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 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON
 
 Photo: G. C. Beresford. 
 
 OSWIN CREIGHTON, 1910.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 1883-1918 
 
 EDITED BY HIS MOTHER 
 
 LOUISE CREIGHTON 
 
 He that loseth his life for My sake shall find it." 
 
 / 
 
 WITH SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND GO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 FOURTH AVENUE * SOrn 8TRE1T, NEW TORE 
 BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND KADKAS 
 
 1920
 
 1 We'll teach the men," he said, " to laugh at Death; " 
 
 Yet not as one who counted not the cost, 
 Or reckon' d nothing- worth the fleeting breath, 
 
 Or play'd with chance and mock'd at what was lost 
 
 Rather his eager spirit look'd beyond, 
 
 And, grappling onward to the coming task, 
 
 Brook'd no delay, whate'er his hand had found ; 
 Should it be here or there, he did not ask. 
 
 Therefore when death's swift hour upon him came, 
 He smiled his welcome, like a captive free 
 From earthly doubts and trammelings ; and we, 
 No lower let us learn to fix our aim, 
 To smile at suffering while our task we claim, 
 
 And lose the present in the thing to be. 
 
 C. B. 
 
 2067838
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I HAVE put together these selections from Oswin 
 Creighton's many letters, in the hope that those who came 
 across him during some part of his full and varied life 
 may be glad to know more about one who, whatever they 
 may have thought of him, must at least have attracted 
 their attention. It has seemed best not to attempt a 
 regular memoir, but to let him disclose himself in his own 
 words. He liked to pour out in his letters the thoughts 
 and ideas which crowded his active mind. But he said 
 again and again that what he wrote must not be taken as 
 considered opinions, that very likely in a few days or even 
 hours, he would think quite differently. So his letters 
 must not be thought to contain carefully weighed expres- 
 sions of opinion. They express the mood and thought of 
 the moment, but at the same time they reveal the man who 
 wrote them. They show an eager soul, a fearless seeker 
 after truth, frank, impulsive, spontaneous, longing to give 
 affection, delighting in the affection he received. 
 
 The circumstances of his life, as well as his own inquiring 
 and critical disposition, made it impossible for him to be 
 content with accepted opinions or conventional methods 
 of thought and action. Life, whether in a Netting Dale 
 slum, on the Canadian prairie, or on the bloodstained 
 battlefields of Gallipoli and France, brought to him an 
 endless series of questionings and problems. These he 
 always stated fearlessly, for he was absolutely sincere. 
 He did not live to work out the solution of his problems. 
 His letters must remain as an unfinished story. But his 
 statement of the questionings forced upon him in the midst 
 of experiences, searching, testing, often terrible, may help 
 others to go on working to find the answer. It is some- 
 times even more illuminating to ask than to answer a 
 question. Ever a learner, a truth-seeker himself, he never 
 wanted to impose his opinion on others, only to help them 
 to think out things for themselves. Those who read are
 
 viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 likely to differ from him often, but as they differ they 
 will be compelled to think, and that was to him the 
 supreme necessity. 
 
 In making selections from the vast mass of his corre- 
 spondence I have been guided by the desire to make him 
 reveal himself. Descriptions and accounts of travelling 
 experiences have for the most part been omitted, and of 
 necessity also his many amusing character sketches of 
 the people he met. These were never malicious. He 
 loved men and women, and his interest in them was 
 unlimited. I have not thought it necessary to indicate 
 where passages of the letters are omitted, and have tried 
 to make them tell the story of his life in its main outlines. 
 Where there is no other indication the letters are addressed 
 to me. I have made no attempt to collect letters from 
 friends. Few people, especially few young men, keep 
 letters, and Oswin's letters to his family suffice to reveal 
 the manner of man he was. There has been no need to 
 conceal anything. He had nothing to hide, and as he 
 was, so he shows himself in these letters. But no written 
 word can convey the sense of boundless energy, of intense 
 vitality that his presence brought with it, nor the depth 
 of his powers of affection. 
 
 LOUISE CREIGHTON.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAG* 
 
 INTRODUCTION ....... vii 
 
 I. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH ..... 1 
 
 -II. SMYRNA 5 
 
 III. FARNHAM AND LONDON 15 
 
 IV. THE EDMONTON MISSION 25 
 
 v. ST. PAUL'S MISSION ...... 57 
 
 VI. ALIX 72 
 
 VII. CHAPLAIN TO THE FORCES IN ENGLAND AND 
 
 GALLIPOLI 121 
 
 VIII. MUDROS 138 
 
 IX. ROMSEY 154 
 
 X. FRANCE 160 
 
 XI. ARRAS 179 
 
 XII. THE LAST YEAR 199 
 
 APPENDIX 229 
 
 INDEX . . 235
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 To face page 
 OSWIN CREIGHTON, 1910 . . . Frontispiece 
 
 THE RECTORY, WITH THE RECTOR'S TEAM, ALIX . . 77 
 
 WINTER IN ALIX, 1911 88 
 
 THE CHURCH AT MIRROR AND THE CABOOSE, 1913 . 102 
 
 OSWIN CREIGHTON, 1915 120 
 
 "W" BEACH SOME DAYS AFTER LANDING OF LANCASHIRE 
 
 FUSILIERS, LATER KNOWN AS LANCASHIRE LANDING 128 
 
 ARRAS, 1917 187
 
 LETTERS OF 
 OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 
 
 Oswin Creighton was born on June 10, 1883, at Embleton Vicarage, 
 Northumberland, the sixth child of Dr. Creighton, afterwards 
 Bishop of London. His happy childhood was spent between Cam- 
 bridge, Worcester and Peterborough. 
 
 In 1895 he went to Marlborough, having till then been educated 
 at home. His school career was in no sense brilliant, though the 
 reports as to his conduct were always excellent. He went to school 
 determined to be a clergyman, and this determination was never 
 shaken. 
 
 Marlborough. 
 
 June 10, 1900. Instead of not wanting to become a 
 clergyman I think I get to want to be one more and more 
 every year, and my mind is quite made up. All I hope is 
 that nothing will happen to make me change it. 
 
 Hazelrigg, Northumberland. 
 
 Sept. 5, 1900. I find that the reserve with which I 
 talk to the members of my family leaves me when I talk 
 to Katie. I was surprised last night when I was talking to 
 her to find there was a good deal in me which I did not 
 before know of. I feel as though a turn had come, and 
 that I am at last growing older in my thoughts. I see and 
 I understand the world and its wickedness more than I 
 used to, and I feel more and more the desire to stick to 
 my profession. The many conversations and discussions 
 which I have heard at home have not fallen idly upon 
 me. I find it easier to form and have opinions upon 
 things. I suppose St. Paul's words apply to me in a certain 
 sense and that now that I am becoming in a certain degree 
 more of a man, I think as a man and I leave off childish
 
 2 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 things. . . . Do you know I have already begun to make 
 sermons to myself and I rather love doing so i 
 
 On January 14, 1901, Oswin's father died. Oswin left Maryborough 
 that Easter and spent the next months in preparing for Oxford. 
 For financial reasons Keble was chosen as his College, and he went 
 there in October 1901. 
 
 Keble College. 
 
 Nov. 1, 1901. You ask me about my work. I find 
 that it is regarded, especially by persons in for pass mods, 
 as quite a minor detail of their life here. We have very 
 few lectures, and very little to prepare for them; most 
 men don't prepare at all. 
 
 Keble College 
 
 Jan. 25, 1902. The Carl Rosa Opera Company has been 
 at the theatre this week and I have been twice and should 
 have gone more often had it not been for the time and 
 the expense. It is a strong assertion, but I think a true 
 one, that I never enjoyed myself more than hi seeing 
 Tannhduser. I have seen it twice before, but never did 
 it impress me so much. The whole hidden meaning of the 
 story gives one such a lot to think of and take away with 
 one. I kept waking up and thinking about it all the next 
 night. 
 
 Oct. 19, 1902. I went and saw my tutor about my 
 history work. I had rather a difficulty in choosing my 
 foreign period, and finally settled on the one from 1400- 
 1596. This takes in the Reformation and is father's 
 period, and The Papacy will be of great use ; also it is very 
 useful for a clergyman to have learnt about the Reforma- 
 tion from the historical, as well as from the purely religious, 
 side. 
 
 Keble College. 
 
 Feb. 15, 1903. I heard the Bishop of Worcester (Dr. 
 Gore) preach. The University Church was absolutely 
 packed with undergraduates. He preached an admirable 
 sermon on religious doubts and difficulties, but did not 
 seem to make it very clear how to get over them. It is 
 strange how nearly half the people I meet here have 
 doubts, or say they have, and I am not conscious of ever 
 having had any myself. I believe that they say they 
 have doubts simply because they are lazy and don't want 
 to go to church more than is necessary.
 
 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 3 
 
 Keble College. 
 
 June 25, 1903. It is curious I always have been accused 
 at home of being young, but here I must say I feel much 
 older than other people really older than me, and they 
 seem to regard me so. It is curious, too, the way about 
 this time one feels oneself developing and sees others 
 doing so too. It is the curious kind of life one leads up 
 here that determines a man's character, I suppose. At 
 first one thinks it an ideal life and is in a continual state 
 of rushing about seeking enjoyment, and then one goes on 
 to look for something more and craves to get hold of 
 something definite. 
 
 The Old Parsonage. 
 
 Oct. 23, 1904. The dons seem fairly pleased with me 
 and to regard me as a more or less serious person. This 
 is partly because I am beginning to take myself a little 
 more seriously. My separation from Keble has been 
 much more complete than I expected. Besides attending 
 daily chapels, occasionally eating a dinner and coming 
 in for a few minutes to see my tutor I am never there. I 
 am at last beginning to see there are other things in this 
 world than those I had previously contented myself with. 
 I am beginning to come into touch with a new life, a life 
 whose existence I had hardly even remotely conceived 
 before. I don't think it would be too much to say that 
 one of the chief impulses in this direction I have had has 
 come from " The Life." 1 I have thought much about the 
 ideal of life which father put before himself. I can see 
 that you and he lived in the fullest sense of the word, and 
 I am stirred inwardly to try and understand what real 
 living means by your example. But it is a process subject 
 to many disappointments. I think at one moment I 
 have made advance in some respect, when I find myself 
 falling back into the old sluggishness. So though I feel 
 impatient at intervals yet I see the advance must be a 
 gradual one. At any rate I have begun to think, and 
 that surely ought to be a step towards action. 
 
 Feb. 12, 1905. I have just been reading the last chapter 
 of The Life. I was so absorbed that I could not stop. I 
 like to begin Sunday with reading a part of it. Doing so 
 brings me into a fresh atmosphere. New aspirations, 
 higher ideals, and a fresh desire for effort follow. I feel 
 
 1 The life of his father, which had just been published.
 
 4 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 that in father there is a possible ideal on which to do my 
 utmost to model my life. You have made father by your 
 book and conversation so easy to understand and to get a 
 grasp of ... having always lived in an atmosphere where 
 you have held up the principles on which father formed his 
 life, though these principles are hard to grasp thoroughly, 
 and very difficult indeed to carry out, yet everything points 
 to their being the ones for me to base my life on. As I 
 get to understand them more, the feeling of sympathy for 
 them increases. 
 
 At his final examination Oswin was placed in the second class. 
 His tutor wrote that he was " at the very top of the seconds," and 
 that the examiners " expressed their appreciation of the good work 
 he had done in a very hearty manner." 
 
 He was only twenty-two when he left Oxford, and before going to 
 a theological college, he decided to gain further experience by going 
 as assistant master to a boys' school at Smyrna, kept by the Rev. 
 A. S. Hichens, the chaplain there. The Bishop of Gibraltar licensed 
 him as lay reader, that he might help in the services and do some 
 work for the Mission to Seamen.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SMYRNA 
 
 Oswin was in Smyrna from September 1905 to July 1906. In 
 the school holidays he made excursions into the interior of the 
 country, and at Easter visited Syria and Palestine. 
 
 Sept. 2. What a delightful place Smyrna is and what 
 endless occupation and interest it affords. 
 
 Sept. 7. I have so much to do and do nothing. I 
 want to explore the place. I must start my seamen's work. 
 I must work up my mathematics, see people and try and 
 do a little work. So I think I had better keep quiet yet 
 awhile and do little in the way of exploration. 
 
 Sept. 14. I find I like boys even better than I thought 
 and am already making heaps of friends among them. I 
 am at my ease at once when I am with boys and can talk 
 and behave absolutely naturally, with no effort. I am 
 quite looking forward to the beginning of term next week. 
 It will mean hard work, but will be very interesting I 
 expect. 
 
 Sept. 21. Dear me ! what an exhausting day, ex- 
 hausting chiefly because of the novelty of the proceedings ; 
 my first day of teaching a lot of new boys, no settled time- 
 table; services, drill, elections of officers, superintendence 
 of boarders, general arrangements ! Isn't this enough to 
 make one's hair stand on an end? I remain very calm 
 and try to make the best of things. 
 
 Sept. 23. This afternoon was my free afternoon. I 
 went over to Buya and went to the lawn -tennis club, 
 where I was at once taken charge of by several boys. I 
 am so spoilt by all these boys, they seem to take a perfect 
 delight in looking after me and giving me a good time. 
 
 Sept. 24. For the first time I feel utterly thrown on 
 my own resources. At home you always have done all 
 the prompting. 
 
 I must confess that I have not felt homesick really, at 
 
 5
 
 6 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 all, that is to say in the sense of feeling gloomy and 
 depressed and wishing myself elsewhere. 
 
 Hichens has given me practically no hints how I am 
 to teach. I must find out my own methods and work my 
 own way. I think he is very wise in this. He gives me 
 a perfectly clean slate and is always ready absolutely to 
 respect my independence. I have been given very little 
 help with regard to my sailors' work. I must find it all 
 out for myself. 
 
 Please do write to me often. I find I am very happy 
 here, but that a reminder of home is a sort of unexpected 
 luxury, like an ice after a good dinner. 
 
 Sept. 26. I decided I must do some sailors' work. It 
 is still very strange and I don't like it much. I found 
 several boats in, and having selected one, managed to get 
 on board. The captain was rather disagreeable, but said 
 I might go where I liked. Actually all the crew was 
 English. I first of all went to the part where the ordinary 
 sailors lived and found a few loitering about. One was 
 very nice and I had a little talk while some lay on their 
 bunks and had tea. After a time I suggested, as it was 
 Sunday evening, having a little service. They made no 
 objection, so I said a few prayers and then read part of 
 Psalm 107, and said a few stumbling words on the comfort 
 and need of religion and what a difference it would make 
 to their lives if they only took the trouble to acquire it. 
 I then went to the other end where the firemen live. I 
 found several of them sitting about and began to talk, 
 but as soon as I mentioned the word service several shifted 
 off. All I could say was that I would not have service 
 against their wishes, and after a little conversation left. 
 
 Smyrna. 
 
 Oct. 7, 1915. Yesterday I tore down to the harbour 
 as soon as school was over and visited two ships. In the 
 first the crew was Greek and I only stayed a few minutes. 
 On The Adjutant, where the crew was English, I had a 
 long talk with the captain. I gently broached the subject 
 of holding little services on board, but he said it would not 
 do. We got on very well, and he seemed to approve more 
 or less of my methods. But I fear perhaps I am not 
 aggressive enough. I then went and talked with the men. 
 They were particularly nice and friendly and full of fun. 
 
 Oct. 9. On Sunday evening I visited my old friend,
 
 SMYRNA 7 
 
 The Adjutant, and held a service in the men's cabin. Re- 
 turning home I called at the Rest where there was to have 
 been a Presbyterian service. I found several men collected, 
 but no minister, and I was asked to take the service as 
 no one came. I was quite unprepared and the men were 
 dissenters, but they said they wanted any service; so 
 I said some prayers and we sang two hymns, I playing them 
 on the piano. I also gave an address. I did not feel at 
 all nervous though the service and my address were quite 
 extempore. I felt glad at having at last been able to do a 
 little definite work. 
 
 Nov. 26. I am afraid people have a poor opinion of 
 me. "Do you play whist, Mr. Creighton?" "No." 
 "Billiards?" "No." "Golf?" "No." "Do you 
 shoot?" "No," etc. I think they think me pretty 
 useless. 
 
 I feel by now quite like an experienced schoolmaster, 
 with all sorts of ideas as to teaching and discipline. I 
 don't know what the boys think of me and how much they 
 like me, but feel more and more that it is not necessary 
 to trouble to think about it. I am very strict, and some 
 old and idle boys in the second class who want to have their 
 own way are a little disgusted to see that I mean to be 
 master; but they see the necessity for submission. 
 
 Smyrna. 
 
 Dec. 5. Certainly I have nothing to complain of here; 
 but many things to interest me : nice walks, meeting 
 agreeable people, letters from home. Some of the people 
 here are really very nice and kind and there is plenty of 
 variety. In fact, I am quite in the whirl of Smyrniot 
 society. I see many new people and have interesting 
 talks, and try to keep my ears open and learn about 
 things. I don't know how I shall ever have time to read 
 all my books about Turkey, they are all so interesting. 
 
 I am really quite devoted to one or two of the boys who 
 are quite the nicest I have ever met. I love all the quaint 
 people one meets on the roads, riding in curious costumes 
 on donkeys. 
 
 Though I am so happy here, still I often feel how nice 
 it will be to be home again. Your account of Oxford 
 rather made my mouth water. I have such a love for 
 Oxford, the place, and sometimes feel rather a longing to be 
 back and see it again, rather than for the sake of the life.
 
 8 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Dec. 17. This is going to be only a little Christmas 
 letter. It is not very nice having to spend Christmas 
 away from home, especially for the first time. Still it is 
 nice that I shall be able to have quite an English Christmas. 
 It has made a great difference living in such a thoroughly 
 Christian atmosphere; and everything connected with 
 the church is very nice. 
 
 I don't suppose you will find me much older when I get 
 home. In fact I seem, if possible, to grow younger and 
 am generally considered as only a big boy. People are 
 very kind and say all kinds of nice things about me which 
 I am sure I don't deserve. It is nice to feel that I am 
 appreciated and I don't quite know why it should be wrong 
 to feel it. It does not make me any more conceited or 
 self-satisfied, but is simply a little gratifying to feel that 
 one may have given a little pleasure to others, and makes 
 one desirous to give more if possible. I hope this does 
 not sound priggish, it is not meant to. 
 
 Dec. 26, 1905. Hichens, Eric and I rose before six and 
 took train for Ephesus. Arriving there we started off at 
 once for the ruins. We looked at the excavations made of 
 the Temple of Diana which are quite recent, and filled with 
 water, with lots of birds swimming about in it. All the 
 ruins of the city are merely foundations, and great blocks 
 of marble, some most exquisitely carved, lying there in 
 reckless profusion. 
 
 Naali. 
 
 Dec. 27. We found Mrs. Hichens and Teddy in the 
 train and travelled to Nasli where we were met by Mr. 
 Pengelly. The Pengellys are most kind and have a most 
 comfortable house; there is a nice boy, Fred, of about 
 seventeen, who has taken charge of me. After tea Mr. 
 Pengelly produced Kiepert's magnificent series of maps of 
 Asia Minor, which made me very happy and I spent the 
 evening poring over them. 
 
 Dec. 29. I am enjoying a most delightful holiday and 
 seeing a little bit of Turkey and genuine Turkish life. 
 People are willing to take endless trouble on our behalf 
 and are very kind. Nasli has the advantage of being a 
 real Turkish place. 
 
 If the weather holds fine I have delightful plans of 
 going to Sokia with Fred Pengelly and from there making 
 joint shooting and ruin-inspecting excursions.
 
 SMYRNA 9 
 
 SoJcia. 
 
 Jan. 7, 1906. To-day I decided to stay quietly in Sokia 
 and not rise at 4.30 and go off duck-shooting. I am no 
 sportsman, and it is no use my trying to pretend to be one. 
 At first I thought it might be very attractive, but I am 
 beginning rather to despise it. Sportsmen seem incapable 
 of enjoying' the country in itself, unless there is a prospect 
 of shooting a few birds. Part of my holiday I have 
 enjoyed a great deal, but this last part at Sokia has not 
 been a very great success. It is not really a very in- 
 teresting place. On one side is the Meander valley, 
 absolutely bare, on the other are the mountains among 
 which I have clambered a good deal. There are magnifi- 
 cent views to be got, but otherwise they are not very 
 attractive. 
 
 Though Asia Minor is a very grand country, I don't feel 
 that it can compare with England for beauty. I don't go 
 into raptures about the scenery as often as I used in 
 England. There are magnificent mountains, huge valleys, 
 gorgeous views, foundations of ruined cities, blazing sun, 
 everything on a large scale, but practically no trees, flowers, 
 or green, no delightful corners, woods, streams, etc., in 
 which England abounds. It is all a little forbidding. Of 
 course, the people are immensely interesting and all the 
 sights one sees in villages or on roads, and it is really this 
 I enjoy much most. 
 
 Jan. 8. We started to ride to Miletus on three old nags 
 which would hardly go at more than a walking pace. We 
 rode across the Meander plain for about three hours. It 
 is as flat as a billiard table carpeted with a soft close turf. 
 We came across enormous flocks of simply thousands of 
 wild geese. The plain and a large marsh were simply 
 black with them. There were also flocks of wild ducks 
 and a few wild swans even. The birds certainly made 
 the plain most interesting. 
 
 Jan. 14. I am now back at work again and enjoying 
 myself thoroughly. In fact, I am feeling about as happy 
 generally as I could be. Every one is nice, especially the 
 boys. I have been being rather a success at various places 
 lately and am getting a little bumptious in consequence, 
 I fear. 
 
 Friday, being the Greek Epiphany, Hichens gave a 
 whole holiday; so I carried off eight of the boys on what
 
 10 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 turned out to be the best of many good walks. We 
 wanted to go to Lidja, a place high up in the mountains. 
 We went up through groves of ancient olive trees with 
 the most gorgeous views of the bay, gleaming blue among 
 the trees. We arrived at Lidja after about three hours 
 and sat in a coffee house and ordered drinks. We then 
 all clambered up the mountain a little way to get the 
 view and eat lunch. We always take masses of food with 
 us on these occasions and made an enormous and excellent 
 meal. Some of the boys were very keen about going 
 further up the mountains. The place has an evil reputa- 
 tion for brigands, so I said I would not be responsible for 
 them. Some were tired and returned to the hotel, while 
 I went on with three whose parents were less timid, and 
 we simply tore full speed up the mountains, over 2000 feet, 
 I suppose. As soon as we got to what looked the top, we 
 found a higher one and they insisted on going further, 
 and we returned the other side of a narrow valley, running 
 down most of the way. I have seldom been so energetic. 
 The views were beyond description, as was the whole of 
 the expedition. 
 
 Smyrna. 
 
 Feb. 11, 1906. I have decided to write to the Bishop of 
 Winchester about going to the Farnham Hostel. I don't 
 feel as if I shall have much difficulty in the practical side 
 of clerical work. Whenever I have tried it I have found 
 it comparatively easy. I really feel the need of a perfectly 
 quiet time before Ordination. What is absolutely essential 
 for me is to build up my spiritual nature, which I feel so 
 weak and feeble. I want really to study, read, think. 
 
 March 13, 1906. I am trying to make arrangements 
 for my holidays. I hear through Mrs. Macnaughton, of 
 the American College, that a party is starting from Beyrut 
 on April 10 to ride to Jerusalem. This seemed a chance 
 that should not be missed, so I am hoping my long- 
 cherished plan may at last come off. 
 
 I must say I rather look forward to getting to real work, 
 though, as you know, I am very happy. But I don't 
 quite feel as if I were using all my powers and best gifts 
 here, though I suppose one ought never to feel one's scope 
 too narrow, and ought continually to be seeing new 
 channels, but this is a peculiar place and a peculiar life.
 
 SMYRNA 11 
 
 Jerusalem* 
 
 Friday, April 12. I have so much to write that I don't 
 know how I shall ever find time to put it down as I rush 
 about from morning to night. 1 
 
 The amount of kindness I have received is really wonder- 
 ful, considering that I have thrust myself absolutely 
 uninvited upon the party. 
 
 Jerusalem from every point of view has far surpassed 
 anything I could possibly have imagined. In fact, I 
 have seen so many wonderful things that I cannot possibly 
 realise them all. Everything seems like a dream. I rush 
 from one thing to another and have not had tune to think 
 them over yet. 
 
 Through the American Consul I got into the Church 
 of the Holy Sepulchre to see the Holy Fire from a window 
 in the triforium. It was the most extraordinary thing I 
 have ever seen. I can hardly realise it now. It was too 
 extraordinary to think about being shocked at the 
 moment, though beforehand I had doubted whether I 
 should go at all. It was very instructive in the light it 
 throws on certain sides of human nature. 
 
 April 24. On Monday, April 16, we left Jerusalem, a 
 party of eleven. The horses were all pretty good except 
 mine. Its doings were the subject of much amusement 
 to the party, but not to me. One cannot enjoy the 
 scenery properly while perpetually flogging and urging 
 one's horse. . . . 
 
 The view from the top of Tabor is magnificent. We 
 had lunch under some spreading trees at the top. It is 
 regarded by the pilgrims as the scene of the Transfigura- 
 tion; we met 210 of them climbing up as we rode down. 
 There was something very pathetic seeing these aged 
 Russian men and women, wearily clambering up with the 
 help of stout staffs, intent only on getting to the top. 
 
 On getting back to Beyrut I was determined to get to 
 Baalbek, and so the morning after my arrival rose at 5.30, 
 despite my longing to stay in bed. I got to Baalbek at 
 12.30 and went straight off to the ruins where I spent 
 about four hours wandering about. They are sun ply 
 stupendous, far exceeding my expectations, which were 
 great. The six enormous columns of the Temple of the 
 
 1 Very few extracts from his Jerusalem diary are given, as it 
 deals with places often described.
 
 12 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Sun, standing on the top of a great wall against the sky, 
 are simply gorgeous. The only blot is the most glaring 
 and hideous white marble slab which has been inserted 
 into the inside wall of the Temple of Jupiter to com- 
 memorate the German Emperor's visit. 
 
 I found to my disgust that the steamer which was to 
 take me from Beyrut to Smyrna was a small, dirty boat 
 with 1200 Russian pilgrims. Fortunately, the weather 
 was perfect all the way. The pilgrims were wonderfully 
 inoffensive, such mild and gentle old men and women. 
 They used to have long services going on all the afternoon 
 nearly, down in the hold. They would sing chants con- 
 tinuously, and very melodiously they sang. There was 
 something very wonderful hi their simple, earnest faith. 
 Poor things, they didn't seem to know much what they 
 were doing ! We watched one old man who continuously 
 through one long service lasting two hours, crossed himself 
 and bowed without any pause, till he looked nearly ready 
 to drop with the exertion of it. 
 
 Smyrna. 
 
 June 10, 1906. I seem to have passed a particularly 
 unnoticeable birthday. I can look back on a year which, 
 however unsatisfactory, at least has been one perhaps 
 richer in experience than any other. I seem to be getting 
 a little older and perhaps more stable in character. I 
 hope also it will not be wrong to say that perhaps I am 
 growing out of some of my faults, though I am still much 
 too lazy and averse to any real hard work. 
 
 July 5, 1906. Wednesday was the last day of the 
 school. When I took the third class I was rather touched 
 with the things they said. They did not want me to go 
 at all, and said they must all have my address so as to 
 write to me. 
 
 Sea of Marmora. 
 
 July 9, 1906. Though it may sound vain I must record 
 some of the nice things people have said to me on leaving 
 Smyrna. When I said good-bye to Mrs. Williamson 
 (Mrs. Hichens's mother) she said, " Well, I don't suppose 
 we shall meet again, but thank God we have met." Eric 
 writing to Mr. Hichens, said, " Many of us will miss him 
 more than we can say, more than our own greatest friends." 
 Mr. Hichens said, " I know I shall never like another master
 
 SMYRNA 13 
 
 as I have liked you." But I must stop this or I shall get 
 vain. It is nice to feel that one has given even a little 
 satisfaction. 
 
 We left Smyrna on Sunday in full consular grandeur. 1 
 Everything was done for us, state-rooms found, etc., 
 without our troubling. 
 
 Constantinople. 
 
 July 13, 1906. I was quite overcome when we got to 
 the top of the hill on which the Nortons' house is situated, 
 it was so beautiful. I have an enormous window in my 
 bedroom, opening wide on to the Bosphorus. All day long 
 a constant succession of boats of every kind pass up and 
 down. The lights are always changing and always 
 beautiful, whether raining or fine. Constantinople is in 
 every way quite the most wonderful town I have seen. 
 Here I feel all the mysteries of Turkish life. To go down 
 the Bosphorus and see the great palaces and mysterious 
 Turkish houses, to hear all the stories told about them, 
 whether true or untrue, and of what is going on behind 
 those towering walls, to see the crowds of people dressed 
 in every kind of robe and colour to hear the cries from the 
 minarets at night across the Bosphorus all these and 
 countless other things make the place teem with an interest 
 far more absorbing than anything I have read or heard 
 talked about. One feels things are going on here and that 
 this is the heart of a great empire, where amongst all the 
 decay problems of every kind are being worked out and 
 history is in the making. The uncertainty of everything, 
 the impossibility of getting at the truth of almost any 
 story, the decadent government, the oppression, the 
 absolute backwater seen on all sides, only add to the charm 
 of everything. I spend half my days in talking about 
 Turkey from every possible point of view, religious, anti- 
 quarian, political, social, etc. I have learned more during 
 my ten days here about Turkey than during all my time 
 in Smyrna. 
 
 Constantinople. 
 
 July 10, 1906. I really have had a splendid time here 
 and feel it is a good conclusion to my year in Turkey. It 
 
 1 He was travelling with Mrs. Norton, wife of the American 
 Consul, with whom he was going to stay on the Bosphorus.
 
 14 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 has been a wonderful and I hope a lasting experience 
 altogether. 
 
 I don't expect any one to care to know much about what 
 I have learnt out here. If they wish to know I shall love 
 to tell them. What I feel about a real experience like 
 this is that it is essentially a possession for oneself.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 FARNHAM AND LONDON 
 
 Oswin went in the autumn of 1906 to read for Orders at the Bishop's 
 Hostel, Farnham, under the Rev. B. K. Cunningham. During the 
 summer he shared the family holiday and visited some friends. 
 
 Uppingham. 
 
 Sept. 20, 1906. I had a delightful time in Wales. The 
 Raikes are such a particularly nice family, so energetic 
 and full of interest and outdoor pursuits. Mr. Raikes x 
 looked up some old photos of College days, and one of 
 father I particularly liked was in the Merton eight group. 
 Mr. Raikes said he was a wiry and reliable oar. He was 
 very nice and told me a good deal of college days. He 
 wrote me a very nice letter afterwards, saying, " I am so 
 glad to have found you and sorry the tune was so short. 
 When will you come again and do me some more good? 
 You remind me of your father, and I should like to be 
 friends." 
 
 Farnham. 
 
 Oct. 25, 1906. First of all I am most ideally happy. 
 The atmosphere of this place is extraordinarily congenial 
 and delightful. Everything is absolutely informal. I 
 like every one here and some of them quite particularly. 
 There is no regular system; one does as one pleases. 
 Everybody is absolutely genuine and there is no vestige 
 of unreality. We are all expected to go to morning prayers 
 in the parish church at 8. That is all we are definitely 
 expected to do, except dress for dinner. One only goes 
 to lectures and works if one wishes. There is no type or 
 stamp set by the place. Every one thinks, acts and speaks 
 as he pleases. There is no holiness, sacerdotalism or cant. 
 Every one has a keen sense of humour, and we all rag and 
 chaff each other. But behind it all one feels a tremendous 
 reality and earnestness. It all suits me admirably. 
 1 R. T. Raikes, a College friend of Dr. Creighton's. 
 15
 
 
 16 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 I must come to details. Cunningham, whom in future I 
 will always call the Professor, by which name he is universally 
 known, is absolutely the right man in the right place. 
 He makes no attempt to exercise any authority. Every- 
 body is decided that it is necessary to destroy a theological 
 atmosphere, the Professor most of all. Yet one feels all 
 the time that he has all of us under his control. He hates 
 to exercise any direct influence and would never dream of 
 doing so, but every one genuinely loves him and respects 
 him. We never have morbid, holy discussions ; not that 
 we don't discuss things. 
 
 Farnham. 
 
 Nov. 4, 1906. I am going to-night to the Wesleyan 
 Chapel. I do not know what you will think of my idea 
 of making the round of the various places of worship in 
 Farnham. I want to know what they are like while I 
 have the chance. Once I am a clergyman it will be 
 difficult. 
 
 These dissenters have a great deal to teach us, and 
 while these experiences make me more and more certain 
 of the Church of England, I feel they are superior to us 
 in many points. The Church should be more adaptive 
 and try to assimilate what is best in all systems. 
 
 Dec. 2, 1906. I have just come in after going first to 
 the R. C. Church. I tried to go quite unprejudiced and 
 hoped to be able to worship God there. I do so want to 
 try and understand them and remove intolerance. I have 
 done it to a very large extent with the dissenters; but 
 the R. C. service was terrible, far worse than I could 
 have imagined ; absolutely endless Ave Marias and Pater 
 Nosters, sentimental mawkish hymns, far worse than the 
 dissenters. What I felt most of all was for the miserable 
 little boys who go through all this endless mummery ; yet 
 I suppose it cannot really be mummery. The people were 
 reverent and probably virtuous. I cannot understand 
 it. I instinctively felt God so far away, a thing I have 
 never felt with dissenters. When I fled and went into the 
 parish church, where there was a very large congregation 
 and where I heard a very fine sermon, the change was 
 simply extraordinary. I equally instinctively felt God 
 to be present. I suppose, however, that this must really 
 simply be the result of prejudice and custom.
 
 FARNHAM AND LONDON 17 
 
 Farnham. 
 
 March 10, 1907. Meeting so many people on such 
 different subjects it becomes difficult to get one's thoughts 
 straight. I sometimes feel that things are going so fast 
 and there are being so many new movements that all one's 
 old ideas are getting upset ; people talk so much and there 
 are so many problems, and every one goes their own way 
 and scouts all authority, so that one begins to wonder 
 what value is going to be allowed to the Church or the 
 Bible or religion or anything. However, it is all very 
 interesting and one is not allowed to vegetate, but is forced 
 to think and go to the bottom of things. 
 
 Bossington. 
 
 April 14, 1907. Everything is perfectly ideal, and 
 unless I restrain myself, I should write a never-ending 
 effusion. 
 
 The boys x make excellent companions. They are 
 capital walkers, which is a great comfort. On walks I 
 sometimes amuse myself with discoursing to them at 
 length on subjects such as the L.C.C., Trades Unions, etc., 
 which seem quite to interest them, and which they really 
 seem quite to enjoy, much to my astonishment. It helps 
 me to collect my scattered thoughts on subjects about 
 which I know singularly little. I expect all this sounds 
 dreadfully schoolmastery, but I assure you it is not. 
 I always feel much more natural and myself with boys 
 than at any other time. 
 
 Farnham. 
 
 May 5, 1907. I have had a threefold episcopal bene- 
 diction on my first curacy. 2 The Bishops of London, 
 Stepney and Kensington all write that I could not go to 
 a better man or parish. The Bishop of Kensington 3 
 writes that he wants to be allowed to take a very special 
 interest in me. 
 
 Farnham. 
 
 June 10, 1907 (his birthday). A birthday is a good time 
 for reviewing one's past year and looking forward to the 
 
 1 These were some former Smyrna pupils, now at school in England, 
 with whom he was spending the holidays. 
 
 2 He had agreed to go as evirate to Rev. R. M. Carrick, of St. 
 James's, Norlands, Kensington. 
 
 3 Dr. Ridgeway, now Bishop of Salisbury. 
 
 c
 
 18 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 coming one. One thing I do feel very strongly and that 
 is that I have quite chosen my right line in life. In fact, 
 now, I could not imagine doing anything else. And I 
 think also that my own religion is getting to mean more 
 to me. My chief difficulty is to decide whether I ought 
 not to go out as a missionary somewhere. I am always 
 thinking about it and find myself torn in so many different 
 directions. But at present I feel it is best to put the 
 question out of my mind as far as possible till I have been 
 at work a year or two in London. 
 
 Oswin was ordained Deacon in St. Paul's Cathedral by the Bishop 
 of London in October 1907, and went at once to work in St. James's 
 Parish, Norlands, under the Rev. R. M. Carrick. His special charge 
 was a mission in a slum in the notorious district of Netting Dale. 
 But he assisted also at the Parish Church. As he was now able 
 to come home frequently, his letters during the years spent at 
 St. James's were not so frequent as at other times. 
 
 66 St. James's Road. 
 
 Oct. 20, 1907. Let me give you an idea of my Sunday, 
 and you will see it is pretty severe. Up at 6.30, round 
 to the Mission to assist at Celebration 7.15, straight on 
 to parish Church to assist again at 8 ; breakfast ; 10 o'clock 
 open Sunday School at the Mission ; 11 o'clock service at 
 Parish Church and preach ; lunch; 3.15 Lesser Catechism 
 at S. Gabriel's; back to Parish Church and take two 
 baptisms. Now I am waiting for tea. At 7, I have to 
 take service at the Mission and talk to the people there. 
 
 The worst of it all is that one has so little tune to prepare 
 for all these services. I cannot get into the right frame 
 of mind. I expect all will get better with use. It is all 
 rather difficult and agitating at present. . . . My chief 
 difficulty and the great thing I am always fighting against 
 is self-consciousness taking the bad form of always 
 asking, " How am I impressing these people? Am I 
 being successful ? " etc. Of course one must ask oneself 
 these questions in some form or other, or else one may 
 go entirely off the mark. But if I am to deliver my 
 message and I do feel so strongly sometimes that I have 
 a message to deliver I can only do so by absolutely 
 effacing myself. If I seek self-praise in its delivery it 
 will utterly fail. But if I learn really to realise that 
 not merely as a pious opinion, but as an actual practical 
 piece of knowledge in so far as I speak the truth it is
 
 FARNHAM AND LONDON 19 
 
 not I but God that speaketh in me, then I may be of some 
 use and my message may succeed. I often think of what 
 the Bishop of Kensington said in his charge, of the hideous- 
 ness of flattery such phrases as " a beautiful sermon." 
 I hope I shall always learn to flee from it. 
 
 St. James's Square. 
 
 Feb. 5, 1908. I find myself going on with a continual 
 struggle against depression at the want of success in 
 everything I take up, or have to do with, here. I feel this 
 is very wrong. Every one tells me simply to plod on and 
 do my best and look for no return. But nothing succeeds 
 well. You see I am generally in rather a grumbly, dis- 
 satisfied condition, which is wrong. Certainly it is all 
 good- discipline for me and will help to humble me properly. 
 
 I have taken to teaching three mornings a week at the 
 schools, as there, at least, work is open, and I can get into 
 touch with many of the children. 
 
 At any rate people seem quite glad to see me now that 
 I am going round and visiting them a second time. 
 
 Aug. 7, 1908. I am going ahead strong with my scouts 
 Another patrol has joined me. We are going camping 
 for a couple of nights on Tuesday week. 
 
 St. James's Square. 
 
 July 15, 1908. It is strange the effect that reading 
 some people's lives and especially father's has on me. 
 I am reading it again for the third time now ; and I always 
 get up from it feeling everything so much bigger than I 
 am apt to regard it. It always has the same sort of 
 exhilarating effect, making me feel how much fuller life 
 is than I usually regard it and that I must try and widen 
 and look at things from an altogether different point of 
 view. Even though I am not in the least expecting it, this 
 is the effect it invariably has. 
 
 The result of my boldness at Denham was that I got a 
 letter from Mrs. Day, saying her farmer had no objection 
 to our camping, that we would be met and shown our 
 ground on Tuesday, and asking us all in to tea on Wednes- 
 day. So we are being well looked after. It really is very 
 kind of her as she knows nothing about me. 
 
 Dear me ! I wish I knew what to do to bring religion 
 to these people. There were at the outside fifteen adults 
 at the Mission to-night. I wish I knew if it was I that
 
 20 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 empty the place, and if it would be any better if any one 
 else went there. But nobody tells me anything, and I 
 feel so absolutely in the dark. 
 
 32 St. James's Square 
 
 Aug. 13, 1908. So many people have been in to see me, 
 mostly boys, this evening, on some pretext or another. 
 I only got back just in time after having spent the after- 
 noon at Denham, my favourite village, where I have been 
 making arrangements for our camp next week. I went 
 to both the big houses to see about getting a good camping 
 ground. The owner of one was away, the owner of the 
 other, a lady, was most friendly. I hope to get an absolutely 
 secluded place beside a stream in the most lovely country, 
 The open-air services have been going better lately. 
 We have a new place where many more people collect. 
 I find I can draw quite a crowd chiefly because I have a 
 loud voice. 
 
 St. James's Square. 
 
 Oct. 11, 1908. The parish is simply humming. I am 
 too much up now and shall have a down if I don't take care. 
 I don't know where to turn with the amount of work I 
 have. Everything seems to be going ahead. 
 
 Dec. 22, 1908. What you say in criticism of my preach- 
 ing is very true. The Vicar says I speak too loudly and 
 emphatically and there is not enough pleading in my 
 voice. But I think a pleading voice cannot be assumed; 
 it must be a man's natural expression of himself. Some- 
 how when I look at those people, I feel they are so sleepy 
 and need to be kept awake. 
 
 Dresden. 
 
 May 5, 1909. I am having a most delightful and 
 successful little holiday. I was met here by Mrs. Norton * 
 and her old mother. Nothing could be kinder than the 
 way I am looked after. Unfortunately I am being a little 
 lionised (don't laugh). A special paragraph in the Dresden 
 English paper about my preaching next Sunday ; a recep- 
 tion is to be given here jointly in my honour and that of 
 
 , who is giving University Extension Lectures here. 
 
 Unfortunately I cannot avoid one of his lectures to-night. 
 The Saxon Court goes and it is the fashionable thing to do. 
 I am always being introduced and shown off. 
 
 1 The American lady with whom he stayed at Constantinople. ^ '
 
 FARNHAM AND LONDON 21 
 
 I shall not be able to do as much as I should like owing 
 to days being taken up with receptions, etc. The whole 
 thing is too ridiculous and Henry Jamesy. 
 
 Denham. 
 
 Aug. 1, 1909. This is our third day in camp. My 
 family grew last night to twenty-six. It has been great 
 fun and a great success in spite of the weather. To-day 
 we have been nearly washed away. I have put all the boys 
 into a large barn till everything dries up again. 
 
 I started with sixteen boys. Last night was most 
 amusing. From four o'clock to twelve either one or two 
 extra boys or men turned up every hour, several quite 
 unexpectedly. However, we produced meals whenever 
 wanted and I had plenty of room to stow them all away. 
 I sat up by the fire nearly all the night making meals for 
 the people as they turned up. I only went to bed at 3.30 
 and slept about two hours. 
 
 I am becoming quite an accomplished cook and the 
 boys thoroughly relish the meals I serve them. Altogether 
 I am feeling rather proud of myself. 
 
 St. James's Square. 
 
 Sept. 19, 1909. I find work rather difficult to get into 
 again after my holiday. In fact, things seem to worry 
 rather on getting face to face with them again. I wish 
 sometimes I were an R. C. or extreme High Churchman. 
 It would be so nice to have things more definite. But I 
 cannot help feeling that for many people a certain amount 
 of perplexity and worry is necessary, if they are to get 
 anywhere. I am being much interested in Pusey. It is 
 interesting to read his life and father's side by side. What 
 different people they were, the one so intense, the other so 
 essentially human. Figgis's mind seems to be a sort of 
 combination of the two. I have been reading another 
 book of his, From Gerson to Grotius. He compares father's 
 and Lord Acton's views of liberty, agreeing most with 
 father. I think his sermon on other -worldliness rather 
 bothered me. I preached and taught about it last Sunday, 
 but did not end by feeling quite satisfied with my con- 
 clusions. We must seek first the Kingdom of God; but 
 we must not divorce it from the world, we must seek it 
 in the world. I think it is just this that father teaches me 
 above all things and in contradistinction to all the intense
 
 22 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 people of the Pusey type. All human relationships and 
 interests and occupations were sacred to father because 
 in them he saw so much of the Kingdom of God and His 
 righteousness. So I found myself preaching on these lines 
 to-day. I rather launched out against the type of hymn 
 which says, " The world is very evil," etc. What is the 
 use of groaning about the wickedness of the world, the 
 want of religion, etc. ? Goodness knows there is enough 
 wickedness ! My visiting this week has taught me that 
 well enough the terrible prostitution among women. 
 But it is no use to lament. There is good somewhere, and 
 surely it is one's business to bring that out here and now, 
 and not worry and speculate too much about an indefinite 
 future. We must have some fairly tangible end to work 
 for here. We get into such a sea if we divorce our end 
 altogether from this world. I find the best thing to do 
 when speculatively worried is to go and do some hard 
 disagreeable visiting. I am little good at doctrinal 
 teaching. All at present I feel I can do with real convic- 
 tion is to try to moralise and spiritualise ordinary human 
 relationships and occupations. 
 
 I went to the Follies one night and enjoyed them 
 enormously. I laughed till I could laugh no more. Their 
 humour is so refined and spontaneous. I have just been 
 put onto a care-committee at a Board School. I am 
 probably going to take a temperance mission at Hoxton. 
 
 St. James's Square, 
 
 Sept. 22, 1909. I did not mean by seeking the Kingdom 
 of God in this world that there was ever to be hope of an 
 ultimate millennium. I hate all the preaching of social 
 reforms as an end in itself. It is possibly what I read into 
 Figgis's sermon that I felt I could not quite agree with ; 
 a sort of feeling that as a result of the views expressed he 
 could see no solution but to become a Mirfield brother. 
 Certainly it is one solution. But is it the only one? 
 Doesn't it arise from feeling that only by leading a life 
 tending towards asceticism and the desire to escape from 
 the world as far as possible, people can hope to find the 
 Kingdom of God for themselves ? This is what I feel so 
 strongly about the Pusey type of mind; the Kingdom of 
 God can only be formed by rigorous external discipline, 
 fasting, etc., by the Catholic system. One of the great
 
 FARNHAM AND LONDON 23 
 
 ends of life is the repressing of self losing one's life, if 
 one would find it. Can this only be done by means of the 
 Catholic system ? No man seems to me to have succeeded 
 in so utterly repressing self as father. And yet I cannot 
 feel he did so by means simply of the Catholic system. 
 
 My whole difficulty is how to get a stronger hold of 
 things, a deeper personal faith by the Catholic system 
 or by means of one's work and dealings with others? 
 Where are we to find God ? In antiquity and the Fathers ? 
 Or in the world and oneself ? I cannot help inclining to 
 the latter, though I expect a combination of the two as 
 with most things is the best. I cannot help feeling that 
 it was by reason of his great sympathy very largely that 
 father got his intense faith. Every relationship was 
 hallowed because it served to reveal God. Life was an 
 opportunity for loving. I always pray that I may learn 
 the lesson of his humility, his discipline of himself and his 
 great sympathy. Pusey was certainly one of the greatest 
 of saints. I go on reading his life with intense interest. 
 It would be presumptuous to dare to criticise him. 1 don't 
 want to, only his system. I do long for the lighter side of 
 life. Pusey had not got it. He was so intense. But he 
 was absolutely true to himself, and that was all we can 
 any of us hope to be. 
 
 The question of sin remains. Goodness knows one 
 feels the absolute cramping of sin. But it always seems 
 to me an obstacle one has to fight and knock down rather 
 than something to sit down and cry about. I want to 
 fix my eyes on what lies on the other side of the wall, 
 rather than on the wall itself. 
 
 On coming to St. James's Oswinhad told the Vicar that, after three 
 years' work there, he would wish to be free to work abroad, and 
 early in 1910 he offered himself as a member of the Archbishops' 
 Mission to Western Canada, which had been just inaugurated under 
 the leadership of the Rev. W. G. Boyd. 
 
 As much time as possible was given during the spring and summer 
 to preparation for his future work. He attended, amongst other 
 things, courses of medical lectures at Livingstone College. 
 
 St. James's Square. 
 
 Feb. 24, 1910. Nothing much happens here. I feel 
 that it is impossible for me to effect anything. But I 
 have spent my three years here in order to gain experience 
 and not to effect anything. It certainly has afforded
 
 24 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 endless opportunities of learning and getting ideas, and, 
 after all, it is not my business to cause a revival or work 
 anything up. So perhaps I need not feel too depressed 
 at leaving the parish precisely as I found it. I certainly 
 shall not be the same as I was three years ago. 
 
 St. James's Sqwre. 
 
 May 23, 1910. I am going to Canada on August 12. 
 The Bishop of London is going by that boat. I saw him 
 on Saturday and he insists on paying the difference between 
 2nd and 1st fare, so that I may go with him, I cannot 
 help thinking it is rather immoral to go 1st, but it really 
 is most kind of him and much nicer than going alone. 
 
 June 15. I think there is only one thing that makes 
 me dislike going to Canada, and that is that I shall be 
 separated from you. It is horrid to think I may have 
 to be years without seeing you. Yet I don't suppose any 
 one could have been more blessed in his parents. Some- 
 how with all my wretched critical propensity, I have never 
 wanted to criticise either father or you. Instead of for- 
 getting father I think he gets to mean more and more to 
 me every year. The great joy is the thought of meeting 
 again, if only I can be worthy to do so ; but I don't want 
 to write much about this as one feels more than one cares 
 to express. 
 
 Some comments on Oswin's work at St. James's, made after his 
 death, will show what kind of impression he made there. 
 
