tached to me, and I told them that if the Junior
Chaplains were insubordinate, I wanted to be able to call in some one
in an emergency to administer discipline. I always said, with (p. 195)
perfect truth, that since my prize-fighter was attached to me I had
had no trouble with any of the chaplains. It is wonderful what things
one can do in the Army which are not according to the King's Regulations.
By right, as Senior Chaplain of a Division, I was entitled only to one
man who was to act in the dual capacity of batman and groom, but later
on I managed to get a man to act as secretary, who was given sergeant's
stripes and looked after the office when I went on my wanderings
through the Division. Then I got a man who knew something about music
to be appointed as my organist. He used to travel with me in the staff
car with my portable organ when I went to take church parades on
Sunday. He was afterwards gassed and I lost him, but he did useful
work while he was with me in helping the singing. The prize-fighter
made another addition to what I called the Senior Chaplain's battalion.
Then, as time went on, I was able to get a man to take over the duties
of a batman, and I finally obtained a chauffeur to run my side-car.
This large army of assistants was a sore puzzle to our Camp Commandant,
who had to arrange for their rations and discipline. I was always being
asked how many men I had on my staff. However, to use a soldier's
expression "I got away with it."

The road through Maroc was not a pleasant one to travel. It was liable
to be shelled at any moment. On one side of the street was a large
brick wall which had been perforated by a shell and the place was
called "The Hole in the Wall." The Germans knew that we had many
batteries concealed in the ruined town, so they never left it alone
for very long. I was going up to the front one day, when I met in the
street an artillery officer coming back. We had not seen each other
for some time, and he gave me such a warm greeting that I at once
determined to reward him by reciting to him one of my poems. I got
about half way through when the enemy, not knowing, of course, what
was going on, began to shell the place, and some bits of mud and brick
fell in the road not far off. In spite of the beauty of the poem, my
friend began to get restless, and I was faced with the problem of
either hurrying the recitation and thereby spoiling the effect of the
rhythm, or of trusting to his