172 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War 



bullet would otherwise have severed. There are really the 

 most extraordinary wounds, it is wonderful how they ever 

 recover. One man was shot in the nose, the bullet went through 

 his mouth, right through the tongue, down his throat and out 

 at his shoulder. The man is really quite well now and able to 

 smoke." 



I do not think it is generally understood at home how much 

 the Chaplains do besides their spiritual work. Many of them 

 help to load and unload wounded men, write letters for them, 

 collect the discs from the shattered fragments of those killed, 

 and write the letters which carry desolation to many homes; 

 arrange and form clubs for the men when resting, collect games, 

 books, and amusements for them, act as mess-president, help in 

 the operating-theatre, ready at all times to do anything. 



I have heard it suggested that the life of a base-camp chaplain 

 is a " cushy job," but this is a mistake ; his life is by no means 

 an easy one. He not only has the base-camp to attend to, 

 but is at the beck and call of every hospital camp in the 

 place. So surely as he tries to go into the town or to have 

 a meal he is sent for to attend the sick, often being wanted in 

 two places at once in opposite directions. Added to this he is 

 mess-president and has to see proper delicacies are ready for 

 the officers, and collect the subscriptions from each officer 

 who enters the mess, though only staying a day or two. 



In the July when Mr. Inglis wrote the last letter, from 

 which I have quoted, he was acting censor, and grew very weary 

 of reading other people's letters. He considered the Americans 

 had a very good way of expressing themselves. One favourite 

 form they had of addressing their wives was, " Dear old Sport," 

 and " Little Bit of Ginger." In a letter dated July 26, Mr. 

 Inglis says : 



" I was very busy yesterday, and quite enjoyed myself. 

 I had a variety of services and congregations : Celebrations, 

 C.30 — we had all sorts ; morning service, 10.30 — all wounded ; 

 morning service, 11.30 — about seven hundred soldiers, drawn 

 up on an open square. I took it from a balcony, and though I 

 had the wind against me, they looked as if they heard me. 

 The only failure was my organist (I mean pianist) was too 

 ambitious. He wanted me to sing the Venite, and it did not 



