Spiritual work among soldiers is very real and deep. I question whether there is any more difficult place for a man to endeavour to live up to his convictions than in the Army; and to the Christian soldier, one of the surest tests of the reality of his religious profession is the simple matter of saying his prayers in the barrack room or tent. If a man persistently does that, you may be sure there is something real in his profession.
I have already alluded to the deep impression created by the experience of being under fire. A somewhat remarkable instance in support of this condition of mind came under my notice a few weeks ago. The officer to whom it relates will, I am sure, pardon my introducing his experience to point my moral. He was standing with a brother officer amid the ruins of Ypres, when, realizing that the position was distinctly 'unhealthy' owing to the heavy shelling which had commenced, he suggested a withdrawal from the locality. They had walked but a short distance, when a high explosive shell burst behind them, and a piece of the casing whizzed between their heads. 'That was a near shave,' said one; 'let's go back and see where it fell.' It had fallen on the precise spot where they had been standing but a minute or so before. The result of the condition of mind produced by this remarkable 'let off' was a visit to the chaplain's office. On asking what I could do for him the officer replied, 'I hardly know, but I want your help. I have never been baptized, so I suppose I ought to be baptized and confirmed.' I pointed out to him that prior to the participation in the Sacrament of Holy Baptism, he had to settle with himself his personal relationship with Christ. By the goodness of God I believe that point was clearly established in his mind, and it was my privilege to baptize him, and then present him for Confirmation at the hands of the Bishop of Birmingham.
This affords another illustration of the wonderful working of a man's mind who comes face to face with Eternity and the reality of God. Some men at home will possibly be inclined to sneer at such a condition of mind, but those of us who have been through it know full well the emptiness of such home-bred objections, which certainly do not hold amid the issues of life and death which are found at the Front.
I have met many friends at the Base, both among officers and men. It is a pleasing duty to record the gratitude I owe to those in command for their invariable courtesy to me, in the prosecution of my work, and the splendid personal support rendered to me. The personal influence of the officers goes far in securing the sympathy of the men.
I have never had more attentive congregations than those which have formed the various Church Parades and voluntary gatherings which fell to my lot to conduct whilst working at the Base.
On one occasion it fell to me to conduct a 'Quiet Day' for Chaplains, Hospital Nurses and Orderlies, and responsible though the work was, we felt it to be a great lift up, coming as it did amid the stress of a very arduous life.
I frequently had the experience of visiting the different sections of the Front, and on two occasions in particular gave addresses to gatherings of chaplains, drawn from various Divisions. Those were unique occasions, for one felt the tremendous responsibility of trying to help men engaged in such important work. I knew that I was addressing heroes without exception, men who were daily counting their lives cheap for Christ's sake.
A most interesting experience befell me on June 18. With a brother chaplain I was visiting in the neighbourhood of Ypres, when ascending a small hill from which one could survey the whole line of trenches, extending from Zonnebec to Ploegstreete, we passed by some reserve trenches in which were a considerable number of men, resting from their duties in the front line trenches. I had taken with me in the car a large number of packets of cigarettes, generously sent out by my parishioners, and on asking the lads if they wanted any, I speedily found myself at the head of a great following, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. The men streamed after me in hundreds down to the lane some distance off, where the car was waiting. It did not take many minutes to hand out a big supply of smokes. While thus engaged, a sergeant made himself known to me as having heard me give an address down at the Base, and with considerable naïveté he said, 'Cannot you give us a talk here, sir?' Of course I could! and in less than five minutes there were hundreds of men most picturesquely grouped on the hillside. It was touching to see their faces as I spoke to them of 'the greatest thing in the world,' the Love of God in Christ Jesus; and as I built up my argument of the Divine love by means of the illustration of the love of home, many a clear eye glistened. As I closed, I pointed out to them the unique occasion of our meeting, June 18, 1915, therefore the centenary of the Battle of Waterloo. There we were actually on Belgian soil, almost within gun-sound of the celebrated battle-field itself. As we sang the National Anthem I felt that never had I heard it sung in so inspiriting a manner; and when I called for three cheers for the King, the Germans in their front line trenches,—which were certainly within earshot,—must have imagined an attack in force was about to take place. Such desultory gatherings go far to cheer a padré's heart as he proceeds on the daily round and common task.