 '* I shall never forget his street preaching in the slum 
 district of Notting Dale. On fire with enthusiasm he drew 
 those poor fallen men and women around him by his 
 strong and helpful words ; and the fruit of his labours could 
 be seen during the week's Mission which was held in the 
 Chapel of the Good Shepherd, when it was filled to over- 
 flowing with the lowest and most degraded from the slums 
 around. Those were happy days, for his enthusiasm fired 
 every one else." (A worker in the parish.) 
 
 " Oswin was very much to me during three years of 
 happy work together. It may even be a little help and 
 support in your sorrow to know how all who had to do 
 with him realised he was no common man in personality 
 and power, and how all looked for him to go very far. . . . 
 I shall always think of him as one of the finest men I have 
 met." (His Vicar at St. James's, Rev, R, M f Carrick.)
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 
 
 Early in August Oswin started for Canada. The S.P.C.K. ap- 
 pointed him chaplain to the emigrants on board the ship on which 
 he travelled with the Bishop of London. Before going to the West 
 he had decided to go to the Church Congress at Halifax and the 
 Consecration of the Cathedral there, and Bishop Brent had asked him 
 to act as his Chaplain. 
 
 C.P.R., Atlantic Service. 
 
 Aug. 14, 1910. It is quite ridiculous how busy I am. 
 I find that a chaplain's work is limitless and never done. 
 The captain gave our party a special table. There are 
 six of us, the Bishop, Gilson, Prebendary Storrs, the 
 Bishop's niece, a young Adderley, ex-guardsman, and 
 myself. Altogether there are about 1500 passengers, about 
 900 third class. It is impossible to talk to everybody 
 one would like to. I hold a service every afternoon ; crowds 
 gather round and sing hymns. I have to try to get at all 
 the 3rd passengers and find if they are Churchpeople, and 
 if they are fill in papers for them to give to the clergyman 
 at the place they are going to. After the service to-day, 
 finding they were trying to get up some sports, I thought 
 it best that they should be properly organised. So I 
 formed a little committee and we met and drew up a 
 programme. 
 
 We had Evensong in the 3rd Class on Sunday and I 
 had to preach, with the Bishop, the Prebendary, and a 
 Presbyterian minister present. It was rather alarming. 
 The Bishop thanked me, but was nice and critical. 
 
 Aug. 19. I must finish my account of the voyage. 
 I have seldom enjoyed a week quite as much. I got busier 
 and busier and made more and more friends. There was 
 a regular succession of games and concerts and competitions. 
 On Wednesday night I was specially asked to go down to 
 the 3rd Class. I found that it was in order that I might 
 be presented with an address by the sports committee 
 
 25
 
 26 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 in the name of all the passengers. The words of the 
 address may interest you. I copy it : 
 
 "We . . . wish to express our appreciation of your 
 kindness and thoughtfulness in arranging sports, etc., 
 thereby sacrificing your own pleasures in the first saloon 
 for our comfort. We also thank you for the religious 
 services you have held in our midst and pray that God will 
 help you in the Christian work you are called upon to do 
 in the country of the Maple Leaf," etc. 
 
 The boat carries an official called the Inspector, a huge 
 great man of 6 ft. 4 in., who keeps order and is a sort of 
 policeman. He was very stern and uncommunicative, 
 and I was rather alarmed at him and could not get him to 
 say much. I discovered that some of the men had been 
 making a row on Tuesday night. The Inspector had 
 taken their names down and was going to report them. 
 That means that they would not be allowed to land and 
 would be sent back to England again. I asked him for 
 their names and he pointed them out to me. I took each 
 of them aside and had a talk and pointed out the harm 
 they were doing themselves, and I had a talk to them all 
 together. They were threatening to make a worse row 
 and be unpleasant to the Inspector. I told them to keep 
 absolutely quiet the next night and go and apologise to 
 the Inspector. They said they did not much like doing it, 
 but would. Yesterday I asked the Inspector how things 
 had gone, and he said they were all quiet as a mouse and 
 had apologised. He added what has been my highest 
 praise, " I wish you came with us every voyage." 
 
 On the last morning we had a Celebration in the 3rd 
 Class. Among the communicants was the man who had 
 been the ringleader of all the row. There was not nearly 
 enough tune to talk to all the people I wanted to. I 
 said good-bye to a good many of the emigrants. I have 
 never known little services so much appreciated. I have 
 made many friends all over the world. 
 
 After some days at Quebec, Oswin went to visit Canon Scott in 
 his holiday camp at Beaupre". 
 
 The camp is on a sandy, rocky bit of soil out of sight 
 of any habitation. Canon Scott called on me at once 
 to come and bathe, which I did with the greatest joy. . . . 
 He is very delightful and quite mad. He does not in the
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 27 
 
 least mind what he says, is seldom serious for two minutes 
 together. Above all, he is a poet, one of the chief Canadian 
 poets. . . . Well, they were all so friendly that I have 
 taken up my abode here and been going great expeditions 
 every day. One great expedition was on Friday. The 
 party consisted of Canon Scott, Gilson, Adderley, the two 
 older boys and myself. 
 
 We first of all went to Petit Cap, the summer resort of 
 the seminary at Quebec. Our reason for going there was 
 really to get the key of a little chapel belonging to the 
 seminary right on the top of Cap Tourment. We had a 
 climb of over an hour through thick forest until eventually 
 we came out on the most charming little white chapel 
 with a red roof, on the top of a promontory 1500 ft. immedi- 
 ately above the St. Lawrence. I have seldom enjoyed 
 anything so much as my night up there. The whole 
 experience was so unique. Spending the night in this 
 lovely spot in a R. C. Sanctuary where Protestants had 
 never stayed before, in this weird company, with a wild 
 Canadian poet and two proper Englishmen was something 
 unusual. . . . The sunset was quite wonderful. I have 
 never seen hills become so absolutely brilliantly purple. 
 Our little house was built on to our little Church; there 
 was one little room with bunks in which we slept, and 
 another with a stove where we ate and cooked our food 
 which we had carried up with us. We rang the Angelus 
 and had Evensong in the Chapel, later on Compline, and 
 in the morning Matins. It was like a little pilgrimage. 
 We stayed up till late as it was so beautiful, we could not 
 bear to go in. 
 
 We were up soon after four to see the sun rise. It was 
 absolutely gorgeous again. Two great lines of clouds 
 were moving all the morning down the river underneath us, 
 looking very mysterious. Gilson and Adderley had to go 
 off early and I sketched, and Mr. Scott lay beside me and 
 talked. We have subscribed to give the seminary a little 
 sanctuary lamp for the Chapel. We got back to camp and 
 spent a lazy afternoon. There was something particularly 
 charming about the whole atmosphere of their family 
 life, and the way they spent their holiday. 
 
 In the Train, Halifax to Montreal. 
 
 Sept. 9. I never had such a time as I did at Halifax. 
 I would not have missed it for anything. . . . The opening
 
 28 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 service was very beautiful and brought tears to my eyes. I 
 thought I should never get a Cathedral atmosphere again 
 after leaving St. Paul's, but though on a small scale, it was 
 a real Cathedral atmosphere. ... I was very fortunate in 
 being Bishop Brent's chaplain. It gave me a position and 
 got me into everything. It did not amount to much more 
 than carrying his bag and doing a few odds and ends. 
 
 It was most delightful being with him. I saw a great 
 deal of him, as we always went in and out to meetings 
 together and discussed everything. I found it hard to 
 remember that he was a Bishop, he seemed more like a 
 companion. He is perfectly simple and sincere and holy, 
 with a lot of humour. 
 
 I could not have had a better introduction to Canadian 
 Church life. I think Congresses only tend to make me 
 less, rather than more, churchy. I listen to papers for 
 or against Apostolic Succession, and when I meditate I find 
 these things do not affect me one way or the other. I 
 don't really believe any one cares about them. They 
 are terrified of surrendering them because of the results 
 they feel would follow. There is such a terror of a smug, 
 selfish individualism, that people have a feeling we must 
 cling to all these things, and throw ourselves into them as 
 the only possible antidote. 
 
 Well, good-bye, my dearest mother. When I get settled 
 down to real hard work, and all this excitement is passed, 
 and I am in a little lonely shack somewhere in midwinter, 
 I shall begin to miss home and all of you. Now there is 
 little time to think. I have so enjoyed these three weeks. 
 What I really feel as the result of hearing and meeting so 
 many different people is what a totally different kind of 
 mind and character father had. I cannot help always 
 wondering what he would say. Certainly not what they 
 do. 
 
 To his sister Mary 
 
 C. P. R. Train. 
 
 Sept. 12, 1910. I seem to have managed my introduction 
 to Canada splendidly. I really have enjoyed myself every 
 moment except for about one hour after I left the steamer. 
 I somehow felt that was the parting of the ways, and that 
 from henceforth I must become a Canadian. But I don't 
 think I am ever likely to be homesick. I am too interested 
 in the things at hand to lament what I have left behind.
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 29 
 
 Everything continues to make me convinced that I have 
 done absolutely the right thing in coming out here. That 
 year in Smyrna did me a great deal of good. I shall never 
 forget the first week or two after coming back and the 
 feeling that no one took any interest in me. Nor especially 
 a walk one evening at Varengeville, when we sat down 
 under some fir trees and the whole family set on me. 
 Now, however, I don't care whether any one is interested 
 in me or not. I am content to be interested in myself. 
 I have also, since that conversation, learnt to be more 
 interested in other people, to look at life from a more 
 detached point of view and to take things as they come 
 without too much intensity. I hope you are being in- 
 terested in all this, because if you are not, you ought to be. 
 Really life is most enjoyable, especially when you always 
 feel, sleep and eat as well as I do. It is really wonderful 
 how I sleep. I never forget what some one who had been 
 ill and sleepless said to me, that when we were well and 
 slept well we forgot to be thankful. Every morning since 
 I have thanked God for my sleep. 
 
 I enjoyed the Congress. I like hearing people discuss 
 problems. It always makes me feel how unimportant 
 they really are. 
 
 You have helped to make me learn to dislike everything 
 that is false or artificial, or said for effect, or because it is 
 the proper thing, or because you are expected to say it. 
 How many times I have come back from preaching or 
 teaching and thought to myself, I only said that because I 
 was expected to, or because it was the proper thing to say ! 
 If only we could give up saying the proper things ! People 
 are such a strange mixture of truth and artificiality. The 
 only thing is to ignore the latter ; and if one only can take 
 their Protestantism or Catholicism or any other ism calmly 
 and pay little attention to them, they don't really very 
 much matter. 
 
 The Mission House, Edmonton. 
 
 Sept. 19, 1910. My last letter I wrote from the train. 
 I awoke to find myself in the prairie. It was very beautiful 
 to watch the sun rise, and the colour was wonderful. As 
 the day went on, I began to find it depressing. The absence 
 of trees or any features, the little naked houses, looking 
 just as though they had been dropped down by mistake, 
 struck me as very dismal. I began rather to hate it,
 
 30 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 though it certainly has a kind of beauty of its own. . . . 
 I began to feel an awful loneliness at the thought of seeing 
 no more trees. However, the great white wall of the 
 Rockies in the distance was very lovely. But I must say 
 I felt a longing for a bit of English country. . . . Gradually 
 after Calgary, the train got amongst wooded country and 
 masses of trees appeared on all sides. At intervals we 
 passed beautiful lakes or crossed lovely rivers. The trees 
 are only small, mostly a kind of poplar with a white trunk. 
 They are wonderfully delicate, and everywhere the leaves 
 had turned a wonderful pale, transparent gold. The 
 colour effect was perfectly lovely. I almost danced for 
 
 joy. 
 
 Boyd was at the station to meet me. We walked up, 
 crossing by a ferry. The river is wonderfully beautiful. 
 The banks are very steep, covered everywhere with trees, 
 all pure gold. This is a little wooden house on the river- 
 bank where we are living temporarily. Boyd has decided 
 that I am to stay in Edmonton for the present. I was 
 rather disappointed at first, but I think I see now that it 
 is best. A large hostel is being built in an outlying part 
 of the city which is almost certainly going to be an im- 
 portant artisan suburb. Attached to it a chapel is also 
 being built opening into a schoolroom which is to serve 
 as the parish church for the district, St. Faith. A large 
 piece of ground has been bought and eventually a proper 
 church will be built. The chapel is being given by Sir 
 Henry Pellat, and the schoolroom and site by Boyd's 
 aunt, so that the Fund only pays for the actual house. 
 This is the idea all through, that the Fund only provides 
 for the maintenance of the living agents. All churches 
 etc., must come from other sources. This parish will be 
 a big and important piece of work. Boyd will be respon- 
 sible for it. But besides that, in the city we have the 
 parish of St. Andrew's, for which a church is shortly to be 
 built, and this is to be my job. Then also we have two 
 outlying districts. One is called Packing Plant, where 
 there is a huge factory where meat is killed and packed. 
 Here a room above a store is being used, but a little church 
 is to be built shortly. Then there is a place called Calder, 
 where are railway works of the G.T.R. I am to help 
 there as well. Besides this Boyd and I will take it in 
 turn to go off at intervals and help in the outlying dis- 
 tricts where there is no priest. I am beginning to see an
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 31 
 
 absolutely endless field of work of the kind that appeals 
 to me. 
 
 I enjoy the household work. I spent the whole of one 
 morning cleaning out the larder. I don't care what I 
 eat as long as I get enough. I told Boyd that was all 
 I demanded, that I could sleep anywhere, do any work he 
 liked, provided I could have enough to eat. After this 
 statement, there is a little disappointment that after all 
 I do not eat so enormously. 
 
 Boyd at present has ten or eleven men under him 
 scattered all over the country. Naturally they refer every 
 question to him and are continually coming and going. 
 I go with him up to the architect's office, and to the hostel 
 every day. We have much deliberation as to colours and 
 decorations generally. Next Monday I go to the country 
 with Boustead. We are to walk out about fifty miles to 
 where Whitaker is that I may take the Communion to 
 his people. 
 
 This is really a most wonderful country. There is an 
 extraordinary feeling of youth and development in the 
 air. People look so absolutely different from what they 
 do in England. Every one seems so independent, and 
 they walk about as if they were then- own masters. Every 
 man is your equal and treats you as such. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Sept. 20. For the first few days I wondered how I 
 should fit in here. ... I began to wonder if I was not 
 really too much of a heathen. I think perhaps there was 
 a little lack of humour. The men don't talk much when 
 we are together. But I am writing first impressions. I 
 feel they are already changing. I think the feeling, and 
 certainly it is the feeling of the country, is that each man 
 should be himself and perfectly natural. So they don't 
 seem to mind my being rather frivolous. 
 
 Sept. 24. " Cookie " (alias Watkins) has returned and 
 is delightful. He works from morning to night and is 
 always happy and lively. I have never known any one 
 with quite such an even, contented disposition. I think 
 it must be the result of three years of Kelham training. 
 
 I preached to a nice congregation at a little church 
 for harvest festival this morning. It is a delight to find 
 the sexes evenly distributed and such keenness among 
 the men. Their competence amazes me. It is quite an
 
 32 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 education to be at a vestry meeting when the building of 
 a church is discussed. 
 
 Everything, at present, seems to be learning and taking 
 in things. It is all very different. But this is the country 
 to form character. 
 
 Oct. 10. On Monday, September 26, Boustead and I 
 set off for our trip to Lac La Nonne. We started by train. 
 I carried a pack weighing nearly 30 Ib. on my back. 
 At Morinville we took the mail stage for ten miles and 
 then started on a tramp of twenty-one miles. We reached 
 Sion Post Office, a stopping place, at about 10 p.m., where 
 we slept. I did not feel the least tired, despite my heavy 
 pack, but understood the true significance of the term 
 tenderfoot. Next day a man drove us part of the way in 
 his wagon. We had only about eight miles more to walk, 
 but found them much more tiring than all the day before. 
 We toiled on and eventually found the house right down 
 by the lake. We were feeling very dead and to our dismay 
 found the house locked up. We opened a window and 
 broke in. Boustead went off to another house close by, 
 the present store, kept by an Englishman, who, with his 
 family and his brother's family on the other side of the 
 lake, form the nucleus of a congregation. They told us 
 that Whitaker had gone off on the previous Saturday 
 before he got the letter announcing our arrival, and was 
 not expected back till the next evening. Boustead 
 returned with a loaf and butter and some tinned salmon, 
 and we made a meal and rested. This was Tuesday 
 evening. Whitaker did not return till Thursday morning. 
 So we had time to look around. He returned, full of 
 apologies and of the results of a long tour of inspection he 
 had made. I had really come to help him, as he is only a 
 deacon, but he had heard of my coming too late to make 
 any arrangements. I asked if there was not anywhere I 
 could go up country where people would like a Celebration. 
 He told me of some very specially keen Churchpeople 
 he had just discovered, and said he felt sure they would 
 like one. So finally I decided to go. There was a half- 
 breed near by who had a nice-looking pony which I 
 borrowed. The next morning I started off. A half- 
 breed boy of about fourteen rode along with me a good 
 deal of the way. We rode round the lake and then I 
 started along a most desolate trail the old Klondyke 
 trail along which so many hundreds of people started
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 33 
 
 when the rush was on, while only two or three got through. 
 The trail led for ten or twelve miles through densely 
 wooded country, rough and hilly. It was, indeed, a wild 
 desolate country and I was wondering where I was getting 
 to. Eventually I came to a place where two trails met 
 and where there was a shack and a man sawing wood. I 
 explained who I was and why I had come; he seemed 
 most delighted and at once took care of me and my horse, 
 talking all the time, drawing water from a well, showing 
 me the stable and getting hay. He then asked me in and 
 began telling me his story. Every one in this country has 
 a story and they are all interesting. He and his brother 
 had come out in 1881, and had wandered all about. 
 Eventually they had decided to take a homestead and had 
 settled there some four years. It was delightful to find 
 them so deeply religious, and they had had no Anglican 
 service at all since they had been there. One of them 
 took me over to their married sister's house a little way 
 off in the woods. This was a most delightful family, 
 rejoicing in life and in each other's society. I have seldom 
 felt so absolutely at home ; they were so delighted to have 
 me, and had been longing for a service. They kept a 
 spare room, where the bed even had a sheet and I was 
 most comfortable. The children were delightful, and I 
 amused them in the evening with tricks, and making 
 things from paper and card games. The next morning 
 we had the service at 10.30. I arranged a nice altar, went 
 into the workshop and made a wooden cross for it, picked 
 a few wild flowers, and it looked quite like a little church. 
 It was very reluctantly that I tore myself away from so 
 delightful a family. Somehow our coming seems so often 
 to have aroused new hope in some of the settlers' lives. 
 They have been so lonely and felt themselves out of it. 
 
 Altogether it was a most interesting and illuminating 
 trip. It made me feel what endless opportunities there 
 were before the Church; of course there is very little 
 demand for the Church as the Church ; but I am thinking 
 more of the need there is for the Church if this new life is 
 to grow up as it should. There is hardly any one who has 
 been in that part of the country for more than four years 
 everything is new and beginning. Who is going to take 
 the lead? Any of the settlers themselves? This would 
 doubtless be best if possible, but is very difficult, and 
 settlers as a rule go simply to get a living, not to benefit 
 D
 
 34 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 the country. . . . Each new township as it gets settled 
 seems to require at least three things : (1) a school; (2) a 
 townhall (as it is called, used for entertainments, dances, 
 debates, etc.); (3) a church. As far as I could gather 
 endless disputes and jealousies gathered round the erection 
 of any of these. If a man could go in with no personal 
 interests to serve, so that no possibly unworthy motives 
 could be attributed to him, so much might be done. Here 
 is the Church's opportunity, not to step in and advance 
 itself, but the whole township, in all its various activities. 
 Perhaps these are wide generalities based on insufficient 
 observation, but I give them for what they are worth. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Oct. 6, 1910. You embark upon various controversial 
 points in your letters arising out of letters I have written. 
 The last is the word " Churchy." I am so surprised you 
 don't understand what I mean by it. I think it came on 
 me with a rush when I got back here and was telling Boyd 
 of my experiences and of a new district I had been exploring, 
 when he at once said, " Is there any chance of holding 
 services there?" I suppose this was only the natural 
 question to ask. But I have long been reflecting. Is the 
 only object of the Church to hold services? Or is it its 
 main object? Churchy is to me the attitude of becom- 
 ing absorbed in services and all that appertains thereto. 
 People have got it rooted in their minds that the parson 
 is merely a means for holding services and that his main 
 object is to contrive fresh ones and then get a larger con- 
 gregation than the next denomination. Is this really 
 an ideal to live for? Whenever we come in from holding 
 " services " the first question asked is, How many people did 
 you have ? I cannot always plead innocent myself. But to 
 me religion is life and not services. I love to go to services, 
 especially in Cathedrals, myself, because they supply a 
 large place in my life. I think it right that other people 
 should have the opportunity, and in fact be helped to see 
 the part they might play in their life, but I consider that 
 life is what we are working for, not services. I find that 
 it is when I consider " services " and " churchiness " as 
 the end, that I get depressed. The results are so poor, 
 and when they are attained what are they worth? At 
 last a " churchy " individual has been formed. But is 
 he really much better than any one else? What next?
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 35 
 
 Or are we to stop there and be content? But I find 
 comfort in the thought that the object of life is to lose it, 
 and the best place to lose it is in other people, and so in 
 God through them. All joy in life conies from losing self 
 in God, and that, I take it, means in others or in nature 
 or beauty, wherever God is reflected. And in all this 
 process the Church plays its part, and a very important 
 one. But the Church exists to serve the whole process, 
 not itself. Sometimes I find myself looking at religion 
 from the purely churchy point of view. And then I ask 
 myself what is all this going to serve? I have been up 
 through the country and find all the little denominational 
 jealousies and squabbles active. We must hurry up and 
 get in before the others do. We must hasten to arrange 
 services and count our congregations. And meanwhile 
 the congregations perish because there is no vision. It is 
 lost in churchiness. But hope and joy and life in all its 
 fullness come when one learns to go in and out among the 
 people simply desiring to share their life and enter into 
 all their feelings and help mould their ideals and strive to 
 open their eyes to visions with no ulterior motive. I 
 don't know why I have launched into this effusion. Please 
 don't think it results from any desire to be cantankerous 
 or critical. I try hard to keep from that. I am chiefly 
 anxious to criticise my own motives. I don't for a 
 moment want to appear to resent people going another 
 way, even if it be the churchy one. But let me go my own 
 way. " Be true to yourself even if that self be the devil," 
 said Canon Scott to me, and surely that is true. All one 
 has to do is to guard against that self being the devil, and 
 here the Church and religion come in to help. 
 
 The Mission House, Edmonton. 
 
 Oct. 13, 1910. I was rung up on Monday and invited 
 to go up the line with Mr. Grenf ell's party. So on Tuesday 
 morning I got into a special train, consisting of a private 
 Pulman car, and travelled up in enormous luxury on the 
 new G.T.R. line, with six financiers. I don't know what 
 they thought of having a parson there. They all belong 
 to the Western Canada Land Company. They produced 
 endless maps and papers and discussed finance all the way 
 till about 11 o'clock, when we got to Waburnum, where is 
 a large lake. I started to drive with them to their model 
 farm, but knowing we had two of our men near there,
 
 36 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 asked the driver where they were and found we were just 
 passing their shack, and one of them, Mog, was there. 
 He was just going to have the site for a church, which we 
 had procured, pointed out to him. So I accompanied 
 him, and started to help him clear the site of brush and 
 trees. I worked hard with a brush hook until two o'clock, 
 hoping they would return. Eventually we got so hungry 
 that I went to the shack and had something to eat. We 
 could see the car as the track was close by. I expected 
 they would pass the shack and return, but instead they 
 crossed the lake in a boat and got in on the other side 
 and the train was off before I could get in. It was going 
 up to Entwistle so I knew it would be coming back, and 
 went on working at clearing the church site. It was 
 getting dark when we heard a whistle and I flew down 
 to the track and stood on it with outstretched arms, 
 screaming. The engine flew by and still I yelled and 
 started to run after it, and eventually it drew up and I 
 got in. They were still deep in finance, but dinner was 
 shortly served and I was able to have some talk. They 
 were very nice and it was interesting to have an insight 
 into the wealthy financial world, quite a new one to me. 
 
 Oct. 20. I went to open a little series of Bible readings 
 to the Women's Auxiliary belonging to St. Andrew's. 
 The ladies here love raising money for a church by sales 
 or socials or something of the sort. But for the Church 
 itself, they don't seem to care much, probably because 
 they know so little about it. Mrs. Lloyd was very anxious 
 that I should try and teach them about things generally. 
 This was a formidable undertaking. As a rule when they 
 come together they do nothing but chatter and pay no 
 attention to the parson's presence. I decided to take a 
 sort of general course which I shall call " the character of 
 Christ." I set them a subject for next month and talked 
 generally and they were quiet and passive. Mrs. Lloyd 
 seemed quite pleased. 
 
 Yesterday, as soon as we were through with house- 
 work, we worked till dark at getting the tent fixed 
 up. I enjoy manual labour more, I fear, than mental. 
 It is much less effort. It takes one's mind off all the 
 endless things that fill it. The work here is very difficult. 
 In a way it is the same so far as I am concerned, as an 
 English parish, and yet so absolutely different. I think 
 I hate the multiplicity of churches most. It is different
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 37 
 
 in England where the Church has all the history behind it, 
 and where one can see clearly that it is one's duty to carry 
 it on. But the Church here has no history. People, for 
 the most part, are quite content without it. I don't mind 
 people being lethargic. I got inured to that in England. 
 But I do hate and loathe the rivalry with other denomina- 
 tions. We all profess to work on friendly terms. But 
 we all want, in our heart of hearts, and often in our words, 
 to get in before the other (I include myself), and to hurry 
 up, or Mrs. So-and-So and her children will be going to the 
 Methodists. Does the Church really exist to get people 
 into it ? What is the real place and work of the Church ? 
 That is what I am always asking myself. What is to be 
 the main object and end of one's life? I think I hear you 
 saying, " to be a witness to the truth." That, I feel, is 
 the true answer. But surely it is the part of a witness to 
 try and influence (a word I abominate) others. The first 
 great commandment is an individual one. But from it 
 we pass to the social one. That is simply to love, not to 
 influence, to get, but simply to give. But to return to the 
 practical question. Does it really matter whether people 
 go to the Methodists or not? Isn't it better simply to 
 ignore the differences, (I mean in one's own personal 
 outlook, rather than in one's action and words, which are 
 often only superficial, said or done for effect,) to keep hold 
 to the fact of the personal need of witness, and then to go 
 among other people with no object whatever, except to 
 try and make them happy? If Mrs. Jones goes to the 
 Methodists, even if she was baptized and confirmed and 
 a regular communicant (I take an extreme case), had she 
 not better continue? I mean had I not better leave the 
 whole matter to Mrs. Jones, and settle not to allude to it 
 (and what is most important) not to let it enter my mind, 
 unless Mrs. Jones suggests it. I believe the Church and 
 the ideals of the Church to be more comprehensive and 
 more fruitful than those of the Methodists. But I can 
 best help Mrs. Jones to realise this by being a true son 
 of the Church myself and showing her some of the fruits. 
 The important thing is that I should try and love Mrs. 
 Jones. IE I have an ulterior object in my mind, the 
 opportunity of showing some little act of sympathy may 
 pass. I believe the very fact that I am trying to win 
 Mrs. Jones back to the Church, rather than simply coming 
 with the sole motive of love for Mrs. Jones, hides her real
 
 38 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 nature from me. I find my mind is always full of schemes 
 of getting Mrs. Jones to church and her children to Sunday 
 School. Isn't it exactly what our Lord warned us against 
 when He told us not to be anxious ? I preached twice on 
 the whole passage in St. Luke xii., one of the most fruit- 
 ful in the Bible, on Sunday. Aren't these just the th ; ngs 
 which the nations of the world are seeking after ? Religion 
 is so often conformed to the world's standards. The 
 Church is an institution to be run. That is exactly the 
 attitude out here among clerical and lay of all denomina- 
 tions. Cannot we afford to put all that absolutely aside ? 
 " Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and all these things 
 will be added unto you." If numbers and results are 
 things worth having they cannot be got ; they can only be 
 given us by God. And the condition of the gift is that 
 you seek His Kingdom and righteousness. The Kingdom 
 of Heaven is within us. It is an individual search. But 
 at the same time it is a corporate one. " Fear not, little 
 flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the 
 Kingdom." That was once said to twelve men. There 
 are twelve of us here. Need we be anxious or worry about 
 Methodists or Mrs. Jones having left the Church or anything 
 of the sort? Haven't we joined together to help one 
 another and to bear witness to the truth ? Does it really 
 make the least bit of difference whether two or a hundred 
 people come to church? Need I consider the question 
 at all? You may say that probably the best way of 
 helping Mrs. Jones is by bringing her back to the Church. 
 Possibly this is true. But had not Mrs. Jones better find 
 that out for herself ? Surely I must not have this at the 
 back of my mind while I am talking to Mrs. Jones ? This 
 is really what I want to get at. I go and see Mrs. Jones. 
 I talk to her endlessly about anything that turns up, 
 hoping to get on friendly terms with her. I have a 
 measure of success. Now I think is my opportunity for 
 putting in a word about the Church. Possibly the fact 
 that she is feeling friendly disposed to me may lead her 
 to come to the Church. There possibly my eloquent 
 sermon (really much better than the Methodists, if only 
 the people had an opportunity to judge), or the music or 
 something else will make her reconsider her churchman ship. 
 So I may succeed in winning her to the congregation. So 
 as I see my congregation grow and my church become 
 popular, I shall have the gratification of feeling that my
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 39 
 
 life has not been spent in vain, and all the pleasure which 
 comes from results and success. These are what I am 
 ultimately aiming at. I may be ready to put off their 
 attainment, to use indirect rather than direct means of 
 winning Mrs. Jones, if there seems the chance of their 
 being more successful. But success is what I must have. 
 I am saved, justified by my success. I judge myself by 
 my success. I expect God to do the same. But it is 
 just here that the Cross has its lesson and one which I am 
 trying to learn. It is hard. All outside influence is 
 against me. How many were there at church this morning ? 
 Is there any chance of getting So-and-so, and all the rest 
 of it, seem to be the questions which dominate and direct 
 all one's motives. And the difficult part of it all is that 
 however much I may argue with myself or with any one 
 else against it all, I do want St. Andrew's, Calder, and all 
 the rest to be successes. And I don't know that it is 
 really wrong to want this, though I am absolutely certain 
 it is wrong to make it in any sense the criterion of one's 
 work. I was reading Du Bose yesterday and was much 
 struck by what he said about justification. He made it 
 so much clearer to me. It is only God's grace or righteous- 
 ness that justifies. It is only God that can make a man 
 righteous. Nothing I can do will make me more righteous. 
 I can only try and bring my whole nature into harmony 
 with God. Righteousness as simply God-given must take 
 one's thoughts from oneself (and therefore from results as 
 dependent on self) till one can lose oneself in God. I 
 believe there is nothing more illuminating than this thought. 
 I know it is all obvious and elementary. So is all truth 
 in itself. But it is in its application that it is not so 
 obvious. Can I therefore conclude with this? That my 
 purpose and object in life is to try and keep the Command- 
 ments, i. e. to be industrious, humble, above all, sym- 
 pathetic, while at the same time I am trying to find God's 
 Kingdom and righteousness, i. e. trying to get into personal 
 union with God through the Church? Is this adequate? 
 What have I left out ? 
 
 My dearest mother, you say you like to share my life; 
 I must say I don't see much worth sharing. I feel I am 
 often being cross, irritable, superior towards the others. 
 I don't think I am worse than I ever was, only there is 
 more scope for it all here. 
 
 This letter has drifted on and on. The others meditated
 
 40 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 next door. But I have been meditating to you. I really 
 think I have disclosed myself more than I have succeeded 
 in doing before. As we cannot meet there is nothing for 
 it but to become egotistical. This letter has been a relief 
 to me, so I hope you don't mind wading through it. 
 
 The Mission House, Edmonton. 
 
 Oct. 31. On Monday we got all our possessions, furniture, 
 etc., out into the garden, and we loaded everything onto 
 a huge van, I sitting on the top. The house here is still 
 being built, but the attic is finished, so we hauled bedsteads 
 up to the top with a rope. We worked till late and made 
 some messy tea in the attic. The window had no glass 
 in it and it was very cold. There was ice on the table 
 when we sat down to breakfast. In the morning we fixed 
 up the attic a bit better, cleared out the stable, laid a 
 wooden floor, fitted up dressers and shelves and made 
 it into a most elegant kitchen. That evening several of 
 the men came in. There are no stairs, and we have to 
 climb up on planks. On Wednesday morning I fitted 
 up a room above the stables as a sitting-room and drove 
 over to Calder to prepare the church for the opening. . . . 
 The service was to be at eight, the Bishop and the clergy 
 driving out. There was a congregation of about thirty- 
 five. We had a procession and sang psalms, and it was 
 a delightful service. Next morning the chapel at the 
 Mission House was dedicated by the Bishop at the eight 
 o'clock Celebration. On Saturday I had a wrestle with my 
 cases and got them all unpacked and tried to get a little 
 order into chaos. 
 
 I believe I wrote a ridiculous letter last time. Don't 
 take it too seriously. Life is such a strange mixture, 
 so full of difficulties and all kinds of nice things. A 
 visit or a letter or a fine day cheers one so much. Religion 
 is the only difficulty. I am always ready to do any 
 amount of work from break of day till ten at night. I 
 don't mind what it is. But I expect it is that I am too 
 much of an individualist. I can say my prayers alone by 
 myself, but it is difficult to do these things to order. A 
 community life has its difficulties, but has far outweighing 
 advantages. I think we are all very happy. One learns, 
 at any rate, to be unselfish and everybody seems to think 
 quite naturally of other people first of all. Such a con- 
 trast to the community life of school where everybody is
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 41 
 
 essentially selfish and trying to get their own way. I 
 believe I did more or less succeed in telling you the real 
 difficulties of life in my last letter. These disappear at 
 intervals, but come up at times in all kinds of ways. The 
 difficulty is not about the truths of Christianity, which I 
 don't think have ever caused me any trouble, but the 
 application of these truths to oneself and other people, so 
 that it does not become professional or formal or stereo- 
 typed, but is the real expression of oneself. I am really 
 extremely happy and extremely fortunate in being with 
 such delightful men and having such a big bit of work to 
 do with such endless possibilities. Nothing gives me such 
 happiness as the delightful letters I get from home. 
 
 The Mission House, Edmonton. 
 
 Nov. 7, 1910. I must begin by continuing the dis- 
 cussion on churchiness. It seems quite possible to carry 
 on a discussion even at long intervals. I find that in it is 
 contained all my difficulty, or perhaps I should say, the 
 greater part. I know one should not worry oneself about 
 what other people say or do. I don't think it is really 
 that one minds their taking a certain attitude, but one 
 finds oneself being influenced by their attitude and then 
 blaming them, when really it is one's own fault for not 
 being sufficiently strong-minded to go one's own way. 
 I am sure the secret of life is absolute independence of 
 thought. 
 
 I am beginning to feel more and more that my work here 
 is to spend all the time I can in getting to know as many 
 people as possible and trying to share their lives. I have 
 the great advantage of being probably the only person 
 they meet who has no other object in life. Every one 
 else has to make money. Fortunately I need not consider 
 that. But I am always having to try to get a true per- 
 spective. While I can easily avoid the temptation to 
 desire material success, it is so difficult to avoid the desire 
 for a religious success. One thing I know is that I only 
 feel at all contented with myself when things are real and 
 true, but that an evil spirit within me makes me strive 
 after unreal and unworthy objects, which can bring me 
 no peace of mind. I feel happy to-night because I have 
 just come in from visiting people with whom I have had 
 pleasant conversations and been making good friends, 
 and then have found letters from nice people, all of which
 
 42 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 make me feel how real relationships with other people 
 are. What can be truer than what father said, that life 
 is the sum of relationships ! It seems to me that the 
 object of religion is to step in and cement and uplift and 
 make real and permanent all of these, that the Spirit of 
 Christ is the Spirit which unifies them all, that the Church 
 is the Body of Christ in so far as people are able to realise 
 this too for themselves. The difficulty is to make this 
 real and in harmony with the rest of our lives. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Nov. 14, 1910. Some day I suppose life will become 
 a little more methodical. " Chores " (this means all forms 
 of household work, and jobs connected with the machinery 
 of life generally) take such a lot of time. Ideally people 
 should be self-dependent and not have others do things 
 for them which they can do for themselves. But then 
 they cannot do their own work. 
 
 Everything to do with St. Andrew's has been simply 
 delightful. They have been trying to build a church for 
 years, but everything seems to have gone wrong. Now 
 at last we have been able to give them the necessary 
 impetus, and the people who have longed all through will 
 see their labours crowned. The church was built in five 
 weeks, and used yesterday for the first time. It is a 
 delightful little building on the top of the river bank. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Dec. 1, 1910. Even my mornings are taken up now, 
 and the worst is that it is in such futile ways. Chores seem 
 to occupy all the time. And chores are so largely the 
 outcome of " organised Christianity." I mean that this 
 demands churches, and churches have to be fitted up, 
 cleaned, heated, etc., and all this takes endless time. 
 So that I neither read nor write, and visit very little. The 
 real difficulty is to lead a sufficiently detached life. A 
 man's life certainly does not consist in the abundance of 
 things he possesses, or, in fact, does not possess, but in 
 what he is himself, or rather in his relationship with 
 God. But I feel I depend so terribly on outward things. 
 If they go wrong I am depressed, if right I am jubilant. 
 I always feel that father lived a life so independent of the 
 effects it had so far as they concerned himself. I mean
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 43 
 
 that he simply strove to give expression to his true self 
 and to make that self something worth giving expression 
 to. I wish my letters did not always seem to become so 
 introspective. I am afraid I use you as a sort of pail into 
 which I pour all my slops. The fact is I have never yet 
 succeeded in disciplining my character or my mind, and 
 it is difficult to know how to do so. Somehow one's 
 realisation of God is the only thing worth getting. But I 
 find it so very difficult to talk with reality about this. 
 It is so easy to get into a sort of emotional and fervent 
 state of mind, and to aim at a religion based on conventional 
 ideas. Dear me, I wish I did not go on like this. It all 
 comes from my wretched critical nature. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Dec. 7, 1910. I have just been filling my pen under 
 difficulties, as the ink was frozen. Everything freezes 
 now, the milk, the eggs, bread, pig-pail, etc. We have 
 not had it more than twenty below zero, and people 
 always say, " Wait till you get it sixty below." The house 
 is now heated a bit, and will be ready in a few days. It 
 will be a tremendous business to get settled in. I don't 
 feel quite clear that a central house, is satisfactory for our 
 ordinary work. It means that Bailey and I both have to 
 live two miles out of the parishes we are in charge of, 
 and never really get to feel we are living among the people. 
 I felt this very strongly for a while, but am now beginning 
 to see things rather differently. I am not sure that my 
 first duty does not lie towards the Mission and helping 
 Boyd. Boyd, Bailey, and myself really form a little 
 headquarters staff. 
 
 I have been going through turbulent waters at St. 
 Andrew's. When I first came I was told I had a very 
 difficult, self-willed, headstrong, quarrelsome set of people 
 to deal with. But everything went smoothly till the 
 dedication, and all centred round the fact that I placed 
 and lit a pair of candles on the Altar for the early Celebra- 
 tion on St. Andrew's Day. One lady said she was so 
 upset she only slept three hours that night. A man with 
 whom I had been on the closest terms of friendship, turned 
 round and attacked me. There was no doubt there would 
 be a considerable, if only a temporary, secession. Don't 
 think the dispute was about such a petty thing as candles 
 are in themselves. But the principle at stake was how
 
 44 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 far the priest is responsible for the conduct of services, 
 etc., and how far the congregation, and also whether a 
 spirit of narrow, religious intolerance based on the old 
 " No Popery " cry was from the outset to control the 
 new church. I put the candles there, because they were 
 given to the church, as naturally as I put on a surplice. 
 I was asked to call a meeting, and put it to the vote. I 
 was considering it, and met the wardens last night for the 
 purpose. To my amazement Mr. C., my chief friend and 
 adviser, rounded on me, said I was arbitrary, and unless 
 the candles were taken away he must resign. He had got 
 it into his head that I was coming out as a young English- 
 man with the intent of ruling the Canadian Church. This 
 to him was Popery (not the candles, but the determination 
 to keep them there), and he would have none of it. I did 
 not see how I could possibly hold out against him. For 
 two years he had worked splendidly to get this church 
 started. His resignation was out of the question. I 
 hardly knew what to say. He began rather to lose 
 patience and said the matter must be settled at once, 
 thus forcing my hand and making it impossible for me to 
 hold the meeting, or discuss the matter with the Arch- 
 deacon or Boyd. He finally said if I did not decide at 
 once, he would begin to think I was a Papist myself. Well, 
 matters were getting serious, so I suggested that we should 
 say a prayer, and after a little reflection I went up to the 
 Altar and took the candles away. Two things were clear 
 to me : (1) That I respected him too much to allow any- 
 thing not absolutely vital to come between us. (2) That 
 a large share of the responsibility must fall on him as he 
 had demanded it. Then they asked me to say a prayer 
 and we parted in peace. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Dec. 8, 1910. Your letters have simply made me feel 
 that I was in continual conversation with you. You seem 
 to enter into everything and it makes letter- writ ing a joy. 
 
 Another point you raise in your last letter. Prayer is 
 a great difficulty. I do not pray easily, though I may 
 spend a long tune at it. It is not natural. I am beginning 
 to get terrified of artificial prayer. I am so often conscious 
 of it. I find it so difficult to pray to order, i. e. at stated 
 times. Christ seems to have prayed very irregularly. 
 But I try and pray a lot for you all, and find practical
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 45 
 
 intercession the easiest. Things would be very different 
 if it were not for the constant feeling that you were almost, 
 as it were, with me. I am your feeble and unworthy son, 
 but a very loving one. 
 
 Dec. 10. Last night we actually moved into the house. 
 I am now sitting at my beloved writing-table in a most 
 delightful room, the library. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Dec. 28, 1910. Christmas Day was a strenuous day. 
 I got up at five and walked down nearly two miles to the 
 Hospital, where I joined the nurses at 6 o'clock, who were 
 singing carols in the corridors to the patients. Then at 
 6.30 I celebrated the Holy Communion in the Nurses' 
 Home. There were only two or three church nurses 
 among them ; but I thought on one day in the year it would 
 be so nice for them to have a service all together, and 
 decided to ask no questions as to what churches they 
 belonged to. They all behaved so reverently and followed 
 the service so well, that I am sure it was all right. Then 
 I went off to St. Andrew's, lit the furnace, and had another 
 Celebration at 8.30. Then back here to breakfast; down 
 to St. Andrew's again at 11, Matins, another Celebration ; 
 back again to Christmas dinner, when two nice railway men 
 and one or two other men whom we invited to spend the 
 week-end were present. At 2.30 I harnessed up the buggy 
 and drove Mrs. Lloyd over to Calder, where we had a very 
 nice little service with quantities of carols. Then I drove 
 back, had tea and went down to St. Andrew's for another 
 service with carols. 
 
 The Christmas reunion is on now. 1 The out -men came 
 in last night for three nights. Our whole party is now 
 fifteen. The accounts of the out-stations are encouraging. 
 
 This house has endless possibilities and I hope it will be 
 well used. The laymen are going to stay on, and I am to 
 give some lectures on the Bible. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Jan. 10, 1911. Up at 6.45 this morning; 7.15 cele- 
 brated in the chapel, where there were eight degrees of 
 frost and my hands nearly froze to the chalice. Outside 
 it was thirty-five below zero. Then, after chores and 
 meditation I settled down to read and was interrupted a 
 
 1 The practice of the Mission was to bring in all the men from the 
 out -stations for a reunion at regular intervals.
 
 46 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 good deal. Now it is 2 p.m., and I must go and visit. 
 Such is life, rather strenuous and barren of results, with 
 little crumbs of encouragement. 
 
 I sometimes long for a little one-roomed shack next to 
 St. Andrew's, where I could stew in my own juice, do my 
 own chores, live my own life on about 2d. a day, and be 
 right in among the people. However, I suppose even 
 then I should think things were not quite as they should 
 be. Dear me, my letters get dreadfully egotistical. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Feb. 3, 1911. Yesterday there were endless things to be 
 talked about and business to be done with Boyd, as he 
 departs this afternoon for California. 1 I have to be in 
 charge in his absence of the house, etc. In the evening 
 choir practice at St. Andrew's, followed by a little com- 
 mittee meeting to arrange a concert to get up funds, and 
 then a long and animated vestry meeting. These are 
 strange things. I am largely ignored and treated with 
 contempt. Canadians are often rude and never consider 
 other people's feelings, but they have much energy and 
 will work tremendously. There were cantankerous mem- 
 bers present who found fault with everything. But it is 
 a great consolation that people will take the trouble to 
 turn out on a bitter cold night into a cold room, even if 
 only to find fault. 
 
 In your last letter you ask about a piano. I have 
 been longing for one. A large house like this is absolutely 
 incomplete without one. Bailey and Cookie were more 
 than delighted at the prospect. Do send us one. We 
 never can have any singing. We could dance among 
 ourselves in the library and have all sorts of fun at the 
 next reunion if we had one. It should be able to be here 
 by then. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Feb. 8, 1911. The congregations at St. Andrew's seem 
 to get smaller and smaller. I don't know what is the matter. 
 I am afraid I am not the right man for it. It should go 
 better than it does. There is something quite wrong. 
 I don't really understand the colonial mind yet, and 
 preach wretched bad sermons. You will say this is pessi- 
 
 1 Mr. Boyd had been ill, and was ordered to go to a milder climate 
 for a time.
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 47 
 
 mistic, but I am not feeling particularly so to-night. It 
 is only plain truth. I have a few friends, no particular 
 enemies, but certainly don't feel as if I was at all popular. 
 Not that I wish to be or think that it matters much. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Feb. 11, 1911. I have something I wish to consult you 
 about. Ever since St. Andrew's Church has been built, 
 I have longed to be able to live close to it. But I saw so 
 many difficulties. Also I had a feeling that I owed the 
 Mission a certain duty and that that really came first. 
 I was first of all a member of the Mission, only secondly 
 in charge of St. Andrews. But after having tried it for 
 six months I cannot truthfully say that I feel really suited 
 to a community life. Not that I do not like it. I don't 
 really wish to put it negatively at all. I want to get at it 
 positively. I believe I should get on best quite alone. 
 I have tried hard to put this idea out of my mind, but it 
 keeps coming back to me. I hate to feel that I want in 
 any way to leave the Mission. I don't. I want to remain 
 a member of it. All I feel I want to do is to live alone in 
 the middle of my work, whilst still remaining a member. 
 I love the idea of association with the rest of the men. But 
 I had always contemplated work in the country where I 
 should be alone. However, I have tried my utmost to 
 fit in with ideas here and to help the corporate life. Again, 
 I do not want to be negative and say I am not fitted for it. 
 That is a poor line to take and the obvious answer is that 
 I should hurry up and make myself more fitted for it. But 
 even when in England, I had a longing to go and live in a 
 little hole in St. Katharine's Street, right among the people 
 I was working with, and sharing their life with them. 
 This has always been my ideal. Now I would prefer to 
 go and live in a little hovel close to the church. I could 
 work out my own ideals much better then. At present 
 I must largely be working out some one else's. Perhaps 
 that is really the humbler and better course to take. But 
 it only tends to make me critical and at times a little 
 inclined to rebel. Let me outline my scheme. Under 
 St. Andrew's Church is a very decent basement room. 
 There is a little cook-stove there; it could be made quite 
 comfortable. St. Andrew's parish is very large. I have 
 not been able to visit it nearly as much as I should. I 
 feel convinced I ought to live in it if I am to do my work
 
 48 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 properly. I hope that my little room would become a 
 sort of meeting place for young men, boys, parish workers, 
 etc., who would always know where to find me. . . . The 
 question is, Am I being actuated by an undisciplined spirit, 
 and is it not possibly better for me that I should go on as 
 I am and not wish to be independent ? Of course I shall 
 leave the matter in Boyd's hands. Only I feel sure he 
 would return it to mine, and I do not wish to put it in the 
 form of a definite proposal, till I feel more clear about it 
 from my own point of view. 
 
 Perhaps this desire to be independent is evil, and it 
 is really good for me to be absorbed (very largely) in the 
 round of community life. Is it necessarily wrong to feel 
 one is more suited for something else? I should be able 
 to have an answer from you soon after Boyd returns. 
 Perhaps by then I may see things differently. However, 
 it helps me to write it all down to you. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Feb. 24, 1911. There is such endless visiting to be done. 
 Every family seems to have a tragedy of some sort, and 
 I feel I can be of real use to a number of people simply as 
 a friend. I first want to live among them for a bit. I am 
 only a visitor at present. I could spend hours at the 
 hospital alone. It is all very well running organisations 
 and holding services, but people I feel convinced need a 
 friend first of all, some one to tell their troubles to. And 
 they all have troubles, and all we do is to badger them to 
 come to church. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 March 3, 1911. It seems to me more and more that 
 life in a new world like this makes people wish less and 
 less for religion. The one craze is for development and 
 progress. Things go at an extraordinary rate. Edmonton 
 is practically only about five years old. There is a sort of 
 exciting absorption in seeing the city develop and things 
 go ahead. The great virtues, especially with a man like 
 Roosevelt, are courage and energy, the great vices 
 cowardice and sloth. One has to try somehow to accept 
 these things and make Christianity fit in with the whole 
 scheme. It is no use decrying them. Meanwhile religion 
 seems to me to be drifting into a kind of vague humani- 
 tarianism. The churches are regarded as a kind of mutual 
 improvement societies. All one can do, I suppose, is to try
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 49 
 
 and give expression to the truth as far as one can see it. 
 It is not much use bewailing general tendencies. 
 
