We marched up the smooth road, the band playing the regimental march, passed line after line of the different battalions quartered on either side. Soldiers from different units lined the way and voiced friendly criticism as to our appearance, etc. Many wagons from the farmlands beyond the hills were drawn up on each side of the road; grouped about them were many khaki-clad lads buying milk, little pats of butter, buns and a number of other articles. We marched about two miles till we came to a great square of unoccupied bell tents. Here we halted and took over our lines.
In a few days we were in the ordinary routine of camp life, and I think most of the men liked the new order. Living in a tent seemed to give one a continual feeling of freshness and buoyancy. Every morning, very early, far away at general headquarters, a flag would run up the tall flag-pole; then from all parts of the camp would sound the reveille, breaking in on the peaceful repose of honest sleepers, and when the last sound of the bugles had died away there would be heard a quick rattle of snare-drums and a few great booms from the bass drum, then the exhilarating strains of a military march would break on the morning air. I had listened to the pleasant martial strains for perhaps a week or two, and naturally associated with them the idea of orderly marching bandsmen, fully equipped, polished and shining from head to foot, till one morning I untied the flap of my tent and looked out. More than half the bandsmen were in their shirt sleeves; five or six were in their bare feet, and now and again they jumped spasmodically, as they walked on a pebble or struck a hidden tent-peg; some who wore boots did not wear socks or puttees, and the trousers from the knee down were tight and much wrinkled, yet there was no lack of harmony in the stately, marching music.
All day long till four o’clock the men drilled or took different exercises, while the sun slowly shifted scenery on the great silent hills. Up and down the long grey road huge-hooded khaki motor lorries rumbled with their loads of supplies for field and tent. In the evening towards sunset, after the men had washed and rested a little, the flag that had been flying at headquarters all through the day would drop slowly down the pole. Then two buglers would sound retreat, after which the guard would be inspected while the band played some slow waltz or minuet.
To me this seemed the happiest hour of the daily military routine. The day was done and from all parts of the camp could be heard low, pleasant talk, as the band played soft music, the men standing about in little groups or moving from tent to tent, visiting neighbors. It always brought to my mind the idea of restfulness and peace.
After retreat the long grey road would become alive with the continuous movement of soldiers going and coming. The officers did not care to walk along this road, as it meant for them one continual return of salutes. Sometimes an open-air moving-picture show would be in progress. There were also two halls where moving pictures were shown on rainy nights. In the early days it was a treat to the lads to visit these places. As there were never any ladies present, smoking was permitted. Sometimes the smoke rose in such density that it obscured the pictures on the screen.
At ten o’clock last post would sound and weary men would roll themselves in their blankets on the hard ground and dispose themselves to sleep.
Chapter VI
Mass Out of Doors
On Sundays I would set up the portable altar on two rifle boxes placed one above the other, on a great green plain near the end of the camp. Nearly always an awning would be erected above the altar, and whenever the wind blew canvas was draped about posts as a windshield, so that the candles might not be extinguished.
It was a wonderful sight to see the men draw up on the grass, every one of them reverent and quiet before the little altar as I vested for Mass. Often three thousand were drawn up on the green plain as level as a floor. Sometimes a number would wait till this late Mass—which was always said at ten o’clock—to go to Holy Communion, though I always said an early Mass for those who wished to receive.
Since the war, different men who were present at those open-air Masses have told me that never before had they assisted at the Holy Sacrifice with such devotion. All things seemed to praise God; the great solemn mountains stood silent, the clouds moved soundlessly across the blue of the sky. Not a sound could be heard, save when a man coughed softly, or when the little bell tinkled.