SABBATH NIGHT, NOV. 14, 1915.
We had Service to-day in a sort of Hall in one of the wings of the Château of this village. Mr. Coutts officiated and did very well indeed, and we all like him.
Fortunately a piano was available and I played it. We sang 'God is our Refuge' to Stroudwater, 'The Lord is my Shepherd' to Wiltshire, and 'Fight the good Fight' to the tune that is not in the Hymnary.
In the evening again we had another more informal Service, at which I again played; everyone enjoyed both Services. Two biscuit boxes served as a piano stool!
SAME DATE (to his Sister).
There is a phrase of John Kelman's about this war that I specially like to think of. It speaks of one who strives to 'carry a sword across the barriers of death clean and bright.' Many and many a one has done it and done it to the uttermost in this fight, and the rest of us, halting and stumbling, try to follow in their train.
And what helps me most is just your love. It keeps high the ideals of service and sacrifice, and makes the counting of all cost as a forgotten thing.
SATURDAY NIGHT, NOV. 20, 1915.
You say the ground is white with snow. We have had snow too. The night we marched off from billets to trenches (about 7½ miles), the snow was thick on the ground, and a mist came down, and it was very cold. Did I tell you that I thought it would have made a good picture for an artist to paint? At a bend in the road you could see a long column of troops—only half its former length—trudging slowly along, every man laden like a pack animal, with fur coat, waterproof sheet, blanket, pack, equipment, &c., and of course his rifle and bayonet and 120 rounds of ammunition. The Colonel and I rode at the head of the column, and Major Graham and the Medical Officer at the rear.
SATURDAY MORNING, DEC. 4, 1915.