 I am afraid I get stupidly depressed. I know it is a 
 great sin. I gave a little discourse on it one evening to 
 the other men in the chapel. It is so often said to be due 
 to physical causes. I believe rather that it is due to 
 absence of law in daily life, and to living only for the 
 moment. If so, it can and must be cured. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 March 8, 1911. I always imagine that one of my few 
 gifts is sympathy. I do love other people intensely for 
 themselves. I want to understand all about them and 
 know them. But I bluster in the process, and exercise 
 little restraint and tact, and so often get wrong. There is 
 nothing I would not do for them. This is religion and 
 life to me. What is there in this world to live for except 
 other people, and through them God ? Because it is 
 really all the same I am sure. 
 
 I am not so depressed as I was. I am afraid this is 
 only owing to circumstances. Four girls and two boys 
 whose analyses I returned yesterday, all got full marks 
 and did so well. The little boys' club is going well. The 
 men's club is promising. The ladies are improving. The 
 choir is promising. The communicants are better. The 
 congregations are still very small, but there seems to be 
 more general peace. I am now going off to meet a number 
 of boys and discuss scouts. 
 
 Depression, I become more and more convinced, is really 
 the result of one's own evil nature. I think the whole 
 secret of it is that the main stimulus to work is the grati- 
 fication we get as the result. Then when we do not get 
 the gratification, we blame conditions and get depressed. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 March 17, 1911. I entirely agree that contact with 
 Nonconformity makes me convinced that there is some- 
 thing lacking in it. I am not perfectly clear yet, though, 
 that it is the Church. Rather I feel it is true independence 
 of thought, the readiness to see truth everywhere, and the 
 absence of the spirit of Protestantism. I think the Church 
 is and can be a great power for propagating truth. But 
 truth means something far vaster than the Church. To 
 speak of the Church in theological language as the Body of
 
 50 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Christ, while it conveys one of the profoundest truths, 
 may be misleading, because this is not what people mean 
 when they speak of the Church in opposition to Non- 
 conformity. They mean something in which Bishops 
 and so on and organisation generally play an essential 
 part. Truth, I know, is a vague and misleading term also. 
 But it is what a man knows that matters. It was because 
 Peter, speaking for the disciples could say, " Thou art 
 the Christ of God " ; and we have believed and know 
 that thou art the Holy One of God that they were able to 
 build up the Church. But the Rock on which the Church 
 was built was the essential thing. All truth, I suppose, 
 once grasped will clothe itself in some form of organisation. 
 But the danger always seems to me lest we attach too much 
 importance to the organisation. 
 
 I hardly find any one, least of all the Nonconformists, 
 who really believe in Christ in the way the disciples did, 
 I mean who have really lost their lives to find Him. They 
 are usually so busied with their churches and their beliefs 
 and their pet ideas or systems of morality and temperance 
 and the like, that Christ as a reality seems lost. I wonder 
 if even the pious Nonconformist has really lost himself. 
 In a sense I suppose he has. He has lost his desire to 
 please and live for himself. He will suffer and endure 
 anything. But has he surrendered his traditional outlook, 
 his bias, his preconceived ideas? 
 
 What I mean is, I do not wish to emphasise the Church 
 because I feel the Nonconformists lack so much. I wish 
 to know Christ better because I feel that neither I nor 
 they know Him ; and perhaps I feel, further, that they are 
 on the wrong road to a fuller knowledge, and that I have 
 had my eyes opened to a better one, and to the avoiding of 
 certain obstacles which seem to me to block the way. 
 
 Thank you for your remarks on my letter re living at 
 St. Andrew's. Time has inevitably modified things. I 
 think I have been gradually inclining to your conclusion, 
 which is also Boyd's, and that is that I should live there 
 a night or two each week. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 March 21, 1911. I have at last started the scouts. I 
 wondered if I was going to be able to keep off it. But the 
 break in the weather, and the discovery of a large number 
 of boys ripe for it, decided me. I spoke to about a hundred
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 51 
 
 of them in the big school opposite my church. The 
 majority wanted to join. I selected twelve of the oldest. 
 I only want to begin with twelve. After a good deal of 
 work we have now got the basement of the church fixed up, 
 and it makes a very good and suitable room. I shall 
 probably start sleeping there next week. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 March 24, 1911. My most interesting news is that there 
 seems to be a prospect of my joining Mowat 1 at the end 
 of April for a few months. His priests cannot come out 
 till the middle of the summer. He badly needs men. 
 Canon Beale wrote suggesting we should lend him one of 
 our men. It seemed more satisfactory to send some one 
 used to the country. From my point of view it is admir- 
 able. It will be a thorough change; I shall get a lot of 
 experience. I like Mowat particularly and would like to 
 see his methods of working. 
 
 I am always being nice to my ladies. They are gradually 
 improving, I think. They are so absolutely different to 
 the holy woman. 2 They are mostly singularly profane. 
 But they all have a great deal of character. I think you 
 make a great mistake when you say my boredom with holy 
 women at home makes me inclined to neglect the women 
 here. They are so totally different that I do not associate 
 them together. I feel, as I never did before, the absolutely 
 essential part women play in church life. I wrote and read 
 them a little purely spiritual discourse for their last 
 meeting. I think they were rather surprised. But I 
 hope it may have done a little good. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 March 29, 1911. I believe one might almost make it an 
 occupation in life to leave one's country and go out into 
 the wilds and write to all one's friends and relations and 
 discuss the philosophy of life. I sometimes feel that the 
 most profitable thing I can do for a boy is writing to him. 
 I still write to Smyrna boys and feel I know them much 
 better than ever I did. 
 
 I am feeling rather pleased with life at the present 
 moment. I am sitting beneath my church. It is 11 p.m., 
 
 1 Rev. W. H. Mowat was the head of a centre of the Archbishops' 
 Mission in Southern Alberta. 
 
 2 A name given in joke to the pious church-worker in England.
 
 52 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 and at last I am quite alone and away from every one. 
 Outside it is sleeting and, except for the sound of dripping 
 from the roof, it is absolutely still. The men's club has 
 been meeting. There were quite a number to-night. 
 They were all very nice. Some day I hope this room will 
 become a regular rendezvous. I came down yesterday 
 with a bed and some food and some books. The scouts 
 met last night and continue to be very promising. 
 
 I must say I like this independent life. I suppose it 
 shows my evil nature. But I can get enough of discipline 
 and routine. The mere fact of saying one's prayers when 
 and where one likes, adds, I think, to their value. I feel 
 sometimes there is a terrible tendency for community life to 
 become artificial. We do not live in our work, as it were 
 part of it. We lose touch. We swoop down from outside 
 with our minds made up. It is really a question of atmo- 
 sphere. You may do exactly the same things under either 
 conditions, but you will do them differently. I talk to a 
 woman, I think, differently after coming from the com- 
 munity atmosphere from what I do coming from an inde- 
 pendent atmosphere. The mere fact of getting up alone 
 and making my own breakfast and doing everything 
 myself seems to have its effect all day. The very fact of 
 getting away for a bit from the community standpoint 
 seems to give fresh light. I do not say this in the least 
 detracting from the Mission. But I shall return to the 
 Mission to-morrow much more ready to appreciate its 
 atmosphere and benefit by its discipline. Dear me, I 
 wish I did not talk so much about myself. I am simply 
 lazily thinking in writing. 
 
 April 5, 1911. I wish I could get at a right principle 
 with regard to other denominations. I know that I could 
 not be a Methodist myself at any price. But I have not 
 yet found a reason why other people should not be, if 
 they wish. I feel more and more a desire simply to live 
 my own life, to witness to the truth as best I can and to 
 let other people go their own way. But as it exists now, 
 the Church seems to have developed into an institution, 
 the purpose of which is to prevent other people going 
 their own way, and using every possible means to stop it. 
 The R. C.'s issue commands. The Methodists use bribes. 
 We feel uncomfortable in either method and so have 
 adopted a sort of via media, persuasion, or prayer, 
 mistakenly so-called. If we cannot influence another's
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 53 
 
 will ourselves, we ask God to do so for us. This so often 
 seems to me the tendency of the devout person. But I 
 take it that a person's will is his own, and it is neither the 
 business of ourselves or of God to influence that will. 
 God is Truth, Holiness, Perfection, Beauty, Love personi- 
 fied. "I, if I be lifted up ... will draw all men unto 
 Me." If the attributes of God are not powerful enough 
 in themselves to draw men unto Him, then man is no 
 better than an animal and must be left to himself. Our 
 Lord neither issued commands, used bribes, nor resorted 
 to persuasion. He simply moved in and out among people. 
 And yet it is an absolute fact that practically every parson 
 goes visiting every afternoon with the primary object in 
 his mind, "How can I get this person to church?" I 
 tried to explain to S. that there was another purpose in 
 life. He said, " Dear me, this sounds very revolutionary." 
 That is what we have come to with our ecclesiasticism. 
 We are revolutionary when we try to be human. How 
 true ! I believe these words are well worth meditating 
 on. I seem to see in them the key to many things 
 especially to the deadness of the Church and the boredom 
 of the average parson, however virtuous. And yet here 
 I am the worst offender myself. That is the funny thing. 
 I can hardly ever be natural with people, because I am 
 always after an ulterior object. I sometimes wish there 
 were no church and no services. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 April 11, 1911. I cannot say I have much internal 
 peace. But I don't see how I could expect to have any. 
 I think I am gradually learning, and coming out here I 
 feel to have been so good for me for this very reason. 
 People talk about the value of confession, but I always 
 have preferred to have you as my confessor and perhaps 
 Holy Week is a suitable time. I think I must be infinitely 
 more innately selfish than the average man ; I mean to 
 say that I see quite clearly that I have hitherto been doing 
 everything that I have done from my own point of view. 
 It is terrible how this consciousness of self comes into 
 everything. I cannot attend to what I am saying in church 
 as a general rule. I find I have said prayer after prayer 
 and been thinking about all kinds of things what effect 
 my sermon will have why there are so few people in 
 church, why so-and-so is not there, and so on. Well, I
 
 54 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 feel that until every word I say in church is at any rate, 
 as a general rule said in forgetfulness of everything 
 except what is divine, any church where I am ministering 
 had probably better be empty. 
 
 What I really want to say is that I feel that my time 
 here is being extremely good for me, that successful or 
 easy work w r ould have been very bad, that I am not really 
 unhappy at all, because I see clearly where the fault lies, 
 and I am determined to try and get straight. Now this 
 is quite enough about myself too much. The subject 
 does not really interest me. I am very distressed to hear 
 of the Bishop of Gibraltar's * death. I like to think of 
 his being buried at Smyrna. He was a great and holy 
 man, and it was a privilege to have known him. He 
 certainly has taught me much and been a very good 
 friend to me. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 April 17, 1911. Mowat writes that he wants me to 
 make my headquarters at an Indian home on the Blood 
 Reserves run by C.M.S. I shall be chaplain to the Home 
 and have a large district of homesteaders. It sounds 
 most interesting. 
 
 It seems quite possible the scouts will go well here. 
 We had a splendid afternoon and evening out on Saturday. 
 I took specially chosen boys down the river two miles, 
 where we found a deserted house in an ideal situation, 
 which we at once captured as our headquarters. Some 
 of the people here are rather disgusted with me for going 
 just as they are getting to know me. But I feel it is as 
 well they should not regard us as parish clergy, especially 
 when they do not pay for our support. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 April 28, 1911.7 The very fact of the comparative 
 insignificance of our Church out here makes it necessary 
 to get back to first principles. In England all we needed 
 to do was to maintain a tradition. We had a position, 
 we were established and organised. There was no necessity 
 really to consider the essential place of our Church if we 
 did not wish to do so. But out here things are absolutely 
 different, and one realises the difference more and more 
 every day. We have very little position. Methodists, 
 
 1 Dr. W. Collins.
 
 THE EDMONTON MISSION 55 
 
 Presbyterians, Roman Catholics, all seem to be considerably 
 stronger, richer, more popular, better supported, than 
 ourselves. We are quite neglected, and I think are 
 regarded as comparatively insignificant and obscure. 
 Are the Methodists on the one side, and the Roman 
 Catholics, on the other, the only alternatives ? Is not the 
 chief purpose of the Church that it is called upon to play 
 quite a different role ? 
 
 I cannot help feeling and I don't want to appear pre- 
 sumptuous or critical but simply to make suggestions 
 which may possibly lead to the formation of principles, 
 that the work of the Church is totally different. I believe 
 that the Church is not simply the Church in Canada, but 
 the. Church of Canada not in virtue of the number of its 
 adherents, or its wealth and position, but in virtue of 
 the fact that in every land where it exists it should be a 
 national Church a Church, that is, which is something 
 more than a denomination which strives to win adherents, 
 a Church whose main business it is to strive to enunciate 
 and bear witness to those principles on which alone 
 national, industrial, civic and family life can be built. 
 The Church should be able to rise above denominational 
 strife. It is not a denomination. It is the Catholic 
 Church, whose one business it is to bear witness to the 
 truth, and to show the application of the truth as it discerns 
 it, to the developing life around it. The Church's re- 
 sponsibility cannot be limited to those who nominally 
 belong to it. The question is not, Does this man by 
 virtue of some accident of birth or other circumstance 
 call himself a Churchman or Methodist? but, Is he able 
 to understand at all those principles and ideals which it 
 should be the Church's business to propagate? 
 
 What principles and ideals? They cannot be exactly 
 and definitely stated. Rather they are concerned with a 
 temper of mind, with that attitude towards life which 
 makes the truth the most vital thing, which can afford 
 to be indifferent to success or results or numbers, which 
 sets an infinite value on any human being because it sees 
 something of God's image in every one, that attitude of 
 mind which looks above and beyond immediate interests 
 and is concerned with general tendencies, that attitude 
 of mind which makes our relation with each individual 
 we come in contact with an opportunity. That love in 
 its widest, truest, most disinterested sense is the highest
 
 56 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 motive which can sway mankind, and that loving service 
 is the principle on which everything that is worth doing 
 must be based. Selfishness is the most hideous and 
 glaring vice here. Hardly ever does any one act from a 
 disinterested motive, and this is often, only too truly, the 
 case with religion. Each worker works for his own church 
 and his own denomination. I feel then that the Church's 
 chief work is to set a standard of absolutely disinterested 
 service towards individuals and society as a whole, and to 
 show the way towards a lofty unfettered, unprejudiced 
 search for truth and reality. Hitherto the Anglican 
 Church has been too weak and loosely organised to take 
 up any definite position. But a body like ours, I take it, 
 is almost unprecedented in Western Canada. Here are 
 some eighteen of us gathered together, all united in a 
 common purpose. What is that purpose? Have we 
 any clear sense of mission to this growing national life? 
 We must form saintly personal lives, but we must at every 
 moment bring those lives into intelligent contact with the 
 life around us. We are face to face with a tremendous 
 and vital problem. As far as I can see there is no religious 
 interest in this new life as a whole. We are called upon 
 to make Canada religious, not merely to make Anglicans 
 more Anglican. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 April 8, 1911. I do not think that a clergyman's work 
 should be regarded as a profession. His only point is 
 that by his ordination he has committed himself to live 
 simply and solely for other people, and through them for 
 God; that he is now entirely free from any personal 
 motive. I think this has come more and more clearly to 
 me of late. When I shall succeed in the least in approach- 
 ing the ideal I do not know. The fact of the matter is, 
 that when I calmly and collectedly examine the situation, 
 1 find that from first to last I lead my life for my own 
 sake. Still, I suppose that to a certain extent everybody 
 must feel this, and it is not much use grubbing about in 
 oneself,
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 
 
 St. PauTs Mission, Blood Reserve 
 
 May, 1911. Since I left Edmonton impressions have 
 been crowding on me so thick and fast and I have seen and 
 heard and done so many interesting things, met such a 
 variety of people, been in such beautiful country that I 
 must try and write about it all before I forget. 
 
 I got to Macleod on the evening of May 7; Mowat 
 had come in by train to meet me. Next day he told me 
 my duties and we discussed the work generally. Hall (the 
 Vicar of Macleod) went out to some of the livery barns to 
 see if there was any one in town who would be driving out, 
 and came back saying he had found a lady whose face he 
 knew, but whose name he could not remember, who had 
 offered to drive me. She came round with a very light 
 rig and we started off. She was English, from Bourne- 
 mouth. We drove and conversed for about twelve miles, 
 when she set me down beside a white house on a hill, where 
 she had to go north and I south. I went to the house 
 where some people called Glass lived. Mr. Glass was away. 
 They are Canadians. I found old Mrs. Glass papering the 
 house. She had done it all by herself (she must have been 
 w r ell over sixty), better than many professional paper- 
 hangers. The old-timers can do anything. A young 
 fellow appeared at tea. He hitched up an old mare to a 
 buggy, and the school-teacher, who lodged there, started 
 to drive me a little further on my way, as she wanted to 
 visit some people. We had not gone far, when we met 
 Mrs. Turner, the lady she wanted, riding to meet us. It 
 was getting late and I had four miles to walk to get here. 
 Mrs. Turner insisted on my going home with her and 
 spending the night. The Turners were extremely friendly 
 and made me very comfortable. They have a very nice 
 girl of about fifteen, who dashes about on horseback, rounds 
 up the cattle, milks the cows, and is supremely happy. 
 
 57
 
 58 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 I had to walk four miles to the Mission over a stretch 
 of gradually descending prairie, and eventually the trail 
 dropt down to the river. Across the valley on the other 
 side of the river rose the low banks of the Blood Reserve, 
 the largest in Canada, 500 square miles with 11,000 Indians. 
 Another quarter of a mile brought me in sight of St. Paul's 
 Mission. I was astonished at the array of buildings. I 
 found Mr. Middleton, the Principal, giving out stores. I am 
 to live here and board free in return for taking services and 
 preparing confirmation candidates, etc. Mr. Middleton is 
 preparing for ordination and I had been instructed to offer 
 to help him if he would accept it. He jumped at the offer. 
 
 One of the staff is Miss Wells, who has been a school- 
 teacher here for sixteen years, but has just decided, as soon 
 as a new teacher can be found, to go and live on the Reserve 
 with her old pupils. There is no Missionary at all on the 
 Reserve. The children are taken in here, baptized, taught, 
 confirmed and then sent back with no one to care for them. 
 Middleton, as soon as he is ordained and can find a successor, 
 is going there with his wife. Miss Wells is really a remark- 
 able woman. She is a Canadian, and suddenly asked me 
 at a meal if I was a Liberal, and clapped her hands when I 
 said I was. She came in and talked to me last night. She 
 does not say much, and sits on the hardest chair she can 
 find and chuckles peacefully with her arms folded. She 
 goes whenever she can across the river to the Reserve and 
 stays there till late, working in her future garden. 
 
 But I have left out the most important part of all, 
 the beloved children. I loved them the moment I saw them 
 and have loved them ever since. These are the children of 
 the men whose country we have taken, and whom we white 
 people have done our utmost to corrupt and degrade. I 
 feel we cannot do too much for them. 
 
 I am taking prayers now that Middleton is away. I 
 was to take a New Testament course, and chose the Resur- 
 rection as it seemed to fit in best all the way round. I 
 am afraid I am very unconventional, I draw pictures on 
 the board and tell them stories and make them laugh. 
 But the staff are delighted. I must say I love doing it. 
 The children listen splendidly. 
 
 Sunday evening was lovely. The sun was streaming 
 into the Church and everything was still. The boys and 
 girls were just in front of me and sat perfectly quiet with 
 eyes fixed on me. I felt 1 must try to explain to them that
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 59 
 
 " none is good save God," and we can do no good thing 
 to inherit eternal life. That our part is simply to keep 
 the Commandments in order that God's goodness may be 
 revealed in us. I took my favourite illustration of an 
 electric tram, which stands motionless till the current 
 is switched on, but then can do nothing unless it is all 
 properly fitted and oiled, and kept on the lines already laid 
 for it, and the arm is raised to receive the current. I could 
 not help feeling pleased when G. came round the next 
 morning on some business and came in specially to thank 
 me. He said " It set me thinking, and I see how I have 
 been being selfish to my wife." He also said he was 
 glad E. had been there, as he felt it would help him. E.'s 
 great joy is polo. He had arranged a little informal game 
 for Sunday afternoon. Mrs. H. had told me Mr. H. was 
 going to play, was I very shocked ? I said not if he came to 
 Church. This was the first Sunday for some time either 
 he or E. had come to Church. E. asked me afterwards if 
 I minded their playing. The ground was on his lands and 
 if I did, he would stop it at once. I don't think there are 
 many people out here who would say that. 
 
 St. Paul's Mission. 
 
 May 23, 1911. I am very comfortable here, in fact 
 thoroughly spoilt. I have no chores not even to clean 
 my boots. I mostly sit and read or write. Du Bose's 
 Gospel in the Gospels is interesting me. I always feel 
 inspired after reading a Robertson sermon. It is one of 
 my greatest treats. 
 
 St. PauTs Mission. 
 
 May 30, 1911. On Friday May 28, I started off on my 
 journey to Cardston where I was to take Mowat's Sunday 
 work. I saddled up Pedro and started off on a thirty-five 
 mile ride. Fortunately it was not raining though still 
 cloudy. Everything was very soppy. Pedro carried 
 me well and I got to Helliers, twenty miles, for dinner. 
 It was interesting riding through some Indian villages. I 
 got instructions as to my way over the Reserve to Cards- 
 ton. " Never mind if you miss the trail, you are sure to 
 find some one to direct you." I did not meet a soul. I 
 followed the directions as carefully as I could and rode 
 through a hail-storm. The Reserve is absolutely bare 
 and mostly flat prairie, and very large. I came to a stream,
 
 60 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 crossed it, found various trails, followed the one I was told 
 to, as I thought, and rode on mile after mile. At last I came 
 to a deep valley with a river at the bottom and knew it must 
 be the boundary of the Reserve. I could see a house on 
 the other side at last. I had to ford the river and felt 
 rather alarmed, as I had never done so before. However, 
 I got over safely. I inquired at the house and found I 
 was eighteen miles from Cardston and had come in totally 
 the wrong direction. In fact, I was further away than 
 when I started. Imagine my disgust. There was Mowat 
 expecting me, and I knew he would be in a state if I did 
 not arrive. I could not possibly take the horse much 
 further and did not want to get lost in the Reserve at night. 
 I found there was a " town " two miles further on where I 
 could get accommodation. I realised I was in the Mormon 
 country. I rode on and came to a desolate collection of 
 little sort of packing-case houses on the side of an open 
 dreary hill with snow lying about. I found a store and in- 
 quired where I could get put up. They said the " hotel " 
 was next door. It looked like a glorified packing-case. 
 Downstairs it served as the school and meeting place for 
 the "town" (they really preferred to call it a "city"). 
 Upstairs was the hotel. An elderly, stout, grey-haired man 
 came out and took Pedro, while his wife prepared me some 
 supper. They were regular hard sort of Yankees. Some 
 neighbours came in and talked. Every one was called 
 Brother and Sister So-and-so. I went out with the old 
 man to watch him feed his hogs, and he became quite 
 communicative. I was up at 5 next morning and started 
 away at 6.30. I was not altogether sorry to leave. I had 
 to recross the river and ride for many miles over the Reserve, 
 getting in at about 11 o'clock. Mowat lives in a little log 
 shack. I found a letter on the table for me. Mowat was 
 much agitated at my non -arrival. He had gone to Leth- 
 bridge on his way to Calgary, and unless I arrived at midday 
 and phoned through to him, he would phone to the Bishop, 
 say he could not go, and return to search for me. I was 
 directed to a young fellow called Payne at the Bank of 
 Montreal, who was to look after me, and I had a little con- 
 versation on the phone with Mowat, who was much relieved 
 to hear of my safe arrival. I was to go to a place twenty 
 miles out for Sunday morning service and to drive out that 
 afternoon. Payne drove me in a buggy with two horses. 
 He looks after everything for Mowat, and is extraordinarily
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 61 
 
 keen. The road was terribly muddy and heavy. We were 
 to stay with the Harrises. Mr. Harris is an old-timer and 
 has a ranch with a comfortable log house. Sunday was a 
 perfectly gorgeous day. We had five miles to drive to 
 the school -house where service was to be. Twelve people 
 turned up, a record congregation, and we had a very nice 
 little service. Immediately after service Payne and I had 
 to hitch up and drive back to town, eating cake on the way, 
 as I had to take Mowat's Sunday School at 3.30, and we had 
 twenty miles to go. 
 
 May 31. Mowat was to pass through Macleod to-day, 
 where he expected to spend an hour and a half, so I drove 
 in in the morning to meet him. It was hot and very fine. 
 When we got in I tied the horse up at the station. He 
 looked tired out with his fifteen miles' drive. I was going 
 off to get some lunch when I thought I had better give the 
 horse a feed of some oats I had with me. I did not like 
 to think I was eating while he was standing there hungry, 
 he looked so dejected. So I did a very foolish thing, which 
 I had already been warned against. I took off his bridle 
 while he was still in the shafts, to put the halter in its place. 
 The moment the bridle was off, he gave a snort and off he 
 bolted. There was nothing to catch hold of and I saw 
 him tearing off through the town. It was very hot, but 
 I had to start in pursuit. I tore down street after street, 
 different people directing me where he was gone, in an 
 agony to think Mowat's brand new buggy would be smashed 
 up. Past a school with crowds of children waiting and 
 jeering, I tore. Eventually I found he had got to the livery 
 barn, and had been unhitched by a man and was being led 
 in. Fortunately, no damage was done to the buggy. So 
 I returned to gather up things that had fallen out and to 
 meet Mowat's train. The Patersons were going to put me 
 up that night. As they had a stable I decided to bring 
 Jock round and save livery expenses. I drove him off 
 from the barn and w r as just going to turn him in to the 
 Patersons' stable when he bolted. I had a firm hold on the 
 lines but could not stop him. He tore down the street 
 over the railway track. I saw a motor coming, but was 
 able to turn him off and got out on to a large flat stretch of 
 prairie with no obstruction. Round and round he galloped. 
 At intervals I was able to stop him. But he would start 
 off again. I could see he was thoroughly excited, and I 
 was getting rather unhinged. I did not know what to do.
 
 62 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 I dared not drive back into town again. It was getting 
 late. I saw an Indian tent not far away and drove towards 
 it and called to the Indian. He came up and held the horse 
 while I ran and picked up my hat. I asked him if he would 
 drive the horse in for me, but he did not seem anxious. I 
 tried to lead him, but he started to bolt again. So I decided 
 that discretion was the better part of valour and unhitched 
 him, and put the halter on, while the Indian hitched up a 
 pony of his and drove the buggy into town while I led Jock. 
 We formed an ignominious little procession, but I sighed a 
 sigh of relief at getting back safely. 
 
 Wednesday, June 4. Last Sunday I preached in the 
 evening about the Day of Pentecost, when, as a result of the 
 outpouring of the Spirit and the Apostles' consequent 
 preaching, ' ' they that gladly received the word were bap- 
 tized," etc. I cannot feel I can pitch into people or talk 
 about the duty of church-going and communicating, when 
 I feel that if they cannot do these things gladly they had 
 better not do them at all. The sad thing is that the faithful 
 do not do them gladly. There seemed little gladness about 
 the T's. Still the Apostles only made the people glad by first 
 preaching repentance. I feel more and more convinced 
 that the real difficulties underlying Christianity are not 
 concerned with its content, but with the method of its 
 presentation. Is it concerned with duty and forms? 
 Somehow I feel something must be done and I must go out 
 now and do it. I feel more and more force in the response, 
 " And make Thy chosen people joyful" The underlined 
 words both convey much. 
 
 June 24. I want to go on discussing what you say in 
 your last letter about Inge, 1 the Church, etc. I think your 
 suggested subject to Inge is good. How is the Church 
 to co-operate with the Spirit of the Age ? I cannot agree 
 that the Spirit of the Age is crooked or perverse. I get 
 more and more admiration for the ordinary people I meet, 
 I cannot help admiring people who work so hard and 
 incessantly. Everybody works hard, at least so it appears. 
 A man cannot get on at all if he is idle. I have not found 
 an idle woman, or even a leisured woman, in the country. 
 This is a strenuous country. I seem at present to be the 
 only idle person. Now I take it, the tendency of the age 
 is towards strenuosity, and surely this is a good point. 
 
 1 This refers to the addresses given by the Dean of St. Paul's to 
 the London Women's Diocesan Association on " The Spirit of the Age."
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 63 
 
 There are no luxurious people out here. Even when they 
 get rich they go on working just as hard, it seems. The 
 tendency of the age seems to me to be more dominated by 
 Nietzsche's philosophy than anything else. To a certain 
 extent men out here are striving to be supermen. Even 
 when quite old they will work amazingly hard. This is 
 no country for an idler. They exist, of course, but go to the 
 wall. It makes the people look hard and old and not very 
 attractive. But it seems to dominate everything. And 
 then one contrasts Christian teaching : "It is but lost 
 labour that ye haste to rise up early and so late take rest 
 and eat the bread of carefulness." " Thou fool, this night 
 shall thy life be required of thee, and then that thou hast 
 whose shall it be ? " What is the object of it all ? What is 
 every "one after ? " The dollar " is the usual answer. I do 
 not believe it is altogether so. I believe there is a sort of 
 feeling that life is lost and found in work, and people very 
 often like work for its own sake as well as for what it brings. 
 Somehow one does not feel this is very attractive. There 
 is little thought, few ideals. And yet it is fine. Contrast 
 it with Notting Dale ! How is the Church to co-operate 
 with this ? " By providing the social life," the Methodist 
 says. But how are spiritual things to be brought in ? The 
 country must be developed and progress made as rapidly 
 as possible, as well for the country's as for the individual's 
 sake. But there seems no sense of the spiritual, no desire 
 for it, or room for it as taught for instance through the 
 Sacraments. At its best I should not call it a selfish age, 
 but an unspiritual. What has the Church to say ? That 
 it is " but lost labour" ? I do not feel that is very satis- 
 factory. Is not this tremendous atmosphere of energy 
 something rather new ? What is it all going to end in ? 
 
 These thoughts have been at the back of my mind for 
 some time. I have not yet got them quite clear. I have 
 just written them down as they came to me. I do not 
 think people are very happy. Not that they are unhappy. 
 But they do not think. The man whose talent made ten 
 more, worked, I suppose, ultimately that he might give 
 the ten to his Lord. I believe this is the clue to the problem. 
 It must be lost labour if done for any other end. At present 
 I feel more like the man who wrapped his talent in a napkin 
 not perhaps for his reason but because I am uncertain 
 what to do with it. 
 
 People cannot go on working without some end in view.
 
 64 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Eventually the tremendous work that is being put into 
 this country must reap its reward. What will the man do 
 with his ten talents when he gets them ? Unless the Church 
 is to guide him, he will use them for himself. Certainly it 
 is a strange and puzzling world. Somehow with so much 
 to admire in it, it does not seem very Christian. Meanwhile 
 some of the denominations seem to be pretty successful in 
 co-operating with its spirit and running successful and 
 flourishing shows with untiring energy and efficiency. 
 
 I must stop this effusion. But you raise questions. I 
 think if I have an ideal, it is to try and make other people 
 happy. Only I must have their energy if I am to do so. 
 
 St. Paul's Mission. 
 
 July 4, 1911. A humiliating piece of news has just 
 reached me from Boyd, and that is that a deputation of 
 St. Andrew's ladies waited on him to ask that I should not 
 return. He says they had nothing very definite against 
 me, no more than that I am habitually full of my own con- 
 victions and enthusiasms, and unconscious of the feelings 
 and opinions of others. Boyd says, " I think if I were in 
 your place I should want another try." I answered that 
 he is sole boss, and if he wanted to remove me, was not to 
 consult my feelings in the least, but if he wanted to know 
 what I felt, I was quite prepared to have another try. He 
 is to consult the vestry meeting before any more is decided. 
 I do not quite know how to feel about it. Certainly, I 
 have been very deceived. I left believing that people were 
 sorry at my going at all, and would be glad to have me back ; 
 and now after two months' interval, they come to this 
 conclusion. Of course it is only the ladies, and I imagine 
 only one or two among them who have influenced the rest. 
 I expect Mercer is doing very much better than I was. He 
 is much more agreeable and systematic. Just for this 
 reason I wanted to give Boyd a chance of making a change. 
 But I must say I should feel it a crushing blow if , as a result 
 of a petition of the ladies, I were removed. After striving 
 to build up a parish to be asked to leave it without a word ! 
 People are strangely hard and callous out here. I do not 
 know how matters will end. I have perfect confidence in 
 Boyd. I was going to have written you a long account of 
 my trip with the Professor, 1 but this news is a little over- 
 
 1 Canon B. K. Cunningham, who had come out on a visit to 
 Western Canada.
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 65 
 
 whelming. I am not sure that it is not very good for me. 
 I was rather in danger, at times at least, of thinking myself 
 a persona grata universally. 
 
 We certainly had a delightful trip. We made a round 
 trip going through the mountains by the Crow's Nest Pass, 
 then north along the lakes and back by the main line. The 
 Professor was an ideal companion. It was delightful 
 seeing him. What I said all along was how I longed to 
 take you the same trip ; I wonder if it would ever be possible. 
 
 I feel I am writing a dull letter. Forgive me. I have 
 not yet got over being asked to retire from St. Andrew's by 
 the ladies. How can I put it out of my mind as I ride 
 through the country ? I keep wondering at every place I 
 visit if the people do not want me to come back. I seemed 
 to have been getting on so much better with them. They 
 had nearly all confided to me all their troubles, and every- 
 thing seemed to be going so well ; and then perfectly cold- 
 bloodedly and deliberately, after I have been away two 
 months and am thinking of returning, they go and ask Boyd 
 that I should not come back. I had four testimonials on 
 leaving my old parish and three presentations ; and now I 
 am asked to retire ! Have I become such a terror ? I have 
 hardly had a trial yet. Dear me, I don't really care much 
 where I go, but what can I possibly be to the Church if 
 after six months of, I must say, fairly hard work, I am asked 
 not to corne back ? However, I have had only one letter 
 and nothing was decided, and the vestry had expressed no 
 opinion. Perhaps you can understand what I feel, however 
 wrongly. 
 
 St. PaviVa Mission* 
 
 July 18, 1911. I have just returned from a week's 
 camping to find my mail with various very grateful letters. 
 Boyd writes : " The vestry would not in any way endorse 
 the action of the ladies' committee." I must say I sighed a 
 sigh of relief. It would have been too awful to have 
 been condemned by one's vestry. But a new and weird 
 solution of the difficulty presents itself in the fact that 
 the Dean of Belfast is in Edmonton, and wants to stay, and 
 the St. Andrew's people are trying to get him if they can 
 raise the money. I return to Edmonton next week and 
 wonder where I shall be despatched next. 
 
 I will go on and tell about my boys' camp. We started 
 on Monday morning, there were nine boys altogether. We 
 F
 
 66 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 took two democrats (four-wheeled carts) and one little 
 two-wheeled cart and two saddle ponies. I took my two 
 horses and a tent Middleton lent me. We drove about 
 twenty-eight miles the first day, and camped on the Belly 
 River. The weather was lovely all the time. Soon we left 
 the fenced country, and lost our trail and had to strike over 
 open undulating prairie, covered with long meadow grass 
 full of lovely flowers. We gradually drew near the moun- 
 tains, left the prairie, and descended to the Kootenay Valley, 
 where the river flows out of the lakes. We crossed one 
 easy ford, then a long and difficult one; and eventually 
 came to the furthest and largest lake. I got on a pony and 
 went on with one of the boys to explore. The country was 
 thickly wooded and full of lovely flowers, and such magnifi- 
 cent mountains and the lovely lake to our left. I found a 
 suitable camping ground close to a lovely stream. 
 
 The next day I started to climb one of the mountains 
 with some of the boys. Some turned back soon, but two 
 came with me till we got to a wall of rock which stopped us. 
 We had a splendid view and then clambered down and had 
 a bathe. With the help of some of the boys I prepared 
 supper, which consisted of potatoes, bacon and tinned beans 
 fried in batter in a pan very savoury. 
 
 The boys fished all the time at intervals, but caught very 
 little. I am so glad I do not care about fishing, it simplifies 
 life. I hated going away at the end, it was so lovely, and 
 there were lots of expeditions and climbs I would like to have 
 made. We packed up, took the tent down, and hitched up 
 the horses. We intended to make about fifteen miles. 
 Where we came to the ford we found the two-wheeled cart 
 had broken down over the rough trail. So they tied it 
 behind one democrat and tied the horse beside my team. 
 Taking it the reverse way I missed the ford, and found my- 
 self getting into difficulties in fairly shallow water, but a very 
 muddy bottom. Fortunately the other team saw this 
 and managed to get out all right. Billy, one of my horses, 
 began to plunge and got his foot over the pole. Jock then 
 sank on his side into the mud, and the led horse jumped 
 up between the two and there was a mass of groaning 
 sinking horses, who began absolutely to give up. I was 
 in despair. There was nothing for it but for us to take of! 
 our clothes and get into the water. With some difficulty 
 we managed to unhitch the horses and extricate them. I 
 had to plunge through mud and water up to my waist.
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 67 
 
 A team passed us on the bank and looked at us with interest, 
 but made no effort to help us. The boys waded to shore, 
 but there was the democrat left, stuck in the mud. I got 
 the other team, and one of the boys led it into the water, 
 where the ground was rather better, and I tied ropes on the 
 back of the democrat and hitched the horses on, but they 
 only sank into the mud and groaned. So we unhitched 
 them. I simply did not know what to do, and have never 
 been in such a corner. Then I decided to carry everything 
 to shore. We got most of the things out, and then several 
 of us got at the wheels and pulled, and at last lifted them 
 a little out of the mud. So we decided to try the team 
 again, and this time, to my unbounded relief, after a tug or 
 two and a lift by us, the democrat left the mud and was 
 hauled triumphantly to shore. I have never sighed a deeper 
 sigh of relief. I must have been in the water nearly two 
 hours. It was nearly eight and there was nothing for it 
 but to camp there, which did not matter as it was a lovely 
 spot. It was a gorgeous night, so we just spread the ground 
 sheet and slept in the open. 
 
 Macleod. 
 
 July 25, 1911. My last Sunday was very nice. I had 
 a good congregation at Haslemere. At the close of it 
 the people's warden read a petition for me to stay on, 
 hoping a church would be built and that I would stay to 
 get it up. In fact, everybody was most kind, and various 
 subscriptions were promised; Stand-off people have been 
 very kind and seemed anxious for me to stay on. If I 
 do not return to St. Andrew's I would rather return here 
 if the people would have me. I feel as if I am just getting a 
 hold on the district, and I wrote and suggested this to Mowat, 
 saying I would discuss it with Boyd, but that, of course, 
 they might have other plans. I must say I should like it 
 myself. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 July 30, 1911. Now I am back again and one of our 
 reunions is on. First, I had better say that as far as I can 
 see I shall continue on at St. Andrew's. I gather the action 
 of the ladies did not come to very much, and I am going to 
 ignore it altogether. 
 
 I wish I did not feel Quiet Days such a trial. Canon X. 
 took ours. He was very good in his way. Religion to him
 
 68 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 (to judge by what he says) is perfectly easy and straight- 
 forward. There can be no doubt about anything. Like 
 so many people he kept saying, ' ' I want you to do this, or 
 that, or think this or that." I often wonder whether 
 any one ever does. A little thought is what I cry out for. 
 I spent the day mostly in studying Jeremiah preparatory 
 to giving a lecture on him the next day. That certainly 
 was refreshing. I had also been reading Robertson's Life, 
 for which so many thanks. How abhorrent communities 
 would have been to either of them. They are very similar 
 in many ways. They both made themselves so one with 
 the life round them. Jeremiah feels and lives and suffers 
 for his nation. It was righteousness, truth, holiness of 
 national and social life for which each fought ; not getting 
 congregations, or winning success or preaching dogmas, 
 or even, in a conventional sense, being devotional. Jere- 
 miah did not go to people with a programme of what he 
 thought was correct for them to receive. He hated having 
 to go to them at all, but he could not help himself. He 
 had such a passionate love for his nation, such a loathing 
 of its aims, such a compelling sense of his messages that 
 all disinclination had to be overcome. What a strange 
 man Robertson was ; I think he was the unhappiest nature 
 I have ever read about. But I don't think it can have 
 been a happy age. Pusey, Liddon, Newman, F. D. 
 Maurice were none of them what you would call happy men. 
 They were much too harassed by controversy and mental 
 struggle. We seem to have emerged from the whole 
 conflict into a kind of false peace in which every one has 
 a settled little programme of quiet days, eucharists, medita- 
 tions, etc., and to leave it all at that. That is the heritage 
 of the Oxford Movement. Whatever it may have effected in 
 individual sanctity, it has destroyed the sense of a National 
 Church. It is like Ezekiel in Babylon arising from amid 
 the ruins of his race to re-erect it on a sacerdotal basis. I 
 prefer to go to Egypt with Jeremiah and try to identify 
 myself with the Alexandrian school which produced the 
 Wisdom literature. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 August, 1911. As far as I can see true religion consists 
 in faith in the Resurrection. Robertson has a splendid 
 sermon on the Illusiveness of Life. He shows how, while
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 69 
 
 the whole Old Testament was full of promises, none of them 
 were ever attained ; that while we press on we shall never 
 attain anything. If we did, the world would become its 
 own end. And yet all recent teaching seems to emphasise 
 the fact that there is something permanent, and that is 
 character. I am never happy unless I am in touch with 
 character. This is why I love scouting ; not because of itself, 
 but because it brings me in touch with a boy's character at its 
 primitive period. Here is something real, because here is 
 something eternal. But character is usually regarded as 
 something which is of value here and now only. You can 
 train it and form it now, but its value lies not in what it 
 achieves here, because that is nothing, but in what it is in 
 itself. That is why the history of events is often dull and 
 dead, but that of people full of meaning, as bringing one in 
 touch with what is eternal. But people do not look at life 
 in connexion with eternity. It is the Christian's business 
 to do so, and to show that his whole attitude to life is affected 
 by the fact. He will not be grasping at wealth, he will learn 
 to see sorrow and suffering in its true proportion, and above 
 all, he will feel that his character, apart from the judgment 
 others pass upon him, is his most valuable possession, and 
 will endeavour to do nothing to injure it. And he will 
 find its truest method of expression is in relation to other 
 people. But he will find all this very hard. He will be 
 forced to look outside himself, and he will find that the 
 Christian revelation gives him the means of doing so. He 
 will find in the historic Christ of the Gospels the complete 
 and final expression of all that he aims at himself. 
 
 To his sister Mary 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Aug. 15, 1911. I have been away from home a year 
 now, and yet I do not feel that this country has any sort 
 of hold upon me. I do not understand it. I do not know 
 what people are after. I do not feel inclined to cut myself 
 off from them and call them an untoward generation. I 
 feel they must be studied and understood. I wish it were 
 possible to go about the world and regard people simply as 
 human beings. It is awful to feel that one has to reform 
 and convert them or get them to go to Church. But it is 
 not peculiar to a parson. A business man has to see what 
 he can get out of the people he meets. We all have an 
 ulterior end.
 
 70 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Aug. 28, 1911. The Dean and Mrs. Robinson turned 
 up to lunch last week. He has decided definitely to 
 take charge of St. Andrew's ; and I quite hope that things 
 will flourish under him. At first I felt it rather a wrench 
 to be torn away; people have really been very nice. I 
 cannot now understand the cause of the row at all. I think 
 it must have been fostered by one or two. Now the people 
 are very sorry I am going. I must say I am glad. I shall 
 leave with at least a pleasant taste in the mouth. 1 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Sept. 1, 1911. I am occupying myself mainly with 
 scouts. I have more and more faith in scouting for the 
 boys out here, who without it, get little either of discipline 
 or recreation. This by itself is going to keep me quite 
 busy, and with my studies and taking more or less charge of 
 this parish while Boyd is away, I shall be fairly occupied. 
 I am arranging two courses of lectures one on the history of 
 the Church in the Apostolic Age, the other on some passages 
 from St. Luke, for our next reunion. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 Sept. 25, 1911. I have for years been trying to disci- 
 pline myself and my use of time, but I fear I have utterly 
 failed. I feel all people who have been of any use have 
 managed to do this, and their usefulness depended on it, 
 especially when the object was not simply money-making. 
 It is all very well having a reputation for activity, but that 
 is a very different thing from self -discipline. I am sure a 
 definite routine by which every moment of the day is 
 planned beforehand is a cure for all kinds of evil, the critical 
 spirit, depression, etc. But I must try and make another 
 effort when I get to Edson. 2 In some ways it will be easier, 
 but I don't think circumstances have really much to do 
 with self-discipline. It is equally hard anywhere. There 
 is a kind of dead weight of sloth and disinclination perpetu- 
 ally to be overcome. When I was with Bishop Brent at 
 Halifax, I found he got up every morning at six o'clock 
 and did an hour's writing before breakfast. He said he 
 had always done this. He found it a good plan definitely 
 
 1 A few days later he was presented with a dressing-case from all 
 the ladies of the parish. 
 
 2 He was to be sent to work at a G. T. R. camp at Edson.
 
 ST. PAUL'S MISSION 71 
 
 to compose an hour every day. It did not much matter 
 what. I am trying to write one or two things, but I doubt 
 if I can manage the six o'clock part. 
 
 I am so looking forward to Edson, where I shall have a 
 definite job. I should be wiser when I get there. I know you 
 will pray for help and guidance for me. I feel your prayers 
 have saved me from much; and I have a constant sense 
 that father is caring so much and longing to help me if only 
 I would let him. The sense of a controlling Providence is 
 very wonderful sometimes. 
 
 From a circular letter written October 1911. 
 
 Oct. 2, 1911. I had a letter to-day from my successor 
 down south to say that they have decided to build a church 
 at Haslemere to be called St. James after my old parish (in 
 London). This is the only prairie district I have been in 
 and I should dearly like to know of a church being built 
 there. 
 
 A letter arrived from the Bishop (of Calgary), asking 
 if I could go to a place called Alix, about half way between 
 here and Calgary, out of our district, but for which the 
 Bishop has for some time been trying without avail to get 
 a man. It sounded rather an interesting piece of work, 
 and the Head decided I should go. I am to go down there 
 with Canon Dewdney on Monday. I seem fated to be a 
 wandering stone. It is not an altogether satisfactory part 
 to play, but it certainly is interesting.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ALIX 
 
 Lacombe, Alia. 
 
 Oct. 9, 1911. I must write to you as often as I can at 
 the beginning of my new work and let you know, as far as 
 possible, all that is happening. 
 
 On Sunday I preached twice at Edmonton. When I got 
 back to the Mission House I found eleven visitors ; all the 
 men whom I have been getting to know in town turned up 
 to say good-bye to me. They were very nice, really an 
 exceptionally nice and quite intelligent set of men. I was 
 up at 5.30 and finished packing. They all got up and had 
 breakfast with me. Boyd was very nice. " I shall miss 
 you dreadfully," he said. I don't know why, because I 
 have been a cantankerous member of the Mission I fear; 
 but they have learned to put up with me. 
 
 When I got to Lacombe, where I change to go east to 
 Alix, I met Canon Dewdney, who was coming up from 
 Calgary. I understood he was going to take me to Alix, 
 but he said he wanted to get back to-night and arranged 
 for me to stay the night with Padstowe (the Lacombe 
 clergyman), and go to Alix to-morrow. Canon Dewdney 
 was one of the priests father ordained at his first London 
 Ordination. He worked in North London till he broke 
 down. As he was not allowed to resume London work 
 he came out here and devotes himself to voluntary work 
 throughout the diocese. He goes to any parish that is in 
 difficulties and keeps things going. He has been doing 
 this in Alix for a year. We talked at the hotel the whole 
 afternoon and discussed the work. I go to Alix for three 
 months, but the general wish seems to be that I should 
 stay. There are three churches : Alix, Clive and Mirror. 
 The Church property at Mirror has unexpectedly gone up in 
 value ; and the Church has sold it and invested the proceeds. 
 The other centres will also contribute to my stipend, which 
 
 72
 
 ALIX 73 
 
 the Bishop says is to be 1000 dollars. This seems tremen- 
 dous wealth. 
 
 The job sounds an extremely interesting one, and one 
 that will exactly suit me. Whether I shall be able to do it, 
 I do not know. I am losing a good deal of my self-confi- 
 dence. However, I am only on three months' trial, and 
 shall have Dewdney to advise me. He gave me much 
 encouragement. After he had gone I returned to Padstowe. 
 I am afraid I soon found myself at my old hobby. I dis- 
 covered there were scouts in the town, but they were being 
 badly run. So after supper we went and called on the 
 scoutmaster. He was delighted to have suggestions. I 
 am to see the boys before leaving to-morrow. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Oct. 12, 1911. On arrival at Alix I was greeted by a man 
 who said his name was Panrucker. He is a store-keeper 
 and churchwarden. He used to live at Worcester and had 
 often heard father preach. He took me to the Church, a 
 really pretty little building, white with a red roof, and nicely 
 fitted up inside. I was charmed with it. East of the 
 church the ground slopes down to a little lake. 
 
 My welcome certainly has been extraordinary. I shall 
 have nothing to do with regard to my own arrangements. 
 Everything will be done for me. We discussed the possi- 
 bilities of putting up a little shack for me on the church lot. 
 Then Edward Parlby drove up with his little girl to take 
 me out to his place, about three miles away. 
 
 I do not see how I could have a more interesting and 
 delightful piece of work to do. It seems such an extra- 
 ordinary contrast to everything else. Every one seems 
 determined to make me comfortable and support me in 
 every way as much as possible. Best of all, there is an 
 enormous amount of work to be done, with a vast district 
 which has never been properly visited, and all kinds of 
 railway development, and new towns springing up. No- 
 thing has been done in the past and the people, as they tell 
 me, are longing for some one to come and take a lead. 
 
