Half-way down the street, another explosion behind us made us look round to see if the Abbey had again been struck, but no! this time it was the Institut Saint-Louis, just in front. Turning the corner, we saw some ‘Tommies’ scrambling out of a house which had also been shelled. As we stumbled over the bricks which covered the road, Edmund hurrying us on for bare life, one of the soldiers caught sight of us, and calling out to another to come to help ‘the Sisters’ he threw down the bundle he was carrying, and seizing two of ours, he walked along with us, his comrade doing the same. We shall continue the narrative from the notes of Dame Patrick:-- ‘As we were nearing the Rue de Lille, where the shells were falling thickly, two soldiers came forward to help us with our packages. We chatted as we hurried along, stopping every one or two minutes, to avoid a shower of bricks, as we heard a shell hiss over our heads and fall on one of the houses by us. One of us remarked to the soldiers: “It is very kind of you to help us.” To our delight they answered, “It is our same religion, and our same country.” They were both Irish Catholics--one from Kerry, the other from Belfast. When we reached the outskirts of the town they were both obliged to turn back, not having leave to quit Ypres. The Kerry man left us hurriedly; but our man from Belfast ventured a little farther, though in the end he thought it wiser to return to his regiment. So we shook hands with him, and thanked him heartily, wishing him good luck and a safe return to dear old Ireland! Our good Mother Prioress had a bag of pears in her hand, so she said to him: “Here, take these pears and eat them, and we will pray for you.” But he turned away, and said, “No, no, keep them for yourselves.” Here the poor fellow broke down and cried. He hurried away, waved his hand, and wished us God-speed. I happened, during this little scene, just to have moved on, thinking Mother Prioress was by me. However, on looking round, I saw she was some distance behind, so I walked back to join her. To my surprise, I found her weeping. I felt very shaky myself, but did not want to seem so. I jokingly said, “Oh! Mother Prioress, what is the matter?” Then she told me what had happened, and said, “I could keep up no longer when I saw that dear, kind, genuine Irish-hearted man break down--how I wish I could know his name!” “Come along,” I said, “let us hope that one day we shall find it out, but don’t cry any more or you’ll have me joining in too.” I then thought on my brave, tender-hearted countrymen who had left home and country to serve in the British army as Belgium’s friends and protectors, and I felt proud and happy that we Irish Benedictines should have fallen in so often with Irishmen, always meeting with the same kind-heartedness.’