d of Flanders or of the
Somme, it is impossible to imagine what it is really like. As I mingled
with the men in that queue and assisted our workers to hand out hot tea,
coffee, and cocoa, biscuits, bread and butter, chocolate, cigarettes or
oranges, I thanked God for the opportunity He had given to the Y.M.C.A.,
and the thing that impressed me more than anything else was the fact
that one did not hear a single complaint, not one word of grousing. And
why not? Was it because they liked that kind of thing? Don't make any
mistake about it--no one could possibly like it, but out there the men
know they are fighting not for truth and freedom in the abstract, but
for their own liberty, and, what is infinitely more important to them,
for their homes and loved ones. They know that what the Hun has done for
Northern France and Flanders is as nothing compared with what he would
do for the places and the people we love if he once got the opportunity
of wreaking his vengeance on us. There is no finer bit of work that the
Y.M.C.A. is doing to-day than this work for the walking wounded, which
before any great push takes place, is carefully organised down to the
last detail. Before one of the great battles, our men took up their
positions at thirty-four different centres where they were able to
minister to the needs of the wounded, and thus to co-operate with the
magnificent work that is being done under the sign of the Red Cross. As
in France, so in Italy and in the East, at Beersheba and other centres
on the lines of communication in Palestine, records show how efficiently
the same type of service is being rendered to our brave troops.

[Illustration: HUT IN WILDERNESS OF DESTRUCTION. CUTTING THE ICE IN
SHELL-HOLES FOR WATER FOR TEA--WINTER, 1916-17]

[Illustration: RUINED HOUSE USED BY Y.M.C.A., PROPPED UP BY TIMBER]

To return to the barrage. It is always interesting to note the effect a
scene of that kind has on people of different temperaments. We had been
sitting round a huge shell-hole near the top of Kemmel Hill feeling, it
must be confessed, a trifle 'fed-up' with things. We were all tired, and
had had a very heavy day's work. It was an uncomfortable night, to say
the least of it, with drizzling rain, and very cold for the time of
year. At the first sound of the drum-fire of the barrage set up by the
British guns, we sprang to our feet, wild with excitement. A
distinguished padre from the Midlands was lost in admiration for