Our trenches now were extremely quiet, and were a pleasant contrast to those we had left on the Somme. The whole Corps had only a few casualties each day. The spirits of the men, who had been under a heavy strain, were now completely restored. Our Corps Headquarters at this time were at the beautiful Chateau of Ranchicourt, where they were very comfortably settled, the country round about being hilly, richly wooded and well watered. We had church parades in the cinema, and I often wished that the people at home could have heard the singing of the men when we had some favourite hymn which the band accompanied. Every morning I had a celebration of the Holy Communion there, and sometimes had a good congregation. One night I was talking to some men in a cookhouse on the opposite side of the village and I announced the service. When I was leaving, one of the men followed me and asked me if I would speak to his officer for him and get him sent back to some quiet job. He told me that he had once had an attack of nervous prostration, caused by the shock of his father's sudden death, and that he could not stand life in the trenches. He seemed very much upset, and I felt that perhaps it would be wise to get him out of the line, but I could not avoid a sense of disappointment in the midst of my pity. He told me that he had been confirmed, but had never made his Communion and was coming to my service the next morning. I promised I would speak to his officer and went off. The next morning, the man was at the service, and after the others left, waited to speak to me. I thought he wanted to remind me of my promise. But, instead of that, he came up and said to me, "I don't (p. 151) want you to speak to my officer, Sir, God has given me strength to carry on. I have determined to do so and go over the top with the others." I was delighted to see the change in him. It meant everything to him and was one of the turning points in his life. Whatever the future had in store, it was the man's victory over himself, and I gave him a glad handshake and told him how proud I was of him. Months afterwards, after the taking of Vimy Ridge, I was passing down the lines of his battalion, which was in tents near the La Targette road, when the young fellow came running up to me, his face radiant with smiles, and told me he had been through all the fighting and had gone over the top with the boys, and that it wasn't half so bad as he had thought. In the spring of 1919, I was going into the Beaver Hut in the Strand one day, when a young fellow came up to me and thanked me for what I had done for him in the war. I did not recognize him and asked him what I had done for him, and he told me he was the man who had been at that service in Camblain l'Abbe and had been through all the fighting ever since and had come out without a scratch. I met similar instances in which the human will, by the help of God, was able to master itself and come out victorious.