As we halted for a time at the square at Ypres, a young officer, seeing
me in the ambulance, came up with a cheery 'Hallo, padre! what's up?
Last time I saw you was in your pulpit at St. John's, Boscombe; life's a
funny game, isn't it?'
Such interviews are of frequent occurrence at the Front, where lives
momentarily touch, and then, possibly, for ever separate.
Lying on a stone floor of a deserted cottage in Dickebusch that night, I
passed one of the most painful, wretched and sleepless nights of my
life. My brother officers were all snoring comfortably, when suddenly a
knock at the door placed me on the alert. My first thought was that the
Germans had got through, accordingly I made no reply; presently a gruff
voice said, 'An orderly, sir,' and I cried out, 'Come in.' He had
brought a dispatch to say that the whole German line had been forced
back, and that the Ambulance was immediately to take up its old position
on the farther side of Hooge.
In a very short time an early breakfast was quickly disposed of and the
column was ready to move off.
The O.C.
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