Chapter XXIV
The New Zealanders
Of all the lads of different nationalities who visited the little chapel in the evening and who came so often to Holy Communion in the early morning, I think I liked the best the New Zealanders. They were nearly all tall, lithe men, dark-haired, with long, narrow faces, and eyes that had a strange intensity of expression: perhaps one might call them piercing. They were quiet-voiced men and spoke with rather an English accent. They were the gentlest, finest men it was my good fortune to meet in the army. They were excellent Catholics, many of them daily communicants. The Maoris, the aborigines of New Zealand, were treated by the white men with the same courtesy that they showed one to another. The Maoris were the most intelligent looking men of the yellow race I had ever met. In fact, it was only by their color—which was almost chocolate—that one could distinguish them from the New Zealanders themselves. Those of the Maoris who were Catholics were excellent ones.
I recall one incident which impressed me very much with New Zealand courtesy. I had come to a segregation camp, just outside the little village of Etaples, to arrange for the Sunday church parade of the soldiers on the following day. The soldiers who were quartered in the segregation camp were men who had come in contact with those suffering from contagious diseases. They usually stayed in this camp about three weeks. If after this period no symptoms of any contagious disease appeared they returned to their different units. The day I speak of, three officers were sitting in the mess when I went to announce the services, two Englishmen and one New Zealander. I told the officer in charge that I should like to have the Catholic men paraded for Mass the following day, suggesting to him to name the hour most suitable. He, an Englishman, said eleven o’clock. I was about to say, “Very well,” when the New Zealand officer interposed gently but firmly. “You will have to make the hour earlier than that, Captain,” he said. “You know the Father will be fasting till after his Mass.”
The English officer looked at me quickly. “Why, Padre,” he said, “it did not occur to me that you would be fasting. Certainly, we’ll have it earlier. How about nine o’clock?” Nine would suit perfectly, I assured him. As I was to say an early Mass for the nurses at 7:30, I would just have time to move my altar to the dunes, where I was to celebrate Mass, before the soldiers would arrive.
The Mass was finished very early that Sunday, and there was no long fast. I was very grateful to the New Zealander for his thoughtfulness. As I have said before, they were the gentlest, finest men I had ever met.