 Perhaps this is hardly the work I came to Canada to do. 
 But there is nothing pressing up north. So I feel I am right 
 in coming here. Yet I have a kind of uncomfortable feeling 
 I ought to clear out of here as soon as possible. People are 
 really too kind, and I don't deserve it. This cannot be
 
 74 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 called missionary work. I have found no skeleton yet. I 
 am expecting one in every corner, but none appears. 
 
 Mirror, by the way, is named after the Daily Mirror, which 
 has been advertising it a great deal. 
 
 From a circular letter. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Oct. 13, 1911. I walked out two and a half miles in the 
 morning to see my other Alix churchwarden. I found him 
 in his fields stocking his wheat, and I gave him a hand. He 
 took me back to his shack to dinner. I walked back to 
 Alix and then on to the M.'s. They live in a fine sort of 
 villa on a lake called the Haunted Lake. They have a per- 
 fectly endless number of relations all about here. I arranged 
 to come and take a Celebration on Sunday. I walked 
 back on the other side of the lake and visited the H.'s 
 on the way. They also have a delightful house. Mrs. H. 
 said they were so afraid I would not stay as the work was 
 not missionary enough, and assured me there was as much 
 missionary work to be done as on a railway or in a mining 
 camp. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Oct. 16, 1911. Though I have written a lengthy circular 
 already to-day, I feel I should like to send you a special 
 one before I go to bed. I must have been writing stupid 
 letters and grumbling about Edmonton. I expect I was 
 suffering largely from a want of definite work. . . . Some- 
 how I seem to have had to spend my first years of clerical 
 life in uncongenial surroundings. I have been forced to 
 paint pictures of a tree instead of sawing it up into planks. 
 But to drop the metaphor, I care unceasingly less and less 
 whether a man is a churchman or not. I hate and loathe 
 denominationalism, and yet I find I am very denomina- 
 tional in many ways. I long to get away from it, but shall 
 only do so by gradual and careful schooling. My real 
 desire is to strive humbly to live for the truth, irrespective of 
 Anglicanism, Methodism, and all the rest. But one must 
 live in a house of some sort, and I prefer the Anglican style 
 of building. But real life is out of doors with Nature. I 
 want to know people as they are. I want to get them out 
 of their house and meet them on the mountains. Now 
 the only hope for Anglicanism is to try and raise people 
 above the denominational atmosphere. I like our Prayer
 
 ALIX 75 
 
 Book, and am happy when people come gladly of their own 
 free will to join in its use with me. But I believe I really 
 feel at heart though I am always denying it that preach- 
 ing is the main thing. This is a terrible confession. It 
 depends upon what you mean by preaching. The sermon 
 must simply be the expression of the principles on which one 
 is trying to found one's life, and the light which has been 
 revealed to one in that effort. It is not an oration which 
 begins and ends in itself, but it is an attempt at expressing 
 what one is trying to make one's aim. I do not somehow 
 feel that public worship is very easy. Christ went up into 
 the mountain alone to pray. When people collected He 
 preached to them. His worship expressed itself in His 
 life. I somehow feel that getting away and finding myself 
 in a -position of responsibility, alters the whole aspect of 
 things. Everything I say or do is important. If my 
 religion is anything it must show itself in my whole life and 
 to every one I come in contact with. . . . 
 
 My dearest, this is all very negative. Positively I feel a 
 growing desire to give my wretched self to God's service. I 
 feel more and more the sense of His over-ruling care, and 
 want to try and make it my one object to lose myself in doing 
 His will, because I feel so clearly that there is a certain work 
 He wants every one to do. But I must be alone. Somehow 
 getting away here seems to give new life. Will it last ? I 
 believe it may if I can only escape denominationalism and 
 the desire to get people to Church. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Oct. 20, 1911. On Tuesday I went to Lacombe for the 
 ruridecanal meeting. These meetings of clergy are most 
 important. Our deanery has the reputation for being very 
 lively, and we were livelier than ever. Altogether a valua- 
 ble, interesting, and lively gathering ; we may be few, but 
 we are not dead. 
 
 When I returned here I found my two wardens were 
 going round interviewing various people about building me 
 a shack. It was all a little mysterious. I was told nothing. 
 A meeting was called in the evening. They evidently did 
 not mean me to be there, and were going to do it all them- 
 selves. I have never been so looked after. 
 
 The whole situation is strange. I can either be a great 
 success and really have every one with me, or a failure. 
 They are all prepared to do everything to help a man they
 
 76 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 like. But the personal element comes in too much. Some- 
 how I feel on the brink of a precipice. Any moment I may 
 do the wrong thing or say it. Experience has taught me 
 the fatal danger of being run by men who are not what they 
 should be. I feel I always have to be cautious. I am told 
 that if I " take on " I will have every one behind me and 
 the Church will be full. Somehow I have little ambition 
 in these directions. I have no desire to run a simply " go- 
 ing " concern or to be a popular preacher. But what I am 
 so thankful about is that people have opened so effectual a 
 door for me, and that I shall have no worry about ways and 
 means, and that there is such an enormous amount of work 
 to do. The worst of it is, I cannot keep quiet and go slowly. 
 I am already evolving many schemes. 
 
 Calgary. 
 
 Oct. 25, 1911. I came here on the 23rd for a Missionary 
 Convention, and travelled on the train with Canon 
 Dewdney. According to him, the people are anxious to 
 keep me, and I decided that this uncertainty was neither 
 fair on them or on myself, and that I would ask the Bishop 
 if he would make the appointment permanent. This is 
 what he has all along wanted, and as Boyd seems resigned 
 I expect it is all right. 
 
 I was to have stayed with Canon Dewdney, but he lives 
 out of town and I wanted to attend the evening meetings of 
 the Convention. This was one of a series of Student 
 Volunteer gatherings. I heard Mott twice. He impressed 
 me more than ever. I think he is one of the most remark- 
 able men I have come across. He disarmed criticism. (By 
 the way on this point I must make a reflection. If I am 
 critical, I am also appreciative. It is all very well saying " do 
 not be critical." But the people who are not, are often not 
 appreciative either.) He is one of those people who seem able 
 to be non-denominational. He has facts to tell you and he 
 weighs his words. He has no introductions or perorations 
 or apologies, but goes direct to the point, and he is entirely 
 free from any kind of cant or conventionality. The first 
 night he talked about Canada and the task for us here. I 
 was struck by his insight into the real situation. He spoke 
 of the enormous importance of creating true civic life in 
 the big towns, and instanced as examples non-conformists 
 like Spurgeon and Chalmers, and then the present Bishop of 
 London and the late Bishop of London. It was curious
 
 ALIX 77 
 
 to hear father's name brought up in Calgary before an 
 audience mainly of Canadian dissenters to whom his name 
 can have meant nothing. I introduced myself to Mott 
 afterwards. He said he had read father's life three times. 
 He went to see him before he paid his first visit to Russia. 
 He asked me to come and see him in New York. 
 
 On Wednesday the Convention separated into denomina- 
 tional gatherings. We had interesting sessions. I spoke at 
 the morning session on the Archbishops' Western Canada 
 Fund, and said what it was doing. Our gathering, though 
 small, was at any rate a valuable one, if only as showing 
 how insignificant our work was in comparison with that of 
 other bodies, the almost total lack of interest shown by our 
 laymen, the miserable financial support we get. It really 
 is almost incredible how backward the Church is, how 
 unorganised, how short-sighted, the extraordinary oppor- 
 tunities we have missed. However, it is one good thing if 
 at least we can recognise this. 
 
 But I do not feel very attracted by these other bodies. 
 Their enthusiasm and keenness seems to be about so little. 
 When one thinks of all we have to be keen and enthusiastic 
 about in comparison, one may well wonder. 
 
 Calgary. 
 
 Nov. 9, 1911. At the present moment I am sitting in the 
 Synod Hall. This is the afternoon of the third day, and 
 we have sat almost continuously. After this I hope to 
 have more time, and not to have to leave the parish any 
 more. This is the fourth clerical gathering I have attended 
 in so many weeks. I must say I have rather enjoyed the 
 Synod. We have had some pretty healthy fights, and have 
 managed to get through a good deal of business. The 
 interesting thing is to feel that we are really a self-governing 
 body. 
 
 Now I am back at Alix. The weather has turned ex- 
 tremely cold, rather early for twenty below zero. I got 
 back here to find my shack nearly ready. I spent most of 
 Saturday in helping the men who were building it. 
 
 The Rectory, Alix. 
 
 Nov. 17. At last I have got into my shack, and am 
 writing after a heavy day's work clearing things up. 
 
 This place was in an indescribable mess of mortar, sand, 
 paste, etc. The carpenters finished at midday and now the
 
 78 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 last nail has been hammered in. I cleaned the place out 
 and then set to and scrubbed the floor. I find the horses 
 take up a good deal of time. I think it will be very snug in 
 here, though it is very minute. But I have great schemes 
 of fitting things in, with many cunning dodges. 
 
 Alix 
 
 Nov. 21, 1911. The work continues to be interesting, 
 but I am in the stage of realising the difficulties and prob- 
 lems before me. Novelty is worn off and I am regarded 
 as any one else. Sometimes I feel a little uncertain how 
 to proceed, but I am trying to develop a definite line of my 
 own. 
 
 I really think I am better alone. I sit with such a 
 sense of peace and repose in my little shack. I can think 
 my own thoughts undisturbed, and things become more 
 living. 
 
 The Bectory, Alix. 
 
 Nov. 27, 1911. I am trying to arrange my time better, 
 but it is terrible how quickly it can be frittered away. This 
 morning I had everything done by nine o'clock. Horses 
 take a good deal of time. They have to be groomed and 
 watered and fed, and the stable cleaned out. I am afraid 
 I enjoy messing about too much. I am trying to keep the 
 place nice and tidy and clean. There is always wood to be 
 chopped, water and coal to be got in, and I am always 
 finding fresh shelves and things I want to put up. I am 
 arranging an elaborate panelling to cover up the joins of 
 the rough felt paper which lines the inside, and am framing 
 some of my Italian photos in it. I like the young fellows 
 to come in, and most nights have one or two for a meal. I 
 am trying hard to do a little reading in the mornings. I 
 have practically finished Peabody. I think the book is 
 simply admirable. He seems to explain everything con- 
 nected with life; but he says nothing about the Church 
 as an organisation. Christ never seems to have concerned 
 Himself about an organised Church. Yet somehow people 
 must join together in order to realise their highest life. 
 Only it must be done willingly and gladly, and with absolute 
 sincerity of motive. I keep on coming back to this point, 
 and emphasised it very strongly last night. The early 
 Christians continued steadfast together and with one 
 accord, and ate their bread with gladness and singleness 
 of heart. These seem to be the four essential characteristics
 
 ALIX 79 
 
 of the Church. If church services make people bored they 
 fail of their object. If they are urged upon people as a duty, 
 or a favour conferred, they at once appear in a false light. 
 I am trying to work on this basis, but have so much innate 
 churchiness that I find it exceedingly difficult. The other 
 thing I am striving to do is to realise and show that a man's 
 life does, as a matter of plain fact, not consist in the abund- 
 ance of things he possesses, or wishes to possess. There 
 are few texts more applicable to this state of society. The 
 amount one talks about the price of things is really terrible. 
 It is so absolutely soul-destroying; life seems simply to 
 consist in making oneself as comfortable as possible and 
 getting the means to do so. There seems no other object. 
 Have I ever told you one most strange and, I think, sad 
 feature of this life ? that is the almost entire absence of any 
 demonstrated affection? I really don't believe there is a 
 Canadian husband who kisses his wife. You never see 
 couples keeping company. I think they are fond of each 
 other in a way, but they never show it. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Dec. 11, 1911. I must write a Christmas letter, which 
 will probably reach you late, and a wedding letter which 
 should reach you in good time. The only way in which I 
 feel I can mark the occasion is by naming one of my horses 
 Cyril. I hardly know if it would be a suitable name for a 
 horse or a compliment to Cyril. I wonder if matrimonial 
 arrangements are taking a lot of time and thought, and if 
 you are feeling harassed with the complications of life. I 
 suppose I am living what would technically be called the 
 simple life, but my experience is, the simpler it looks, the 
 more complicated it becomes. However, you will not have 
 to cook. Here all the ladies do. It is quite a pleasant 
 occupation. I made such a good oxtail soup to-day. But 
 I should have been writing Christmas letters instead. Such 
 is life. 
 
 As a general principle, I believe in marriage. I feel in 
 my case it would more absolutely change life than anything 
 else. I feel a desire for companionship some one to share 
 one's life and what is more important still, another life 
 for oneself to share. I think marriage must be the greatest 
 means of losing oneself, because a definite person is pro- 
 duced in whom to do so. Otherwise the process may
 
 80 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 resolve itself into vague abstractions, which we consider as 
 desirable, but which do not materialise. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Dec. 18, 1911. I am not quite clear how much I ought to 
 be travelling about, how much I ought to stay quietly 
 here. There are vast districts I ought to be exploring, and 
 every trip makes me find more people I should be visiting. 
 Then I feel I should have quiet for reading and writing 
 here. 
 
 I have more and more a longing to be a real missionary. 
 There is practically no religion except among the few 
 English old timers. I don't want this to appear pessimistic, 
 but only that I feel surrounded by an atmosphere which I 
 cannot comprehend. The mass of farmers, mostly Ameri- 
 can, attend no service and, as far as I know, are absolutely 
 without any religion. I could spend my time going round 
 the English families where I am always welcome, but I feel 
 I cannot ignore the other farmers. Some one must go and 
 see them. I badly want some one to come and help me with 
 the work. 
 
 I now have a delightful team, fast, easy to handle, young 
 and pretty ponies. I was bothered as to what to call them. 
 At last I decided to call one Cyril and the other Bailey to 
 signalise the event of next month. 1 
 
 I have simply heaps of work to do in connexion with my 
 magazine, sending out church almanacks, arranging various 
 Christmas entertainments, carols, etc., and I don't know 
 what else- all futile things' but am flying away on Tuesday 
 after Christmas for a few days' repose at Edmonton. 
 
 From a circular letter. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Jan. 1912. It is interesting to have pretty well explored 
 the larger part of the province. This is the prettiest part 
 I have seen, hilly country, covered with scrub and small 
 trees, mostly black poplars, in some cases spruce. Among 
 the hills nestle an innumerable quantity of lakes of all 
 sizes. The largest is Buffalo Lake, some eight miles away. 
 I look straight out on one from my window. At present, 
 of course, they are all frozen solid, and are excellent places 
 to drive on. The views are sometimes very beautiful from 
 the low undulating hills over the valleys, and very extensive. 
 
 1 His sister's marriage to Mr. Cyril Bailey, of Balliol College.
 
 ALIX 81 
 
 The trails are rough, as they have to go straight, though 
 they have to dodge the lakes except when they are frozen. 
 But they are always raised, and this makes driving about 
 the country very agreeable. 
 
 At this time of year the country is without colour, just 
 dirty brown trees and everything else white. You don't 
 see anything of the earth from November to April. Some 
 ten days ago the thermometer dropped to fifty degrees below 
 zero, but my experience of the country is that the cold is 
 overrated ; people exaggerate and remember the exceptional 
 rather than the normal. We do have it cold and bitter, 
 freezing in the true sense, so that unless one takes care, 
 one's face or hands or feet freeze. But it does not last 
 more than a week or so at a time. All one has to do is to 
 keep' quiet during the cold spells, and to realise one cannot 
 do much outside and wait for a chinook (a west wind). 
 This is ideal, perfect weather and a splendid time for 
 getting round the country, as the trails are so good and 
 sleighing is delightful. The nights are gorgeous. One 
 feels so well. 
 
 The towns present the great problem for the future out 
 here. Here I am at Alix six years old ; seven miles to the 
 north is Mirror, six months old. I must explain about the 
 church there. Some seventeen years before the town of 
 Mirror was ever dreamt of, the early settlers had built a 
 little church, St. Monica's. Seventeen years later the G.T.R. 
 determined on a town site there, and bought the fifty-nine 
 acres belonging to the church for a sum which will bring in a 
 yearly endowment of eight to nine hundred dollars. I 
 believe it is the only endowed church in the diocese. It has 
 made my work possible here without outside support. The 
 endowment has procured me a splendid team, buggy and 
 sleigh, and is available for about half my income. Fourteen 
 miles west by rail is Clive ; between here and Clive is Tees, a 
 very small place which is rapidly dying; to the east nine 
 miles is Nevis, a very minute place. 
 
 Of course the really important people in the past and 
 present are the farmers. They have made the country, 
 and till now the business people have existed for them. We 
 stand on a dividing line. The country is changing from a 
 purely farming one, to one with its possibilities of railway 
 and mining developments, but the farmer will always 
 continue to be an important person, and the real influence 
 behind all development.
 
 82 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Just round Alix is one of the most interesting settlements 
 in Alberta. Some twenty-five years ago the brothers 
 Parlby, sons of a Devonshire squarson, made their way as 
 pioneers into this part of the country. They were followed 
 by other English families. This forms the English settle- 
 ment. They all have nice houses and nice things in them, 
 some have motor cars, some are able to go home for the 
 winter. 
 
 It is because of these primarily that I am here. They 
 built St. Monica's Church at the present Mirror, seventeen 
 years ago ; now with the help of a few English townspeople 
 they have built St. Pancras Church here, and provide 
 400 dollars for my stipend. 
 
 As far as I am concerned I might be in an English country 
 parish, but all around are the regular heterogeneous mass 
 of Alberta farmers, with many settlers from the Western 
 States. You could not imagine a greater contrast to the 
 English; interspersed among them are Canadians from 
 Eastern Canada, ordinary English settlers, half breeds, 
 foreigners of different nationalities. 
 
 My district extends in almost all directions as far as I 
 can go. There is a clergyman twenty-five miles west at 
 Lacombe, another twenty-five miles east at Suttler. To 
 the north the next man is entirely out of reach. I have 
 a love of exploration and each trip discovers some one of 
 interest. But it is difficult to find time to do much 
 exploration. 
 
 I am a tremendous believer in the importance of children's 
 work not merely Sunday School work. In the country 
 districts the children have a very uneventful life ; as soon 
 as school is over they go home and do chores. They seldom 
 play or know how to. When they get older they ride all 
 over the country of an evening to a dance or anything that 
 may be going forward. But I believe that the mirthless, 
 uncivil western manner is due to the fact that they were 
 never children in the proper sense of the word. They 
 remind me of the calves I used to see in Turkey, which looked 
 more like small cows than calves. The children are small 
 men and women. I love getting up any kind of children's 
 party or entertainment. I have had some delightful ones 
 since I have been here, the main object of which was a good 
 old romp. The children loved them all. Now I have dis- 
 covered a wonderful invention a Radiopticon, or post- 
 card projector. I have collected children once or twice to
 
 ALIX 83 
 
 see it, and they have loved it. I am getting a magic 
 lantern for services and larger audiences of adults. 
 
 Then there is the vital question of co-operation with other 
 bodies. I am experimenting, and prepared to go almost 
 any lengths. I think I feel prepared to do anything so 
 long as I make it perfectly clear that I consider our branch 
 of the Catholic Church infinitely superior to theirs. But 
 after all " the Church " is not really the pressing problem. 
 This is a new, rapidly developing country, and it needs 
 guidance. We need something beside a Church for 
 churchpeople. This certainly is needed. But still I feel 
 that sympathy is what is needed most, and I fear churchi- 
 ness sometimes destroys sympathy. The parable of the 
 Good Samaritan teaches a lesson the mere " priest " needed 
 to learn. If this be granted, we cannot set any limits 
 to our neighbour. I feel I should go wherever I am 
 welcomed, and not bother to ask questions about their 
 denominations. 
 
 This is an independent country, and I have always had 
 an independent disposition. Freedom absolute, unfet- 
 tered, is an essential. It is limited only by one thing that 
 is, charity. Rivalry, intolerance, working against others 
 in any form are and must be an abomination. But charity 
 does not necessarily involve approval of other people's 
 methods. It is not really so much a question of approval, 
 or disapproval, as whether one should feel limited in any 
 way by what others are doing. It is not my business really 
 to criticise another body or to compare it with my own. It 
 is doing a work. " Forbid it not " Christ would say. But 
 He still went on His own way quite independently of it. 
 Help it if possible to do its work better. Love its repre- 
 sentatives and adherents as much as any one else. Do 
 anything in your power with this object. But this does 
 not necessarily " weaken your position " (how I loathe this 
 ecclesiastical phrase) or " compromise " yourself. As long 
 as you do not commit yourself I do not see that it matters 
 what you do. Never surrender in any way your private 
 judgment or rather your individuality. 
 
 These are the principles on which I have been striving 
 to act. Now for the application. 
 
 Mr. D. is the only other minister here. He is a Presby- 
 terian. I have just returned from a Bible study which he 
 and I have organised conjointly with members of our 
 respective congregations. He read a lesson at a special
 
 84 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Christmas service I had in our church. He even came 
 and communicated at a special weekday Celebration I once 
 had. I did not exactly invite him, but I told him I was 
 holding the service, and though I could not invite him, I 
 could not refuse him. I am not clear whether it was 
 exactly wise, but I enjoyed the service all the more for his 
 being there. 
 
 Mr. M. is the Methodist minister at Clive. I asked him 
 to read the Lesson on Christmas Day, when he and his choir 
 attended and sang the anthem. He has asked me to speak 
 at the anniversary of his church. 
 
 Mr. Me. is the Methodist student at Mirror. I understood 
 that he was having a little difficulty in finding a place for 
 his services. I phoned to him that I would be only too 
 glad to let him use our church at any time when I was 
 not using it. He thanked me, but did not avail himself 
 of my offer as occasion did not arise. He called later and 
 said he was thinking of changing his evening service to the 
 morning once a month and would be very glad if I would 
 hold an evening service on that day, as several young men 
 who were in the habit of attending in the evening might 
 drift away. 
 
 From all these cases nothing but good seems to have come. 
 I raised the whole question at our ruridecanal chapter 
 last week and we had an interesting discussion. Some 
 thought I had gone too far ; others sympathised, but said, 
 " Do not go too quickly." 
 
 I have three churches : the one here is a nice little sort of 
 suggested cruciform wooden church, that can hold fifty, 
 with a congregation varying from eight to forty people. 
 The bulk of the congregation is made up of the English 
 country people. The Rectory, a shack 22 ft. by 12 ft., 
 was built soon after I came. It is hardly large enough, as 
 I have a man living with me now. I have a slip of a bed- 
 room. We have to cook, eat, live, and he to sleep in the 
 main room, 12 ft. by 16 ft. 
 
 An ex-colour sergeant who was in South Africa is with 
 me now. He does all the chores, which is a very great 
 comfort and looks after the horses well. 
 
 The church at Mirror l built seventeen years ago is 
 almost the oldest church in the province. It is rather a 
 
 1 Oswin had belfries put up on the churches at Alix and Mirror 
 from drawings made by himself of French belfries at Quebec. These 
 greatly improved the look of the churches.
 
 ALIX 85 
 
 dear little snug log building. The church at Clive is an 
 absolute white elephant, the prime movers in building it 
 have recently moved away; it is double the size needed, 
 and it cost double what it is worth, and there is a debt of 
 1100 dollars on it. I am supposed to receive 200 dollars a 
 year from Clive but have made over my stipend towards 
 the reduction of the debt. 
 
 The work is exceedingly difficult and perplexing. It is 
 a great school for learning discipline and patience. One can 
 rest on no false security. The Church is not a respectable 
 or respected institution. One is forced back to what is of 
 the essence. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Allx. 
 
 Jan. 7, 1912. You wrote to me about luxury. I don't 
 know that I have any clear views. I like it when I get it. 
 But I can well do without it. Sympathy is far more im- 
 portant. It is the one thing really that makes life worth 
 living. It is all very well saying that it is better to love 
 than to be loved. That is really not the point. What one 
 longs for is people who want one's love natures that will 
 expand to one's own. How Christ seems to have longed 
 for sympathy. " What, could ye not watch with Me one 
 hour ? " But chores can become a bore because they 
 absorb time. Christ had time to talk to the woman while 
 the disciples did the chores, i.e. went off to buy provisions. 
 I have missed so much lately the time for writing. Now I 
 have a weird man living with me who does all the chores. 
 This certainly is conducive to the peace and profitableness 
 of life. Also plenty to eat. That is necessary. The Son 
 of Man came eating and drinking. He was always ready 
 to sit down to a good meal when invited. But these things 
 settle themselves. Take what God sends you and don't 
 worry. Do your best and trade with your talent, and all 
 these things will be added unto you. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Jan. 10, 1912. One should be able to do chores and still 
 have time for other things. I believe the harassing sense 
 of having something to do concerned merely with the busi- 
 ness of keeping life alive is more soul-destroying than any- 
 thing else. I begin to see how the working classes so easily 
 sink into a listless apathy about anything else than their
 
 86 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 bodily welfare. It is so much easier for people who have 
 no chores to attend to spiritual matters. Somehow the 
 chores themselves must become part of one's religion. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Jan. 17, 1912. I had a visit this morning from Captain 
 Worsley, the Inspector. I think he really came because he 
 and I are great friends. You remember I spoke of him at 
 Edmonton. He is a nice man. All the men in the force 
 almost worship him. He is absolutely straight, very 
 strict, and does his work extraordinarily conscientiously. 
 Worsley has a great admiration for me. He wonders why 
 I work in a place like this and thinks I ought to have large 
 educated congregations to preach to, so I am afraid he is 
 not very good for me. People are funny ; at one moment 
 they complain that the clergy are so inferior, and at another 
 they wonder why they waste their time on such small 
 congregations. 
 
 I seem to get on so much more easily with older than 
 younger men. I can usually get on with married men or 
 boys, but not with men of my own age. I believe that this 
 has always been my trouble. Here it is just the same. I 
 cannot get on with any of the young fellows about town. 
 I don't feel I am in the least on friendly terms with any one 
 of them. I don't think they dislike me. I engineered a very 
 successful smoking concert at the Institute last night. The 
 place was crowded and every one enjoyed themselves. 
 But I never seem to get to know them. I invite them in at 
 intervals and they seem quite to enjoy coming. But they 
 never drop in, nor have they ever invited me to their places. 
 
 I meditated recently on the words, " And when He saw the 
 multitudes, He was moved with comparison, because they 
 were distressed, and scattered as sheep not having a shep- 
 herd." His motive was always one of compassion. He 
 saw how distressed and scattered they were and longed to 
 help them. The sheep here certainly are distressed and 
 scattered. Distressed because they nearly all seem so 
 utterly to lose sight of the real meaning of life, and to miss 
 the happiness that might be theirs, independently of out- 
 ward circumstances. Scattered well that is obvious no 
 cohesion of aim or unity of purpose. What He felt was 
 needed was a shepherd. But the good shepherd goes before 
 and calls, and the sheep follow because they hear his voice. 
 It is one they have learned to love and trust. He does not
 
 ALIX 87 
 
 go behind and say you ought to go to church or have your 
 children baptized. The shepherd must be a good one, not 
 a hireling a professional. " Yes, you are paid to do that." 
 People must trust him for what he is. Otherwise he is 
 useless. The shepherd's motive, then, must be compassion 
 for the sheep. His power must be an attractive, not a 
 compelling or inducing one the pure light of his own 
 inherent goodness. And above all, he must learn patience 
 and be ready to go slowly and to fail over and over again. 
 The sheep will not always listen to the voice, however 
 sweet. 
 
 Do I make myself clear? Need I worry because H. 
 does not attend church and Mrs. S. does not have her 
 children baptized ? "Be not anxious " says Christ. He 
 never seemed to worry. To be certain of oneself and of 
 one's own life and purpose, to live one's own life but not 
 hide it under a bushel, these are the main things. 
 
 Dear me, if one knew God better and was more sure of 
 oneself, free from distraction and worry, built on a rock, 
 leaving issues to God; for after all we work for Him and 
 with Him. 
 
 Bores are a difficulty. I wonder how Christ would have 
 treated them. Perhaps the man who said he would follow 
 him when he had buried his father was one. A stern answer 
 is the only thing for them. 
 
 Well, I have discoursed enough, only do throw a light. The 
 Church as an organisation can only exist on lines of abso- 
 lute freedom. Its only power must be one of attraction. 
 We talk much of liberty, but free countries only seem to 
 issue in trade unions, etc., which wield an extreme form of 
 tyranny. Let the Church point to the true meaning of 
 liberty. Let it cease to be anxious about money, etc., and 
 let its members be sure of themselves and what the Church 
 means to them rather than what influence it has on others. 
 
 To his sister Gemma (Mrs. C. Bailey) 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Jan. 22, 1912. I am so glad the wedding was so nice and 
 father seemed so near. He does seem wonderfully close 
 and his influence seems an absolutely undying rather a 
 growing one to all who ever knew him. 
 
 I am feeling rather happy at present. I am a little sen- 
 sitive, you know, and little indications of late have made me 
 feel that certain people who I thought despised me do not
 
 88 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 think so badly of me after all. A number of young men 
 were in church last night of this kind some of whom had 
 never been all the time I have been here ; and I succeeded, 
 in my own estimation, in expressing to the utmost of my 
 ability a large part of my gospel, saying what I really 
 think. It was not a popular sermon, far from it, but it 
 interested and helped me. I meditate on a subject for a 
 week and then preach it in different ways, three times 
 maybe a Sunday. At the end it seems to shape itself. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Jan. 27, 1912. I think what people out here, and for 
 that matter everywhere, need above all things is happiness, 
 joy I am surprised to find how much this word comes in the 
 Gospel and what a prominent place it has in our Lord's 
 teaching and life ; it is the Church's first business to show 
 people that Christianity holds the real key to this. It is 
 when I go and visit people in this frame of mind that I feel 
 my visit has been justified. People do so need real friends. 
 I am sure there can be no higher object in life than to go 
 about and just try and cheer people up and enter into all 
 their little troubles, making them, when possible, a part of 
 one's prayers and leaving ways and means and difficulties 
 to God. I am beginning to feel it must be a crime to let 
 oneself become depressed or worried. It must be fought 
 against for other people's sake. How happy Christ seems 
 to have made people as He went in and out among them. 
 They heard Him gladly. I feel it all very uphill at times, 
 especially after a day in Alix, where people grumble and 
 gossip and are selfish and inhospitable but so unhappy. 
 So I am going to try and force myself not to worry or be 
 depressed. Don't think me lonely. I am fortunate in 
 having a few people like Walter Parlby I can really talk to. 
 The family letters and yours above all are a continual joy. 
 True joy is an inward possession and must not depend on 
 circumstances. How wonderfully God helps one if one 
 only lets Him. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Feb. 21, 1912. Somehow father's example is always 
 before me, the expression that he gave to all that was in 
 himself, by self-discipline and self-control, and in his rela- 
 tionships with others, courtesy, consideration, understand- 
 ing, the unfailing desire to help and to give himself. I do
 
 WINTER IN ALIX, 1911.
 
 ALIX 89 
 
 not think that any one should, under any circumstances, 
 approach any one else with any other motives. But parsons 
 are always being exhorted at Quiet Days, etc., to be parsonic 
 in their methods ; even Mr. R., who is not very parsonical, 
 said the best visits we paid were those in which we had some 
 special object, e.g. to urge some one to Confirmation. I do not 
 believe there should be any such special object unless it 
 comes quite naturally. 
 
 I am hoping that I shall find the solution to many things 
 by working among the children. I have always felt my 
 peculiar gifts answered best in this direction. I had the 
 children at the school for a special evening yesterday. I 
 taught them how to cut out paper animals, played games 
 and showed them the Radiopticon, and the children were 
 very happy. It has resulted in my launching a scheme for 
 forming a children's club. The teachers are very enthusi- 
 astic, and so are the parents I have consulted. The man 
 who brings me milk, who has a large family and is an old- 
 timer, said to me this morning, " You are the first who has 
 shown any interest in the children since we have been 
 here." The children are wild about the idea. 
 
 I do hope people will send me slides for the beloved 
 children's sakes. I don't think I must spend any more 
 money myself. Leading the simple life makes me wonder 
 how people manage to spend so much money on themselves. 
 I don't think I would spend any more if I had it ; I would 
 on my work though, that I can understand. 
 
 It is midnight. Good-night, my beloved mother. Writ- 
 ing to you is no duty. It is one of my chief joys. I am 
 afraid this must be because it is all about myself. To other 
 people I hardly mention myself. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 March 1, 1912. Perhaps I have exaggerated a Uttle in 
 talking about people's unhappiness here. Perhaps it is 
 more the want of happiness than actual unhappiness. 
 Occasionally one meets some one who is content, but as a 
 rule they are the people who have never experienced any 
 other kind of life. Most people do certainly strike me as 
 discontented. That is why they are always moving away 
 and shifting about. Certainly this ceaseless worry after 
 money makes life ugly. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 March 7, 1912. Your quotation from my early letters 
 amused me. I think I largely hold still by the opinions
 
 90 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 there expressed. The people were kind and the country 
 people still are, but I must have bored the townspeople. 
 The job is too good for me. I am not good enough for it. 
 The work is interesting still, but that does not make it any 
 easier. 
 
 You are quite right, I have no business at all to be 
 depressed. It is foolish and sinful. I think it all comes, 
 though, from the rather difficult position a parson out 
 here is bound to be placed in. Here, to be a parson is to 
 be a missionary really. If only one kept that point of view 
 clearer, I think it would be easier. But one tries to make it 
 a profession and to organise, which I believe is a mistake. 
 
 We certainly do not live in a beautiful age. Here beauty 
 is almost totally lacking ; there are no ideas, thoughts, or 
 outward expressions of beauty. If you admire a sunset, 
 you are asked " Haven't you got over that yet? " I used 
 to think it a hospitable and friendly country. It is so in the 
 real country on the farms, but as soon as people become 
 collected together, it all seems to vanish. The English 
 community in the country here is a little oasis that really 
 has kept alive the idea of beauty outwardly and inwardly 
 to a very large extent. 
 
 Edmonton. 
 
 March, 27, 1912. On Tuesday I came down here to find 
 there was no sermon as I had expected, but I had arranged 
 to take the lantern to St. Andrew's. I found Bailey looking 
 up an old lantern to take over to Calder, so I at once volun- 
 teered to take my own and drove over with him. It was 
 very nice picking up old ties again, and I told them of the 
 connection between the Church there and the mission in 
 Sirdar Road (in St. James's Parish, London). I had just had 
 a letter from a girl who sells balloons at Lancaster Gate and 
 who subscribed to the Cross I put on the Altar at Calder ; 
 and it turned out that the churchwarden's wife there 
 had often bought balloons off the same girl. 
 
 On arrival I walked to the churchwarden's house at 
 St. Andrew's and found the W.A. ladies gathered there. 
 I enjoy picking up old relationships so much. The boys 
 are very nice. I am carrying one off to Alix to-morrow. 
 He seems wild with excitement, but will find it very dull 
 I fear. I find it difficult to write because I have been talk- 
 ing so much. I seem to want to let off a lot of superfluous 
 steam pent up for the last three months.
 
 ALIX . 91 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Good Friday, April 4, 1912. I am trying a Three Hours' 
 Service here to-day. It sounds pretty bold, and I don't 
 expect any one will come. However, I thought I would 
 like it for myself, and decided to read the Lessons from the 
 Cross for my own benefit and thought I might as well read 
 them aloud in case any one might care to come. I don't 
 think I ever remember having missed the Three Hours. 1 
 must go and light the fire in the church. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 April 10. For the first hour of my Three Hours' Service, 
 Sid came in and he and I were alone. Then he went out 
 and a Mrs. L. arrived. For the last hour there were eight 
 people, but I was glad I held the service. We (or perhaps I 
 should say I) sang all my favourite hymns and read all the 
 Good Friday psalms, and I so much enjoyed reading 
 father's addresses again. I loved them very much. 
 
 I started on Easter Day with a Celebration here at 8.15. 
 Sid had some breakfast ready for me and the horses all 
 hitched up and we drove off at once to Clive, getting there 
 at 11.30, where I held another Celebration while Sid gave 
 the horses a feed. We then drove eighteen miles to Mirror, 
 munching sandwiches on the way, stopping to rest the 
 horses and have a cup of tea at the Walter Parlbys' and 
 getting to Mirror at four, where I held a third Celebration 
 and after it a vestry meeting, and then drove back here 
 to Evensong at 7.30. No organist turned up and we had 
 planned to sing the psalms and I had to play and do every- 
 thing. Four services and forty miles' drive was fairly 
 severe. Next morning, to rest the horses, I walked over 
 to the Haunted Lakes to give Mrs. M., who had been ill, the 
 Communion; after church walked back here and had a 
 picnic by the little lake with the Alix children. Then after 
 a hurried supper to the Bible study circle. Next morning 
 I grappled with the Parish Magazine and drove twelve 
 miles to give a lantern show. This afternoon a practice 
 for a concert to be held here on Friday, then drive to an- 
 other school-house to give another comic lantern show; 
 to-morrow drive eighteen miles for a baptism, party, and 
 Celebration next morning, back here for the concert; 
 Saturday meet scouts on the way to Clive, then drive to 
 Clive for a parochial gathering with lantern in the Church, 
 then ten miles south for a Celebration on Sunday morning,
 
 92 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 back to Clive in the afternoon, back here for the night ; 
 Monday, if possible, go to Edmonton for the end of the 
 Reunion and a little peace. Such is life at present, so you 
 see it is hard to write letters. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 April 29, 1912. I am sitting down to write to-day, 
 feeling, I must own, utterly discouraged. It is no use 
 trying to get away from the fact, but I am an absolute 
 failure here in Alix. One must judge to some extent 
 by congregations; at least, when they get smaller and 
 smaller as the weather gets finer, it is difficult not to form 
 conclusions; even the nominal churchpeople do not at- 
 tend. I thought it my duty to plod on, and pay no atten- 
 tion, but I don't see how one can go on for ever. They toil 
 to get up a concert to pay for this miserable little shack and 
 drive in miles in a blizzard, but simply ignore the Church. 
 Easter passes with nine communicants. Good Friday is 
 ignored and celebrated by the town with a fair. What do 
 the facts point to ? Either I am an utter failure and abso- 
 lutely unsuited to the place, in which case my course is 
 clear to make room for some one else; or the people 
 are grossly heathen and materialistic, in which case I 
 would much rather not take their money. I had much 
 rather go out and work for my living. The whole thing 
 seems such a mockery. I have felt it for some time, but 
 have tried to say as little as possible and wait. "Be patient," 
 every one says. Yes, but that does not mean sitting with 
 folded hands and saying " Kismet." Isn't there need for 
 some one to take a decided line and to show people that 
 the faith they hold is a matter of life and death, and one 
 for which they are prepared to sacrifice everything? 
 
 My dearest, I hope this is not a naughty letter. It is 
 not exactly that I am depressed, but I find it hard to 
 justify the organised system of the Church when people 
 utterly disregard it. I have given my life and despite my 
 failings, I hope I shall never falter to the spread of Christ's 
 Kingdom. I am ready to do anything rather than make the 
 whole thing a mockery as at present. Would it not really 
 be better if I were to go out to work and earn my own liveli- 
 hood, and be of some economic benefit to the community, 
 than be supported by people who don't in the least care 
 about the Church? 
 
 Perhaps this is all too personal. I want to look at it from
 
 ALIX 93 
 
 the Church's point of view. Can I, judged by the facts, 
 in any sense claim to justify my continuance here as a rector 
 of an organised parish? Am I using the best years of 
 my life to the best purpose? Can it be good for people 
 to have an ordained man, with the amount of education 
 I have had, at their disposal only to ignore him ? Seriously, 
 looking at the situation from the highest point of view, 
 would it not be better to go out to work, and organise 
 minute little congregations who would put Christ first, 
 and would have a little reasoning quality and exercise a 
 little discipline ? A rector, a rectory, an organised parish 
 with churchwardens, delegates to Synod and all the rest, 
 seems such an utter mockery. 
 
 Well, it is not much use going on like this, but there is a 
 lot 'of steam I have bottled up for some time, and I feel I 
 must let off. Forgive me if it has gone with too great an 
 explosion. But I do long to do something in the cause of 
 Christianity. Tell me perfectly plainly what you feel 
 and think. I will do anything, sell my horses, walk round 
 the parish and live on charity, far rather than this utter 
 mockery. 
 
 April 30. Before I send my letter off I feel I must add 
 a little. I half thought I would tear it up. But no, I 
 think I will let it go, as you want to know what I am think- 
 ing, and you had better know the truth. The most cheering 
 part is the kindness of people in England. The piano has 
 been such a joy. 1 I had a little gathering in here last night 
 of the chief members of the Bible Study Circle. We sang 
 and played a lot, and had a most enjoyable evening. These 
 people are all very nice and good and friendly; but they 
 don't care in the least about our Church. I went and 
 had a talk with my churchwarden about things. I im- 
 plored him to be absolutely candid. He said he knew of no 
 " kicks " against me ; had heard no complaints except that 
 I did not always choose sufficiently familiar hymns. He 
 told me I was being childish when I said I did not much like 
 accepting the last cheque he had given me. It is beyond 
 a Westerner's comprehension how any one can refuse a 
 cheque. 
 
 Outside of my work there are many delightful things. 
 I sat out by the lake yesterday morning and was surrounded 
 by wild ducks, crows, woodpeckers and blackbirds singing 
 delightfully. The first flowers to come out are the wild 
 
 1 Some friends in England had subscribed to send him a piano.
 
 94 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 crocus. But it takes a tremendous time for things to get 
 green. As I look out of the window the trees look just as 
 dead as in winter and the grass brown. But as I look close 
 into the grass I see it is beginning to get lovely and green. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 May 8, 1912. I am afraid my last letter must have 
 disgusted you. It is very hard not to get like that some- 
 times. I do not think there is any real objection to myself. 
 At least I cannot get at it. The fact is, that almost every 
 one is practically entirely wrapt up in their own schemes 
 and concerns, and doesn't care really for religion or any- 
 thing else that is a disturbing element to their own selfish- 
 ness. I told a man this morning who told me about his 
 latest deal, that he was always money-grubbing. He said 
 he would not be here unless he wanted to make money. I 
 imagine that is pretty general. Even a nice boy like D. C. 
 told me that he refused to go in for any kind of amusement 
 or sociability as long as he was here : all he wanted to do 
 was to work and make his farm pay, and he would think of 
 other things when he went home again. 
 
 Our children's party came off last night and was really 
 a delightful show. There was no charge an unheard-of 
 thing and we entertained the parents and friends, and 
 fed them on buns and lemonade for nothing. The children 
 really did very well, especially the little girls who did a 
 scene from Alice in Wonderland. They also sang and 
 acted a lot of old English action-songs Miss Reed had taught 
 them. But the house was most brought down when Miss 
 Reed and I sang, " I will give thee the keys of heaven." 
 I absolutely let myself go, and the audience was greatly 
 tickled. It was a perfectly informal evening, and people 
 sat about anywhere, and the children danced in and out 
 among them as well as on the platform. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Alix. 
 
 May 16, 1912. I find I suffer from lack of hard work. 
 Life seems composed of endless little futile things. If I 
 stay round Alix my time seems to fly away and nothing is 
 done. People are extraordinarily non-friendly here. I 
 don't know that I would call it unfriendly, as probably they 
 mean nothing. But it is a negative attitude and nothing I 
 can do can break it down. The country-people are different,
 
 ALIX 95 
 
 and I enjoy a day's visiting outside. But I have a sort of 
 feeling I ought to be doing more for the people here. I feel 
 they regard me as a kind of freak and can see no reason for 
 my existence. 
 
 How one longs to lead one's life to some purpose. When 
 one gets away and considers religion in the abstract, it 
 all seems so clear and inspiring. Then when one comes 
 back to deal with people in the concrete, one seems utterly 
 in the dark. I suppose, however, that parsons are useful 
 people to have that is to say, if they try to be consistent. 
 Their profession forces them continually to inquire into 
 questions and problems the solution of which, if they were 
 not parsons, they would probably take some narcotic, as 
 mother calls it, work or dissipation, to stave off. Sometimes 
 I cannot help feeling a little amused at the way I live out 
 here, contrasted with life in England. Here I am called a 
 rector, living in a rectory. In England I should probably 
 be the most important person in the village and have the 
 largest house. Here I have quite the smallest shack (not 
 even painted yet), live pretty well the simplest and cheapest 
 life, and am the least important person in the place. Of the 
 two I really think the latter is the best plan. But I can 
 well see how men used to English ideas drop out of the 
 ministry into lay life. As a missionary it is difficult to 
 keep the missionary spirit alive when you feel people 
 despise or ignore you. As a " rector " it is difficult to 
 maintain a purely solitary dignity. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 May 25, 1912. I tried to gather a little meeting of people 
 to study natural history. G. was very keen about it, 
 and I asked him to write a paper on birds. The meeting 
 proved a failure as no one turned up but Miss M. and Miss 
 R., and two who came in late, but he read us a really delight- 
 ful paper, and I was charmed to find such a beautiful soul 
 behind a quiet and unobtrusive nature. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 May 26, 1912. It is a difficult life out here. I wrote 
 one letter in a bad moment showing something of its extent ; 
 but here I am and I don't suppose it matters much where 
 one is. Everywhere there is an equal opportunity for 
 being Christ's witness, and after all that is all He tells us 
 to be. This is always much in my thoughts at Ascension 
 time ; and there certainly is as much need of a witness to
 
 96 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Him here as anywhere else. Platitude though it is, it 
 cannot be said too often that the issues are His. 
 
 I find the piano rather a snare, I fear, at times, and get 
 more and more fond of playing and am amusing myself by 
 learning a little thing of Tchaikovsky by heart. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 June 5, 1912. I really love being here. I love this 
 independent life. The country is charming and there are 
 many nice people. If I were to go in simply for enjoying 
 life I could do so very easily. But one must justify one's 
 life by doing something, and fight against it though I try, 
 I cannot get out of the way of using Sunday services 
 as the measure by which to test one's usefulness. Sundays 
 really are depressing days. 
 
 My seeds are gradually coming up. I hope they will be 
 nice when you come. My Smyrna boy writes that he has 
 not changed his mind and still hopes to come in the New 
 Year. I find at present I am rather liking being alone. 
 Summer chores are very much fewer. I don't want another 
 boy at present. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 May 30, 1912. I don't think I want to leave here even 
 when most depressed. I have been moving about too much 
 lately, and except for some very special reason would rather 
 stay three years here before contemplating a move. I shall 
 have times of depression, but I recover fairly rapidly. 
 
 I took your advice and walked over in the pouring rain 
 
 and tackled . He is an awfully good fellow. He said 
 
 he had had a quarrel with the Church in the past. They 
 owed him money, but it had eventually been settled after 
 he had vowed never to have anything to do with the Church 
 again. I said it was a good thing to forget the past. He 
 said that was quite right, but supposed the real fact was, 
 
 people did not care about the Church. Mrs. began 
 
 making all sorts of excuses about being tired, etc. He said 
 it was nothing to do with that. They simply had lost all 
 interest. Then I went to the X's. I discovered that she is a 
 convinced agnostic. So is he I believe. But he at any 
 rate admitted that life as a Christian would be more en- 
 joyable; at present it was just a bore. The ignorance 
 people have of the Church is amazing ; and when I tried to 
 explain things all they answered was, as others have said 
 to me before, " Oh, but the Church does not teach that, you
 
 ALIX 97 
 
 cannot be a proper churchman." They seem to set up an 
 imaginary Church and then start to demolish it. 
 
 Boy Scoui Camp, Parlby Lake. 
 
 July 17, 1912. Picture me lying in a large barn with 
 some twenty-five boys. We have made a pile of hay in 
 the middle, and hung a lantern from the centre of the roof, 
 so that we all lie like the petals of a daisy with the lantern 
 behind us. It is earlier than usual, so I am letting the boys 
 who like read while I write, but silence must be kept. 
 Here we have been since Monday week. We have had rain 
 every single day, but it has not damped our ardour in the 
 least. Mrs. Parlby has been simply splendid and has done 
 everything for us. I started with twenty-eight boys 
 from round here and some from Edmonton who came down 
 with Cookie. Everything has gone very smoothly and 
 easily. I cannot imagine anything more useful than a camp 
 like this. The boys are happy, people round like it, parents 
 are appreciative ; we are inundated with invitations to tea. 
 On Church Parade Sunday we were feted by the Alix Board 
 of Trade on ice-creams. This week we are quieter, not 
 going out, but trying to do more work. I have managed 
 everything, so have been pretty occupied. I shall have a 
 varied summer : reunion, camp, ruridecanal gathering here, 
 your visit, and then the Mission of Help. 
 
 In August I went to Alberta with one of nay daughters to see 
 Oswin. We stayed at Calgary and Edmonton, and with the Walter 
 Parlby s at Alix. Oswin accompanied us on a trip through the 
 Rockies and to Victoria. 
 
 Alix 
 
 Sept. 23, 1912. I am ashamed that I have not written 
 to you sooner, I seem to have been very occupied since you 
 left. 
 
 On Sunday evening I drove on after service at Mirror 
 fourteen miles to Bashaw. They were not quite certain 
 of my arrival, and no preparation had been made ; but a nice 
 little congregation of about twelve gathered together in 
 the doctor's consulting room. I found the nice Raynors, 
 the druggist from Peterborough. They are quite the most 
 hospitable couple I have met in the west, and their little 
 diminutive 8 ft. square kitchen is at any rate home to two 
 stray men. Good news had reached me previously that 
 we had had two lots given us to build a church on by a real 
 H
 
 98 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 estate man who wants to develop his property. We are 
 going to try to raise 300 to 400 dollars before spring, and 
 build a little church there costing about double the amount. 
 We have arranged to collect some of the people at a picnic 
 on Friday, and see what can be done. 
 
