankfulness one feels to the padre for all that he
is doing. The young men who are now for the first time seeing
service as clergy associated with troops, are exceptionally fortunate
in the leadership they get from the Army chaplains of long standing.
There is something about work with the soldier which intensifies the
humanity of any one working for his spiritual welfare.