talion Headquarters. It was hard to find one's way
in the dark, and I should never have done so without assistance. The
men had acquired the power of seeing in the dark, like cats.

A Battalion was coming out and the men were wet and muddy. I stood by
the bridge watching them pass and, thinking it was the right and
conventional thing to do, wished them all a Merry Christmas. My
intentions were of the best, but I was afterwards told that it sounded
to the men like the voice of one mocking them in their misery.
However, as it turned out, the wish was fulfilled on the next day.

As soon as I could cross the bridge, I made my way to the trenches
which the 16th Battalion were taking over. They were at a higher (p. 119)
level and were not in a bad condition. Further up the line there was a
barn known as St. Quentin's Farm, which for some reason or other,
although it was in sight of the enemy, had not been demolished and was
used as a billet. I determined therefore to have a service of Holy
Communion at midnight, when the men would all have come into the line
and settled down. About eleven o'clock I got things ready. The officers
and men had been notified of the service and began to assemble. The
barn was a fair size and had dark red brick walls. The roof was low
and supported by big rafters. The floor was covered with yellow straw
about two feet in depth. The men proceeded to search for a box which I
could use as an altar. All they could get were three large empty biscuit
tins. These we covered with my Union Jack and white linen cloth. A row
of candles was stuck against the wall, which I was careful to see were
prevented from setting fire to the straw. The dull red tint of the
brick walls, the clean yellow straw, and the bright radiance of our
glorious Union Jack made a splendid combination of colour. It would
have been a fitting setting for a tableau of the Nativity.

The Highlanders assembled in two rows and I handed out hymn books.
There were many candles in the building so the men were able to read.
It was wonderful to hear in such a place and on such an occasion, the
beautiful old hymns, "While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night,"
"Hark the Herald Angels Sing," and "O Come All Ye Faithful." The men
sang them lustily and many and varied were the memories of past
Christmases that welled up in their thoughts at that time.

I had a comfortable bunk in one of the dugouts that night, and was up
next morning early to