Chapter LXXXIII
Boves Again
The first Sunday on the Amiens front we had no church parade. But the second Sunday we managed to have one for the lads out of the trenches. We had Mass on a wooded hill that had been heavily shelled during the week by the Germans, though they left us quiet on Sunday.
There was a huge crippled tank on the hill, and workmen were busy repairing it. I found a rough table placed against the tank, and on the table a portable altar already set up for Mass; grouped about this were some men from other brigades and a few of my own men, with a draft that had come for the Thirteenth. Father MacDonnell had just finished Mass. He and Father Fallon heard confessions, and the workmen repaired the tank, while I offered up the Holy Sacrifice for the men.
The following Friday evening, after a long, weary march, we came back into Boves. It was a different looking city from the one we had entered almost three weeks before. On the outskirts, high on a hill, dozens of great marquee tents rose in the darkening twilight, and from a large flag-staff waved, on a white background, the red cross: it was one of our Canadian clearing stations that had moved up. We came around a turn in the road and there, standing in a group, were the nurses, orderlies, and many patients from the tents on the hill. They cheered and cheered as the lads marched by and the nurses fluttered their white handkerchiefs, while the band played a merry march. Down the street of the city the merry pipers piped our way, while house after house opened its doors wide and the good French people who had returned, whole families of them, came out and cheered us as we passed up the street. I had a fine billet in the class-room of a school just next door to the church; yet it seemed somewhat stuffy and closed in after having lived for almost three weeks in an apple orchard.
The following morning, after I came in from Mass, I noticed the cook standing on the outer sill of the window, looking closely at the grape-vines which grew up the sides of the building; many bunches of white grapes grew among the thick green leaves. A few minutes later, as I sat down to breakfast, George walked in with a great cluster, almost as large as a pineapple, on a dish and placed them near my plate.
All day long I was hoping to have the opportunity of having my men to confession before leaving Boves, for it was being rumored about the city that we were on our way back to the Arras front where we were to take part in other big battles. I could not learn from headquarters at what time we were to leave, but I surmised it would be early Sunday morning. I was praying the Blessed Virgin to let me have the men, but at seven o’clock p. m. it seemed certain that we were to move early in the morning.
At eight o’clock the quartermaster came to me, saying: “The move’s off, Padre. We don’t leave here till tomorrow evening.”
I called George, and soon he and I were out organizing a church parade of all the troops in the city. I called at the C. C. S. on the hill, thinking there might be a chaplain there who could help me with confessions. I learned that there was a Catholic chaplain attached to the unit, but that at present he was absent on leave.
I heard confessions for about an hour before Mass, but as the time for Mass drew near it became evident that I would not be able to hear one-quarter of the great throng of khaki-clad lads that filled the church; all the pews were filled and many were standing. When the hour for Mass had come, even the large sanctuary was filled with soldiers, some of them wearing the blue uniform of France.
I was just about to leave the confessional to say Mass when I heard some one knocking on the door. I looked up quickly: there stood Father MacDonnell in his Scotch uniform. I was so overjoyed that I stepped out quickly and cried: “The Blessed Virgin sent you here!”