 I did not feel after I had said good-bye to you that I had 
 succeeded in saying anything I wanted to ; I said no word 
 of how I had loved having you and Mary out here. I feel 
 that the whole visit was a successful one in many ways, 
 much more so than I dared anticipate. It was really just 
 like being at home again. Certainly I gained a whole 
 heap of new ideas resulting from talks with you both. 
 Your visit helped me enormously in countless ways. 
 
 From a circular letter. 
 
 Alix 
 
 Nov. 26, 1912. Much of my time and interests is being 
 absorbed in preparation for my winter campaign, to take 
 place after Christmas. I am having a " caboose," or 
 mission van, built, a wooden framework covered with 
 canvas to go on sleighs. I am going to drag it from place 
 to place in the country districts, stopping about a week at 
 each place, and holding a series of lantern services and 
 little gatherings of children, etc. I shall set it down outside 
 a school-house and visit all round and try and really get to 
 know the people in the different places. I hope to be 
 able to have a little altar at one end, so as to hold Celebra- 
 tions for people who have not been able to have one for 
 long ; to baptize children and look for possible confirmation 
 candidates. I am going to make it as snug and warm as 
 possible inside. To my great joy Mr. Boyd is going to lend 
 me Cookie, from the Mission, for January and February, so 
 I shall not be alone. The farmers are the most important 
 people out here. This is the slack time, when they have 
 nothing to do and things are very dead. I feel it is a 
 great experiment, but I have been encouraged to make it 
 by my fellow clergy and it may prove an experiment of 
 general value. I must say I shrink from it a little at 
 times. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Dec. 2, 1912. On Saturday I drove to Bashaw. It 
 turned very cold, with a bitter wind, dropping I believe to 
 about eight below zero, and I was nearly frozen when I
 
 ALIX 99 
 
 arrived. Sunday was just as cold. The hall where we had 
 morning service was simply freezing. The water froze on 
 the Paten at the oblations, and the people huddled round 
 the stove. Even so there was a congregation of nearly 
 twenty, with nine communicants. I had a horrible drive 
 of twenty-two miles back here, where there was a very 
 small congregation. I then drove to Mirror for a Lantern 
 Service, and finally back here, getting in about eleven o'clock 
 after forty miles driving altogether. I was very tired and 
 slept till late this morning, and then had to clean up in here. 
 Six scouts arrived on the afternoon train. At four o'clock 
 crowds of children arrived, but no Miss Reed, and the shack 
 was packed with scouts and little children, and I had to try 
 and amuse them all. Then I got supper for seven scouts. 
 Then more local ones arrived, and we rehearsed our play 
 and practised different things and finally games till ten 
 o'clock. Three are now sleeping in my double bed. 
 
 Dec. 9, 1912. I have been much engaged in building my 
 caboose. Mr. Hickling has been doing it for me. In the 
 afternoon I worked with him. We built it straight away 
 on the sleighs and finished the floor. Next morning we got 
 the sides up and started the roof. Next morning we fin- 
 ished the roof, put on the canvas walls, put in the windows 
 and practically finished the construction work. I imagined 
 I had engaged Mr. Hickling to do the job, but he would not 
 take a cent. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Dec. 16, 1912. I do not feel I can launch into a discussion 
 of the Virgin Birth, etc. I think I feel it is rather essential 
 to believe in it ; and I cannot help feeling it a little presump- 
 tuous for a person to reject it. You have to set yourself 
 up as knowing better than other people. There are a great 
 many things which one must accept purely on authority. 
 They are the unimportant things. If St. Luke says Christ 
 was born of a virgin I am content to leave it to him. 
 Personally, I can see no difficulty and I am rather bored with 
 people who think it necessary to make a fuss about it; 
 I wish they would make more fuss about all the things that 
 the Church is supposed to teach and does not. Let these 
 be attacked. 
 
 I feel at intervals a terrible poverty of spiritual life. I 
 suppose it is a healthy feeling, as it probably shows I have 
 been thinking more about it lately. I have been trying
 
 100 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 to give some addresses on Prayer on Thursdays this Advent. 
 Practically no one has come to them, but they have had the 
 advantage of making me try and think the subject out 
 again. Also Inge's lecture on " The Mystic as worshipper " 
 set me thinking. ... I think we must face things as we 
 find them. We cannot force ourselves into grooves that 
 were not intended for us. Neither can we start at the 
 wrong end. I think we have to get back to the beginning. 
 Sympathy, love, whatever one likes to call it, is the one 
 thing that really matters. I think the true mystical and 
 sacramental side of life will then follow. If I am feeling 
 kindly and sympathetic, and I feel that there is a bond with 
 those who are present, then the Holy Communion can be 
 the greatest joy. I know these people and I do really 
 care about them. And if I have not cared for them as 
 much as I might, the very fact of their kneeling there beside 
 me draws me to them; I forget that which has irritated 
 me in them; they are on the same all-important quest. 
 Even if I do not know them personally, I can feel a bond 
 with them. I don't want any teaching or explanation or 
 theory. I am content with a feeling which is stronger in 
 proportion as my feeling of love is stronger. So with all 
 teaching and preaching : if it flows from the heart ulti- 
 mately disciplined by the will and arranged by the mind 
 it will be all right ; otherwise, it will feel wrong. I have 
 been perplexed how to help these boys of mine to care about 
 religion. I had badgered them about going to church. I 
 have given them little books of prayer. I don't feel either 
 has helped much. The one thing that matters is tha.t I 
 should love them aright, for their own sakes, not my own. 
 I read to them about the Baptist just now, and tried to 
 explain and then talked to them about prayer and asked 
 them if they would like me to pray a little and they said 
 they would, and I tried to quite simply. These are the 
 times when one gets down to realities and feels one's own 
 absolute paucity. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Dec. 7, 1912. I have been rehearsing the scouts for their 
 play afternoon and evening. I have a strenuous time of 
 Christmas entertainments before me. I seem to have been 
 wasting all my money buying toys for the children. To- 
 morrow I and the mother of some delightful children and 
 wife of a commercial traveller are giving a joint Christmas
 
 ALIX 101 
 
 party to some of the children and their parents. People 
 are not very good at entertaining the stray bachelors, and 
 I am inviting some of them too. I want to do what I can 
 to make a happy Christmas. 
 
 Tuesday I spent with the Parlbys finishing the caboose. 
 We had tea in it. It is really most elegant inside. The 
 ceiling is covered with wall-paper put on in elegant panels 
 with little strips of stained wood ; the floor is stained and 
 oiled. Mrs. Parlby made me some sweet little curtains. 
 She is also going to make an Altar frontal and has given me a 
 handsome pair of old brass candlesticks. The door and 
 outside trimmings are painted dark green. There is a 
 little stove inside which keeps it very warm. 
 
 Dec. 29, 1912. The craving for definiteness about the 
 vital things of life seems to me to make everything so 
 small. People cannot learn that the truth is the only 
 necessity and that a definite indefiniteness is better than a 
 false definition. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Jan. 8, 1913. Here I am rapidly recovering from a slight 
 attack of the flu. I have thoroughly enjoyed a peaceful 
 day ; it has seemed such a strange thing. 
 
 Times of longing for some real spiritual experience are 
 very strong at intervals. But the answer to the longing 
 clearly is that the only way to get a deeper spiritual insight 
 is by quietly and patiently plodding away correcting 
 faults doing one's work better getting away from oneself 
 more. What I think is the real difference between the parson 
 and the layman is that the parson is forced to go on trying 
 if he cares at all for his work, while the layman can give it 
 all up let it go and be content with a mildly prosperous 
 and respectable life. I don't see how a parson could ever 
 become contented except in a false atmosphere, and I always 
 come back to the fact that the kind of experience I have 
 here forces me back on myself, and while I must pass 
 through the misery of realising the extent of my faithless- 
 ness and the prevalence of sin, yet at any rate I can start 
 with something that is real if ever I do build something 
 that will last. 
 
 This is dreadfully introspective. Sometimes I have such 
 a burning longing to talk with father about all these things. 
 But surely we may believe that he understands and can 
 help quite as much as if we could still see him.
 
 102 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Jan. 13, 1913. I have been doing nothing these last 
 days but get the caboose fixed up. Cookie and I have 
 been at it till nearly 10.30 to-night. I had to change it 
 from the sleighs to wheels this afternoon. My terror at 
 present is that the ponies will never be able to draw it. I 
 reckoned on snow. There has been practically none this 
 winter, which is very unusual. 
 
 Jan. 24, 1913. I suppose I told you what a terrible 
 business I had trying to start the caboose. When I 
 hitched my horses to it they nearly ran away, and then 
 seemed unable to pull at all, only jumped about with excite- 
 ment. I had to get a man with a stronger team of horses 
 to come and pull it. 
 
 In the Caboose, Nevis. 
 
 Jan. 26, 1913. I still feel doubtful about the whole 
 experiment. The whole thing is a little elaborate, and 
 while the difficulties as I have so far proved are not in- 
 surmountable, they are very great. I feel it is all a little 
 too fussy. After all I am here to preach Christianity, and 
 though I feel so much in the dark as to how it should be 
 done yet I do not feel fussiness helps. More and more I 
 am feeling the almost terrible responsibility of a parson's 
 work. It is so easy to obscure the whole purpose of it 
 all that of being Christ's witness under a mass of schemes 
 and plans and shows. And here Christ's witness has to be 
 borne in solitude. 
 
 To be real that is the main thing. I don't think it 
 much matters what one says or does, so long as it is real. 
 I think people are suffering from a religion that is not 
 real. I have been trying to get at one or two people's 
 reasons for standing apart from it all and I feel that at the 
 back of their minds this is the reason. At home we often 
 accept religion as we find it and don't ask any questions. 
 Out here people do. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Bashaw. 
 
 March 3, 1913. You say my last letter was depressed. 
 Well, after Christmas I was terribly depressed for a while. 
 It passed off in the caboose, however, and has not come 
 on again since. It is really only Alix that has this effect 
 upon me. For the last week or two I have been here at
 
 ALIX 103 
 
 Bashaw, on and off, and it is unadulterated pleasure being 
 here. Young Bickersteth joined us at the end of our 
 time at Mirror, and was with us on the move up here. I 
 told him we would have a royal welcome, and so we did. 
 There is nothing the ladies will not do. There are about 
 five who are always sending us cakes, fruit, bread, milk, 
 etc., and we are thoroughly spoiled. It certainly is nice 
 being welcomed for a change. There is lots of work 
 here scouts being started, confirmation classes to be 
 started, lantern and radiopticon shows, a church to be 
 built and much visiting. I went a voyage of exploration 
 last week, and found, another town fourteen miles away, 
 with some six Church families and only an untrained 
 Methodist student on alternate Sundays. Also another 
 little place, where a Scotch storekeeper said they were just 
 waiting for a minister to come in, and had promised to 
 support the first who came. My churchwarden at Alix 
 says I am trying to do too much, and very much resents 
 the idea of my closing down on alternate Sundays there. 
 So you see I am pretty busy. It is sad how heathen 
 people grow up here. Two little boys came in the other 
 night and I asked them if they said their prayers, and 
 one (about twelve years old) looked at me and said, 
 " Prayers, what is that ? " But even as I write this, it 
 sets me thinking. Even if a little boy did know something 
 about prayer, would that make him much better ? I think 
 I feel more and more that no religion is better than some. 
 I don't know if that is quite right. St. Paul thought that 
 as long as Christ was preached, the way did not so much 
 signify. But I think what we suffer from, more than lack 
 of so-called religion, is unreal religion. People are not 
 opposed to religion only bored. If it were real, they 
 would not be bored. And it is terrible how unreal so 
 much of it is. I try very hard only to say what I really 
 feel. But it is difficult to keep away from catchwords. 
 And how terribly unreal prayer is ! I wish I could feel 
 a little clearer about prayer. In some ways I feel it is 
 the most important of all things. Our best work is done 
 by means of prayer. Prayer is work, but we are always 
 in danger of saying that work is prayer. I mean that one 
 prays in one's work. Surely the object of prayer is to 
 give God a chance. Is it too credulous to believe that 
 He will really do the work we ask Him to do, and that 
 if He will not, we had better not try without Him ? You
 
 104 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 know Luther's much quoted remark, " I have so much 
 to do that I must find three hours for prayer." And yet 
 I have been irritated by pious people who pray much 
 but do little. Inge also troubled me a little. To the 
 mystic, he says, prayer is not even intercession, but 
 solely the effort of the soul to enter into union with God. 
 I wonder whether I like the mystic. When he has attained 
 his end cui bono ? I see much mystic fervour among 
 some clergy. But it so often goes with a general kind of 
 slackness and incompetence and futility that I wonder 
 if it is really very desirable. But if prayer is work and 
 is (despite Inge) intercession, and if we work and God 
 works and we talk over all the work with Him and let 
 Him direct it and do the major share, then it is different. 
 
 The Mission House, Edmonton. 
 
 April 3, 1913. I have taken a week of absolute but I 
 hope not unprofitable laze. I have written nothing and 
 read little, but talked incessantly, discussing with the men 
 here. There has been such a lot to talk about. 
 
 We started with a Quiet Day taken by Morris of Regina. 
 He finished with a very strong appeal for our tackling 
 the question of unity, for which I was very glad, and Boyd 
 asked me to lead the prayer-meeting we always finish up 
 with, for this purpose, which I gladly did. I do feel that, 
 while no one has any definite proposals to make, the 
 desire for unity is growing tremendously, and must some 
 day lead, if not to any organic unity, at any rate to a 
 removal of the hindrances which disunity put in the way. 
 
 They turned me out of the Mission at the Chapter Meet- 
 ing. They are quite right. I cannot any longer claim a 
 vote at the Chapter, when I am working quite independently 
 of the Mission. Instead I am an Associate, and can make 
 free use of the Mission House. 
 
 A lix. 
 
 April 26, 1913. I feel I must have it absolutely definite 
 that I am back for Christmas 1914, and the reason is this. 
 The longer I stay here, the more I begin to feel myself 
 getting rooted in this country. The longer one stays away 
 from home, the easier it is to get reconciled to the fact of 
 being cut off from it. I don't know if you will under- 
 stand me. It is not that one's home affections grow any 
 weaker. But this country and my work here are very 
 absorbing and increasingly so, and the tendency is for
 
 ALIX 105 
 
 home to become more and more of a memory and less and 
 less an essential part of my present life. I think this is 
 what happens to most Englishmen, especially to young 
 men. Each year they spend here makes their desire to 
 return less. But I am quite clear in my mind that this is 
 wrong. I do not intend to let myself get absorbed in 
 this country yet. What I am driving at is, that I feel 
 that in any eventuality I must return home next year, 
 not just for a holiday, but as a free man, to decide when 
 I get back, and not till I do, where my permanent work 
 is to be. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 May 19, 1913. The burning, passionate love of God 
 is what one longs to find somewhere, and one looks in vain. 
 I have been thinking so much of this lately. When I 
 preach on love of our neighbour, I nearly always feel I 
 am preaching to sympathetic ears. The practical, moral, 
 neighbourly side of Christianity has a strong appeal, and 
 people are prepared to make much sacrifice in response 
 to it. But how hard it seems for us to go on to the First 
 Commandment. Yesterday was Trinity Sunday, and I 
 always feel the necessity of trying to make God more of a 
 reality at this time. Isaiah in the Temple seeing the Lord 
 high and lifted up ; a corrupt, official, traditional Temple ; 
 but still the place of revelation to a man who loved his 
 fellow-men. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 June 13, 1913. You very cleverly managed to send me 
 a letter on my birthday. It was a singularly uneventful 
 day. Thirty seems to be getting rather old. I believe 
 a man is supposed to begin to be at about his best then. 
 But I do not think I am as old as most people at thirty. 
 I do not feel I have found myself at all yet, and feel no 
 ground for self-satisfaction in any direction. Somehow 
 when I begin to look inside everything seems wrong. But 
 I believe little good comes from self-examination. One 
 must plod on and try and do a little better and not worry. 
 There are so many things to correct that I do not know 
 where to begin. I cannot get away from myself in anything 
 I do. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 June 22, 1913. You say the Second Commandment must 
 come first in practice. This is a question that often puzzles
 
 106 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 me. For most people, yes. " If we love not our brother 
 whom we have seen, how can we love God whom we have 
 not seen? " But people have said to me that it is only 
 because they are trying to love God that they force them- 
 selves to love their uncongenial brother. Perhaps it would 
 be right to say that the love of God is the motive, but 
 the love of one's neighbour the method. We love God 
 by loving our neighbour. I have just been reading 1 Peter 
 over. How singularly beautiful it is ! What a beautiful 
 conception of life ! I had been talking to a bank boy 
 on ambition, the greatly prized virtue of a progressive 
 age. But as generally understood it has a terribly killing 
 effect. We sacrifice everything on the altar of progress. 
 But the reason for it all, I cannot help thinking, is that 
 such a negative Christianity is preached. The bank boy 
 said to me, " If a man does nothing he is called good." 
 A great deal of truth underlies that. We have moral 
 reform leagues, temperance societies, etc., which say, 
 " Do not." Man craves to live and to have something 
 to live for, and popular Christianity gives him merely a 
 negation. And then you turn to St. Peter and see how 
 life was such a tremendously positive thing to him. 
 " Above all things being fervent in your love." " Seek 
 peace and pursue it," etc. To turn this great value set 
 on ambition to ambition in the service of others seems 
 the great task of the Church. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 June 27, 1913. Dickson x stayed the night on Monday 
 and on Tuesday morning we had a Celebration together. 
 Then I set to and scrubbed the floor of the parish-room 2 
 to which I devoted the whole day. I was joined later by 
 a man, and then a woman, and we stained and oiled the 
 floor, cleaned the windows and stained the woodwork. 
 Wednesday I rode to Mirror and met Pym, and went 
 over to our camping-ground with some of the Mirror boys 
 and a load of stuff, which we made into furniture on arrival. 
 We have got a simply splendid camping-ground, right on 
 a beautiful beach of Buffalo Lake. 
 
 July 5, 1913. I have just come back from the first 
 week of the scout camp. Every time I have another of 
 
 1 A layman who was teaching Mr. Parlby's son, and helping 
 Oswin in his work. 
 3 This had just been built on to the shack.
 
 ALIX 107 
 
 these camps, I feel the same things there is nothing I 
 enjoy more and there is nothing that seems more worth 
 while. It seems possible in two weeks' time almost to 
 alter a boy's character utterly. You can watch them 
 change. It is rather like watching the flowers come out 
 here in the summer. Then I gain more experience each 
 camp, and I trust, greater wisdom. It is really beautiful 
 there on Buffalo Lake, right away from everywhere and 
 everybody. I love the flat lake and flat country and the 
 great expanse of constantly changing sky, and the lush 
 green and flowers everywhere. I have been most fortunate 
 in having Pym to help me. I could not have had a better 
 assistant. We have worked hard and got through a lot, 
 and the boys feel they have really been learning some- 
 thing, and all my enthusiasm and faith in scouting has 
 been aroused again. 
 
 Calgary. 
 
 July 21, 1913. Synod is over and I am staying on a 
 few days in Calgary by way of a little holiday. A Synod 
 arouses my enthusiasm greatly. It seems to me the 
 ideal form of Church Government. It was most interesting 
 to see the keenness of the laity. They by no means left 
 things to the clergy, and they largely outnumbered them. 
 
 We all dispersed, feeling that quite a lot had been 
 achieved and interest aroused. I am amusing myself by 
 calling on various people. Yesterday I had a busy day. 
 In the evening I preached at the Cathedral. I did enjoy 
 preaching to a large congregation, and I think I managed 
 all right; so many men. It is quite a holiday being 
 in a city. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Aug. 8, 1913. I found at Bashaw that we had now over 
 500 dollars in the bank, the sum we had decided we must 
 have before starting to build. So we had a little meeting 
 and decided to build a church costing 800 dollars. I at 
 once set to and drew up plans, which I have now worked 
 out, and have been getting various estimates. I am hoping 
 we may succeed in having a really pretty and yet cheap 
 little church. It is amusing me a good deal getting the 
 plans out. It is to have a little apse and a vestry with a 
 gable roof, a porch and a belfry, so as to relieve the barn- 
 like appearance, and will be plastered inside for warmth. 
 The plasterer has even suggested moulding two Corinthian
 
 108 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 pillars on either side of the chancel. The Bournemouth 
 G.F.S. have offered to make hangings and frontals. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Aug. 26, 1913. I went and had a long talk with Arch- 
 deacon Dewdney. He thinks I ought to join a preaching 
 order, and wonders if my vocation is to be a regular parish 
 priest. But I have always felt it to be a great danger to 
 become a " preacher," and if one cannot be a parish priest, 
 the whole purpose of a parson's life surely must end. I 
 must say I do enormously enjoy preaching, or as I would 
 rather call it, teaching. That is what I so much miss 
 here. There seems no chance of classes of any kind. 
 
 I had to make a second trip to Bashaw last week, taking 
 the mason up with me and getting him started on the 
 foundations. I worked myself all the afternoon, and felt 
 I should like to be a builder. 
 
 I am much looking forward to Gregory's 1 arrival, which 
 I expect next week. 
 
 Sept. 7, 1913. Gregory arrived on Thursday afternoon. 
 I had the horses harnessed and drove him off about two 
 hours after his arrival, and we only returned last night. 
 He is now engaged in making apple tarts while I am 
 writing. 
 
 Alix 
 
 Sept. 16, 1913. I have been largely occupied in taking 
 Gregory round and superintending building operations. 
 On Tuesday I stayed round Alix while we made furniture 
 for the parish room. On Friday morning we both worked 
 at the stable at Mirror. On Saturday morning I went to 
 Mrs. Whitworth and got her to cook me some fruit for jam. 
 I prepared the fruit and we made about sixty pounds. 
 In the afternoon I had a gathering of about fifteen boys. 
 We played French and English on horseback, my favourite 
 game, in the moonlight, and very exciting it was. I gave 
 them all tea in the parish room, on a beautiful large trestle 
 table Gregory had made, and we played Up Jenkins and 
 sang songs, and six boys spent the night in the barn. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Sept. 22, 1913. The Archdeacon has turned me on to 
 write a paper on " methods of teaching religious truths," 
 
 1 A grandson of the late Dean of St. Paul's, who had just left 
 Oxford and was coming to help Oswin for a year
 
 ALIX 109 
 
 and I have been struggling with it all this morning. It 
 is a pretty vast subject. I begin by saying that we are 
 not so much concerned with religious truths as with the 
 truth as a whole, and that what we have got to do is to 
 make the fact of a living ever-present Christ a reality. 
 If this is so, the question is whether building churches 
 and organising services which do not supply any felt need 
 is the best method. 
 
 I took Gregory off with me on Wednesday. We made a 
 great tour of his district. I left him after Sunday service 
 at Clive. I am planning to fit up the vestry there for 
 him, and to let him w.ork the whole district on his own. 
 I believe a person ought to be as independent as possible 
 and to work out his own ideas. I always vowed that 
 when I had anyone to work for me I would let him go on 
 his own lines. 
 
 Bashaw. 
 
 Oct. 14, 1913. I am at Bashaw struggling to get the 
 church ready for dedication next Sunday. I worked hard 
 as plasterer's assistant last Thursday, holding a confirma- 
 tion class in the middle. On Sunday, after morning service 
 at Alix we had our harvest thanksgiving at Mirror, where 
 the church for a change was crowded. I spoke very 
 straight to the people and said how they neglected their 
 church, which had been built nineteen years ago by the 
 old-timers, and now with a town growing round it was 
 almost disused. I hope I did not say too much, but I 
 felt I must say something when I saw so many of our 
 churchpeople there, who had barely entered the church 
 during the last year. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Oct. 21. On Saturday the Bishop arrived. I drove him 
 direct to Bashaw, where we had a little evening reception 
 for him. Next morning an early Celebration, and at eleven 
 Mattins, Dedication and Confirmation. The Bishop was 
 delighted with the church. There was a large congrega- 
 tion; the service altogether was most beautiful. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Oct. 29, 1913. Wednesday last week I went to Bashaw 
 and emptied out the caboose, fitted up a little vestry 
 there with a bed and a stove; then I took another bed 
 and various other belongings and fixed up the vestry at 
 Mirror. As we have built a stable there I shall be able to
 
 110 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 stay there when I like. So now I have three homes, and 
 am going to spend my time equally between the three. 
 Gregory's arrival has made all this possible; the Clive 
 district was so detached from the rest. 
 
 I have been enjoying life. Everything to do with the 
 church at Bashaw has been so delightful, and it is such a 
 nice little church. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Nov. 5, 1913. I was immensely interested in The Inside 
 of the Cup. Not for anything it said, I felt myself con- 
 tinually in disagreement. It professes to deal with 
 religion, but really touches only the outer edge. But 
 there is an evident desire for truth and a hatred for 
 untruth. And he does show, what I have always felt, 
 that so many people who stand apart from religion do so 
 because the religion they see professed is not the truth 
 or inspired by a desire for truth. At any rate it has done 
 this for me it has made me more and more deter- 
 mined to try and preach truth and truth only, and to try 
 and live in conformity with it, a desire which I hope I 
 always had, but which has been encouraged. I do not 
 know that there are many people who want truth; but 
 even if they are few, they are the people who count. I 
 think it is this desire for truth which promises to lead the 
 way to unity. There cannot be unity without truth, and 
 if there is truth there must be unity. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Nov. 26, 1913. It is no use disguising the matter, but 
 I am feeling very worried. At last I have got to the root 
 of the matter as far as Alix is concerned. When finally 
 
 the X s, the staunchest supporters in town gave up 
 
 coming to church, I decided to go and tackle him direct. 
 At last I got it. I am tactless (the old failing, which has 
 made me enemies all through life and which I find it so 
 hard to cure, as I am so little aware of it). I try and 
 force people instead of leading them. There is no question 
 of my zeal for the Church and thoroughness of my work ; 
 there is rather too much of this. But as far as I could 
 make out it really comes to this they do not like me. 
 
 I have written and told everything to the Archdeacon. 
 I am quite content to go on and face it out till my time 
 is up. Tactlessness is, I know, a disastrous failing, but 
 it surely is only a superficial one. I have never succeeded
 
 ALIX 111 
 
 in making friends of the Alix people. I seem to have 
 such a lot of failings to fight against, and the ones which 
 cost me the greatest effort are not the ones which in the 
 eyes of others injure -the work I do. I suppose some 
 people after two successive experiences like this would 
 chuck the whole thing up. But that would to me be utterly 
 impossible. My whole heart is in the Church and in 
 nothing else, and even if I fail till the end, will continue 
 to be. Meanwhile it is as well to have one's eyes opened 
 to one's failings. The only danger is of losing entire 
 confidence in oneself. And yet perhaps that is a good 
 thing to do. I often feel that God sends all these things 
 for a direct purpose. Some of us have our natures all 
 wrong, and just because He loves us, He sends us pretty 
 severe chastisement to help us get right. As far as I 
 am concerned myself, I will try and profit by all such 
 things. But the thing I feel most concerned about is 
 lest the Church should suffer wrong by my failings. How- 
 ever, it is a comfort having the Archdeacon so near, and 
 being able to refer everything to him and having such 
 confidence in his judgment. 
 
 It is not all dark. At Bashaw I think things are still 
 encouraging. At Mirror things have begun to pick up a 
 little. So I expect there will be enough left for me to do 
 to keep me pegging away another year. Of course, the 
 above remarks, so far as I know, refer only to the Alix 
 townpeople. 
 
 Mirror. 
 
 Jan. 5, 1914. I like the children in this country 
 more and more. They are not demonstrative, like 
 London children. They do not take one's hand or any- 
 thing of that sort, but they are tremendously alive and 
 interested in things, and are more intelligent, I should 
 think. I have had various talks with boys on the moral 
 question lately. Several things I had heard made me 
 afraid that boys out here were pretty bad. Now I feel 
 convinced that I am right in saying that as a general rule 
 the boys out here are moral. I talked exceedingly plainly 
 to them. Most seemed quite ignorant of sexual things, 
 and, what is more, supremely uninterested in them. They 
 said they were glad I told them what I did, but such 
 things worried them very little. 
 
 I have started this year a plan of monthly vestry
 
 112 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 meetings at Alix, Mirror and Bashaw. I had the first at Alix 
 on Tuesday at four o'clock. Every single member of the 
 vestry except one was there, to my great surprise seven 
 altogether and we had a very delightful meeting, and I 
 gave them tea. They all felt that the mere fact of getting 
 together and discussing things was so useful. 
 
 Mirror. 
 
 Jan. 10, 1914. I have been preparing a sermon on the 
 Epiphany. When the Magi had completed their long and 
 toilsome journey and found in the house merely the young 
 Child and His Mother, they opened their treasures and 
 presented unto Him gifts. This to me is Catholicism as 
 opposed to Protestantism. The Catholic feels it his highest 
 privilege to give, the Protestant to get. Perhaps the 
 R. C.s have over-emphasised giving, but it is the better 
 of the two to over-emphasise. I see no room for it in Pro- 
 testantism. I always feel that it is here we are divided, 
 not on Episcopacy. Personally if only I could feel that 
 Protestants emphasised as a first Christian duty to fall 
 down and worship and open their treasures and give, the 
 other things would sink into insignificance. This attitude 
 seems to me to be what lies behind our whole Prayer Book 
 idea of worship, " Here we offer and present unto Thee," 
 etc. I never see this side of the question tackled in reunion 
 meetings. It is always the external side. 
 
 Bashaw. 
 
 Jan. 27, 1914. As the weather was so cold I did not 
 go to Clive on Sunday morning, as Gregory would be 
 there. So, in the spirit of Kikuyu, I attended the Presby- 
 terian Church at Alix in the morning instead. I was the 
 sole congregation. The minister is going back to mis- 
 sionary work in S. America, where he came from. He 
 feels he can do more good there; the West is hopeless. 
 I thought of Kikuyu face to face with a solid united Islam. 
 Are we not in exactly the same position? Substitute a 
 selfish materialism for Islam. It is just as united and 
 formidable. We shall never make spiritual things real 
 till we unite. We had a little service together, and I 
 suggested to him a scheme of possibly some united mid- 
 week meetings during Lent. One feels loth in a way 
 to do anything out of the ordinary. But he is leaving, 
 and my time here is coming to an end, and we both feel 
 we have done nothing. He jumped at it. He said he felt
 
 ALIX 113 
 
 it was up to our Church to make the move in anything 
 of the sort. I feel I would like to try an experiment. It 
 cannot do any harm or compromise any one as things are. 
 
 G. T. R. Train. 
 
 Jan. 30, 1914. I have only been two nights at Edmon- 
 ton, but have had a varied visit. I went to the Synod out 
 of curiosity. I wanted to see one election before I went. 1 
 
 In the evening I went to the theatre for one of my greatest 
 treats since I have been to the West. It was Tannhduser : 
 a splendid opera company is touring the province. I 
 treated Chris Selwyn. I simply revelled in it. I know 
 every note now. It was an utterly unexpected treat for 
 me. 
 
 To his brother Cuthbert 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Feb. 16, 1914. The controversy the world is engaged 
 in, and which has been brought to an issue by Kikuyu, is 
 what is the real place of the Church. I believe thinking 
 people have at last come to see the real beauty and per- 
 fection of the Christian character. In the Middle Ages 
 it was possible to have the Church without this. Now 
 we emphasise Christian character to the exclusion of the 
 Church, and the world is especially emphasising the need 
 for progress. We must be alive and think independently. 
 We must each live our own life and hand on our own 
 contribution. Your artist friend finds he can do this 
 without the Church, and we all know and love and admire 
 many like him. Only they forget, I think, that there are 
 many people in the world, and that the vast majority have 
 not reached their stage of enlightenment. True growth 
 and enlightenment will only come when all are taking 
 their part. Christian character is far from being the 
 universal character. The Church has both to remove 
 rubbish and to lay foundations and to build. It must 
 both make people desire truth and bind them together in 
 its search. 
 
 The practical point is, Would the world be better off 
 without the Church? I am inclined to think it would 
 not miss much by the removal of the Church as we know 
 it, where there so seldom seems to be faith witness our 
 formality and divisions and unreality. But the Church 
 
 1 Archdeacon Gray was elected first Bishop of Edmonton. 
 I
 
 114 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 does seem to be a permanent necessity. It gives people 
 the opportunity of preaching the law of love. It stimu- 
 lates faith by its history and sacraments. If it was only 
 true absolutely, men like your friend would love it above 
 all things. 
 
 Steta&r, 
 
 Feb. 23, 1914. I have been rushing about as usual. I 
 expect this will be my last time away till Easter. But 
 I promised to take the lantern anywhere when wanted in 
 the Deanery. I am feeling that, as this is my last year 
 in Canada, I am going to see all I can. 
 
 I have settled with the Presbyterian Minister about the 
 series of mildly Kikuyu meetings we are going to have in 
 the Presbyterian Church on Wednesdays during Lent. I 
 am curious to see how they will turn out. Saturday was 
 bitterly cold, with a biting wind. I had thirty miles to 
 drive back to Clive, and read The Idiot all the way. It's 
 a weird book. I don't quite know if I like it, though it 
 certainly is remarkable. 
 
 Bashaw. 
 
 March 2, 1914. When I feel things are going badly 
 and there is no headway, I feel I perhaps ought to 
 stay for that very reason. I should have no qualms if 
 everything was flourishing, and I was thoroughly enjoying 
 my work. As the time for leaving draws closer, I feel 
 more and more like running away from a difficult job. 
 But what am I doing for the future ? Everything is domi- 
 nated by Methodism, which seems perfectly to satisfy the 
 majority; why not leave it to them? They stir up all 
 the enthusiasm. I feel I could easily become like C. 
 
 at , and just stay on and become perfectly hardened 
 
 and callous about the lack of response, and become a 
 die-hard, because nothing can shake me in my feeling for 
 my Church, and it certainly is a pretty severe test. I 
 don't wonder that so many have failed. 
 
 I am very happy here at Bashaw and would like to be 
 here all the time. There is plenty to do. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 April 14, 1914. Alix, I think, is improving. There 
 was a splendid congregation on Easter Day with thirty 
 communicants, the largest I had seen before being eigh- 
 teen. There were eighteen communicants at Mirror. We 
 have had some lovely green velvet hangings put up, and
 
 ALIX 115 
 
 with a little window cut in the chancel it is greatly im- 
 proved a full church at Bashaw, quantities of men. 
 
 This evening I started on my garden and worked in it 
 till dark. 
 
 Bashaw. 
 
 May 12, 1914. The Professor wrote to me that he felt 
 a little misgiving about the desire to have everything 
 clear-cut and definite. I feel somehow that most people 
 are more or less befogged, and that some think it necessary 
 to become more clear and definite, and when they do, 
 their solutions do not seem to the majority to be really 
 satisfactory or helpful. I suppose it is that we are passing 
 through a time of very rapid change and growth, and that 
 what people are most interested in is the growth itself, 
 and not any particular solution that may be found. I 
 do not feel much is gained by making up one's mind 
 definitely simply for the sake of doing so. I think we 
 are suffering from an inherited idea of the necessity of 
 being definite about a lot of things about which we are 
 not in a position to be definite. This is where the whole 
 missionary problem seems to affect the Church so vitally. 
 The Church (of England) was framed as an institution 
 to fit the Anglo-Saxon race. Now that race has spread 
 all over the world, and absorbed all kinds of new ideas, 
 and is brought face to face with new problems. It has 
 outgrown the Church, and the Church will have to grow 
 wide enough to embrace the new situations. And yet 
 it cannot move till the way is clearer. Kikuyu seems only 
 to show the danger of a hasty move, though the time 
 may come before long when it will seem to have been a 
 very mild step. I find that my sermons are becoming 
 more and more of a mystical nature ; and yet I have a kind 
 of instinctive feeling that they are not what people want. 
 They want something practical, this-worldly, not other- 
 worldly. Should the Church go on emphasising the 
 religion of other-worldliness when it seems to have no 
 appeal? The only solution I can see is a personal one, 
 that one must live in the world and yet strive to be not 
 of the world. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 June 4, 1914. There seems to be such a miserable lot 
 of controversy going on now, all arising from Kikuyu. 
 I hate these controversies within the Church. What we
 
 116 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 have to fight for is religion of any kind, it seems to me. 
 Surely miracles are an almost utterly unimportant point. 
 The supreme question is, do we believe in a living Christ, 
 who once lived on the earth, but is now ascended into the 
 spiritual and only real world? How He was born, or how 
 He rose seem to me to matter not a jot. The difficulty 
 is that as a rule people who attack orthodox teaching on 
 these points, are people who are not strong in their spiritual 
 life. 
 
 Alix (at the outbreak of the war). 
 
 Aug. 5, 1914. Life is, as you may well understand, 
 exceedingly trying just now. It is so horrid being so far 
 away. People have no regard for truth over here, and the 
 newspapers seem only anxious to sell and make capital 
 out of the war. Meanwhile it seems impossible to think 
 of anything else or take any interest in one's work, and 
 under the circumstances I feel inclined to hurry my return. 
 Please tell me if you think I am wrong in wishing to 
 return under the circumstances. Of course something 
 may still happen and peace may be restored. I expect 
 it may sound foolish my wishing to get back so much. 
 There is nothing I could do, I suppose; but England is 
 my home, and I just feel I want to be there. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Aug. 10, 1914. The first feeling of panic of any kind 
 (never much) has subsided, and we don't bother much to 
 rush for news now. It is wonderful how loyal every one 
 out here is, even the Americans : huge demonstrations 
 and processions in the city : crowds of young men are 
 longing to enlist. There is no doubt England has made 
 herself exceedingly popular. They feel she is democracy's 
 and liberty's great champion in Europe. I had special 
 services at Alix and Mirror yesterday with crowded 
 churches. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Aug. 12, 1914. The news which reaches us every day 
 seems to eclipse everything else. Distance seems not to 
 count. Everything, I suppose, may pass over. But till 
 the cloud has passed, it seems impossible to think or write 
 of anything else. I have been sitting all morning studying 
 Christ's apocalyptical discourses and anything I could 
 read on them. People will love to talk rubbish about the 
 end of the world. " The end is not yet," He says, and
 
 ALIX 117 
 
 also, " See that ye be not troubled, for these things must 
 needs come to pass." Surely that is true. We are just 
 reaping the inevitable result of all the war scares and raising 
 of immense armaments of past years. 
 
 Alix. 
 
 Aug. 18, 1914. The end of last week I worked as plas- 
 terer's assistant on the Church at Bashaw, and now it is 
 finished and paid for. People are saying $11 kinds of nice 
 things now I am going away. But I think they will like 
 Holdom. 1 I have been telling him I am fairly good at 
 laying foundations, but no good at building on them, 
 and that is what he will have to do. I like him very 
 much and feel so pleased he is coming. 
 
 I cannot leave here till the end of September. What 
 had I better do? I hate these last weeks. Everything 
 seems so unsettled. It seems so utterly impossible to 
 prophesy the future. There are no precedents. People 
 are very excited here and crowds are longing to volunteer. 
 I suppose they think fighting exciting compared to the 
 dull routine of work. Well, I hope I shall get home all 
 right some day. 
 
 I wonder whether there will be any way I could be of 
 use when I get back. Some of the clergy, one or two of 
 the Edmonton Mission, are volunteering as chaplains. 
 But I thought I would wait till I got home and found out 
 what was wanted. 
 
 Bashaw. 
 
 Sept. 14, 1914. Everything is terribly uncertain and 
 anxious. It has made the thought of going home so 
 different. If it were not for seeing you and the rest of 
 the family I do not feel that I wish personally to go back 
 just now, unless there were anything special to be done. 
 However, it is a comfort to have had a settled plan in my 
 mind for so long, and it will be such a joy to see you and 
 the rest again. 
 
 There will be no difficulty in getting recruits from 
 Canada. Every one seems ready to go, even married 
 farmers with families. 
 
 People are being exceedingly nice to me and apparently 
 
 really sorry I am going. The work here seems so very 
 
 personal. I feel so absolutely unworthy of all the nice 
 
 things they are saying and doing. They seem to like me 
 
 1 Rev. M. W. Holdom had been appointed his successor.
 
 118 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 rather than the Church. I wish it were the other way. 
 Yesterday we had our harvest thanksgiving for my last 
 services. There were crowded congregations despite the 
 bad weather. I could not manage farewell sermons. I 
 hear of presentations to be made ; I wish they would not 
 do it as people are really very badly off. Two little 
 boys at Alix (very poor) saved their money and gave me 
 a brush and comb case. I had the scouts in on Saturday, 
 and they gave me a collar-box and a pocket-knife. I 
 am being inundated with invitations, which I am having 
 to refuse. I don't like the business of departure, and shall 
 feel saying good-bye very much. 
 
 Red Deer. 
 
 Sept. 20, 1914. Events have been moving very rapidly 
 with me since last I wrote, and I have hardly had time to 
 review things. I feel in a state of flux cast adrift. A new 
 chapter has begun and the future is perfectly uncertain. I 
 did not realise how rooted I had become in this country 
 till I had plucked up the roots and had turned my face east 
 again. And then to be turning my face to England at 
 this time makes everything feel all the more uncertain. 
 
 On Monday I had a tremendous send-off from Bashaw. 
 The ladies served a most sumptuous supper. About a 
 hundred people sat down, practically the whole town of 
 any account. Farmers drove in from the country round, 
 all denominations ; then much speechifying on the Empire, 
 etc. Finally, speeches about me, when the leading Metho- 
 dist called me " the children's friend," and my " wonderful 
 earnestness and devotion to my work " was dwelt upon. 
 Then a purse with thirty dollars was presented. Finally 
 the other leading Methodist rose to suggest we should 
 join hands and sing " Auld Lang Syne," and ladies wept 
 and there were many farewells. It was specially nice 
 owing to its general character. I felt that I had succeeded 
 in making the little church play its part in the town's 
 life. Next day I bade many farewells and drove off to 
 Alix, where I met Holdom, and drove him back to Mirror. 
 Here the farewell was of a very different nature, just the 
 vestry and their wives. I was presented with 23 dollars. 
 Next morning we made preparations to get a vestry built. 
 That night a farewell at Alix in the parish room about 
 forty altogether. We had a very friendly, sociable little 
 evening, with games and dancing and refreshments and a
 
 ALIX 119 
 
 cheque for 27 dollars, to which many people had sub- 
 scribed a strictly limited amount. Next day I went to 
 the W. Parlbys for the night and the following morning 
 to the E. Parlbys. It was a heavenly day, with all the 
 trees turning. I felt a heavy feeling, and could hardly eat 
 any dinner when I got back. People were all so nice. I 
 went round town and said good-bye to every one. A little 
 group of men and boys were at the station to say good-bye, 
 and I came off here to spend a peaceful Sunday with 
 Harris. I have much appreciated the rest and peace of a 
 Sunday with no sermons. 
 
 I have decided to go home by New York. I had felt 
 that I did not want to do any sightseeing, but I feel now 
 it is such an opportunity that I will do a little. I would 
 like to know what Americans feel about things, and I 
 want badly to see Walter. 1 
 
 I am leaving many friends behind. I did not realise 
 how many till I came to leave. Every one says I shall 
 be back here again, and I have had heaps of requests for 
 letters. 
 
 Well, it has been a great experience, thoroughly justified 
 so far as I am concerned. 
 
 G. P. E. Train. 
 
 Sept. 25, 1914. Here I am on my way home at last. 
 I left Calgary last night. I had a very nice time there. 
 I saw Bennet, the M.P. for Calgary, and told him I would 
 join the next contingent if they wanted a chaplain, when 
 it got to England. But I doubt if any of us go. The W. 
 Parlbys went down on the same train with me, and in 
 the evening I dined with them and they took me off to 
 the theatre, where we saw quite an amusing play. It 
 seemed a frivolous thing to do, but I was glad of it, as I 
 had been feeling very depressed all day, and could think 
 of nothing but the war, and the terrible strain at home. 
 Next day I said good-bye to the Bishop and the Dean 
 and did more business, winding up all my parochial affairs, 
 and leaving my parishes, I am glad to say, in a very good 
 condition financially. I said good-bye to the Archdeacon 
 and supped with the Worsleys and went off and said good- 
 bye to the W. Parlbys. They really seemed quite cut 
 up about my going, and it was very difficult saying good- 
 bye. Then I went off to the station, where dear old 
 
 1 His brother, then in New York.
 
 120 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 Shore came down to see me off. I felt such a sinking 
 feeling; I hated leaving, and I seemed to be going into 
 such a disturbed world, and everything seemed so 
 uncertain. 
 
 I can think of nothing but the war. I almost dread 
 reading the newspapers. Shore and I agreed that the 
 hardest part was to feel that others are bearing the brunt 
 of fighting for their country, while we live comfortably 
 here. The more one thinks, the more utterly futile the 
 whole war seems. What has any one to gain? Why 
 cannot it all be stopped ? To what purpose is this waste ? 
 But after all it has nothing to do with eternal life, which 
 alone matters. 
 
 Oswin left behind him many warm friends at Alix and in the 
 neighbourhood. What some of those who knew his work there 
 thought of him is shown by the following extracts from letters 
 received after his death. 
 
 " I have lost a personal friend and a man whom I much 
 respected. My work here rests upon foundations laid by 
 him with tirelessness and unselfishness." (M. W. Holdom, 
 Rector of Mirror, his successor.) 
 
 " We both looked on him as the best and finest clergyman 
 we had ever known." (Walter Parlby.) 
 
 " I have missed him so much since he left us that I can 
 hardly miss him more, except in the knowledge that he will 
 not return to us. He was always an inspiration to me, 
 his ideas were so original, his energy so untiring and his 
 devotion so sincere. In his work out here he was a builder 
 of foundations, his successor realises that he is using 
 those foundations. As a friend, his affection was always 
 certain, even when I had felt compelled to lecture him for 
 uncontrolled zeal, which at times was apt to make him, 
 in his lovable boyishness, speak without a due measure- 
 ment of the interpretation which some would place on 
 his words. Yet such was his self-evident sincerity and 
 absolute selflessness, that I almost always found that my 
 fear for him in this connexion was groundless, and when 
 he left us only friends remained to regret his departure." 
 (Archdeacon Dewdney.)
 
 OSWIN CBEIGHTON, 1915.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CHAPLAIN TO THE FORCES IN ENGLAND AND 
 GALLIPOLI 
 
 Oswin got back to England in October, and offered himself at 
 once as Chaplain to the Forces, receiving his appointment early in 
 November. He was sent first to the New Army to the camp near 
 Folkestone. 
 
 To his sister Beatrice, in India 
 
 Hampton Court Palace. 
 
 Oct. 21, 1914. My instinctive desire when war broke out 
 was to go home at once. Of course it was very foolish : 
 there was nothing to be done. But many people felt like 
 that. I managed to keep calm, and only went a week or 
 two earlier than I had intended. I found England rather 
 terrible at first. The sense of strain is very strong. The 
 darkened London streets and Belgian refugees everywhere 
 added to the gloom. But it was wonderful to get home 
 and see mother and Mary. As the days go on one thinks 
 less and less of oneself and feels a wonderful sense of unity. 
 Of course some people are violent and bitter, but on the 
 whole there is a calm sense of determination and readiness 
 for any sacrifice, which is very beautiful. It seems im- 
 possible to be selfish, and one feels the greatness of England 
 and all that she stands for. So one is filled with hope, 
 and tries to look forward with calm courage. The future 
 is absolutely uncertain, but I don't feel England can go 
 under. 
 
 Sandgate. 
 
 Nov. 17, 1914. Oliver is very keen to train the men 
 sent to him, and is exceedingly nice and painstaking in 
 explaining things. Griffin leaves for the front to-morrow. 
 I gather I am to take his place. But I do not bother 
 much about what I am to do. I am content to watch 
 and pick up things. Oliver is absolutely determined that 
 
 121
 
 122 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 in all the work and the clubs the spiritual side shall come 
 first. 
 
 Sandgate. 
 
 Nov. 18, 1914. I am trying to see where work will be 
 most practicable. The men all say we must each find out 
 our own methods and not feel bound to follow Oliver's 
 ways. However, I am quite prepared to lie low for a 
 week or two and feel my way. I think, in a sense, it is 
 the most violent change I have ever made, and it is delight- 
 ful being able to make it under such easy circumstances. 
 
 Sandgate. 
 
 Nov. 21, 1914. It certainly becomes exceedingly in- 
 teresting work. I don't think I can say there is any 
 wonderful religious feeling. But the men are all very 
 delightful and so perfectly natural. I spent a long time 
 this afternoon visiting the lines. I found a sergeant, who 
 went with me most of the time. He would open the 
 door of a hut and shout out " 'Shun ! " whereupon every 
 man sprang to his feet. I told them to sit down again, 
 and they would often all gather round for a talk. As 
 far as I can make out none of the other chaplains do 
 this. They are always fussing about clubs, which I do 
 not feel are really nearly such good places to meet the 
 men in, as their own huts. 
 
 Sandling. 
 
 Nov. 23, 1914. I have just made a move and come up 
 to Sandling, where two brigades are stationed, and am one 
 of three chaplains with three clubs. This will be a very 
 interesting job. 
 
 To his sister Beatrice, in India 
 
 Sandling. 
 
 Dec. 12, 1914. It is very difficult getting hold of the 
 men. I go round the camp and visit them in their huts 
 a good deal. The mud is simply indescribable, and there 
 has been almost incessant rain. The huts have been 
 thrown up anyhow and all leak, and there are no roads, 
 so you may imagine what it is like. However, the men 
 are wonderfully cheerful and fit despite it all. The Church 
 is to the front, for a wonder, with seventeen clubs in work- 
 ing order scattered all round. It is very interesting to 
 see this new army being formed, drawn from every walk
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 123 
 
 in life. It still seems all like a dream, and it is so strange 
 to come back to an England which is an armed camp. 
 
 Sandling. 
 
