Haddingly was greatly moved by Maitland’s account of the medieval spirit. He took to spending half an hour in the church every morning before breakfast Nobody knew what he did there. The officers, through feelings of delicacy, never asked him questions about these new devotions. The men, who were getting to know and like Haddingly better and better as time went on, regarded his daily visits to the church as proof that their padre was one who knew his job and did it thoroughly.
One morning—the mess had then been discussing medieval chivalry for about a fortnight—Maitland read out a passage from Mallory about a visit paid by Sir Galahad to a lonely chapel among the mountains, “where he found nobody at all for all was desolate.” Haddingly had just spent his lonely half hour in the church of St John in the Wilderness. He sighed. He found nobody there in the mornings, and could not help wishing that the battalion contained a Galahad. Dalton felt that something must be done to preserve the credit of the mess and the dignity of English manhood. He felt sure that sentiment about desolate chapels was an unwholesome thing. He scoffed:
“All very well for Gallipot,” he said, “but——”
“Galahad,” said Maitland.
“Galahad, or Gallipot, or Golly-wog,” said Dalton. “If a man has a silly name like that, it doesn’t matter how you spell it. The point is that it would be simply ridiculous to attempt that sort of thing now. Suppose, for instance—— I put it to you, padre. Suppose you saw Maitland mounted on one of the transport gee-gees trotting up to that tin cathedral of yours—on a week-day, mind! I’m not talking about Sundays. Suppose he got down and went inside all by himself, what would you think, padre? There’s only one thing you could think, that Maitland had been drinking.”
“Sir Galahad,” said Maitland, “went in to say his prayers. He was on his way to a battle. They didn’t have to wait months and months for a battle in those days. They had a scrap of some sort about once a week.”
He sighed. The Turks had failed to do what was expected of them, and life in the camp was intolerably dull.
He looked at Haddingly. It was plainly a padre’s duty to support a spiritual and romantic view of life against the profane jibes of Dalton. Haddingly spoke judicially.
“The general tone of society in those days,” he said, “seems to have been very different from what it is now. Men had much less difficulty in giving expression to their emotions. No doubt we still feel much as they did, but——”
Haddingly became aware that no one was listening to him. The attention of everyone at the table was attracted by something else. The men sat stiffly, listening intently. Haddingly heard a faint, distant humming sound. It grew louder.