Part 4 (1/2)
_July 25th, 1915._
”To tell you that I am at present on this Sunday afternoon lying on the gra.s.s watching a cricket match no doubt seems strange. But that is what I am doing--and with quite an easy conscience.
”We are some miles from the firing line in a fair-sized French town. It's a treat to be away from the noise of battle, and from sleepless nights, and in a civilised place again. We are only here for a day or two, however, and then on we go--or at least that is the rumour.
”We had Church Parade at 10 o'clock this morning, followed by a route march, and so we are free this afternoon.
”Two matches are now in full swing, 13 and 15 _v._ the transport, and 14 and 16 _v._ the new platoons. The platoons have licked them by 30 runs, 61 to 31 runs. I may say my interest keeps wandering from the letter, although no slight to you is meant.
”Now please don't think that Sunday is taken up entirely with cricket matches and things of that sort. When the Padre can get round to our battalion there is always a service on the Sunday. Sometimes a full-blown Church Parade, like this morning, but these are not what we call Sunday services. The real Sunday services are voluntary ones, either in the open or in a Y.M.C.A. hut. The fellows that go--and there are quite a large number--really go because they feel the need of such a service--not because it is a parade and they _must_ turn out.
”Our Padre has been able to get round to us about every Sunday, when we have been out of the trenches. He is a very broad-minded chap--is not shocked to see us playing cricket on Sundays, for he realises that whilst on rest men _must_ have exercise and enjoyment, whatever the day may be. I asked him once whether he would feel justified in playing a footer or cricket match on a Sunday, and he said that if he had been in the trenches for several days, and the day that he came out happened to be a Sunday, he would certainly play.
”The services are generally held about 10 o'clock in the morning. We simply go down and enter the hut or tent and take our seats. There is nothing formal; the Padre is sure to be there first, and he sits about and has a chat with each man before the service begins. The hut is more or less divided by a curtain or something like that, which separates the service from the part given up to refreshments, and we generally sit round in a circle. There is no set form of wors.h.i.+p, and even the hymns are not settled beforehand. The Padre just says, 'Well, boys what shall we have?' and the men ask for their favourites, mostly the old-fas.h.i.+oned hymns, such as 'Abide with Me' or 'Rock of Ages.' Then follows a Bible reading and then more singing of hymns. The sermon is generally more of a chat than anything else. The Padre does not take a text, but talks of the troubles and difficulties of the day in the most practical manner. I remember one talk I heard on swearing, and another on drinking. The Padre didn't preach at us, he did not condemn us at all. He just gave good, sound, hard reasons as to why we should not do these things. These friendly chats with their sound common sense do us far more good than hundreds of stereotyped sermons.
”The service finishes up with many more hymns and the Benediction. But even then we do not leave. This particular Padre of ours has introduced what he calls 'get-away-from-the-war chats.' We sit round and talk about everything in general--of home, of books, and all general topics. His idea is that we should try to forget about the war for that brief half-hour or so. These talks are very popular; we get large 'congregations,' and these services really do much more good than the official Church Parade, when the battalion often has to stand in the cold for about an hour on end before the service commences.”
To this description of religious services at the front Sydney Baxter adds the following note. You will remember that he writes of what he himself has seen and felt. He has fought in the trenches, and we who have not, have got to face life from his point of view if we are to understand and help him in the days to come.
”The majority of the men who used to attend these services would probably shock the ordinary church-goer. These chaps would occasionally swear, at times they certainly got too 'merry.' But this did not make them any the less good fellows. Unless one has actually been at the front, it's no good arguing with him or trying to make him understand the front's point of view. What man who has not been through it can even dimly imagine the after-effect of continuous bombardment and heavy sh.e.l.ling? This I do want to say: the whole time these men were at the services they were far more reverent than many I have seen in churches in England. On leaving they would probably speak of the Chaplain as a _d.a.m.n_, or even more expressive, fine chap; half an hour after the service one might find them playing cards, later on taking rather more than was good for them at the cafe, and yet there was absolutely no doubt as to their earnestness and sincerity or their att.i.tude towards religion. On the whole they were a far cleaner-living lot of men than those one unfortunately sometimes finds in a place of wors.h.i.+p in England.
”_They were real good sorts. They would never go back on a pal._”
One Young Man on Trek
CHAPTER IX
ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK
It was on August Bank Holiday Monday that Sydney Baxter's battalion made its long journey south. He writes:
”We were up at 2 o'clock that morning, and for two solid hours were loading up the trucks with our transport, G.S.
waggons and limbers. It was real sport and we thoroughly enjoyed it. A long row of flat trucks was lined up, and as each limber drew up the horses were unharnessed and we ran the limber right along the whole line of trucks until all were filled. The work completed, we detailed for our trucks.
Every trenchman knows those trucks neatly ticketed:
40 Hommes.
8 Chevaux.
Forty of us packed into a van did not permit even sitting down, and we were very tired after our exertions, but the change of surroundings and the knowledge that we were for a time far away from the reach and sound of sh.e.l.ls was sufficient to keep us merry and bright. The journey was very slow, and when we reached Calais it was just twelve hours since we had had a breakfast cup of tea. A few of us decided to run up to the engine and get some hot water and make some tea on our own, but the majority hadn't got any tea tablets or cocoa, and we hadn't enough to go round at a sip each.
The cookers were tightly packed on a truck at the rear, and there was no hope from that quarter. And then once again, just as on other occasions where a chance of a hot mug of tea seemed hopeless, and where we were apparently doomed to a comfortless time, the Y.M. was at hand. There, as we glided into Calais station, we espied a long covered-in counter displaying the familiar sign of the red triangle.
The order quickly came down, and was more quickly put into execution, that men could get out and go to the canteen. I have never seen such a rush. We were like a disturbed nest of ants. I wondered how on earth those ladies would cope with us, but I under-estimated their resources. As we came up we were formed into a column of four deep, and only a few were admitted at a time. At the entrance was a pay box. Here we had our franc and 5-franc notes turned into pennies, that the exact money might be given over the counter to save any delay. When I pa.s.sed up to the counter in due time, I found that the first sector was solely occupied in pouring out tea into our quart mess tins, further along b.u.t.tered rolls and cakes were piled high upon large trays, and at the last sector cigarettes of all varieties, chocolate, and nougat were obtainable. It was a splendid array of good things served by the ladies of our own land. Though, of course, we needed and enjoyed the hot tea and rolls, it was as much joy to hear our own tongue so sweetly spoken. The change from the deep voices of our officers and comrades thrilled us, reminding us of sisters and sweethearts just a few miles away, across the Channel, and yet so far off, for there was little chance of leave for a long time. What a pretty picture those ladies made in the midst of the khakied crowd, pa.s.sing quickly from one to another with a smile for all! I am sure every one was over-stocked with chocolates and cigarettes, for we all kept returning to the counter to buy something just for the sake of a smile or a 'How are you getting on, Tommy?' from one of our hostesses. The whistle blew and we all made a rush for our trucks. The ladies stood in a body at the end of the platform, and as each truck pa.s.sed waved and wished us good luck. The noise we made was deafening; we cheered and cheered until the little group of England's unknown heroines on the platform pa.s.sed from sight. Our hearts were very full.
”And so we pa.s.sed down into the Somme district, the first English soldiers to hold that part of the line.”
Here are a few typical extracts from Sydney Baxter's letters about this time.