Father Duffy's story : $b a tale of humor and heroism, of life and death with the Fighting Sixty-ninthDuffy, Francis Patrick
History
Father Duffy's story : $b a tale of humor and heroism, of life and death with the Fighting Sixty-ninth
Duffy, Francis Patrick
United States. Army. Infantry Regiment, 165th; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, American
The villages which the Germans had left had a number of civilians,
and in accordance with the order of the German Commander, the
Mayors put a white flag on the church steeple to warn us against
shelling them. I have never seen a happier lot of old people in my
life than the French civilians whom we were instrumental in saving
after four years of captivity. At Authé our P. C. was in what
had once been a village inn. The proprietress was old and little
and lively and pious. She gave a warm reception to M. l’Aumonier
when she heard that I belonged to the Old Church, and immediately
proceeded to make plans for a High Mass next Sunday in spite of
my telling her that we would not probably be there more than one
night. “I have been doing most of the preaching to the people
around here the last four years,” she said. “M. le Curé is old and
quiet and he hasn’t much to say; but me, I talk, talk, talk all the
time. I tell these people that God sent the German Devils amongst
them because of their sins. I preach so much that they have given
me a nickname. Do you know what they call me? They call me Madame
Morale. And I preach to the Germans, too. I tell them they will
all be in Hell if they do not mend their ways.” “What do they say
to you?” “Most times they laugh and call me Grossmutter, but some
of them swear and get mad. But I preach at them just the same. My
sister she does not preach, she just prays.”
I went up to see the sister. They must have been both around
eighty; and she sat in her chair looking absolutely like Whistler’s
picture of his mother, except that the hands were not idle in her
lap, but fingered unceasingly a worn rosary.
Madame Morale’s piety was not limited to preaching. It included
hospitality. We have brought along some fresh supplies of food
for our Headquarters Mess; and as soldiers from different outfits
kept drifting in to the kitchen looking for water and incidentally
anything else they could get, the old lady dipped into our scanty
stock, saying, “Here, my poor boys, there is much food here”—until
nothing was left.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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