 Dec. 14, 1914. Sunday was so wet that the church 
 parades had to be cancelled. However, I had a very busy 
 day. Celebration at seven, two voluntary services in 
 camp in place of the parades, which seemed quite a new 
 idea. At two o'clock I baptized two soldiers in Saltwood 
 Church, two officers acting as godfathers. Then I had a 
 Bible class here with six men, five of whom walked down 
 with me to Hythe afterwards to hear the Chaplain-General. 
 In the evening I held a service in the Parish Institute at 
 Saltwood, crowded with soldiers, and then back here in 
 the absolute pitch dark. This afternoon I take three men 
 to Hythe to be confirmed by the Archbishop. 
 
 Dec. 20, 1914. When I got back on Saturday it was to 
 find that the whole brigade had been suddenly ordered 
 off into billets, owing to the unspeakable weather and 
 nature of the huts and the ground. There has been an 
 awful rush. It is rather fun that my particular battalion, 
 the Buffs, are being quartered in three little villages inland, 
 and I am to be with them, staying at the Rectory with 
 three other officers. 
 
 The Rectory, Lyminge. 
 
 Dec. 24, 1914. This must be my solitary Christmas 
 greeting. I had another tremendous rushing day yester- 
 day, packing, arranging about parades and clubs. The 
 R. C. Chaplain arrived after lunch looking for a place for 
 Mass, so I carried him off and lent him the club. Then 
 I walked with him to Sandling ; he is a nice friendly little 
 Jesuit and told me much that is interesting. 
 
 For the last four years I have been looking forward to 
 Christmas at home this year, but it is not to be. However, 
 I think it is best to be hard at work. 
 
 Jan. 8, 1915. The parades on Sunday were very im- 
 pressive. The church here was crowded out; and all the 
 officers came. I made a very big appeal on behalf of 
 the S.C.U., 1 and said how the R. C. Chaplain was doing 
 the same at the same moment at Mass in our Institute. 
 I found him afterwards and brought him in to lunch and 
 
 1 The Soldiers' Christian Union, which he formed to get the men 
 to study in small groups together fixed passages of the Bible.
 
 124 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 then took him to Elham, where we held a delightful little 
 meeting, to which about a dozen men came, and we ex- 
 pounded the idea of the Union, and they are going to think 
 it over. It's very interesting when they begin to get over 
 their shyness and talk more freely. Father Devas spoke 
 very nicely about prayer. Then we came back and had 
 a meeting here of a dozen or more men, four of whom 
 turned out to be R. C.s. We had a most interesting 
 meeting and ended up by saying the Collect and the Lord's 
 Prayer together, Father Devas joining, and then studying 
 our passage with us, while he granted a dispensation to 
 his men to use our Testaments, as he had not got his 
 there. It was very delightful to find that the two boys 
 I baptized had formed a group on their own, the third 
 being a R. C. The Father said to me afterwards how 
 much he had enjoyed his afternoon. 
 
 One of the neighbouring clergy, who saw much of Oswin during 
 his time at Sandling, wrote of it : "I shall never forget his thorough- 
 ness, his tremendous devotion to his men. I have hardly met any 
 priest with such a strong sense of vocation, and he inspired me 
 much. A small point remains fixed in my memory. Another 
 chaplain thought it his duty to drink with the officers ; your son let 
 them know quite clearly that the King's commissioned chaplain 
 should follow the King's example." 
 
 Oswin had been looking forward to going to France with the 
 new army when he received a telegram ordering him to join the 
 29th Division, then quartered in Leamington and the neighbourhood. 
 The 29th Division had just returned from India ; it was composed of 
 well-seasoned Regular Troops. 
 
 Nuneaton. 
 
 Jan. 29, 1915. I can see how my work will both be easier 
 and harder. It will run much more smoothly, but there 
 will be a great barrier of tradition and set forms to sur- 
 mount. I can only say how thankful I am that I do not 
 come to them utterly green. I do know a little military 
 terminology now, and understand my way about a little. 
 
 The full account of his experiences with the 29th Division is given 
 in his diaries, which he published in 1916. 1 Here only enough will 
 be told to connect this part of his life with what came before and 
 after. From the end of January till the middle of March he was 
 with his brigade first at Nuneaton, and then at Coventry. He was 
 delighted with the friendliness shown him, and threw himself with 
 his usual energy into work of every kind, arranging services, and 
 
 1 With the 29th Division in GcUlipoli, Rev. O. Creighton, C.F. 
 Longmans.
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 125 
 
 providing entertainments for the men, sharing route marches, 
 enjoying going into the local schools to teach the children, finding 
 time to promote the organisation of women patrols and clubs for 
 girls, above all trying to get to know men and officers, and making 
 friends with people of every kind. The destination of the division 
 was uncertain for some time, and it was only a few days before the 
 actual start that he knew they were bound for Gallipoli. On March 7 
 he paid a last hurried visit home, knowing that they would shortly 
 be off somewhere, but still uncertain where, hoping it might be the 
 Dardanelles, and clear that it was time they should be off some- 
 where. He spoke much of how wonderful it would be to be there 
 when the English troops entered Constantinople, and St. Sophia 
 became again a Christian Church. 
 
 March 15, 1915. What a varied life I have had since 
 my return from Canada; and now what a strange wild 
 adventure I seem to be in for. I only hope I may be of 
 a little use to some of these men. It is a great responsi- 
 bility and requires the greatest tact and consideration, 
 qualities, I fear, I am rather deficient in. Up till now I 
 have had such an exceedingly pleasant time, I find it 
 difficult to realise I shall soon be in the horrid business 
 of war. 
 
 He left Avonmouth on a Cunarder with his own two special 
 regiments, the Royals and the Lancashires, on March 16, the only 
 chaplain on board. 
 
 Malta. 
 
 March 23, 1915. It has been a perfectly delightful voyage, 
 like a pleasure cruise, as far as I have been concerned. 
 Life proceeds very calmly and smoothly on a troopship. 
 The men are just like children. The officers are all de- 
 lightful. I find it absolutely impossible to imagine we are 
 on our way to fight. Up till now the whole proceeding 
 seems so strangely pacific. 
 
 They reached Alexandria on March 28. The week spent at the 
 camp at Mex, five miles out of Alexandria, was for Oswin one of his 
 most wonderful experiences as far as his work as Chaplain was 
 concerned. He exerted himself to the full to provide both for the 
 physical and the spiritual needs of the men, and met with much 
 response. The great tent which he had erected as a canteen proved 
 an immense boon. 
 
 April 7, 1915. Each day we have sold in about two 
 hours an average of 2000 oranges, 200 dozen cakes, and 
 quantities of cigarettes, minerals, etc. Our average tak- 
 ings were 25 to 30 in about two and a half hours. After
 
 126 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 having paid for the hire of the tent and all expenses, we 
 should have a profit of about 20, which will be very 
 useful the next time I want to start. In the evenings it 
 has been a seething mass of men. I had piles of papers 
 and magazines sent me and bought a lot of games. The 
 two R. C. Chaplains did not take much interest. They 
 said they did not go in for social work. They spend most 
 of their time hearing confessions. However, we used the 
 tent for services. By the beginning of this week I had 
 got the tent into such good order I could leave it, which 
 was a comfort. Then, of course, there has been all my 
 own proper work. I have had some wonderful services. 
 On Good Friday the tent was packed at 6.30. For Easter 
 Day, I fixed up a nice altar in the tent with flowers. One 
 of the Majors, a charming man, said he could not help 
 having his sense of humour tickled when he came to think 
 of it afterwards, when I solemnly presented the alms in a 
 woodbine cigarette box, while two broken beer bottles 
 served as vases, and the Altar was made of coke boxes. 
 At the parades on Easter Day I gave out that I would 
 like names for Confirmation, and after the evening service 
 took them down. I was amazed at the number, forty-six 
 altogether there, and more coming in all the time. 
 
 About the future I may say nothing, only it looks as 
 though there must be big loss of life, and that the men 
 I am with will have to bear the brunt of it. The officers 
 talk perfectly candidly and openly about it. Even the 
 Major, when I was paying my mess bill said, " Don't give 
 me too much, because candidly we may none of us be 
 alive next week." Of course no definite information is 
 given. I feel the only way is to take everything as it 
 comes as calmly as possible. We can all only do our best, 
 and in itself death is such a small thing. Foolish weak 
 men are becoming serious and setting to work to strengthen 
 their characters. That is the real victory. Men are 
 turning in absolutely simple faith and confidence to God, 
 and the sense of His Presence has been wonderfully close 
 all the time. I do think we are a Christian army; that 
 is the great comfort. 
 
 April 13, 1915. I cannot tell where we are now and 
 what we are doing beyond the fact that we have not 
 heard a shot or seen an enemy, and are continuing our 
 delightful cruise. Everybody is very fit and very happy, 
 life is quite delightful and full of every kind of interest.
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 127 
 
 I go on seeing men and talking to them and learning how 
 soldiers spend their lives. It is all pretty sordid. Last 
 night I had a long talk with the adjutant, a particularly 
 charming fellow. He had been an acolyte in a spiky 
 church for six years, and at the time believed everything 
 and found the greatest comfort in the Church. Now he 
 finds he cannot honestly believe anything he was taught. 
 Such a common story the almost inevitable result of 
 spikery when a man goes out into the world and becomes 
 himself. I am becoming terribly unorthodox. There is 
 a rooted idea among officers and men alike that religion 
 is concerned almost solely with the next world, and that 
 men give up women and wine only from fear of hell or 
 desire for heaven. All evangelical teaching, which is rife 
 in the army, seems to have gone in this direction. I don't 
 think I have mentioned heaven in a sermon, and some 
 of the men have noticed the fact and been surprised. 
 When they talk to me about heaven I am afraid I get 
 impatient, and say I am not in the least interested in 
 heaven or hell, and don't care a bit where any one is going, 
 and that the sole concern of religion is the bettering of 
 this sordid world, and that they must hurry up and create 
 heaven here. They all tell me this is contrary to all the 
 the teaching of the Church. I reply I don't know anything 
 about that, but I know it is Christ's teaching, Who came 
 preaching that the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand. I 
 really don't know which does more absolutely to stultify 
 all true religion, spikery or evangelicism. None of the 
 best of the officers or men care for either. We have 
 suffered enough from both in the Church; they must be 
 slain if the Church is to have any meaning for the majority 
 of thoughtful, natural men. I have long felt this, but am 
 now convinced. 
 
 I am afraid that when I next write, it will in all pro- 
 bability be a letter giving rather different experiences. 
 There is a tremendously tough time ahead, of that there 
 can be no doubt. Most of the officers seem to take it for 
 granted that they are going to be killed. However, they 
 are quite cheerful about it. I am afraid it is going to be 
 pretty desperate, but it will be extraordinarily exciting. 
 
 April 29, 1915. I have no idea when letters will go, but 
 feel I must have something ready written to send when 
 possible. I am keeping my diary carefully written up, 
 but must not send it yet. You probably know a great
 
 128 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 deal more in England of what is happening than we do 
 here. The fighting started on Sunday morning and has 
 been raging ever since. We have been watching it three 
 miles out to sea for four days now, and have had practically 
 no news, beyond the apparently only too certain fact that 
 my two particular regiments have been absolutely cut 
 to pieces, which they very largely expected, and I have not 
 been there. I feel I ought to have insisted on staying in 
 the other boat, but I had very definite orders to rejoin 
 my R.A.M.C. We lie here and watch through glasses all 
 day, and try to make out what is happening, but no one 
 comes near us or gives us any news, though the whole 
 place is a mass of shipping. It is too terrible to think of 
 the regiments. What a sacrifice of such magnificent mate- 
 rial ! But we know nothing for certain, and I hope that 
 a good many may have been taken off to hospital ships, and 
 that I shall see them again some day. As far as it is possible 
 to judge from this distance, the feat they performed seems 
 an almost impossible one. There has evidently been 
 terrible fighting. Meanwhile we live here in comfort and 
 ease and know nothing. But it is useless worrying. The 
 only thing is to be perfectly philosophical about it all. 
 Some day we shall know, and some day you will get this 
 letter, which tells you nothing because there is nothing 
 to tell. 
 
 May 5, 1915. At last on Sunday evening I managed to 
 land. . . . The strange thing, I find, is that I am really 
 extremely happy. There is more goodness and true 
 unselfishness and seriousness about on this Peninsula 
 than there is at a race meeting, for instance, and that 
 seems the only thing after all that matters. It is no excuse 
 for war, but it makes it quite possible to be happy in it. 
 
 I think if I might perhaps make a suggestion to every- 
 body who cannot take a direct part in war, it is that there 
 is really no reason to feel miserable about it. Of course, 
 everybody hates and loathes it here, and only longs for it 
 to finish, but I think the real reason is that they feel it 
 is such an utter misuse of their lives. What I really mean 
 to say is that sin and evil alone should make us feel miser- 
 able, and I have never felt their absence as much as since 
 I landed here. If people lose those they love, may they 
 not have at least the supreme consolation that the vast 
 majority of them have died better men than they were 
 before ?
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 129 
 
 May 14, 1915. I am exceedingly flourishing, the 
 weather is delightful, there are lovely flowers, and many 
 birds, heaps of food and plenty to do, and it would all 
 be very jolly if it were not for the war. 
 
 Yesterday the Turks seem to have got hold of some 
 new high explosive shells and a larger gun, and are shelling 
 our beach, which is our main base. So you see life is 
 quite exciting even when not in the firing line. One day 
 a spent bullet hit my horse and several have whistled 
 close over my head. Chaplin had four men wounded 
 while taking Church Parade on the beach yesterday 
 (Ascension Day). But one takes these little things very 
 calmly after a time, and while taking due precautions 
 takes one's chance with the rest. The poor 29th Division 
 is getting good and well-deserved rest, and I have been 
 with them the last three nights, and on Ascension Day had 
 a Celebration, and a service the night before. We had 
 two violent attacks on Thursday (6th) and Sunday (9th) 
 and I saw my fill of wounded, especially the latter night. 
 It really was terrible, they were carried in in an unending 
 stream and everything was filled up with them. I was 
 sometimes at the field dressing station, sometimes at the 
 casualty clearing station on the beach, but it is exceed- 
 ingly difficult to do anything. If they are slightly wounded, 
 they limp off and go to sleep, if badly, they are given opium. 
 It is terribly depressing, as they are all so uncomfortable 
 and unwashed. Fortunately they are carried off to ships 
 as soon as possible. Personally I feel I can be of most 
 use in trying to cheer up the well, but perhaps that is 
 because they help to cheer me up. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 89th Field Ambulance. 
 
 June 14, 1915. I have had most delightful letters from 
 various of my family, which have cheered me a lot. Each 
 of them said they did not know what to write about, as 
 they felt everything must seem so trivial. I assure you 
 the little things that happen quietly at home seem so 
 much more important than these wretched bullets, which 
 are far smaller and more trivial. It is all so utterly futile. 
 We are just recovering from a very terrible battle about 
 which I must say nothing. I have lost practically all 
 my few remaining special friends, and the battle was 
 K
 
 130 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 accompanied by many of the worst features of war. So it 
 was trying. My personal comfort is that I have such an 
 absolute conviction of the reality of eternity that the 
 worst sufferings pale before it. Besides I feel that the war 
 is absolutely the result of the machinations of the devil, 
 and let him wreak his fury on our bodies and hopes here; 
 it will only help us to realise our true citizenship in heaven. 
 I don't think the war makes people more religious at 
 once. But it makes them a great deal more serious and 
 unselfish. I get very miserable at times and sometimes 
 rather terrified (we are all of us continually under range of 
 fire and usually of rifle fire). There is really nothing much 
 to worry about. The men who are killed I feel abso- 
 lutely sure must have many sins forgiven. The people 
 at home who are left to mourn them have a special bless- 
 ing promised them, of which I thought much at Whit- 
 suntide. The future of the world and of England does 
 not seem to matter very much. Of course the experiences 
 one passes through cannot be pleasant. One gets singu- 
 larly callous. Yes, we are always praying for those at 
 home. I never take a service or a funeral without doing 
 so. But I want them to feel that " Blessed are they that 
 mourn." Do write often. 
 
 To his brother Cuthbert 
 
 SQth Field Ambulance. 
 
 June 14, 1915. I think we learn a good deal about 
 eternity here, though people don't think much about it. 
 They are all so extraordinarily loth to -die, and would 
 rather be badly wounded. I would rather like to be killed 
 instantaneously. I feel so curious about the next world. 
 You cannot think what a stupid war this is. I don't think 
 I have seen a single sign of administrative cleverness. 
 We are neither a perfect machine, like Germany, nor have 
 we any genius. Everything is laboriously done according 
 to the book, and then very badly. The casualty lists are 
 being very big, and will be bigger. So many of these young 
 officers have been killed the day or so after landing, without 
 seeing anything of it, in some mad, bungled charge. To 
 see the poor old Majestic anchored just off the beach 
 all night, where the Triumph has already been sunk, 
 simply asking, " Do come and torpedo me," was almost 
 inconceivable.
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 131 
 
 89th Fidd Ambiance. 
 
 June 22, 1915. I fear it must be very difficult for people 
 at home. Every one now is beginning to lose their rela- 
 tions and friends, not just the military caste as at first. 
 I do hope they will be able to counteract this gas. We 
 hear it is to be used here, and I have a respirator hanging 
 in my dug-out. Life is singularly precarious, as there is 
 no spot in the Peninsula out of range. I am still with 
 the advanced dressing station, only about 500 yards 
 from the firing line, in a little narrow gully leading out 
 into the big gully. It would seem to be an absolutely 
 safe place, but one of the men was wounded last night, 
 and my servant picked up a bullet at the foot of my bed 
 this morning. 
 
 I am sitting in my little dug-out and it is fairly quiet 
 this morning, though guns are always firing somewhere. 
 However, one gets quite used to them. We had twenty 
 cases in, last night, six of them Ghurkas. Except when 
 there is a battle on there is not a large crowd of wounded. 
 
 I think this life is a most tremendous testing of one's 
 religious life. It is so easy to take a negative attitude 
 to churchiness and be afraid of being anything; and yet 
 churchiness does not mean anything much to me. One 
 of the chaplains here, for instance, blesses the troops in 
 his brigade as they go up to the firing line. He says the 
 men seem to appreciate it so much. I once said a prayer 
 with the R. F.s before they went up, and I suppose I 
 could easily do so again. But just to stand and give the 
 blessing seems a little difficult to me almost as though 
 it were a little charm. And yet it seems so unsatisfactory 
 just to be negative about these things. I am delighted 
 that he can do so perfectly sincerely and honestly. I hope 
 it is not wrong of me not to do the same. I have been 
 preaching a lot about the Kingdom, and trying to help 
 men to understand something of what it means and what 
 its relation is to our experience here. I want to help 
 men to look beyond this world, the affairs of which seem 
 just now to be absorbing all our thoughts and conversation 
 and energy. We seem to regard the war as if it were of 
 eternal significance. I want to regard it simply as part 
 of the experience and discipline of life. I think that is 
 the way in which the whole of the Bible regards all the 
 turmoil without. I feel that is the special function of the 
 Church to bear its consistent witness to the Kingdom.
 
 132 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 It is so easy to get perturbed by the things that go on, 
 to think it such an awful thing to be blown up by a shell, 
 or hit by a bullet, or have half your face blown off, or be 
 asphyxiated by gas. I shall strongly object if any of these 
 things happen to me, and they would be a very sore and 
 heavy trial. But surely all these things are really very 
 trivial. They cannot affect anything that matters, any- 
 thing that is eternal. This is simply a platitude, the 
 difficulty is to make it a reality. But the war brings one 
 very close to the struggles of the early Church. 
 
 July 3, 1915. It is difficult to write. There is always 
 so much to be done, and life is not arranged for letter- 
 writing. We have had more terrible fighting, and these 
 battles become a great strain. It is so terrible seeing 
 these young fellows go into action, so healthy and full 
 of life, and then hear they have been killed in swarms in 
 some great charge. And then the wounded. We had 
 over 500 through our station in twenty-four hours. And 
 one is so powerless to help them. And you cannot get 
 away from it all. Everywhere shells are bursting, so 
 there is absolutely nothing to take one away from war. 
 (I have just had a message asking me to take a funeral, 
 my horse is gone off and I shall have to walk, and so be 
 unable to finish this letter.) 
 
 July 5, 1915. I start again. We have been having 
 another terrific battle. An almost incredible amount of shells 
 have been passing over our little gully ever since 3.45 a.m. 
 They cannot reach us, but have been bursting around all 
 morning. The Turks seem to have enormous supplies of 
 ammunition and blaze off shells all over every inch of the 
 few miles we possess. I had no idea that war was so 
 utterly devastating. There is no one left among the 
 officers I started with. The officers always are killed. 
 Another regiment started full strength and had only one 
 officer left. In fact, human life seems of absolutely no 
 value. After a battle I get very down. The sight of the 
 masses of wounded is very terrible. I don't mind the 
 dead. They have got away from it all. I live more and 
 more with my Field Ambulance. It has the advantage 
 of being a permanent unit. We have had no one killed 
 yet and no officer wounded. It gives one a sense of 
 stability. I am getting pretty cunning at avoiding shells, 
 though this morning they were dropping Black Marias all 
 around us. However, I find I get quite indifferent to them.
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 133 
 
 In fact it is utterly useless worrying though it is exceed- 
 ingly difficult not to. Again to-day I have been called 
 away three times for funerals. I love your letters and all 
 letters from home. I quite agree about being optimistic 
 if possible, as long as we do not pretend we are having 
 successes when we are not. Do let us keep calm, and all 
 will be well. 
 
 Aberdeen Gully. 
 
 July 9, 1915. We do not seem to be having any battles 
 this week, and consequently things have been very quiet 
 since Monday, which is a great relief. Also a delightful 
 mail arrived yesterday, which cheered me much. The 
 arrival of the mail seems to be quite the most important 
 event. It is the chief topic of conversation. " Is there 
 a mail in ? " is what everybody asks in the trenches. We 
 are getting some splendid reinforcements; and I am now 
 looking forward to a few days off the Peninsula, along 
 with the remnants of my poor regiments. The heat is 
 becoming very trying and the flies are terrible. They 
 seem to increase day by day. Mercifully there are no 
 mosquitoes. There is usually a nice breeze blowing, but it 
 makes the dust very thick and it does not penetrate much 
 into our little gully, which gets like an oven sometimes. 
 However the nights are pleasant. I left " U " Beach some 
 weeks ago and live permanently in Aberdeen Gully, 
 where I am very handy for my regiments and can see all 
 the wounded. I have fixed up a new shelter covered with 
 two pieces of corrugated iron, where I think neither friend 
 nor foe can reach me, right against the side of the gully. 
 I sleep on a stretcher. Really I am living at present in 
 great luxury. I have more or less taken over the cooking 
 arrangements so as to get a variety and wholesomeness, 
 and we feed very well. This morning young Lister came 
 in to breakfast. We had as usual porridge with " Ideal 
 Milk " and treacle, bacon, toast, jam and marmalade and 
 tea. Yesterday for lunch we had fried steak and onions, 
 cold tongue, cornflour and treacle, tea and bull's-eyes. 
 The soups you sent have been tremendously appreciated, 
 especially by people upset inside. Sometimes I make a 
 pilaf with soup, rice and onions. I even made kedgeree 
 with some tinned fish and rice, and thickened it with 
 cornflour in the evening and fried it up in fish cakes. This 
 all sounds very greedy, but you asked for information,
 
 134 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 and I am sure you would like to know that even in this 
 Peninsula we can be fairly comfortable. It would be 
 quite a pleasant life if it were not for the battles. I even 
 have a bath every morning and have trained a servant to 
 look after me very carefully. I shave every other morning 
 and keep very clean. My servant washes my clothes every 
 week and cleans my boots and gaiters every morning. 
 It is such a strange life. One moment you are sitting 
 down with a young fellow full of life and planning his 
 future, saying what he is going to do when the war is over. 
 Next day he goes out on an attack and is heard of no 
 more. Meanwhile one goes on just the same with one's 
 own life, plans the next meal and makes oneself comfort- 
 able for the night. We are all just the same. In a way 
 it will be exceedingly interesting if one manages to survive 
 this campaign. I want to go through it if possible, and 
 not to go away sick or wounded. 
 
 I wish I could get clear about discipline. It is clearly 
 necessary in the army, but must not be confounded with 
 want of thought. To do as you are told does not absolve 
 you from the need of thinking how best to do it, or, when 
 advisable, pointing out that there might be a better course. 
 In every attack we have made, something has gone wrong 
 which need not have done so. It is impossible to know 
 where the fault lies. No one has a right to ask questions. 
 One knows the same thing will happen again. Life is 
 every one knows it continually unnecessarily squandered, 
 and nothing can be done or said. This is the worst of war, 
 not the necessary deaths, but the unnecessary, owing 
 usually to some faulty order or bit of staff work. 
 
 July 19, 1915. We are actually away resting on the 
 island which I have written about before, but whose 
 name I must not mention. 1 I have joined the old regi- 
 ment again. The Field Ambulance does not seem to be 
 going to have a rest. It is wonderfully peaceful. Fancy 
 not hearing the sound of a bullet or a shell again, and 
 being able to wander about quite freely. Fortunately 
 we are really allowed to rest, and lie and sleep most of 
 the day. Our headquarters consist of a lovely figtree 
 with great leaves, and our table is made by digging two 
 trenches in the ground for our feet to go into. 
 
 I have only recently discovered that an officer named 
 Jenkinson, who was attached to the regiment shortly 
 1 It was Lemnos.
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 135 
 
 before the June 4th battle, was an exceedingly distin- 
 guished Oxford don, who in his particular subject stood 
 absolutely alone in Europe. Why do they send such 
 people out here to make an attack which anybody else 
 could do? 
 
 I am asking Kimbory to finish this letter for me. I 
 am afraid I had to go into hospital yesterday. I don't 
 exactly know what is the matter, but my head is aching 
 too badly for me to write. However I expect I shall be 
 all right in a day or two. 
 
 Aug. 1, 1915. I am now really convalescent, 1 but the 
 doctor absolutely insists on a long convalescence. Diph- 
 theria seems to affect the heart. He will hardly let me 
 move about now. I have just crawled into a deck-chair, 
 where I am sitting overlooking the harbour and the ships. 
 The only effect of my illness which remains now is a tem- 
 porary paralysis of the soft palate. It makes me talk like 
 a man without a roof to his mouth. Yesterday was the 
 hottest day we have had. I lay on a stretcher on the 
 ground with all the flaps of the tent up. A very nice 
 chaplain comes and sees me daily, and several of the 89th 
 doctors who have been resting here, have been in to see 
 me. My doctor will not hear of my moving or exerting 
 myself in any way or taking any risks. I protest, and say 
 this is war-time and everybody must take risks. He says 
 I am taking my full measure of risks by having the sick- 
 ness at all. The moment I am able, I must get back to 
 work. I am so exceedingly fortunate in having got over 
 it so easily. I have heard of no other cases. 
 
 To his sister Beatrice, in India 
 
 Lemnos. 
 
 Aug. 5, 1915. I think the main result of my three 
 months' experience of war and of the appalling slaughter 
 I have seen, is to feel what an insignificant thing death is. 
 It ceased to have much horror for me. It all seemed so 
 utterly senseless. Mad charges against machine-guns and 
 whole regiments mown down. There have been three 
 complete new sets of officers in each of my regiments. 
 I have seen batches of officers come out and in a fortnight 
 
 1 His illness had turned out to be diphtheria. The doctor did not 
 at first discover what was wrong with him, and delay in giving him 
 the right treatment made his complete recovery unnecessarily slow.
 
 136 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 practically not one left. Two hundred came in one batch 
 university men, professional men of all kinds, practically 
 all gone now. Of course many are wounded; but how 
 many killed ? These were mostly men absorbed in all kinds 
 of work and full of all kinds of plans not empty-headed 
 wasters. When I bury them and write to their relations, 
 how can I feel that the chance Turkish bullet that killed 
 them can have any real effect on their work and their 
 plans ? No, I am no longer sorry for them. Their one 
 simple act of sacrifice is going to help them to achieve 
 all that was best in their plans and their work under far 
 happier conditions. For their relations it is different. 
 And yet one remembers all the time, " Blessed are they 
 that mourn." 
 
 Aug. 7, 1915. At last I am declared free from infection, 
 and really believe I shall be off in a ship for Alexandria 
 in a day or two. The doctor absolutely insists upon my 
 not doing any work for a month. I expect I shall find 
 something of a mild nature to do wherever I go. I was 
 out yesterday for the first time and much enjoyed doddering 
 round with a stick. 
 
 I am already meditating schemes to employ me in 
 Alexandria. There are many hospitals here and all kinds 
 of odd units about, but as far as I know no form of rest 
 room or decent canteen. The doctors say it is desperately 
 needed. People get fearfully bored after a time. The 
 patients, who are mostly mild cases, need cheering up 
 with concerts, etc. So I will see if anything can be 
 organised from Alexandria. 
 
 To his brother Cuthbert 
 
 Aug. 9, 1915. It is so difficult to know how to take this 
 appalling loss of life. One feels at times the simplest thing 
 to do is to go and get shot down with the rest. I envy 
 the people who are killed. And then there comes a long 
 lull and one forgets, and hope revives and life gets quite 
 sweet again till the next attack. How to keep perfectly 
 calm and cheerful through it all is the great problem. I 
 can see nothing ahead but simply limitless slaughter out 
 here. 
 
 I am sorry this letter sounds a little dismal. It would 
 have been quite cheerful yesterday. I suppose some time 
 the world will be cheerful again. What helps me is that
 
 IN ENGLAND AND GALLIPOLI 137 
 
 I have never for a moment doubted that it is all so good 
 for the world. It will help us to a truer sense of values 
 to care more about things that matter. So few people 
 did; I think they will more after this. 
 
 Hospital Ship, " Sicilian" 
 
 Aug. 10, 1915. I am off to Alexandria, where I expect 
 to be for three weeks or so. I feel an absolute fraud, 
 feeling so well in myself. But I still totter about like an 
 old man. 
 
 You will know long before this letter reaches you that 
 far the most terrific battle has just taken place. I feel a 
 beast at having been away, but it would have been another 
 terrible experience and I get no better at facing them. 
 However I get more and more clear that we must all be as 
 cheerful as possible, and I have had much time to think 
 while being sick. There are some good things, and one 
 of the best I know is a hospital ship like this. Here we 
 are steaming quietly along over the usual perfectly calm sea, 
 with the most delicious air the best imaginable tonic 
 no flies or sand, perfect quiet and comfort. I feel such a 
 villain, living in ease and comfort like this. It is so funny 
 having nurses about the first Englishwomen I have seen 
 since April.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MUDROS 
 On reaching Cairo Oswin was sent to the Anglo-American Hospital. 
 
 Cairo. 
 
 Aug. 19, 1915. I am feeling wonderfully recovered, and 
 am doing a little sight-seeing while here and enjoying it. 
 I really think the best thing is to put away the horrors 
 of war as much as possible. One has plenty of them 
 and will have plenty more. I really am as well as ever, 
 and shall be glad to get to some work. 
 
 From a diary letter. 
 
 Alexandria. 
 
 Aug. 17-30, 1915. I much enjoyed my days at Cairo 
 and became a regular tourist. It seemed the best thing 
 to do. I may never be there again. 
 
 At Alexandria I went to the Windsor Hotel. Seeing a 
 chaplain sitting alone at a table, I sat down beside him, 
 and from that moment during the week I was there we 
 were hardly separate. He turned out to be Andrews, of 
 the Dubbo Bush Brotherhood. I went and saw Hordern 1 
 in the evening and told him of my Lemnos scheme. He 
 had already moved in that direction and jumped at my 
 suggestion, and said I was to organise the whole scheme 
 for him. I was in a fix. I felt I ought, and wanted, to 
 go back to my brigade, but that I probably could do 
 this job with my knowledge of conditions on the Peninsula, 
 at Lemnos and Alexandria, and, as Hordem asked me so 
 definitely, it seemed clear I should do it. I was exactly 
 a week at Alexandria, during which things worked very 
 quickly and unexpectedly. The scheme to start recrea- 
 tion rooms at Lemnos was all very well, but where were 
 the funds to come from? Hordern gave introductory 
 
 1 The Senior Chaplain. 
 138
 
 MUDROS 139 
 
 letters, and I rushed round to see people. Everything 
 pointed to my going to Lemnos first, seeing heads of 
 departments there, finding out exact needs, what the 
 Y.M.C.A. were doing, and getting proper authorisation. 
 I bought two gramophones for a start. Hordern mean- 
 while had set me on to one of the hospitals, three miles out. 
 I found there was much to be done when I had a chance 
 of running up there. On one visit we took up one of the 
 gramophones and did not the patients love it ! Another 
 evening we went to one of the camps to speak about our 
 Gallipoli experiences. The huge tent was packed long 
 before we got there. I have had a recurrence of my 
 trouble with my soft palate, and it made me very un- 
 comfortable, as I used to pride myself on my clear voice. 
 Very often with strangers I had to get Andrews to speak 
 for me. 
 
 After my preliminary investigations He had agreed I 
 had better go to Lemnos as soon as possible. Hordern 
 received a telegram from the General at Lemnos, saying 
 there was urgent need for recreation rooms for nine hos- 
 pitals and a reinforcement camp of 3000. So I rushed 
 back to the Red Cross with the telegram and was taken 
 to see Sir Courtauld Thomson. An alliance was formed 
 which rejoiced my heart, between the Church and the 
 Red Cross. The Red Cross was to supply all the means 
 and the Church would organise it. At our final interview 
 Sir Courtauld said " This has given me more pleasure 
 than anything we have managed to do." What pleased 
 me was that at last there was a chance of the Church 
 doing something, and doing it on such delightful terms. 
 From that moment all ways were made smooth. I 
 flourished the General's telegram in one hand and the 
 Red Cross cheque-book in another. " I cannot possibly 
 let you have any tents," said one official. " I don't want 
 any tents," I answered, " they are not for myself; the 
 General at Lemnos has telegraphed for them. Shall I go 
 and tell him you cannot let me have any ? " Then he 
 quite changed, and I eventually got the tents. We had 
 to work tremendously hard all Friday and Saturday. 
 Andrews was a brick and helped me tremendously. On 
 Saturday I discovered that a hospital ship was sailing at 
 dawn on Sunday, and I decided to go by it and collect 
 what I could. So the Red Cross offices were turned up- 
 side down. I was tearing about in motors all day long,
 
 140 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 seeing about tents, making plans with Sir Courtauld for 
 wooden huts to be built, buying pianos, etc. Andrews 
 stayed behind to await my frantic telegrams and come on 
 with the next supply. So now I am writing from the 
 hospital ship (Aug. 30). I am taking it very quietly, 
 hoping to rest my throat. Does it seem cold-blooded and 
 callous, but I refuse to dwell on the horrors of war ! I 
 have been flying round at Alexandria and Cairo, sight- 
 seeing, eating ice-creams, and generally playing the fool. 
 At any rate Andrews did nothing but go off into hysterics 
 in each shop we went into, at the way I behaved and tried 
 to make myself understood. I hope if the recreation 
 rooms get properly started, they can be places where the 
 men can go and forget the war. 
 
 Mudros. 
 
 Sept. 5, 1915. I have just come back from a vist to a 
 large base camp near here. They have nothing to do 
 and no form of recreation, and the C.O. is very anxious that 
 we should do something. It seems to me things should 
 be done on a large scale. The winter is coming on. 
 Hordern has been asked to do it by the General, and has 
 set me on to the job. The Red Cross, who are backing 
 the hospital recreation rooms, cannot touch reinforcement 
 camps. There may be anything up to 10,000 men to 
 provide for during the winter. The only thing I can 
 think of is to write at once to Hordem and suggest his 
 cabling to the Bishop of London for 1000 at least, to be 
 cabled out at once. We want this to be the definite work 
 of the Army Chaplains. Besides the money, we must 
 have a really large supply of literature, games of all kinds, 
 violins, concertinas, anything in the musical line. Pianos 
 are rather bulky, but are badly needed. We cannot have 
 too many of these things. Of course every one will say 
 Y.M.C.A. But the chaplains have been asked to do this, 
 and I cannot help feeling it is part of our job. We shall 
 have to build huts, provide light, heat and furniture. 
 We want to supply light refreshments, tea, cocoa, biscuits, 
 etc., which we would pay for in time; also, of course, 
 cigarettes, writing-paper, etc. 
 
 Sept. 17, 1915. On Sept. 1 we came into the inner 
 harbour and anchored close to the Aragon. I went on 
 board and reported. There was a little consultation of 
 generals and other staff officers, who all seemed delighted
 
 MUDROS 141 
 
 at the move being made. I was to have every facility. 
 Transport was found from, some where. I returned to the 
 Sicilian, and a tug came alongside and all my things were 
 put on board, and finally I was lowered on a crane myself, 
 and off we went to the pier on West Mudros. There was 
 no one there to unload the goods, so we went off to the 
 Egyptian Labour Camp. It was their dinner hour, but 
 about twenty were got together and marched off, and to 
 the accompaniment of a lot of chatting, shouting and 
 cursing the things were unloaded. The A.D.M.S. said 
 recreation tents were just what they wanted. He took 
 me off to the hospitals, six of which lie in a line along a 
 barren spit of wind-swept, stony land. I soon saw that 
 each hospital must have its own tent. I found the C.O. 
 and chaplain at each hospital and introduced myself and 
 explained the scheme, and had a warm welcome every- 
 where. In a few days the hospitals had all made a start ; 
 that is, they had recreation tents well lit with lamps. 
 The piano I gave to the Convalescent Camp. I have been 
 incessantly on the rush, seeing all kinds of officials and 
 trying to get a working scheme. I soon began to see that 
 what I had brought was a mere drop in the ocean. Enor- 
 mous supplies were needed. Further, West Mudros was 
 rapidly developing into one vast camp. There are to be 
 ten hospitals in huts. Besides these holding a total of 
 about 7000 men, there was a reinforcement camp, now 
 about 5000 men, soon to be considerably enlarged. Then 
 a rest camp was to be at once formed for the Australians ; 
 I believe there is to be still another rest camp. There 
 may be a total of 25,000 men. West Mudros is a confusing 
 name. Mudros is really a little town on the east side of 
 the large harbour. We had our hospitals first on the east 
 side, but everything is gradually being moved across, and 
 I saw I must concentrate on the west. I was kept on the 
 rush all day long, discussing plans, working out schemes 
 of all kinds. I got much sympathy, but little practical 
 help, and I soon saw I must take the matter into my own 
 hands, even at the risk of seeming bumptious and bossing. 
 The chaplains have been splendid and most keen. One of 
 them kept saying to me, " You came just in the nick of 
 time, I don't know what we should have done without you. 
 You cannot think the difference the tent has made." Of 
 course, it is just a job I love, and I don't mind how large 
 the work becomes. The hospitals are all to move into
 
 142 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 huts, which are slowly being started. A recreation hut is, 
 I hope, to be put up by the Red Cross in each. Then there 
 was the enormous problem of the Rest Camps. I dis- 
 covered a large Y.M.C.A. marquee lying by a pier. No 
 Y.M.C.A. man had arrived. So I got the C.C.'s leave to 
 borrow it, and had it carted over to the Australian rest 
 camp and put up there. They have been so short of tents 
 that they have had to use it for sleeping in. It was 
 pitiable to see them coming in from the trenches utterly 
 worn out, with no spirit in them, toiling along the road, 
 falling out by the way. Then there was no furniture. 
 Not a plank to be had. I heard there were chairs to be 
 got at Castra, the capital of the island. So I decided 
 to go and see. I got the R. C. and Methodist chaplains 
 to go with me. We started at 9.30 one morning on ponies 
 hired from a neighbouring village, and had to go over 
 the mountain, a very picturesque ride. We got there in 
 a little over two hours, and I succeeded in buying about 
 160 chairs and some lumber to make tables, to be taken 
 round to Mudros by sea. 
 
 Monday, Sept. 13, was, I think, our first rain. It came 
 down in torrents. At the details' camp there were 18,000 
 men sleeping in the open, or rather walking about so as 
 not to be washed away. 
 
 Well, I got a recreation tent going in each of six hos- 
 pitals at West Mudros. I had telegraphed for more 
 supplies to Alexandria and at last they arrived. I had 
 a great time unpacking eleven cases in my tent and dividing 
 the contents. Who should I find to be the Colonel there 
 but the Brigade-Major whom months before I had spoken 
 to as he lay on a stretcher on W. beach ? I had done 
 everything possible with the supplies I had, and had 
 thoroughly mastered the situation on the island. I had 
 a long talk with two Colonels, sent out specially from 
 England to investigate and report on the health of the 
 troops, about what was best to be done. It is very hard 
 to stand silent and see such needless waste of life and 
 endless muddle, and this awful winter with the rains 
 coming on, and so little preparation. Next morning I 
 went out on a motor boat to the Aragon and saw General 
 Altham and reported what had been done, and asked for 
 a letter to take to Alexandria. He sat down and wrote 
 three whole sheets of an open letter I could take round. 
 When I had got my business done, I was given a motor-
 
 MUDROS 143 
 
 boat to get to a hospital ship, the Nevasa, just off to 
 Alexandria. 
 
 I have moments of terror that I am trying to do too 
 much and butting in too much; but I have had nothing 
 but encouragement from every one, and every possible 
 support. In fact, I am given an entirely free hand and 
 seem to have unlimited powers. So I must try to be 
 very careful and discreet and keep calm. 
 
 S.S. " Kingstonian." 
 
 Sept. 28, 1915. I have had a very busy week at Alex- 
 andria; I found Andrews at the Institute and arranged 
 to get him to Lemnos to help. Hordern is appointing me 
 definitely to this job. Meanwhile I was collecting large 
 stores of all kinds and buying all sorts of things. I arranged 
 for people to buy for me in the future and had endless 
 interviews. Every one seemed very keen. I shall 
 probably get all kinds of gifts for distribution. I met all 
 kinds of people, many officers and men I knew. I flew 
 about in motors that were lent me. In fact, it was a 
 pretty strenuous week altogether. 
 
 Oct. 2, 1915. We took four days getting to Lemnos. We 
 made a very tortuous course through the islands to escape 
 submarines. At about 4 p.m. we ran into a bank of fog 
 only about ten miles off the entrance to the harbour. 
 Our last escort had been a kind of passenger boat armed 
 with two guns. Just before we got into the fog she sig- 
 nalled " All Clear." We never saw her again. We lay 
 in the fog all night. It became very dense and we could 
 see nothing. We were plunged into darkness at 8 p.m. 
 and told to make no noise. However, the foghorn kept 
 going at intervals and we made a tremendous noise letting 
 off steam. All the ships' bells kept ringing all through the 
 night. It was decidedly uncomfortable to say the least. 
 We all felt a little jumpy. I suppose the submarines 
 found it difficult to find us. We certainly made it clear 
 enough where we were. We all slept with our clothes on. 
 Next morning the fog began to lift about noon, it kept 
 rolling by, lifting at intervals, and dropping again. At 
 last we sighted the lighthouse and ran in just before 
 sunset. We moored inside the harbour just as it was 
 getting dusk. The relief was so great that we celebrated 
 the occasion by drinking champagne at supper, and I 
 provided cigars and we drank each other's healths, and
 
 
 144 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 said nice things about each other. The New Zealanders 
 had a band on board which played all the evening. It 
 was an exceedingly good band, with a splendid band- 
 master, and we thoroughly enjoyed it. They played 
 selections from Gilbert and Sullivan, and it really was 
 most delightful. Why have they not had military bands 
 all the time? 
 
 2nd Australian Stationary Hospital. 
 
 Oct. 11, 1915. I have just succeeded in establishing a 
 recreation depot here. I cannot quite understand why 
 people at home don't do a little more for this expedition. 
 Every one who comes from France says that things are 
 overdone there. Here there is nothing. It seems almost 
 useless doing the little I am trying to do. There are 
 such thousands of men. They are not being properly 
 fed. Nothing but bully and biscuits for most of them. 
 I am preparing to open a little coffee bar, but all I have 
 will go in no time. If only I could get the 1000 1 I have 
 asked for I could do something. Curiously enough I 
 have met various of my old Smyrna boys out, who are 
 contracting and will help me ; this is a great thing. 
 There is a base detail camp of 10,000 men that I dare not 
 even touch at present. It is a great thing having my 
 Depot to form a centre and distributing point. Is not 
 there any one with a private yacht who would fill it with 
 provisions and brave the submarines and come out here? 
 Men would pay almost anything for little extras. I 
 could do with endless gramophones. 
 
 My diphtheria has left me in a curious condition. First 
 my soft pallet was paralysed and I could not speak dis- 
 tinctly ; now that is all right and my legs are semi-paralysed, 
 and I hobble about like a gouty old man, and feel very 
 foolish. 
 
 Oct. 19, 1915. I was bitterly disappointed to find 
 nothing for me on the Aquitania. I am going in for a 
 very big thing now, practically providing refreshments 
 for the whole army here. I did hope to have heard some- 
 thing from home by now. The Bishop of London writes 
 that prompt action is being taken. But what? We see 
 nothing come and hear of nothing. What is the trouble ? 
 
 1 Though he never got this, other smaller sums were sent him, 
 and somehow he went on. Captain Band said of him, " He began 
 trading with a capital of Is. Id. and ended with a profit of 1600."
 
 MUDROS 145 
 
 Do people realise there are to be 40,000 men on this barren 
 island alone and absolutely nothing for them? Do they 
 think that, because we are so far away, we need nothing ? 
 that this large number of men can get on without any- 
 thing to read, any music to listen to, paper to write on, 
 refreshments to supplement the barest necessaries of life, 
 and still keep cheerful and fit ? I believe people must have 
 thought I was exaggerating. I wish they would come out 
 here. I was counting on the Aquitania and am much 
 dashed. No pianos, no literature ! Well, I suppose it 
 will come some day. 
 
 Oct. 27, 1915. I work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. every day, 
 and only have a little rest on Sunday. It is impossible 
 even to write. We sold 70 worth of goods to-day alone, 
 so you can imagine the rush we have. I bought 40 
 worth of apples off a Greek yesterday, and they are 
 nearly all gone already. I am trying to get things through 
 to the beaches as well. The diphtheria has now got into 
 my hands and makes them very numb. It is a mysterious 
 complaint. Otherwise I am well, but I don't know what 
 would happen if I were to fall sick. We are building a 
 large stone building, which means a lot of extra work. 
 We are having howling gales now, which makes work 
 rather a difficulty. There is a constant flow of chaplains 
 and officers at the Depot, asking for all kinds of things, 
 and as a rule we are able to supply them. We give away 
 all kinds of things, games, stationery, books, cigarettes, 
 etc., as well as run the coffee bar. The work is tre- 
 mendous and quite ceaseless, and we are only touching 
 a fringe of it at present. I look after a lot of small units 
 on Sunday and hold various services. 
 
 2nd Australian Stationary Hospital. 
 
 Oct. 31, 1915. Three marquees did arrive with a hun- 
 dred chairs on the Aquitania. They were addressed to 
 me, but not a word with them saying where from or 
 anything about them. I was in one last night and found 
 " Church Army " written large upon it. Why don't they 
 write and tell me when things are coming? However, I 
 was delighted to get the tents. This one had only just 
 been erected, and was packed with men convalescents 
 mostly sitting on the floor, because chairs are so scarce. 
 So it is of great value. 
 
 Meanwhile my Depot is becoming a kind of centre for
 
 146 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 the Island. I had three Generals in there yesterday 
 rather too many. The I.G.C. marched in and ques- 
 tioned my prices, and said my accounts must be audited 
 by a committee of officers. At present I have the entire 
 running of the place on my own hands. Andrews is in 
 hospital. However, I am hoping to get a sergeant and 
 the place will run itself. The building is getting on well 
 and looks like old Roman remains. 
 
 Surely at a time like this the seniority business must 
 be put aside. Why have so many dug-outs when there 
 are so many first-class younger men? And why not use 
 some of these Colonials ? It seems to me we might have 
 made so much better use of them. I have unbounded 
 admiration for them. What makes Englishmen so stupid ? 
 As I sit at my coffee bar and chat with some of the men 
 in the endless line that passes, I always find the Colonial 
 so far quicker and more intelligent much more of a man. 
 I cannot say I am impressed with the intelligence of 
 Englishmen. Brains are the want out here from top to 
 bottom, ordinary average brains and common sense; and 
 the Colonials have them, but they are not used. The only 
 intelligent Englishmen I find are the Cockneys. That is 
 why I love the Royal Fusiliers. My servant is one and 
 is a perfect jewel. He thinks. 
 
 2nd Australian Stationary Hospital. 
 
 Nov. 6, 1915. Kinloch has arrived as Senior Chaplain. 
 We had a little informal meeting of chaplains yesterday 
 to try and regularise the whole scheme. The Depot now 
 is to be called the Army Chaplain's Recreation Depot. I 
 am to be secretary. Everything is to pass through the 
 Depot. I have been given two sergeants and a staff of 
 ten men. One sergeant is an accountant and has taken 
 charge of all books which are to be audited; everything 
 is to be very business-like. 
 
 The Depot is intended to serve for all organisations. 
 Centralisation is necessary here. 
 
 I hope England is not going to pieces. I do so feel that 
 if we all rouse ourselves, and do our utmost, all will be 
 well ; and that we will come out all the stronger and better 
 for the trials we are passing through. But we must 
 learn to manage our affairs more wisely and carefully, 
 and to pull together. I keep wondering what makes us 
 so stupid. The Colonials are so much more intelligent.
 
