SERVICE AT THE FRONT.

Taranaki Daily News, 2 November 1916, Page 3

SERVICE AT THE FRONT.

THE GREAT SIMPLICITIES, Never do the familiar words of our Church of England Prayer Book sound more impressive than when heard in unfamiliar surroundings. Sentences known by heart since early childhood, and for that very reason often repeated carelessly and unthinkingly, suddenly become beaHtiful and full of meaning when listened to far from home. How many men who have never said their prayers all their lives learn to pray for the first time when ■cut off from all that has made life dear and sweet in the past? Two services in particular stand out in my memory from others I attended (writes a correspondent in an exchange). Both, strange to say, were on one day. The first at early morning. The padre has borrowed the recreation tent of the hospital for the occasion a tarpaulin covers the whole floor space—and for seats there are deck chairs. With few exception the congregation are clad in pyjamas, many of them are bandaged, all are and weary. For the most part thty remain seated throughout the whole service, which is shortened out of their consideration for their physical weakness.. The padre is in clerical khaki, under his surplice, and his shoulder strays bear the mark of high rank. He has spent a couple of months with the men in tho trenches before coming here, and knows how to speak as a man to men. He formed a choir from the men in tlie fighting line —a choir of which he was very proud, and whose harmony served for many days to cheer the hearts of our gallant- troops. One day the battalion was ordered to make an attack. . . . Not a man of the choir returned. ■. . . It is the tragedy of his life. . . . Ths evening of the same day I again attend Divine Service. The scene once more is a tent. The congregation of about thirty is drawn this time from healthy men—men of various units assembled in a base detail camp, waiting for orders Ko rejoin their regiments. There is no tarpaulin; there are no chairs. We seat ourselves on the bare, dusty ground, or on waterproof sheets if we have them. Down each side of the tent, forming a central aisle, a row of tent-pigs is driven into the earth. On each peg is placed a candle. These form our Illumination. The altar-table is formed of two bales of hay, one on the top of the other. A tarpaulin covers these, and on the top ot all is a piece of white mosquito netting. The padre wears no surplice, and his uniform is that of a major in the Royal Artillery; but he is a genuine padre all the same. Before the war he was an Army chaplainj. Previous to taking orders he was in the Army, and he is now serving his country in his fust profession.

Before commencing the service proper we sing hymns, hoping that others outside may be attracted to join in. We sing, lustily, but remain seated in order to obtain the benefit of the light from our candles. The padre himself leads off at the beginning of each verse, and himself plays the accompaniments. We have no piano or harmonium in the camp, but he finds an effective substitute in his gaily-beribboned banjo. As we go out into the starlit night we feel more than ever that religion is not a matter of externals. To these war-worn men, not even the full choir of Westminster Abbey could have brought greater consolation than tliis simple service.