 MUDROS 147 
 
 My servant, a very remarkable fellow, is very wise on the 
 subject. He says the policy of the Army has always 
 been to crush individuality. A man is gradually drilled 
 into being a kind of machine and going through every- 
 thing like an automaton. If we are to pull through, we 
 must use our brains, and think and plan and use initiative. 
 We must not be afraid of responsibility. The whole result of 
 army discipline seems that every one is terrified of per- 
 sonal responsibility. You are always referred to some one 
 else than the person you are approaching. Every one, 
 including the authorities, is groaning about this, and I 
 believe that here lies the root of all our trouble. Give 
 men more and more responsibility and make them feel that 
 they will be judged by the extent to which they use it, 
 not by the extent to which they shirk it and refer every- 
 thing to some one else. They must be given the responsibility 
 though. We are not really a nation of fools, but we are 
 treated and trained as though we were. I have seen it 
 so clearly : young officers full of keenness, enthusiasm and 
 ideas old staff officers terrified to do anything the 
 result of discipline ; and exactly the same with the men. 
 
 We shall not win till the young men who have not been 
 crushed are given an opportunity to use their natural 
 genius. We have it, and it is that, and not the discipline 
 which kills it, which will win. All, or almost all, great 
 triumphs have been achieved by young men. Perhaps 
 the ideal would be a fusion of the experience of age and 
 the impulse of genius, only the latter must be guided, not 
 shackled. 
 
 Well, I have unburdened myself. There is so much to 
 be done here, such wonderful opportunities. Kinloch is 
 a great help. He is fifty, and much more anxious to help 
 than check, and consequently I am always anxious to 
 consult him. My stone building is getting on well. I 
 want to put up more. 
 
 2nd Australian Stationary Hospital. 
 
 Nov. 14, 1915. I seem to have been causing a good deal 
 of commotion one way and another by the many appeals 
 I have been sending out, but now at last things are be- 
 ginning to pour in and are not they needed ? The Depot 
 is increasing daily. You should see the enormous line of 
 men waiting, it is really pathetic. I have now opened 
 another sub-depot, and we have a tremendous time trying
 
 148 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 to supply it. I am becoming a kind of universal provider 
 to the M.E.F., and buy up everything I can lay my hands 
 upon. I have no capital and it is all a venture of faith. 
 But it has practically been forced upon me by sheer 
 necessity. Fortunately I have a large number of keen 
 supporters. Did I tell you about Captain Band, of the 
 Cairngowan, a collier, who has been supplying me with 
 goods and whom I have appointed my agent ? He is a 
 perfectly delightful person, one of the most interesting 
 men I have met, with a charming manner and untiring 
 energy. He goes round the harbour buying everything 
 he can lay his hands on, and always scheming things. 
 The Navy have been so splendid. There is a little naval 
 camp here, and they have all helped me so much, lending 
 me their motor-boat. Finally, the Admiral sent for me 
 and Kinloch to lunch with him, and made plans by which 
 we can get a weekly shipment from Malta, all handled 
 by the Navy. On the Europa, the flagship, every one 
 seemed so alive and eager to take responsibility and get 
 things done. " How can we help ? " seemed the attitude, 
 not " How can we refer you to some one else ? " Every- 
 thing is sold almost as quickly as we get it. We have 
 received one or two cases of Cadbury's chocolate. We 
 sell them in about an hour. We serve the men in the 
 front, and in the back there is a continual stream of officers 
 and nurses. They give us no peace, and it is almost 
 impossible to get meals. I have to fly about seeing after 
 every imaginable kind of thing, getting up shipments, 
 arranging transports, seeing the contractor, arranging for 
 extensions. We are going to have a splendid building at 
 the Depot, eighteen-inch stone walls, cement floor, able to 
 resist all weather. I am arranging for a kitchen, so as 
 to try and cook meals. Besides all this, we have an 
 enormous number of gifts of all kinds to distribute. I 
 shall have a proper office in the building, and will lead a 
 more ordered life. 
 
 2nd Australian Stationary Hospital. 
 
 Nov. 21, 1915. Much has happened since last week. 
 Hordern has been here, and has been interviewing the 
 authorities, and a very satisfactory conclusion has been 
 arrived at, whereby the Government will take over the 
 whole affair : a committee of three chaplains and three 
 officers, with myself as secretary, being appointed to run
 
 MUDROS 149 
 
 the whole show. I shall not feel it is such a one-horse 
 show any longer. I shall no longer have anything to do 
 with the hospitals, the Red Cross will look after them ; the 
 Y.M.C.A. and the Church Army will be allotted definite 
 areas, so as to cover the whole ground. The Government 
 will supply the plant, but nothing more, no money. So 
 I shall need more and more of the things I keep asking for, 
 as this place only grows bigger. It is so important that 
 the men should not grow stale and weary of life this winter, 
 and the prospects of weather are not encouraging. 
 
 Our hall is to be opened to-morrow; it is really a fine 
 building, and I feel very proud of it. We are going to 
 have a rather formal opening. I have been having large 
 consignments of stores coming in lately and am terrified 
 at the huge financial responsibility involved. We must 
 be taking about 1000 a week altogether at the two places. 
 On Monday I open a third place. Until now I have had 
 the whole responsibility. I have had to fight a good deal, 
 and now feel very satisfied with the result. 
 
 Garrison Recreation Depdt. 
 
 Nov. 29, 1915. You say my letter was full of complaints 
 and reproaches. I think if you were to spend a single 
 night on the island you would understand. I have never 
 known such winds, with nothing to break their fury. 
 Yesterday was the worst day of all. It was a bitterly 
 cold wind, with a little rain and snow at intervals, and 
 this morning there was ice about. The wind was so strong 
 it was difficult to stand up against it. And we all live in 
 tents, with no chance of getting warm. The wind stops 
 all work. The Egyptian labourers simply shrivel up. I 
 saw one lying dead by the roadside this morning. I 
 think, despite the discomfort, it is probably healthier for 
 the white people. At any rate the flies also shrivel up. 
 The only warm place on the island almost is this Depot. 
 I have a kind of brazier in the hall in which I burn logs, 
 the smoke going out through a skylight above. It is 
 crowded all day long, and we do ceaseless business. We 
 were getting in supplies at four piers all Saturday, and then 
 the rain came on and it turned so pitch dark and the 
 transport could not work, that eighty cases had to be left 
 out all night, and, of course, a good deal was stolen. I 
 have a staff of twenty-four men now, and they always 
 have to be looked after. We have had 2400 pass through
 
 150 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 our books in takings in eighteen days. We could have 
 taken double the amount had we had the supplies. It is a 
 big responsibility. Remember it is all on "tick," and I 
 have had no capital and it all lies on my shoulders. 
 
 Of course, I cannot understand why we are having to 
 face a winter under these conditions. It does not matter 
 for healthy people, but why so many hospitals still in 
 tents ? And so much might have been done and might 
 still be done to prepare for winter. If it had not been for 
 old Captain Band and the help given by the Navy, I could 
 have done nothing. But now this is an established affair 
 and full of official recognition. The I.G.C. had tea in 
 the Office the other day and was so pleased with the rock- 
 cakes 1 that he took some back for the Commander-in- 
 Chief. 
 
 Garrison Recreation Depdt. 
 
 Dec. 5, 1915. I wonder if people at home at all realise 
 what we went through last week-end, not here so much 
 as on the Peninsula. There was the most terrific storm, 
 which seems to have filled the trenches with water and 
 swept away piers, and caused an enormous number of 
 frostbites. It is exactly what I have been dreading all 
 along. Though we talked of it all summer, no proper 
 preparation seems to have been made for winter. 
 
 To-day has been a calm, mild day, quite possible to 
 hold open-air services. I announced one for 7 p.m. to- 
 night, and came down to find a huge crowd collected 
 singing hymns. I had two good lights. One of my staff 
 is a Church Army boy, and he was conducting things. 
 We had a delightful service ; I always feel I have so much 
 to preach about. This time we are passing through is 
 such an opportunity for altering our standards, and for 
 teaching men what life really means, and to what purpose 
 we must put it, and where we have made our mistakes, 
 for which I feel more and more the war is our punish- 
 ment. Perhaps I am in danger of over-emphasising the 
 need for strong character. It is general feebleness, weak- 
 ness, indecision, thoughtlessness that are our enemies 
 flabbiness, as Captain Band calls it. Most vice proceeds 
 from flabbiness. We need more backbone, more decision, 
 more definition; one meets an Englishman on the road 
 
 1 One man was kept busy making rock-cakes all day. They were 
 so popular that there had to be a rule that no soldier might buy more 
 than one a day.
 
 MUDROS 151 
 
 and asks him a question; the usual answer, if he hears 
 or takes in the question, is that he does not know. You 
 meet an Australian, and you invariably get an intelligent 
 answer and feel inclined to stop for a chat. What is the 
 matter with our life at home that we do not seem able 
 to develop people's minds ? I am contrasting Kitchener's 
 Army with the Australians, both containing a similar 
 mixed type, but how different ! English officers come here 
 to buy things and say they cannot get anything elsewhere. 
 I ask them why they do not go out to the ships. They 
 say they cannot get boats, etc. When I go out I always 
 find the ships swarming with Australians, never English- 
 men. They call it lack of discipline, I call it initiative and 
 enterprise. We were great in the days when we possessed 
 these qualities as a nation. We seem to have lost them, 
 and now must look to our Colonies for the old spirit. 
 They have many faults, but they have character. They 
 are men, every one of them. They annoy one intensely 
 at times. But bumptiousness and self-assertion are not 
 so bad as flabbiness. The Australian is set to do a fatigue 
 job. He may refuse to do it if he is badgered. He may 
 choose his own time and way. But if he decides to do it, 
 he does it. The Englishman will only do it if he is bad- 
 gered. This is a generalisation, of course, with many 
 exceptions. Also it is easy to see how the difference 
 arises. The conditions of a new country are so different. 
 But is not the war giving us an opportunity to alter our 
 conditions at home? We must be more virile. 
 
 With luck this may reach you at Christmas. I am 
 writing to no one else except you, as I am too busy, but I 
 never forget any one at home. The plan of mentioning 
 every single member of the family every day in prayer 
 nephews and nieces and " in-laws " as well is the great 
 bond. 
 
 Hospital Ship " Somali," nr. Malta. 
 
 Dec. 29, 1915. I have been placed in an awkward 
 position. I took sick with jaundice on Dec. 13 and tried 
 to conceal myself, but was carried off to hospital. I 
 thought I would only be there a day or two, not knowing 
 what was the matter, but found I was being watched by 
 the doctors, and that friends who came to see me were 
 being sent away, and, in fact, I was supposed to be having 
 a breakdown through overwork ! This, as a matter of
 
 152 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 fact, was nonsense. However, the jaundice settled well 
 on me. One day the Colonel came and told me I was to 
 be sent home that week on the Aquitania. I protested 
 violently and said I would soon be perfectly well, and wanted 
 to get back to work. However, they insisted. Another 
 chaplain, West, had taken charge of the Depot, everything 
 was in good order and I was to go home for a rest. My 
 protests were unavailing, so I settled down to the in- 
 evitable and soon got reconciled to the idea. I settled 
 up everything with regard to the Depot with West and 
 Kinloch, and temporarily burnt my boats behind me. 
 On Christmas Eve we were to be ready for the Aquitania 
 at 2 p.m. I got up and dressed for the first time and 
 hung about till 8 p.m., when we were told it was all off. 
 All Christmas Day we were kept waiting about and again 
 nothing happened. On Sunday morning we were again told 
 to be ready. The Aquitania steamed out of harbour, but 
 we were taken off later to the Somali. When we got on 
 board we found she was going only to Malta. Now I 
 have not the least idea what will happen. No instruc- 
 tions were sent on board this boat with us. We may be 
 hung up at Malta. I did not at all want to go at first, 
 but now that I have made everything over and am on 
 my way back, you can well imagine how my own personal 
 feelings make me long to return and see you all again. 
 
 Hamrun Hospital, Malta. 
 
 Jan. 11, 1916. I have been here a fortnight, and while 
 it has been a complete rest, I have not particularly en- 
 joyed it. Now the entire Peninsula is evacuated, and 
 presumably Mudros will be evacuated next. I have no 
 unit to return to : my place has long ago been filled up in 
 the 29th Division. 
 
 What I would love to do next is to go out to one of the 
 remoter campaigns, the Persian Gulf or German E. Africa, 
 with recreation things of all kinds. I cannot bear this 
 present hanging round. 
 
 Finally Oswin reached London on January 26. He had to return 
 to Mudros so as to get on to the Aquitania in order to get home. He 
 was ordered by the doctor to have at least a month's rest, which 
 he employed in preparing his Gallipoli diaries for publication. He 
 wished to record the glorious doings of the 29th Division, thinking 
 that they were sometimes overlooked in the attention paid to the 
 Australians and New Zealanders. In March he was appointed 
 chaplain to the Remount Depdt at Romsey,
 
 MUDROS 153 
 
 Two of the chaplains who saw Oswin's work in Mudros 
 write of it as follows : 
 
 " It was entirely through his initiative that our men had 
 such comforts as they had at Mudros. No difficulty ever 
 mastered him, his pluck held him through all. Many a 
 time did I implore him to spare himself and go into hos- 
 pital, but he stuck it, even when I have known him fall 
 in walking through the weakness of his legs. The thousands 
 of men who came to his coffee bar will remember him with 
 love and admiration as I do." (C. H. Winter, C.F.) 
 
 "He transformed conditions from chaos to cheerful 
 orderliness in regard to the social welfare of the troops, 
 and with that brought an atmosphere which helped them 
 to see higher. One of our naval division officers said to 
 me : ' Did you know Creighton, padre ? He is the 
 most Christ-like man I've ever met.' Yes, and I know 
 others also who valued and were helped by him, though 
 I think he little realised how abiding was his influence, 
 and how helpful his presence." (C. W. A. Moore, C.F.) 
 
 The Rev. H. M. Hordern, the Principal Chaplain, wrote 
 that he had been able to provide Church huts for all 
 denominations up and down Egypt out of the funds 
 which were the result of his work at Mudros. 
 
 Lieutenant H. E. Rowley, who worked devotedly with 
 him during the whole undertaking, writes : " He was the 
 one of all my acquaintances who most clearly followed 
 the Master." 
 
 Captain Band, to whom Oswin always said the success of 
 his work at Mudros was mostly due, said of him : " He was 
 the finest Christian gentleman I have ever met. He gained 
 my love and esteem by his example, his unselfishness and 
 willingness to put up with any hardships always for others." 
 He speaks also of his unfailing cheerfulness and of how 
 many loved him.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ROMSEY 
 
 Remount Depdt, Romsey. 
 
 March 27, 1916. I have managed to keep quite busy 
 lately. After tea I spend about three hours in the huts 
 with the men. There are a number of civilian boys here 
 employed looking after sick horses. I am trying to start 
 a little library for them and the band boys. 
 
 I have just had several long Canadian letters. The 
 Clive debt is actually nearly paid off. It is very nice feel- 
 ing that something of a more or less permanent nature has 
 resulted from my three years there. 
 
 I have written to Hordern to ask if he cannot get me 
 out to the M.E.F., and perhaps send me to Mesopotamia. 
 Things seem so bad there. I could quite enjoy myself 
 here, but it does not seem right. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 April 2, 1916. I have been rather letting myself go 
 this morning, and telling the men that Englishmen have 
 the best hearts in the world, and are the most reliable and 
 trustworthy of men, but that their brains and wills are 
 flabby. I said I heard nothing but complaints against the 
 Government, but that they had no right to complain as 
 they had never used their brains to exercise their citizen- 
 ship intelligently, but elected people to do the thinking 
 for them, and then blamed them for doing it wrong. I 
 said their one idea of life was to do their work, and then 
 pass the rest of their time in picture shows and enjoyments, 
 leaving their minds utterly dormant, and that this was 
 their one idea of liberty. There was no sense of responsi- 
 bility; we were flabby sheep without independence or 
 initiative. It is utterly impossible to build up religion 
 without the mind ; "to love Him with all the heart, and 
 with all the understanding and with all the strength," etc. 
 I said I had held three Celebrations on as many Sundays, 
 
 154
 
 ROMSEY 155 
 
 and not one out of the 2000 had come, simply because they 
 did not think or ask themselves what such things mean, 
 and try to find out, but just drift along, muddle through. 
 They seemed quite amused. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 April 13, 1916. I have really had enough to do this week 
 for a change. I have tried to visit every squadron and 
 distribute papers. I have no expectations, as I am not 
 at all sure that anything abnormal does permanent good. 
 But after all it is Holy Week, and we are at war, and there 
 seems special cause. 
 
 April 16, 1916. I did not preach on Sunday morning, 
 but merely explained about the services this week. I put a 
 copy of the list of services in each officer's letter-box, and 
 spoke to several about them, but none came. A few men 
 about twenty-five came. I think we had a nice little 
 service. I think the more one tries, the more one feels 
 how little the Church means to the vast majority of 
 churchmen. I don't feel anything can be gained by 
 blaming them and talking of indifference; we must just 
 patiently go on and try to make the Church more alive 
 and real. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 May 4, 1916. On Tuesday night I had a little meeting 
 of about ten soldiers and four civilians to discuss " What 
 can the Laity do to rescue the Church ? " They really spoke 
 very well. Then I went to the Vicarage and discussed the 
 Church and life till nearly midnight. I want to under- 
 stand the really nice, humble, sincere Catholic point of 
 view. But as I walked back I felt the terrible danger one 
 gets into of anticipating the Judgment Day and separating 
 sheep from goats. I think I feel more and more the vital 
 necessity of loving as best one can every single person 
 one meets, and absolutely refusing to label them as in- 
 different, slack, etc., etc. Labelling them can do no good 
 and may do much harm,' as it is so easy to put a wrong 
 label on. X. has such a rooted idea that we can never 
 expect Christianity to be popular, that there will always 
 be only the few who will really accept it, and that the only 
 real good one can do is by intensifying the good in the few. 
 But I think it is death if one's concentration on the 
 few should in any way cut one off from the mass. If a 
 man petitions against you, or shuts the door in your face
 
 156 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 you have no right to label him and leave him. It is simply 
 a devil to be driven out, a miracle calling out to be worked 
 with a little patience and humour. I think the danger is 
 that people who care very much for religion let themselves 
 get separated from those who appear not to, and then 
 justify themselves by saying that religion never will, 
 never can be popular, that the Cross was a failure. (Really 
 such a dangerous doctrine if pressed only an apparent 
 failure and such a universal act done in the presence of 
 the world.) Religion is not to be found in the Church or 
 in the faithful, but in the effort to identify oneself with 
 humanity as a whole. 
 
 Last night I took a few men over the Abbey Church, 
 and then gave a lecture, with the Major in the chair, on 
 the Dardanelles. I am always surprised how interested 
 people are in this lecture. To-night I lecture again at the 
 Baptist Church. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 May 7, 1918. I am making friends with the corporals 
 in rather a questionable way. The last two nights I have 
 visited their special rooms in the wet canteen. I have had 
 an uproarious welcome each time, my health drunk, three 
 cheers, and was made a member of a cork club, the sole 
 point of which is that you are given a cork which you must 
 produce at any moment when asked by any other member, 
 or forfeit a penny. They are pretty beery fellows not 
 drunk, of course, but fairly full. I feel my going may be 
 interpreted as my countenancing this wretched beer- 
 swilling. They offer me beer, but I refuse, saying I dislike 
 it. However, I am only carrying out my own ideas that 
 a parson must go everywhere, and mix with everybody, 
 and try and understand their point of view. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 June 30, 1916. I spoke to, I think, the most thoughtful, 
 intelligent and keen man here, who has lived all his life 
 in the wilds of the Argentine, but is the most consistent 
 religious man here, and told him I thought the National 
 Mission was really beginning to stir things up. He is 
 really keen to see a revival and horrified to find things as 
 they are in England. I told him, for one thing, there 
 probably would be a re-arrangement of services. At once 
 he impatiently tossed the idea aside, as an absolutely side 
 issue, a detail which would be settled afterwards. He in
 
 ROMSEY 157 
 
 his heart was trying to solve the far more fundamental 
 problem of why men have such feeble wills, and are so 
 influenced by others and public opinion. He is very 
 popular and respected in his squadron. I felt as he spoke 
 that he had hit the right nail on the head. We have to 
 get far deeper down. 
 
 I feel as if I was stuck here till the end of time. This 
 continued life of ease and comfort and security with very 
 little to do will make me become perfectly degenerate. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 July 24, 1916. I much enjoyed my time at Swanwick, 1 
 and only wish it could have been longer. I hear from the 
 Chaplain-General that he does not propose to send me out 
 to the Front just yet, but will get me an exchange soon. 
 Then came Bishop Bury's letter, 2 but I gather the way is 
 not open yet to sending any one to Germany. 
 
 I took Captain Band and the boys to the Coliseum, and 
 we had a good laugh. Do write and tell me about the 
 rest of Swanwick. I liked some of the men I met so 
 much. But when I read the casualty lists and accounts 
 of the violent fighting going on, I feel that we all ought 
 to be in it, and really envy the men who are having the 
 worst times. They have no problems. But I suppose 
 problems will continue after death, and the efforts we 
 make now for their solution will not be utterly in vain. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 Aug. 4, 1916. I have had word that I am to go to Witley 
 Camp to join the Manchesters on Tuesday. I am hoping 
 that it may prove to be a Division mobilising to go overseas, 
 but it looks a little doubtful. 
 
 We are having a big Commemoration and Memorial 
 Service in the Abbey on Sunday night, at which I am 
 to preach. 
 
 Romsey. 
 
 Aug. 6, 1916. I do hope they will find some one who will 
 be able to come here and really get on with these officers. 
 I cannot tell you how much I blame myself. I have never 
 really mixed at any time of my life with men of this type, 
 and I am afraid I simply don't understand them. I have 
 
 1 At the Conference of the Student Christian Movement. 
 
 2 Oswin had offered to go and be interned in one of the Camps in 
 Germany if permission could be obtained.
 
 158 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 never hunted nor been to a race-meeting. There are good 
 fellows, I know, among them. I would give anything to 
 know what they really think about things to be able to 
 get near them. But after nearly five months I simply feel 
 I am leaving a lot of strangers behind me. I feel entirely 
 outside them. They have been preparing for weeks for 
 a gymkhana to-morrow, and have talked of little else. 
 N.C.'s were outside the Church Hut this morning preparing 
 for it. Two men came to the Holy Communion. This is 
 the Sunday we are keeping as the anniversary of the war 
 and the memorial of the fallen. The Church Parades were 
 cancelled, as we are going to have this big voluntary service 
 to-night. I cannot dismiss all these men and feel they have 
 no religion. I know they have finer feelings. As far as 
 I know only two are even coming to the service to-night. 
 What is the National Mission going to say about a situa- 
 tion like this? I must say I simply feel bewildered. It 
 cannot be all my fault. They don't even go to the Abbey. 
 They do their Work splendidly and untiringly. It is 
 difficult to see how they could do it better. The general 
 tone is high. But they simply have no apparent feeling 
 for religion as I have learnt it. Have I learnt it wrong, 
 or is the way I have learnt it one and theirs another? 
 
 Wiiley Camp. 
 
 Aug. 10, 1916. I had such a warm welcome here. The 
 officers are so friendly. No one knew I was coming, but 
 they made me at home at once. They are all young fellows 
 with very strong Manchester accents, analytical chemists 
 and such like. Several of them were out at Gallipoli. 
 One remembers me at the Depot. We talk a great deal 
 about Gallipoli. 
 
 Later. I am with the 5th Lancashire Fusiliers now. It 
 is a quaint sort of job, but I am getting into the way of 
 looking at all these jobs from an explorer's point of view. 
 Almost nothing of a religious nature seems to have been 
 attempted among the men here, and there is the usual 
 sense of the utter estrangement of the Church from them. 
 
 Witley Camp. 
 
 Sept. 5, 1916. The main excitement for me lately has 
 been that heaps more Canadians have come in, and among 
 them two Alberta Battalions, one of them from Edmonton 
 and one from Calgary. Who should turn out to be chaplain
 
 ROMSEY 159 
 
 of the Calgary one but my dear friend Shore ! Many other 
 officers and men I know; one battalion has four of my 
 old scouts in it; it makes it very interesting. I am 
 expecting to take 100 of them to London to-morrow, put 
 them up at a Y.M.C.A., and show them the sights on 
 Friday and Saturday. 
 
 Southport. 
 
 Oct. 19, 1916. We came here yesterday, and are very 
 comfortable in billets, a very pleasant change from tents 
 and mud, so the men are happy. There will not be much 
 to do as the men will spend all their spare time in the 
 streets and picture shows. 
 
 Oct. 23, 1916. My job is gradually dwindling away to 
 nothing. I went to various churches yesterday. At one the 
 Vicar preached it seemed to order on the Atonement, 
 there was no life or interest in it whatever. I don't know, 
 but the whole contrast seems so strange to me. The pious, 
 narrow, self-satisfied, exclusive, moral world within the 
 weak, kindly, happy, loose-moralled, generous, spontaneous, 
 tolerant world without. Which is better ? Can the National 
 Mission break down the barrier ? Perhaps it will stimulate 
 a few pioneers to go out and prepare a way of union. 
 Theirs will have to be a long, difficult, and apparently 
 unsuccessful job. But it is the one most needed. 
 
 The beautiful Abbey Church of Romsey was a constant delight 
 to Oswin during his time at the Remount Camp, and he made great 
 friends with the Vicar, who wrote of him : " My wife and I were so 
 very fond of Oswin, and we saw much of him during the time he was 
 chaplain to the Remount Camp. We grew to love his brightness, 
 his sweet temper and delightfully unconventional ways, and he waa 
 always so charming to our children."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 FRANCE 
 
 Towards the end of October Oswin received orders to go to France, 
 and he left London on November 1. 
 
 In the Train. 
 
 Nov. 4, 1916. The morning after arriving we reported 
 to the D.C.G. (whose identity you can guess). They were 
 most charming to us. The Bishop's one idea seemed to 
 be to consult our wishes. He asked me if I would like to 
 go up the line. I said certainly, and if possible to my 
 old division. He said that was full. I asked if I could 
 go to Neville Talbot's Army Corps, and further, if 
 Andrews could go with me. Eventually this is what was 
 arranged. 
 
 We have both been posted to the 3rd Division. I am 
 to look after the Artillery, which will be a delightful job. 
 I rather gather we go pretty well to the heart of the 
 fighting. 
 
 Nov. 6, 1916. I must make an effort to start my diary. 
 It was about 4 p.m. by the time we eventually got to our 
 destination. It turned out to be a muddy swamp with one 
 or two huts and a few tents. A sergeant-major came down 
 the train shouting out, " Any one for the 3rd Division? " 
 and took our kit out and we reported to the R.T.O. There 
 we discovered it would be nearer to our destination to go 
 on to the next station and walk out from there, so we 
 started off again and went about four miles in the train 
 in two hours, and set off at once to walk to our H.Q. 
 The moon was so brilliant we could easily see. It was 
 extraordinarily interesting getting up into the zone of war 
 for the first time out here. I had never been able to picture 
 conditions before. I think I am most surprised by the 
 number of villages with huge farm buildings, all just alike, 
 swarming with troops of every possible kind, who are 
 billeted there. The villages are linked together by wide 
 
 160
 
 FRANCE 161 
 
 roads, very bumpy and rough, along which in both direc- 
 tions runs a stream of enormous motor lorries, old motor 
 buses, wagons, motors, bicycles, horses and men walking. 
 At every cross road is a traffic director a soldier in a 
 little sentry-box, who waves a lantern. If you ask him 
 the way he usually knows where the next village is, but 
 never knows where any unit you may be looking for is. I 
 used to complain of the ignorance in Gallipoli, here it is 
 worse. In a village no one knows who is there or where, 
 except the Town Major. How any of the men could give 
 away information of value to the enemy beats me. They 
 certainly can give none to a friend. Often they don't 
 know what Division they belong to themselves. At last, 
 after about four and a half miles, we came to our divisional 
 H.Q. 1 in a most mighty and gorgeous chateau. We had 
 a most cordial welcome from one of the staff, who said 
 they had been telegraphing about for us. A car was 
 ordered for us. First, we went back and got our kit, and 
 then to Andrews's transport lines. When he was disposed 
 of, I had to start back again in a different direction. I 
 stumbled into a billet and was given an orderly, who took 
 me about quarter of a mile out of the village to a mud 
 swamp, in the middle of which were one or two bell tents, 
 in one of which I found the Adjutant and doctor. They 
 gave me a great welcome and said they had been expecting 
 me for a day or two, but had given me up. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 7-19. There is so much to describe that 
 it is difficult to know where to begin. I am chaplain to 
 the whole of the 3rd Division Artillery. This means a 
 General and Head Quarters, and three Brigades; in each 
 Brigade are three or four batteries, in each battery four 
 to six guns. Each Brigade has its wagon lines about five 
 miles behind where most of the men are, whose job it is 
 to bring up ammunition to the guns. Then there is the 
 Divisional Ammunition Column, to which I am attached. 
 
 Nov. 7. Tuesday was a pouring wet day with a driving 
 wind and bitterly cold. I rode out to visit the H.Q.'s of 
 the Brigades. I found the 40th Brigade H.Q. in a little 
 village which I will call A. The line here has not changed 
 for two years, and the village is well within range but little 
 bothered by the Huns (they are never called Germans). 
 I left my horse at H.Q. and walked for three-quarters of an 
 hour through terrible mud to the batteries. It was all 
 1 These were at Bus ou the Serre front. 
 
 M
 
 162 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 absorbingly interesting, as my first introduction to the 
 Western Front. The country here is absolutely open and 
 undulating. It was a good day to go to the batteries, as the 
 rain was so blinding that firing was almost impossible. It 
 is wonderful how comfortable they make their dug-outs, 
 regular little rooms with fires for both officers and men. 
 It is perfectly amazing the quantities of guns of every 
 conceivable kind we have everywhere here. It is a perfect 
 maze of gun-pits. They were all exceedingly friendly, 
 and asked me to meals. I had tea at H.Q., and it rained 
 harder than ever when I started to ride back again. I 
 felt so sorry for the miserable bedraggled men about every- 
 where. I go most mornings for a little quiet to the church 
 in the village before starting out. Next morning I rode 
 direct to a village, B., about half-a-mile nearer the firing 
 line than A., where the two other Brigades have their 
 H.Q.'s. It is shelled a good deal at times, and most of it 
 is destroyed. There are no civilians left there. At the 
 batteries we found a gunner had been killed by a whiz- 
 bang at the entrance of the officers' mess, and I arranged 
 to bury him next day. The rain had made several of the 
 pits fall in. I usually talk to different people along the 
 road. There is one continuous stream of traffic of all 
 kinds, and there is always much to see. One can never 
 be dull. We played bridge, and sat up talking till late 
 at night. S. and the doctor are very human, and we are 
 a very happy party. 
 
 Thursday I started off early, and went first to a chap- 
 lains' meeting and then to the batteries. There had been 
 difficulty about arranging the funeral at the time pro- 
 posed, so I lunched with the Major and went up with him 
 afterwards to his O.P. (Observation Post) ; this was a little 
 dug-out with a loophole, where he had a telescope. Through 
 it I could see every strand of wire in front of the Hun 
 trenches. He stopped his battery fire to let me get back. 
 I got back to the cemetery at five. It was just turning 
 dark and a gorgeous full moon was up. It was a most 
 weird funeral overlooking the battle lines, with huge guns 
 blazing all round us. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 11. I don't suppose any harm can be 
 done by saying that we are on the eve of a tremendous 
 battle, for which preparation has been going on for a long 
 time, but which has been postponed owing to the weather. 
 I was told that owing to the battle it was pretty impossible
 
 FRANCE 163 
 
 to arrange anything for Sunday. But I secured the use of 
 the village school for a Celebration, and managed after- 
 wards a little parade service for some details which were 
 being left behind. Afterwards I got on a lorry and came up 
 here, which is close to the main village in these parts, only 
 about three miles from the firing line, well within range of 
 shells. It is not quite so muddy here, and of course I 
 have not nearly so far to go to my batteries. I had a 
 telegram saying there was a man at the batteries to be 
 buried, so I went up there and buried him in a cemetery 
 much too close to the line I thought, as it might be ploughed 
 up by shells. I then went on to a battery and actually 
 found it was not firing. So I went and saw the men, and 
 eventually suggested a little service in one of the gun- 
 pits. It was getting dark, the front of the pit was towards 
 the enemy. The only light came from a brazier of burning 
 wood, round which the men gathered. A sergeant told 
 the other sections, and the men began to file in till the 
 pit was crammed. We had a delightful little service, and 
 the men sang so heartily. 
 
 Of course every one knew the battle was to begin on 
 Monday morning. 1 Until then life had been pleasant, but 
 how can life be pleasant when a battle is on ? Everything 
 for days had been a scene of bustle and preparation. We 
 were awakened by the bombardment, but as there is an 
 incessant bombardment it only sounded as though they 
 were getting a little more angry than usual. The infantry 
 went over early. All I can say is that we that is, our 
 Division did not succeed. Of course, the casualties have 
 been terrible, that is a foregone conclusion. I think that 
 before a battle, every one's eyes are opened to what is likely 
 to happen. The infantry know perfectly well. There is nc 
 excitement or enthusiasm, simply a kind of dogged attitude, 
 which seems to say," We don't like it and we don't expect 
 to get out alive, but it can't be helped, and here goes." But 
 I don't know much about the infantry. I find it quite 
 enough to concentrate on the artillery. I feel the only 
 hope is to stick to one's own job and let everything else 
 go by. But on Monday the horror of war seemed to settle 
 on me. It was one of those days when life seems almost 
 intolerable. War seems to undermine everything mun- 
 dane. The whole world looks ugly and distorted. There 
 is no interest in all the amazing mechanism of war. You 
 1 This was the attack on the Serre made on November 13.
 
 164 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 cease to take interest in heavy guns, tanks, aeroplanes, 
 etc. You see the crowds of wounded in the most piteous 
 condition of bedraggled mud and blood. Fortunately they 
 are cleared away wonderfully quickly. You hear horrible 
 accounts of men held up by mud and wire. Then batches 
 of prisoners are marched past, looking, I must say, quite 
 happy and fairly clean. All the time the ceaseless roar of a 
 thousand guns goes on ; you get wonderfully used to them. 
 Our Division had had an almost hopeless job; there are 
 better accounts from other parts of the line. It was all 
 rather futile and tedious and depressing. Our village, A., 
 was shelled that evening, and men were killed in it, whom 
 I subsequently buried. Old women and old men went on 
 driving their cows in and out of it, as though nothing were 
 happening. 
 
 On Wednesday I had an early funeral of three R.E.s ; 
 it was a bitter, cold morning, I could hardly write the 
 particulars down. I then went on to the guns and had a 
 good day visiting the officers and men of three batteries. 
 As each battery has six guns, and each detachment lives in 
 a separate dug-out with the officers, that means seven calls 
 at one battery. They were mostly very warm in their dug- 
 outs. It is difficult to have much conversation. Firing 
 is going on all the time. I cannot think how the men sleep 
 in them as the firing goes on all night. Sometimes they 
 sleep in the gun-pits right under the guns. I find that I 
 am still rather stupid ; as I go round I am often speculating 
 on the possibility of a shell coming as I walk from one pit 
 to another, or as I sit in a rather insecure dug-out. I 
 must try and get over this and cultivate the spirit of 
 complete unconcern shown by the men. 
 
 On Friday I spent the whole day, after doing some 
 writing, house-building. We built a mess out of empty 
 shell boxes and lined it with tar-paper outside. The roof 
 is a tarpaulin stretched over a wagon pole. It makes a 
 nice little mess, but it is extraordinarily difficult to keep 
 the draught out; the wind howls through every chink. 
 It simply poured through Saturday, and the country is 
 once more in an indescribable state. I had a little volun- 
 tary service and Celebration on Sunday in the only possible 
 tent, the orderly room, and then walked over to the batteries 
 and held four services in the different gun-pits. I always 
 enjoy little services best, just those come who feel inclined. 
 I don't feel I quite understand these men yet; they are
 
 FRANCE 165 
 
 from all parts of England, and it is difficult to get any 
 grasp of them. They are all thoroughly bored with the 
 war. I am always asked two questions : (1) When do you 
 think the war will be over ? (2) Is there any truth in the 
 rumour that the original expeditionary force will be sent 
 home? 
 
 From a diary letter. 
 
 Diary, Nov. 22-29. Our little mess is really wonderfully 
 snug now. We have had it banked up with sods half 
 the height outside, and have a little stove with empty 
 tins for a chimney. One row of boxes has the lids off 
 and so makes pigeon-holes, and we have plenty of places 
 to keep things. We are a very cheery little party. The 
 universal friendly feeling is a great thing in war-time. 
 
 I find my alarm has almost gone, and I feel perfectly at 
 ease as I walk about the batteries, which is a comfort. 
 It was a perfectly lovely day yesterday, and it seemed 
 strange to be standing in an orchard basking in the sun 
 and to see the trees all torn, the houses shattered and the 
 ground all ploughed up. 
 
 On Friday I met Andrews, and went with him to see his 
 regiment in the trenches. After I had seen my batteries 
 fire so long over the trenches, I wanted to see what they 
 were like. Eventually we got to his H.Q., where I saw 
 my first deep dug-out. It was a strange place. First we 
 went down one flight of steps into the bowels of the earth, 
 and got into a pitch-dark little room. We groped our way 
 across, and then down another flight of steps, where we 
 found several little rooms, one of them, the mess. I 
 returned rather pleased to find the trenches were not nearly 
 as bad as I had imagined. 
 
 On Saturday there were deluges of rain all day, and the 
 mud was perfectly appalling. I decided to make an effort 
 to get a service on Sunday, and trudged round twelve 
 battery wagon lines; they are very scattered and all in 
 seas of mud. It deluged that night and blew hard. Sunday 
 was so bad I did not see how any one could go to church, 
 but about sixty men came. I went up to the batteries 
 later, and had two delightful little services in gun-pits. 
 
 Tuesday evening I went down to the Y.M.C.A. I 
 talked a good deal to some of the infantry who have been 
 in the recent attack. It was all rather harrowing. They 
 asked me anxiously whether it was true a peace conference
 
 166 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 was sitting. When I said no, they said in a weary sort of 
 way, " No, we will have to go on with it.'* 
 
 Dec. 3-16, 1916. On Monday I went to the town 
 (Amiens) where the Chaplains' Conference was to be held, 
 twenty miles away. There must have been about sixty 
 chaplains altogether. Neville Talbot was boss. At our 
 first meeting he gave a simply admirable address about 
 the message of the National Mission as applied to our 
 conditions. He became quite inspired trying to explain 
 what he meant by the Kingdom of God. In the evening 
 the Professor l arrived, and he addressed us next morning. 
 He was in his very best form. As Neville said, he was a 
 perfect angel. He quite delighted every one, and cheered 
 us all up enormously. The D.C.G. wound up and told 
 us a lot of what had been said to him by different Generals 
 about their appreciation and the importance of the 
 chaplain's work really very striking. It is certainly 
 encouraging to find that most of our chief men are really 
 religious. We all felt stirred up generally to try and carry 
 on the work of the Mission out here. 
 
 On Friday I visited the batteries in their new positions. 
 I say nothing about the mud, but behind all my descrip- 
 tions there must be a continual unbroken background of 
 seas of mud roads full of appalling holes all dropping 
 to pieces. I returned to find that everything had been 
 moved into our winter quarters. 
 
 On Sunday my first service was at ten in the school. 
 I insist on everything being voluntary. The C.O. of the 
 cyclists said it was funny, but when a parade was arranged, 
 the men enjoyed it and wrote home saying they had been 
 to a service at last; when it was voluntary they wrote 
 home and said there were no services, and did not attend. 
 Surely this is all wrong. Has everything, religion, morals, 
 as well as military duties, to be arranged for the men? 
 Are they to do nothing on their own initiative except gratify 
 their own appetites ? There was a good congregation, and 
 the majority stayed to Communion. In the afternoon 
 and evening I had services in the different barns where 
 the men are billeted. At seven the service was in a very 
 chilly barn, where two officers and a number of men from 
 their section collected. I let myself go, and soon left the 
 service and switched off into a National Mission little push 
 and talked till nearly eight, but they did not seem to mind. 
 1 Canon B. K. Cunningham.
 
 FRANCE 167 
 
 In fact, it was wonderful how they listened. How terribly 
 important preaching is, even though one feels that worship 
 is the only thing worth while. 
 
 On Tuesday I went to the new battery, which has only 
 just come out. It was an appalling day, driving sleet. I 
 found them in the most miserable condition. They had 
 only just started digging their position, and were tempo- 
 rarily occupying an old French one. I went into a gun- 
 pit, where I found the men scooping up the vilest, sloppiest 
 pea-soup mud into a tub. The water dripped through 
 the roof, and the wind blew right through it. They had 
 to live and sleep there. They were drenched through and 
 covered with mud and shivering with cold. I did feel sorry 
 for them. I went into the officers' mess and found them 
 all huddled up in a dripping little dug-out, with no fire 
 and the mud up to my ankles. They were mostly pretty 
 gloomy. It was far the worst place I have seen. 
 
 On Friday I rode across country to the village F., close 
 to which two of our batteries have moved. The gun posi- 
 tion is just the opposite to the one I have last described. 
 It is right on a road in a little orchard. You walk straight 
 into the dug-outs from the road. They are cut under a 
 bank. They have salved all kinds of things from the 
 village, doors, chairs, tables, in one case a large handsome 
 mirror. They were all warm and dry, though rather 
 infested with rats. 
 
 Dec. 17, 1916, to Jan. 5, 1917. On Sunday I had a long 
 walk to the wagon lines. The Germans started sending 
 shells in my direction a long way off, as a matter of fact 
 but it was a hot spot, and they sounded as though 
 coming directly at me. I fear I ran. It is a strange feeling 
 being all alone. 
 
 On Christmas Day I had secured a barn near A. for a 
 service. It is usually prohibited for any one to use it as 
 it is very visible, and an important place for certain reasons. 
 However, they allowed an exception for Christmas Day. 
 We had a most delightful and most reverent service, as 
 they all knelt in the hay. Then I motored back to lunch. 
 I don't think I had realised before how much the ordinary 
 man simply regards Christmas as a time of eating and 
 drinking. I am afraid I became a little sarcastic about 
 the way they talk of keeping Christmas. Some batteries 
 say they are going to keep their Christmas when they go 
 out to rest; in other words, they are going to have their
 
 168 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 gorge. There was a good deal of drinking going on. We 
 had no Christmas truce this year, and the guns were firing 
 a good deal both nights. I talked a good deal with the 
 Frenchwoman who owns the house. Her husband was 
 home on leave from near Verdun, and her two boys were 
 on holiday from school. " II faut prier," she said to me, 
 but there were not many Catholics in the place. When I 
 asked what they were, she shrugged her shoulders and said, 
 " Rien." At seven the guests arrived for Christmas dinner. 
 There were fourteen of us crowded in the little mess room. 
 Everything was most carefully arranged and we ate the 
 approved Christmas dinner. Conversation flagged at the 
 beginning. It is difficult to feel very hilarious at Christmas 
 out here ; we worked up a good deal of rather forced and 
 unnatural hilarity after dinner. The tables were cleared, 
 and we sang and danced and played the gramophone and 
 got rather exhausted. I was rather bored all evening. 
 
 On Thursday evening I had a most interesting gathering. 
 B. wanted to discuss various matters in the dining-hall 
 with the section, and when he had finished I asked those 
 men who were interested in my side of things to come up 
 to one end of the hall. I started off by a general talk about 
 the situation of the Church and religion as a whole, and 
 said we were all rather in a fog and needed help from the 
 men and to get their ideas. I spoke about the need of 
 preparing for peace. I so often talk about the lack of 
 intelligence among the men, that it is only fair to say I 
 was surprised at the way they spoke up, and the questions 
 they asked. They all seemed quite clear that man alone 
 and not God was responsible for the war. One man held 
 forth on free will. One asked a question about the Lord's 
 Prayer. He said there was a petition he did not hold 
 with. Another said, " I know what you mean, Bill, 
 ' Lead us not into temptation.' " I hope I dealt with the 
 difficulty. A ruffianly old sergeant held forth too, and 
 said we ought to have many more such discussions. 
 
 I have decided I must move to C. to be near the canteens 
 and the wagon lines, so I am going to build a lean-to on to 
 the canteen. I am getting the canteens put on a proper 
 footing, and hope, now they are started, to have less and 
 less to do with the running of them. They are quite new 
 in principle in this Division first, as being brigade can- 
 teens instead of battery ones, and secondly, in combining 
 recreation, library, etc., with shop. I spent a lot of time
 
 FRANCE 169 
 
 this evening in the men's huts, having much talk, and 
 again being impressed with the intelligence of some. Some 
 of them are thinking in a way about the time after the 
 war. I love being as busy as I am, and feel I am really 
 getting closer to the men. They are all pretty sick and 
 weary of the war. So many have been out the whole time 
 and have had only one leave. I think it becomes very 
 hard when war becomes a permanent occupation. 
 
 On Wednesday evening I rode over and had my pow- 
 wow with No. 4 section, " How can we bring religion into 
 the national life ? " I had better combine my description 
 of the result with two I have since had on the same subject 
 and another on " How we can pull together in the Church." 
 I think the more I get to see the men at their ease away 
 from horses, harness, ammunition, mud and sergeant- 
 majors, the more I find that they are not quite so stupid 
 as one usually supposes them. They can think indepen- 
 dently to a certain extent when allowed to. The first 
 discussion aroused considerable interest. Every kind of 
 man joined in an old cook who clasped me by the hand 
 afterwards, and said his uncle was a vicar, and he had 
 vowed never to shake another parson by the hand a wild 
 Scotsman, who could not get over the fact that General 
 Booth when visiting Edinburgh had stayed with Sir John 
 Dewar, etc. Last night we had a most interesting discus- 
 sion; they mostly abused the clergy: (1) They did no 
 work, especially in villages, and never visited or knew 
 their people ; (2) they were not simple enough, and spoke 
 an unintelligible language. They seem to have such a 
 set feeling that the parson has never really troubled to 
 try and know them or understand them. But I am much 
 interested to find there are few if any prigs among them. 
 The trouble is they all feel they are too bad to attempt 
 to be religious. They all seem so keen about religion, but 
 say they are fed up with the Church. Of course it nearly 
 all revolves round the sermon, though some spoke up 
 strongly about the need for prayer. Last night I rounded 
 on them at the end, and said I was always hearing criticisms 
 of the parson, but it was about time they helped him a 
 little more and criticised a little less. I asked them what 
 they wanted in the way of services, and what they wanted me 
 to preach about. Of course they will not come to the Holy 
 Communion because they have a rooted feeling they must 
 be very good first, and that it is impossible to be very good
 
 170 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 in the Army. They think me rather profane when I suggest 
 that only people who feel they are bad should go. The 
 general feeling I get after pow-wows is how delightful 
 the men are perfectly natural, good-humoured, open- 
 hearted, genuine and friendly and how impossible it is to 
 invent any system to supply their needs how out of place 
 anything formal really seems. After all, Christ was not 
 formal, and why should we hold formal services ? I don't 
 see any escape from them yet, but are they really necessary 
 or valuable? They certainly have their place, but I 
 don't quite know what it is. 
 
 The canteen is doing bigger and bigger business, and is 
 thronged with men all day long. It is a splendid oppor- 
 tunity for seeing them, but means a lot of work about 
 which I have said little here. It really has been a boon 
 to the men, and is a more or less decently civilised place 
 where they forget to swear and behave very well. It is a 
 curious life. I am perfectly content just living among 
 these fellows and running these little places, and would not 
 change for anything. 
 
 To his brother Cuthbert 
 
 Jan. 15, 1917. It is strange how much more contented 
 one becomes. when really busy. My trouble, as a rule, 
 is having too little to do. When I have plenty I am con- 
 tent. I suppose it is a snare, and that real mastery of 
 character can only be attained by knowing how to live 
 with no very definite occupation. I have been living since 
 Christmas right in the middle of the men and away from 
 the officers' messes. I see the men from morning to night. I 
 feed them, as far as possible, with what they want, and 
 entertain them in every variety of way in the evening. 
 They crowd to everything, except services, which they 
 seem to take for granted must be a bore because a duty. 
 This is what has ruined them. I refuse to have parades, 
 and everything is voluntary. This is regarded as a peculiar 
 idiosyncrasy on my part. The sergeant-majors take it as 
 an opportunity for getting work done, and the men as an 
 excuse for not going. The officers say with an air of 
 superiority that voluntary services are an impossibility, 
 and that the men will not go unless marched. However, 
 I stick to my point, and refuse to have parades as long as 
 I can hold out. Of course, some men do come in a spas- 
 modic way to voluntary services. Meanwhile we have
 
 FRANCE 171 
 
 debates to try and discover what they think about things. 
 They air their opinions readily enough, but we don't seem 
 to get much further. 
 
 Religion in itself has no difficulties for me, but the formal 
 method of its presentation becomes no clearer. At times 
 I think it would be better to give up, and then one has 
 a service and it seems to have something in it and to supply 
 some need, and one feels one must go on again. 
 
 We go to rest in a day or two now. Something, I fancy, 
 will happen before the end of next month; possibly a 
 violent German offensive. If so the sooner the better. 
 We may be able to go on and make peace afterwards. 
 The trouble is, the longer it goes on, the less one cares about 
 the greatness of the cause for which we are fighting. The 
 only thing that becomes more clear is the folly of war. 
 I don't think it brings out men's best qualities. They tend 
 to get bored and sodden, and to lack all independence and 
 initiative. But I suppose these are very temporary effects 
 on character. After all, there is all eternity for its develop- 
 ment, a fact which to my mind solves many difficulties. 
 
 From a diary letter. 
 
 Jan. 15, 1917. I spent most of the day at the canteen. 
 We had another debate that night on " How to promote 
 the brotherhood of man," and several of the men had a 
 good deal to say. On the religious side it is strange to 
 find how few men know anything of, or take any interest 
 in, the Church of England. 
 
 I was very busy about the move, had to secure a wagon, 
 call in library books, get things packed and generally hustle 
 my staff. 
 
 Jan. 17. We actually moved at last. It was rather a 
 cold journey. It had been snowing all night, and there 
 was about three inches of slushy snow on the ground. 
 I thought the wagon would never get through. We got 
 in soon after four. The French people here seem very 
 hospitable, cooked for the men and looked after them, 
 which was nice. I managed to get hold of an empty shop, 
 which makes an ideal place for a small canteen. 
 
 Jan. 18. I heard they had a divisional canteen at a 
 place four miles away, where I could buy stores, so I sent 
 the wagon over this afternoon and bought heavily. We 
 got back as all the batteries were coming in, and were
 
 172 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 just able to open shop to-night. There will be a big rush 
 on the place, as it is the only one anywhere near. 
 
 Jan. 25. I don't see any point in writing a daily account 
 while in rest. I have been very busy, but all my little 
 doings are of no general interest. The weather has turned 
 very cold, gorgeous weather really, if only we were better 
 equipped for cold. Mud has entirely vanished. I am 
 afraid the men's billets are often very cold, and the nights 
 are pretty severe for them. I have been largely absorbed 
 in getting three brigade canteens going. I have only been 
 able to get small places, and they are packed out in the 
 evenings with endless streams of men. We make and sell 
 quantities of tea. I have got small rooms where they can 
 sit and write and read and play games. It has been very 
 sad that we have not been able to get a really big place 
 here. Fuel is a tremendous difficulty. There is neither 
 coal or wood. We have to buy growing trees from neigh- 
 bouring forests. However, by great luck I have managed 
 to buy eighty sacks of sugar. I wish Captain Band were 
 here to help. I find the French people very kind, especially 
 the women. They do many little acts of kindness and 
 make us comfortable in every possible way, even sharing 
 their last bit of coal with us. 
 
 3rd D.A.C. 
 
 Jan. 27, 1917. I have been rushing about more than 
 ever since coming down here. I have got three canteens 
 going now, and there is a tremendous run on them. But 
 I get times of feeling they are all wrong work for me. I 
 enjoy them, because I love to feel competent and see results 
 both extremely bad reasons. I think a chaplain's work 
 seems so vague and apparently pointless, that he loves 
 to do something practical. Also the men seem to have 
 little time to think of anything except warmth, food and 
 distraction. I was talking to S., and mildly chaffing him 
 about not having been to church last Sunday. He said, 
 " Oh, I go when the Spirit moves me." I said, " How 
 would it do if I took the same line ? " He answered, " Oh, 
 but it is your profession." Is it really right that it should 
 be any one man's profession and another's inclination? 
 I often wonder if we can get right about these things until 
 we abolish a professional ministry. One has the continual 
 feeling of being so alone. 
 
 Why does not the Bishop of come out here for three
 
 FRANCE 173 
 
 or four months as an ordinary 4th Class Chaplain? I 
 am sure it would do him or any other bishop a world of 
 good. We must take radical measures to stir them up, 
 or we shall die of stagnation. I am feeling rather at a 
 deadlock myself now. One does not know where to turn 
 for support, or sympathy, or interest. But one learns 
 to do without these things, though it tends to make one 
 a little cynical at times. 
 
 Jan. 29, 1917. We had confidently expected a long stay 
 and real rest, and no one was expecting the sudden order to 
 move which came yesterday. It came, therefore, rather 
 as a blow, and upset many little plans. The 23rd Brigade 
 was to leave us owing to new plans, and I shall now only 
 have two Brigades, for which I am in a way glad, though I 
 shall be sorry to lose the 23rd. I have had a very heavy 
 Sunday, with seven different services. On Monday (29th) 
 we started on our trek, which has lasted four days. The 
 D.A.C. (Divisional Ammunition Column) moves last. It 
 is a tremendous business moving a whole R.A., but goes 
 wonderfully smoothly. The roads have to be kept clear. 
 The whole column stretches miles. The animals and 
 wagons and harness looked wonderfully improved by the 
 week's rest. On the 30th the doctor and I started off soon 
 after 9 o'clock, about an hour ahead of the column. We 
 had to cross a high plateau, and it was bitterly cold, till 
 at last we dropped into a valley where was a little town 
 where we found a very good hotel. The dining-room was 
 beautifully warm, and we had an excellent dinner. The 
 route after this lay along a valley. We got into our village 
 about 3 o'clock, and found ourselves billeted in an esta- 
 minet. Billets were a little scarce, especially for officers. 
 However, I made friends with our hostess, and she pro- 
 duced two extra bedrooms, and we all slept in rooms and 
 beds of our own with sheets, and were very comfortable. 
 The French people were very friendly, especially in our 
 estaminet, where they could not do too much for us. 
 The French femme, as a rule, is an extremely kindly, unsel- 
 fish person, with much capacity and sense. The men are 
 very different, incapable, garrulous and argumentative 
 ready to go off into a whirl of words at any moment. 
 We usually do business with madame. 
 
 Thursday, Feb. 1. We resumed our trek. The roads 
 had not been improved by the snow, and turned out to 
 be appalling frightfully slippery. The doctor and I
 
 174 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 started off early with my man, and chose our route. I 
 love these expeditions in the snow and this brilliant, frosty 
 weather. The road was very solitary most of the way; 
 we hardly met a soldier and felt quite away from the 
 war, except for the far distant boom of the guns, which 
 we have never got quite away from. But the roads became 
 so slippery that we had to get off and walk most of the way. 
 We lunched in a hotel in a town on the way. Reduced 
 meals have not come into force yet, food seems very 
 plentiful. We got into our village at 3.30 and found our- 
 selves billeted in a so-called chateau, a large and bare and 
 cold farmhouse. The men's billets were not very good. 
 120 were to sleep in a huge Y.M.C.A. marquee, pretty bad 
 considering the bitter cold. I made friends with made- 
 moiselle, and she made us delicious coffee. We wondered 
 what had happened to the column. The first news we got 
 was that it had got stuck on a hill about fourteen miles 
 away. I had been out with some of the men, who had 
 come in advance, scattering straw on a very slippery hill 
 leading to the village. The doctor and I did not know 
 what to do. We waited up till 9-30, but made up our 
 minds the column could not get in that night, and would 
 stay somewhere on the way. So we went to bed feeling 
 very sleepy. 
 
 Friday, Feb. 2. We woke to find the column had been 
 coming in during the night, and was still coming in. They 
 had had an awful time on the slippery roads. The mules 
 had been falling down again and again, and all the corks 
 on their shoes were worn out. The Colonel had come in 
 at 11.30, and was rather sore that we had not had some- 
 thing ready for them, but they had all the food with them, 
 and we ourselves had gone supperless to bed. Every one 
 was pretty exhausted, but they have quite recovered. 
 It was a bad trek. I spent the morning in covering the 
 other side of the hill with straw and watching the wagons 
 being pulled in. We are staying here a weelk. Our Irish 
 vet. returned from leave, and we got out my gramophone 
 and danced most of the evening. 
 
 Sunday, Feb. 10. As it seemed likely this would be our 
 last Sunday in rest, I asked for a compulsory parade all 
 round. I gave it them rather hot and strong. I said I 
 had been three months with the 3rd D.A.C., and had been 
 bitterly disappointed. I had only asked for voluntary 
 services. They were one of the first seven divisions, and
 
 FRANCE 175 
 
 many of the R.A. men had been out all the time; but as 
 we were starting a new year of the war, with all the 
 tremendous strain involved and the uncertainty as to 
 the future, men seemed to get more and more sodden and 
 dead and as for religion it was kicked aside. The General 
 picked me up in his car after the first parade, and took me 
 on to the second, a very big one. I had particularly asked 
 for as many officers and men as possible. So we had the 
 General, Colonel and most Battery Commanders. I told 
 them I was disgusted with the 42nd Brigade ; the previous 
 Sunday I had arranged two services, and only three men 
 had turned up. Every one was rushing down the street 
 asking for the canteen, as they had been paid out. I had 
 not started the canteen as a substitute for church; food, 
 distraction, peace, victory were not the things which we 
 were taught to put first, but the Kingdom of God; we 
 had reversed the order, and how could we hope to be ready 
 or deserving of either victory or peace; every man had 
 a glimmer of faith in him, and a far nobler side than he 
 often expressed, as the war showed, but we must try and 
 bring it out. I have never had a single comment on any- 
 thing I have said since I joined this division, I don't 
 think; so I have no idea what any one thinks. I feel 
 singularly isolated. I know there are many really good 
 fellows about, but the Army and the tedium of war seem 
 to overwhelm them. I get so overwhelmed by the sort of 
 blind and bungling struggle one makes. However, I am 
 going back to my old voluntary services. They are nothing 
 like the strain. In the evening I had arranged a service in 
 the school for another section which turned out a fiasco. 
 I went off to try to find out what had happened, and found 
 the canteen full, and finally suggested a service there. 
 They said they had only been told at the last moment. 
 So we had another service, which seemed to go much better, 
 and I got in late to dinner after a pretty severe day. I told 
 the men I felt like the captain of a football team who got 
 onto the field and found the opposing side all ready, but 
 none of the team turned up. I said all Christ had concen- 
 trated on was forming a team who had to play against 
 the world, the flesh, and the devil, but that combination 
 was necessary to achievement. I wish I could understand 
 the apparent distaste to any form of service both among 
 officers and men. To see them deliberately slope off 
 when a service is about to begin is something I cannot
 
 176 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 understand. I cannot comprehend the attitude of mind 
 
 of , for instance. He is a great friend of mine, a most 
 
 kind, unselfish man, very keen on his work, with very nice 
 ideas, but he has, as it were, deliberately set himself against 
 any form of corporate religion. " I have my own religion," 
 is all he says. And there are so many like him. The 
 result seems to be that those who would be of most help 
 stand aside, and those who profess to be keen and ready 
 to help have not the same standard. I am saying all this 
 not because I feel depressed and discouraged, but simply 
 appalled by the difficulty of knowing where to begin, how 
 to act about things, what to do, who to turn to. It is the 
 same old difficulty of the parson being left to run the 
 Church and the others waiting to be moved by the Spirit. 
 
 I believe the only way out of the difficulty is for all clergy 
 to give up their professional capacity and to be honorary 
 or volunteers, and work for their living. I find otherwise 
 the same impasse wherever I go. Also you must have a 
 body of people together, and they must do the work. 
 This solitary business is impossible. 
 
 Thursday, Feb. 7. On the trek again. We had not 
 very far to go this time. I started early and got in at 
 
 II o'clock, and rode on to another village, where the 
 42nd Brigade was to be, and found an estaminet for the 
 canteen. I managed to secure a very central one with 
 some very friendly Frenchpeople. The old lady smacked 
 me on the back and took my arm and was very affable. 
 
 3rd D.A.C. 
 
 Feb. 18, 1917. I wish I understood what W. meant by 
 realising the war. Of course I am writing from rest. 
 We only fight at intervals. An actual attack is one of the 
 most horrible of things. It all seems to me such a weird 
 form of life. A comparatively small number are in danger- 
 ous places. The rest have a monotonous, often uncom- 
 fortable and fatiguing existence behind the lines, which 
 gives them a kind of stupor. The prevailing feeling is 
 one of boredom. When the horrors do come they seem 
 to be all heaped up together. I suppose we shall have a 
 bad dose, perhaps the worst, soon. Meanwhile one just 
 goes on. 
 
 I feel all I want to do is to find out the people who care 
 about things and bind them closer together. The main 
 trouble about the Church is that it has gathered together
 
 FRANCE 177 
 
 too often the rather feeble people who look at religion 
 from a personal point of view. The Church must be a 
 society of people who care about the same things, not 
 for their own sakes, but for the sake of the world as a 
 whole. What I think I want so much is not results, but 
 a feeling of companionship. I suppose the want of it is one 
 of the great lessons of life. I don't want to lead, but to 
 work with others. What always seems to me so unaccount- 
 able in life is that people one respects in so many ways 
 should be so strangely unapproachable, except superfi- 
 cially. Everyone seems hedged round with stone walls, 
 and one beats one's head against them in vain. It does 
 seem so strange living on such close and intimate terms 
 with people all the week and then their way of isolating 
 themselves from one on Sunday. I always find it difficult 
 coming in after a hard day to have dinner with men who 
 have simply cut themselves off from all that one cares 
 most about. If they were careless, worldly men, I should 
 not notice it. How are we to get men to look at the 
 Church as a society ? How has it become this extraordinary 
 institution run by a peculiar caste? 
 
 Well, it is late on Sunday evening, and I am feeling a 
 little weary. I think a parson should spend his Sunday 
 evenings with people who have been to church. 
 
 3rd D.A.C. 
 
 Feb. 26, 1917. I feel that when the war is over the men 
 who have been out here must be the ones to decide what 
 is to be done with regard to all religious, social, moral, 
 and economic problems. They will need all the counsel 
 and wisdom of their elders, but they must be the ones to 
 initiate and decide. 
 
 You say that I do not sound, from my letters, as if 
 I were feeling very happy in my work. I simply do 
 not understand how you get this idea. Please remove 
 it at once. I cannot remember four months in my life 
 I have enjoyed more than the last four. Sometimes 
 I feel it is unwise to write letters without carefully 
 weighing every sentence one writes and keeping them a 
 week, so as to be quite sure to give no false impressions. 
 I simply write down what is in my mind at the moment. 
 I practically always modify my impressions in the course 
 of a day or two, especially when they come from some 
 recent occurrence. Very few of us know our minds, and 
 
 N
 
 178 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 are able to express them clearly. What religion apart 
 from ordinary life is, and how to set about it, are ques- 
 tions I am unable to answer, and the difficulty of getting 
 at any conclusion is so great that I often feel utterly 
 bewildered and at sea. But it does not mean, by any 
 means, that I am unhappy in my work, so please put that 
 idea out of the way. 
 
 The only purpose of a parade, as far as I can see, is to 
 talk absolutely plainly to the men. It must be done in 
 charity and wisdom. I certainly can see a slight improve- 
 ment, and they do take more interest in their voluntary 
 parades. I feel I can only try to teach or help men if they 
 come freely. I have now settled to my own satisfaction 
 the question of compulsory services. There are many 
 things to be said in their favour, probably more than are 
 to be said against them, but there is only one thing I really 
 care about, and that is independence of character, and 
 that outweighs all else. I do not want immediate results 
 at the cost of independence. Wherever I go, I make, quite 
 unintentionally, many enemies and some friends, because 
 I hate the conventional attitude and mind, the herd idea 
 of life, and I tackle it, I know only too well, in what is 
 called a tactless way, which is very unfortunate. I know 
 it and would gladly cure it if I could. The only lasting 
 success I may achieve in life is that, despite all, I have 
 stirred up a few to think. You say men are such sheep. 
 That is exactly my argument against compulsory parades. 
 I would not mind them if men had independence of mind. 
 No sheep can properly appreciate love, joy, or peace. The 
 animal nature must be changed first. You cannot find 
 God without seeking, and sheep do not seek, but follow. 
 I don't mind your taking these opinions and tearing them 
 to pieces, because they are not passing moods but settled 
 ideas. 
 
 I wish I could write about our new part of the line, but 
 even I feel I must be cautious. I must try and write 
 about it in my diary because it is the most interesting part 
 I have seen. I had better write separately descriptions 
 of the actual fighting part of my time and keep them.
 
 ARRAS 
 
 3rd D.A.C. 
 
 March 9, 1917. Life has been very full of interest, but 
 I cannot very well tell you about what is happening at 
 the Front. 1 Certainly war is more picturesque, clean and 
 comfortable than I have known it. I went the whole 
 length of our front line trenches yesterday, and when I 
 came out my boots were hardly muddy. But it was 
 freezing at the time. Winter campaigning has a curious 
 effect. There are practically no casualties, very exceptional 
 if there are. You have a period of rest and trekking about. 
 You want change and recreation. Messing becomes the 
 most important thing. Gramophones, whisky, and bridge 
 all help. If inclined that way, and if opportunity arises, 
 moral restraints largely disappear. Men are very friendly 
 and hospitable. No one reads, except a novel or a news- 
 paper. There is not an appalling amount of work. Of 
 course the trouble is that I enjoy it all, rushing round 
 and seeing all kinds of people, and talking about all kinds 
 of things. I seem to be getting to know the men very 
 intimately, and we talk freely about anything. Veils are 
 torn away. It somehow seems as though all one's training 
 and preconceptions were swept aside, and one started life 
 again as a primitive man. And yet, of course, the past 
 remains always as a background. Three of us chaplains 
 meet every morning and say Mattins and have Celebrations, 
 and talk. We all say we have utterly deteriorated since 
 war began. Our ideals are largely vanishing. Just because 
 we like and know the men so well, we unconsciously adopt 
 their standpoint. We want to identify ourselves with 
 them and not be a caste by ourselves. And yet all this, 
 I think, has had no effect on faith. We still believe all 
 we believed. Nothing can affect the Christian faith. 
 
 1 On Feb. 17 the 3rd Division had come into line on the Arras 
 Front. 
 
 179
 
 180 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 But how interpret it ? What really matters ? It becomes 
 enormously difficult to pray alone except from habit. 
 Corporate prayer is always pleasant, because we like each 
 other so much. And yet, I believe we would, above all 
 things, love to find some true and living religion. But we 
 feel utterly incapable of defining it and disinclined to 
 take past definitions. I do not see any way for supernatural 
 religion to prevail or arise out of war, unless we are able 
 to leave it entirely to God to direct its course. I believe 
 if we especially religious people could empty ourselves 
 far more than we have done, and say we know nothing and 
 are really utterly futile and incapable, and at the same 
 time be a little less self-conscious, and tremendously and 
 genuinely interested in and fond of not from a superior 
 or benevolent point of view, but in absolute equality and 
 poverty of spirit every one we meet, God might find 
 Himself able to do something. Hitherto we have done 
 our best to obstruct Him. 
 
 Please remember what I said before, and don't take these 
 remarks too literally or seriously. They are written " hot 
 pen." 
 
 March 25, 1917. I am always plunged in problems. 
 Take a thing like estimating by results. I have gradually 
 learnt to see how treacherous this is. And yet the problem 
 remains; where do results come in? How can one learn 
 from them? When should one expect them? I meditate 
 on the problem should I go on absolutely impervious to 
 results like the spike who says, " The Church is bound to 
 be a failure; it is my business to go on with my spikery 
 at all costs " ? Or, am I to learn from results that I was 
 on the wrong track ? I only give this as an illustration. 
 I seldom see my way clearly. I do not at all at present. 
 I love discussing problems and elucidating truth as a 
 result. Never mind if wild statements are made now and 
 then. There are times of depression when life is [dark and 
 contrary and the way difficult to see. There are times of 
 elation and light-heartedness, when a gleam of light has 
 shone in the darkness. No truer book was ever written 
 than the Pilgrim's Progress. One must press on, or try 
 to, very stumblingly and helplessly at times, and in such 
 terrible isolation. To be friendly and sociable you must 
 entirely alter your whole standard of values and adopt 
 the other person's outlook. You must act. The one thing 
 that matters most to oneself is debarred, ruled out, or
 
 ARRAS 181 
 
 spoken of with a shrug of the shoulders. And yet the 
 trouble is I feel my fellow-men to be so superior to myself 
 in so many ways. Despite their lack of intelligence and 
 apparent vices, I see them doing things which I don't 
 believe I could do. Their gospel is one entirely of action, 
 not of thought. " Do the square thing," as a Canadian 
 said at a pow-wow. I do not think they want to think 
 of spiritual values or realities ; perhaps mutely they think 
 the spiritual world at any rate, as they conceive it 
 has played them utterly false and is entirely discredited. 
 As a result there is, I should say, an almost universal 
 extreme agnosticism. They say it is the padre's duty to 
 keep alive the belief in a world and life other than the war. 
 Every one believes in that, but solely in a material pre- 
 war way. " The one thing I want," says the average 
 officer, " is the war to end and to get back to my grouse- 
 moor, motor-car, good dinners," or whatever else it may 
 be. " This is a very good world, I don't know why you 
 worry about another. The war is a damned nuisance. 
 I don't mind telling you I am fed up and terrified. Oh 
 yes, I know half my friends have been killed. That was 
 their luck. No use moping about it." With this gospel 
 at any rate the only one he gives any outward expres- 
 sion to he goes quite cynically and cheerfully to be blown 
 to pieces by a shell. And, upon my word, as I look on, 
 I admire him. Most of the Christianity I have met is a 
 flabby thing beside it. His actions so often belie his words. 
 He is a generous, unselfish fellow. His selfishness is more 
 in his talk than his acts. (It is so often vice versa with the 
 average Christian.) He is so bored with preaching and 
 speechifying that he constantly, as it were, caricatures 
 it in his own conversation. The preacher deliberately 
 claims the knowledge of a revelation and an uplifting 
 truth. He equally deliberately caricatures this with a 
 gospel of wine, women, motors, and grouse-moors. In 
 between stands the average working man, e.g. my 
 Canadian, with his gospel of doing the square thing, which 
 he does not say much about, but on the whole practises. 
 The former man also caricatures all forms of idealism. 
 He covers the mess with pictures of semi-nude women or 
 flappers' legs, and claims that they are artistic and judges 
 them on artistic grounds only. He has a gramophone 
 with records of the modern revues, in which the songs are 
 not only bad but sung by people who cannot sing. In
 
 182 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 this atmosphere idealism is being tested as by fire. It is 
 by no means extinct. One never knows how much is 
 hidden or when one will stumble across it. But outwardly 
 the common ground is one of caricature. 
 
 I am unable to be dogmatic. The finest officer in the 
 R.A. who comes out of kindness to church, when I asked 
 him point-blank, said he thought perhaps it would be better 
 if all churches were shut up. He used to think they were 
 good for ignorant people, but now he had given that idea 
 up. " They take too much for granted. They know too 
 much." He couldn't believe in the Incarnation. Well, 
 I find myself telling men whenever I have an opportunity 
 that it does not really matter whether they believe in 
 the Incarnation or not. Christ did not demand of any 
 one that they should believe in Him as God. He left it 
 to them to find out if they could. Yet He said, " Follow 
 Me," not as God but as Man Son of Man. A human 
 Christ is what the world needs now more than anything 
 else. The emphasis on Sacraments simply alienates the 
 man who can see no further than the human Christ. Those 
 of us who have learned to see further through no merit 
 of our own must make our further knowledge the basis of 
 a surer faith. But we shall do no good by dogmatising. 
 
 This letter will never stop unless I stop it at once. I 
 don't expect I have succeeded in making anything clear. 
 
 3rd D.A.C. 
 
 April 4, 1917. None of us ignore the importance of the 
 work done at home. Every one out here feels that those 
 at home have much the hardest time. They are always 
 saying so. I think the future almost entirely depends on 
 those at home. When we return we shall be entirely 
 empty, and will drift unless you are ready to show us the 
 way. I don't know what will happen to these men unless 
 their wives and mothers are learning wisdom in their 
 absence. 
 
 I do not feel I can go on with these abstract questions. 
 We are on the verge of one of the greatest battles of the 
 war. I have given so little personal news because it is 
 difficult to do so discreetly. 
 
 April 24, 1917. These are harassing days. We are in 
 the middle of very terrible battles, 1 and the outcome seems 
 most uncertain. Fortunately my own men have not had as 
 1 These were the battles round Arras.
 
 ARRAS 183 
 
 bad a time as they might. My beloved Major Robinson has 
 died of his wounds, and we have just had a very nice young 
 officer killed. The weather fortunately has changed at 
 last, and we have had five days' sunshine without rain, 
 which does a little mitigate the horrors of fighting. Life is 
 always a little exciting. Shells fly about at intervals, 
 pretty well everywhere, especially at night. We have 
 been in action a long while now, and there seems little 
 prospect of our coming out. War has a horribly deadening 
 effect. I find it very difficult not to be mastered by it. 
 
 From a diary letter describing the 3rd Division 
 in the Battle of Arras. 
 
 Feb. 11 to April 23. It is obviously impossible for me 
 to send this home till some time after the events narrated. 
 We are on the verge of big things, and it would be difficult 
 to write anything of interest without giving away valuable 
 information. So the best thing I can do is to describe 
 everything, and only send it off when the information will 
 be valueless, but I hope interesting. 
 
 After trekking round the country we eventually landed 
 at a little place called Etree-Wamin, on the main road 
 from Prevent to Arras, which was about twenty-eight 
 kilometres away. About Feb. 11 we sent up some working 
 parties to prepare positions for the guns in Arras. On 
 the 18th I came up to Wanquetin, a village eleven kilo- 
 metres from Arras, where the battery wagon lines were 
 to be. I think it must have been on Feb. 20 I first went 
 up to Arras. I went on a series of motors, and got up 
 pretty quickly. Arras is extraordinarily interesting. It 
 is a magnificent town, very well built and laid out, with 
 a peace population of about 27,000. It is difficult to know 
 what has happened there since the war began. Apparently 
 the Germans got in early on, but were driven out by the 
 French. They then dug themselves in about a mile from 
 the centre of the town, curving round it towards the south, 
 so that it lies in a kind of salient. We took it over from 
 the French early last year. I gather the civilians fled at 
 first, but when it was retaken a number returned, and 
 various shops and estaminets were opened and a fairly 
 normal life resumed. Only parts of the town have been 
 destroyed. Most of it is quite untouched. There are all 
 kinds of most stringent regulations. Looting is tremen- 
 dously severely dealt with when discovered. The French
 
 184 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 authorities have been into every house and sealed up a 
 number of rooms where furniture is stored. There are 
 all kinds of rules about moving about the streets in day- 
 light. But as a rule most people seem to go where they 
 like. On fine days of course aeroplanes are up all the 
 time. As soon as a German goes over, whistles are blown 
 by the scouts, and every one is supposed to stand still. 
 They are terrified of gas. Several thousand gas shells 
 were fired into the town at Christmas-time, and the gas- 
 hung round billets, and when it warmed up next morning 
 exuded from walls and places, and a number of men were 
 gassed. We have all been issued with a new pattern gas- 
 helmet of an approved type. Every one must always wear 
 a tin hat. There are gas alarm posts all over the town. 
 After dark every one may go out as they like, and it becomes 
 quite busy. I believe there are six divisions there now. 
 We have been preparing positions as close as 1300 yards 
 from the front line. , 
 
 It is most extraordinary seeing the civilians. They seem 
 to go where and when they like. I found a man selling 
 the Daily Mail to the gunners at the -guns by the railway. 
 An estaminet lies just behind. Well-dressed women walk 
 about the streets picking up their skirts and showing the 
 latest Parisian boots, and holding little boys by their hands, 
 mostly in deep mourning. 
 
 On my second visit to the town I went straight to the 
 Citadel. Thompson, a boy of twenty-two, is O.C., he was 
 going up to the O.P. and I asked him to take me. It was 
 most interesting. We crossed the railway by a bridge 
 in front of our gun positions, an illegal thing to do, as the 
 bridge is in view of the Boches, and one is liable to be 
 sniped and shelled; then up a long street into a shelled 
 and ruined house; in the middle of which the R.E.'s had 
 built a sort of lighthouse erection of bricks and concrete, 
 very solid. You have no idea it is there from the outside. 
 You go up inside by a ladder. There are two floors with 
 a little gallery running round, and you look through slits 
 onto the Boche line. I was on the floor below, while 
 Thompson directed his battery fire from above. He 
 showed me two Huns walking along an avenue, but the 
 light was not good. The O.P. was only about 1000 yards 
 from the line. 
 
 On Tuesday (27th) I was up at the batteries for a burial. 
 The trench mortar working party was out and a shell fell
 
 ARRAS 185 
 
 among them, killing two men and wounding six. I am 
 very pally with this battery of heavy trench mortars. 
 They have three very young officers, who form a little 
 unit of their own, and are very friendly with their men. 
 So they felt this very much. The whole battery turned 
 out, and we escorted the bodies to the grave. I talked a 
 little about the meaning of death. But I never quite know 
 if it helps people to realise the meaning of life and its 
 persistence. There are few people who definitely wish to 
 deny it. But men generally take up such an extreme 
 agnostic position with regard to it, largely as an escape 
 from the sloppy sentimentalism of hymns and Christmas 
 cards, that they stand by the grave of their friends and 
 merely shrug their shoulders. I think it is rather a splendid 
 attitude. As Gibbon, I believe, said, the Turks fought 
 with the fanaticism born of an overwhelming conviction 
 of the joys of Paradise, and the Christians fought equally 
 courageously though they had no such certainty. I sup- 
 pose the finest character springs from those who see nothing 
 beyond the present. And yet the future seems so increas- 
 ingly clear and certain to me. Death is absolutely nothing 
 to me now, except rather a violent shock, which one's 
 peaceful and timid nature shrinks from. The gloomy 
 articles in The Nation, for instance, which see nothing but 
 the horror of Europe soaked in blood, and all the flower 
 of youth being cut off, say very little to me. The horror 
 of war is the light it throws on all the evil, ignorance, 
 materialism, bigotry, and sectional interests in human 
 nature. Surely death is not the horror of war, but the 
 causes which contribute to war. The Cross is beautiful 
 the forces which lead up to it are damnable. It really 
 does not in the least matter how many people are killed, 
 who wins, whether we starve or anything else of a tran- 
 sitory nature, provided that in the process human nature 
 is transformed in some way or another. I am not nearly 
 so much depressed by death, or even by the thought of 
 the success of the U-boat campaign or a revolution in 
 Ireland, as by the absolute stone walls of ignorance, preju- 
 dice and apathy one finds oneself face to face with every- 
 where. Of course they can be routed, and when they 
 are, I feel more elated than when the Boches are routed, 
 though that elates another, a very human and temporary, 
 though still real, part of me. Ideals are indestructible, 
 because man who conceives them is indestructible. Their
 
 186 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 vitality is being tested that is all. As one wages one's 
 incessant war against ignorance, prejudice and falsehood, 
 one would see no point in it unless one knew so clearly 
 that it would have to continue after death. Souls in prison 
 have to be preached to just as much as souls here. Where 
 Christ preached for three days, He always preaches, only 
 He uses human material now. As the Word, His sphere 
 is the mind, and knowledge and truth will have to be' 
 pursued by all. They cannot be banished now, but there 
 is all eternity for it to be done in. Heaven will only be 
 reached when ignorance is finally dispersed and all Truth 
 which is God is found. 
 
 Curiously enough, another incident happened immediately 
 after the funeral. I was in the mess, taking down particu- 
 lars, when we heard the sound of machine-gun fire. We 
 rushed out and found an aeroplane battle on. Some Boche 
 planes had come right over the town and were swooping 
 down on our observer. No anti-aircraft guns were firing 
 at them. The Hun planes are tremendously fast. A plane 
 just above us caught fire and dropped a flaming mass to 
 the ground just behind the convent. Instinctively we all 
 rushed round. I thought possibly one might be able to 
 do something. There lay a smouldering mass of wreckage. 
 They dragged it away, and there lay two charred, black, 
 smouldering lumps, which a few minutes before had been 
 active, fearless men. It was not a pleasant sight to one's 
 refined and delicate feelings. I felt rather staggered, and 
 it loomed before me all day and night. But after all what 
 did it signify? the utter futility of violence and force. 
 Ignorance again. 
 
 The Colonel wanted a canteen started, and that same day 
 I found a place for one behind the guns. It was the house 
 belonging to a doctor, an eye specialist, sumptuously built, 
 heated with hot water, with a nice garden at the back. 
 We soon got the canteen going there. The men patronise 
 it all the time. It is really extraordinary the part played 
 by the stomach in life. It simply rules the world, and 
 affects all our outlook on life. We are paralysed, absorbed, 
 hypnotised by it. The chief topic of conversation is rations 
 with the men, and food and wine with the officers. Men 
 pour into my canteens and buy everything up. For four 
 Sundays I have been up to Arras to hold evening service. 
 Twice I arranged it at the canteen. The men filed out 
 when it began, and were back again for cocoa when it
 
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 ARRAS 187 
 
 was over. (I have just stopped writing this to eat a 
 piece of cake.) I felt rather furious last time. What is 
 the use of feeding men if they deliberately set themselves 
 against any attempt to teach or help them see the truth ? 
 I preached at all services one Sunday on " Man shall not 
 live by bread alone," and said that while that was the first 
 truth laid down by Christ, it was the last that man could 
 understand. We have no need to worry about the U-boat 
 campaign, but we must worry over the absolute famine of 
 words proceeding from the mouth of God. What is Govern- 
 ment doing now, but hurling invective and living in sup- 
 pressed strife ? How can there be a united nation without 
 the passion for truth above all else ? We are hypnotised 
 by an unscrupulous press. We are always being taught 
 to hate the Germans, and to refuse to think or speak of 
 peace. We are told about our glorious cause, till it simply 
 stinks in the nostrils of the average man. We all know 
 we have got to fight as long as we wear the uniform, and 
 have thereby committed ourselves to slaughter as many 
 Germans as possible. But I, for one, and I tell the men 
 exactly the same, utterly refuse to hate the Kaiser or any 
 of them, or to believe that I am fighting for a glorious cause, 
 or anything that the papers tell me. But if man learns 
 to live a little more on the words coming out of God's, 
 and not Northcliffe's, ecclesiastics', politicians', or any one 
 else's mouths the war does not really matter. We can 
 sit and jibe at U-boats, starvation, death and all the rest 
 of the awful bugbears which we are always taught to regard 
 as the chief evils in the world. Evils they are and to be 
 avoided. But we must pray " Thy Kingdom come " before 
 we ask for our daily bread. Meanwhile I seem to be 
 reversing the process with the canteens. Men do not want 
 to think or learn. They are weary, sodden, patient, hungry, 
 cheerful, good-natured animals. 
 
 One day (April 5) I took a walk with W. round the town. 
 We went to the big square where the magnificent Hotel 
 de Ville once stood. The whole place is a mass of ruin now. 
 It has been more shelled than any other part of the town. 
 Only a wall of the Hotel de Ville stands, a beautiful frag- 
 ment. Behind the square is the shell of the Cathedral, 
 now mostly a huge avalanche of stone about fifty feet high. 
 There had been a raid that morning by the Gordons, and 
 we found them just after their return, all ranged up in the 
 street. We asked a sergeant how they had got on. " A
 
 188 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 cake walk," was the answer. They had got into the 
 German trenches and taken twenty-one prisoners, with 
 only four casualties to themselves. The men were lined 
 up, a splendid set of Scotchmen in kilts, simply quivering 
 with excitement after their success. They are splendid 
 fighters, and I found myself almost getting warlike as I 
 looked at them and heard their account. 
 
 Some days after, P. took me round the trenches. It had 
 been snowing and was cold, but the trenches were wonder- 
 fully dry. I went along the entire front line, at present 
 held by one division. From one point I could see the whole 
 German line to the north in the neighbourhood of Vimy 
 Ridge. On Monday, March 10, I went with B. of the 
 H.T.M. to see his positions. We went up by the tunnel. 
 At present it is all a deadly secret. The tunnel starts 
 just by the station and goes up and under no-man's land. 
 It has mainly been done by a New Zealand tunnelling 
 company, and connects up a number of caves supposed 
 to have been made by the French at the time of the 
 Spanish occupation. A light railway track runs along, 
 and it is to be lit by electric light. Eventually we came 
 to a little hole in the roof, which we squeezed through, 
 and found ourselves in a commodious dug-out. Thence we 
 got into the trenches, which are very muddy and falling 
 in with the wet. We wandered all round, and then 
 returned via the tunnel. It is a wonderfully safe feeling 
 place, but rather monotonous and lengthy. 
 
 Sunday, March 18. I got a car and started by going 
 to some of the battery positions and holding services for 
 any men who wished. The 130 are in a large pig-stye, and 
 we sat in it for the service. Then on to the 6th battery, 
 their position is along the hedge of a garden with snow- 
 drops growing in it. I held the service in an empty room 
 of the house. Major E. came over and arranged it all, 
 and then disappeared and sent an orderly afterwards to 
 ask me to tea. So I asked him why he had run away. 
 He answered because he felt the men preferred it, and it 
 was easier for me to talk to the men alone, there was 
 not the feeling of constraint; he meant this, for he is a 
 pious little man. And we call ourselves a democratic 
 country ! We apologise for our class separations because 
 people feel uncomfortable if we attempt to break them 
 down ! And missionaries tell us of the necessity of destroy- 
 ing caste in India ! Then I rushed to the H.T.M., and
 
 ARRAS 189 
 
 found all three officers as usual. Then to the canteen, 
 where the congregation reduced itself to three. I think 
 my experiences of that Sunday finally decided me to hold 
 no more services in action even the ones at the guns, 
 though I am not clear here, as I have often heard them 
 appreciated; certainly nothing else. R. came because he 
 thought the men liked it, though he did not; E. did not 
 come because he thought they did not, though he would 
 have liked it ; the men come because a particular sergeant 
 goes round, and there is nothing particular to do. Remove 
 it to another building, and try and make it an act of 
 worship to satisfy man's spiritual yearnings, and nothing 
 happens; simply because he has none. All they want 
 to do is to pass the time away, and church-going is some- 
 times useful for this purpose. No, I think I will drop 
 services on which any kind of pressure, compulsory, moral, 
 or infectious can be put, and merely content myself with 
 going round as much as possible. As a rule I think they 
 are quite glad to see me. But I really think it is rather 
 beside the mark to talk about helping the men to realise 
 another world, etc. They do not feel any need or wish. 
 They only wish to get back to a world they know, and to 
 homes they feel they never appreciated before as they 
 ought. I stayed with the 42nd Brigade H.Q. that night. 
 They have given me a bedroom at the top of the house. It 
 is a curious feeling lying in bed wondering what chance 
 there is of a shell hitting your particular house. But the 
 chances are small, and one soon turns over and goes to 
 sleep. 
 
 Tuesday, March 27. I had tea with the 40th H.Q., and 
 just as we finished there suddenly came a whiz and a 
 crash; we all involuntarily ducked and the Colonel said 
 we had better make for the cellar. All the men were coming 
 down from upstairs, and were ordered into the cellar. No 
 other shells arrived, so some of us went to the door and 
 looked out. The shell had gone into the top floor of the 
 house immediately opposite. Screams were coming from 
 it, and so I said to the doctor I would go with him. They 
 had got a man down in an awful condition. The doctor 
 put all the bandages on him he had got, and I produced 
 mine. He had both legs and one arm smashed, and could 
 not live, but was yelling horribly. Another man was hit 
 in the neck, but not very badly, and we bandaged him up. 
 Then one of the men rushed in and said more men were
 
 190 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 lying upstairs. So I went up and found two bodies lying 
 among a mass of debris, all covered with dust and plaster. 
 One man was still breathing, and they carried him down, 
 but nothing could be done. The other man was dead. 
 Twelve men had been sitting in the room when suddenly 
 the shell arrived. It is a wonder they were not all killed. 
 It was a horrible experience altogether. They were R.F.'s 
 of some sort. I went and saw them later on, it is wonderful 
 how calmly they take these things. 
 
 Arras has had a lot of shelling lately. I found everybody 
 retiring to cellars, so I decided the canteen must move 
 into the cellar as well. I get ridiculously nervous at night, 
 and keep wondering where the next shell will land, till I 
 get off to sleep. 
 
 So much has happened since I last wrote that I cannot 
 keep a record of it all. I have been a good deal in Arras. 
 One time I spent three consecutive nights with the 42nd. 
 The noise was terrific, and the house shook to the founda- 
 tions. Holy Week I spent mostly at Wanquetex, though 
 I came up here most days for funerals or something else. 
 Easter was a gorgeous day ; I had four Celebrations in the 
 church, with a good many communicants from all sorts of 
 units. 
 
 Well, of course we knew the battle was to start on Easter 
 Monday, April 9. An R. C. padre, B., has been attached to 
 the D.A.C., and I went up with him and Beaumont in the 
 morning. It had started by raining, but cleared up later, 
 and there was a strong drying wind. We left Beaumont 
 at the walking wounded station on the Bastion. Hundreds 
 were coming in, a piteous sight. Then we made our way 
 up to the batteries. There was a terrific explosion on the 
 way, one of our dumps having been set on fire. We found 
 the guns still in action. I found there were a good many 
 cigarettes left in the canteen, so B. and I took them round 
 to the officers and men and gave them each a present. It 
 had turned very fine and wonderfully clear again. We 
 went right over the open where our trenches had been, and 
 found all the cavalry going up, a wonderfully picturesque 
 sight, though rather a disastrous move, as it afterwards 
 turned out. I could not help waving to the officers as 
 they went by. We decided we must follow and see what 
 was happening. So we crossed no-man's land and found 
 ourselves eventually on Telegraph Hill, to the right of the 
 harp, a tremendously strong German position. The place
 
 ARRAS 191 
 
 was strewn with tanks, also with the bodies of our men, 
 though there were not really as many as I had expected. 
 On the top of Telegraph Hill I found two of our forward 
 observation officers, and went forward with one of them 
 till I saw a German shell burst, and thought it unwise to 
 go farther purely for curiosity. The wounded seemed all 
 to have been cleared away. We had seen huge batches of 
 prisoners brought into Arras. On the top of Telegraph Hill 
 was a very strong cement machine-gun emplacement, 
 which had held up our men a little and accounted for a 
 good many casualties. The whole place was simply 
 ploughed up as a result of our terrific bombardment. The 
 wire was cut to shreds all round. There were many tracks 
 of tanks, though most of them had got stuck. I was rather 
 excited that day. It seemed we were winning a big victory, 
 and all sorts of rumours about Germans being on the run 
 were coming in. 
 
 Tuesday, April 10. I had canteen business to attend 
 to which delayed me, but at 11.30 rode off with the doctor. 
 We first hunted for the wagon lines, and we left our horses 
 there. The weather had changed to a drizzling rain, and 
 later hailstorms, which covered us with white. However, 
 there were fine intervals. We met all kinds of people con- 
 nected with the R.A., all very exhausted, without any sleep 
 since the battle. We made our way past the Bois des 
 Bceufs to inspect one of the captured guns. It stood 
 outside its gun-pit. In the pit were the infantry who had 
 captured it, and outside lay the German officer's corpse. 
 They had captured the detachment, but the officer had 
 refused to surrender, and they had shot him. We walked 
 back along the Cambrai Road, one ceaseless stream of 
 traffic of all kinds. It is wonderful to find a pavee road 
 going right across no-man's land into the German lines, 
 all ready for our transport. 
 
 Wednesday, April 11. The D.A.C. moved up to Arras. 
 I got a billet in a large house with most of the windows 
 gone and almost empty. I went off in the afternoon in 
 search of the wagon lines, and found a burial party at work 
 burying our men, and buried five of them and then returned. 
 The cavalry are just coming back. I am afraid they did 
 nothing. But it is extraordinarily difficult to get any 
 proper information. We have to wait for the papers. 
 The attack seemed regularly held up. Infantry cannot do 
 the impossible when exhausted. That night put a finish
 
 192 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 on everything. The snow came down absolutely pitilessly, 
 and it was bitterly cold. I have never seen such weather. 
 It seems always against us. 
 
 Thursday , April 12. I went up to the guns, which had 
 moved right up in front of Tilley. The ground was terrible 
 to walk over. I found the 40th Brigade a long way for- 
 ward on the Cambrai road in a little deep German dug- 
 out. L. and the Colonel had had practically no sleep and 
 little to eat. I gave them soup squares and sardines and 
 chocolate. I found the guns had managed to get hold 
 of some German dug-outs. They are most wonderfully 
 constructed places, with great flights of steps going into 
 the bowels of the earth. The men all seemed wonderfully 
 cheerful, they have had practically no casualties. 
 
 Friday, April 13. I rode up immediately after lunch 
 to the guns. Who should I find going up but the 29th 
 Division ? I found the R.F.'s on the road, and one or two 
 men I knew, but no officers. In the middle of Tilley, in a 
 wonderful deep German dug-out, I found the 89th Field 
 Ambulance. They still have four of the same officers and 
 half the original men. It was very nice seeing them, and 
 they were most friendly and gave me tea. I love renewing 
 old acquaintances. 
 
 Sunday, April 15. I had service in a much-shelled 
 convent, and later rode up to the guns in the drizzling 
 rain for a Celebration. It was a very reverent little service 
 in a muddy German gun-pit, with the men kneeling all 
 round. 
 
 I get times of so hating the war and everything to 
 do with it that it becomes very difficult to write. For 
 the whole week, April 16-23, we merely marked time 
 preparing for a fresh attack. The weather was vile. For 
 about two days we had no shells in Arras, but now they 
 shell us spasmodically and indiscriminatingly, day and 
 night, but especially night. I sleep at the top of the house 
 with the doctor. There is so much noise that I often lie 
 awake and hear the shells coming, and wonder where they 
 are going to land. 
 
 To his brother Cuthbert 
 
 April 25, 1917. Your letter has stimulated me to 
 thought again. I feel the war is having a disastrous effect 
 on me. I am deteriorating in all directions, and not very
 
 ARRAS 193 
 
 much caring whether I do or not. As for religion, it gener- 
 ally resolves itself under pressure of war to a gospel of 
 general friendliness and sociability. I think that is all 
 we judge men by out here. And, of course, capacity, 
 intelligence, humour, count as well. As a general rule 
 we like each other, and get on pretty well. But if any 
 one was to ask what result war has on religion apart from 
 the above, I should say entirely negative. People still 
 talk about prayer. But I doubt if any one practises it 
 except mechanically. Personally, I feel simply in the 
 attitude of Thomas, who could not cut himself off from the 
 rest with whom he had identified himself, but could see 
 nothing plainly and had no programme. What are we 
 left with ? (1) A wonderful story of a life which interprets 
 and sums up most things. (2) Our fellow-men, who are 
 so extraordinarily human and full of possibilities. Why 
 have we always been taught to differentiate between sheep 
 and goats ? Men are not good and bad. But I think they 
 are wise and foolish. I want to go back to Wisdom. 
 Where is the place of understanding ? That is the funda- 
 mental question. Men must think. Mind must rule, and 
 yet mind must interpret heart. Heart must prompt and 
 stimulate. Otherwise you get Prussianism. Prussianism, 
 as far as I can see it, is the abnormal development of 
 mind accompanied by the deadening of heart. It is so 
 easy to get a sense of intellectual superiority, and to let 
 mind mock heart. So they say : " We will sink every 
 hospital ship." Mind approves this as a wise and far- 
 seeing policy, helping them to win in the end. We make 
 a supreme intellectual effort, and with awful language 
 announce a policy of reprisals, and a few bombs are dropped 
 on a town. However, meanwhile we rescue German 
 prisoners from the hospital ships they sink. The very 
 man who says he would shoot every one of them is the 
 first to offer a Boche prisoner a cigarette. No, the English- 
 man hates to own it, but he has a genial, kindly nature. 
 He is rather ashamed of it, and so talks very loud the 
 other way. He sees the marvellous development of 
 Prussian intelligence, and he openly admires it. What is 
 the lesson of all this? We must keep our hearts warm, 
 but we must develop our intelligence. The Church must 
 do something. It must be intelligent, and appeal to 
 intelligence in others. 
 
 May 1, 1917. I have moved up to the forward wagon
 
 194 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 lines so as to be nearer the guns and to have the canteen 
 up here. We are having very furious fighting all these 
 days, ever since Easter Monday. The guns are never 
 silent. There is a battery of heavy guns close here which 
 shakes the whole ground when it fires. The worst of this 
 furious fighting is that it seems very unlikely we will ever 
 get any rest again. It becomes rather a strain on the men 
 at the guns, and especially the officers. I went up to bury 
 a man this afternoon, but had to postpone the funeral 
 an hour, as they were shelling round the cemetery such a 
 lot. What a deadening effect the war has on us all. We 
 all carry on quite cheerfully, but it is so difficult to care 
 about anything. I am filled with admiration for the 
 bravery of all the men, and their readiness to carry on 
 almost indefinitely. It seems so funny to be sitting in a 
 comfortable little mess made of ammunition boxes with 
 a tarpaulin roof, having just had a four-course dinner with 
 the roar (and it has been a roar) of battle all round; a 
 lovely still night and nothing but land absolutely ploughed 
 up by our shells and barbed wire lying all round. 
 
 May 6, 1917. It is singularly difficult to write letters. 
 All one does is to carry on as cheerfully and lightheartedly 
 as possible, and to worry about nothing. Life is too 
 unnatural and false to have any ideas of any value. 
 Mitchell, quite one of our best padres, was killed three 
 nights ago. We all met at his funeral, and carried the 
 body to the grave on Friday. 1 He was a splendid fellow, 
 very quiet and unobtrusive, a real saint, absolutely idolised 
 by his Colonel, Major, and whole regiment. But death is 
 too common now-a-days to pay much attention to it. 
 This all sounds a little gloomy, but you would be surprised 
 to find how lively and lighthearted people are, and how 
 genial and generally sociable. Only we none of us feel 
 we are winning the war. 
 
 May 10, 1917. We have now had a month's solid fight- 
 ing without any pause. The Germans have long-range 
 guns and shell all over the place with them, and you never 
 know where the next may come. The R. C. padre's first 
 
 1 Of this Rev. J. Martin Andrews wrote after Oswin's death : 
 " All the Chaplains of the Division were gathered together looking 
 very miserable, when suddenly Oswin arrived and said, ' Please 
 don't look so miserable, Mitchell is much better off than we are. He 
 is away now from this terrible war. He is the last man that would 
 have us weep about his death. Let us show these men that we can 
 laugh at death, it is nothing to be miserable about.' "
 
 ARRAS 195 
 
 experience of war was the day of our first big advance, 
 when I took him up with me. He was a little timid and 
 bewildered naturally, but now he feels just the opposite. 
 He is always trying to get jobs which will take him right 
 into the fighting, and says he gets quite exhilarated when 
 under shell fire. He says he would quite like to be killed, 
 and cannot see why people are so alarmed of death. I 
 must say I rather agree with him, because war simply makes 
 death rather absurd, and one cannot see why it should 
 be taken seriously when it is so prevalent. But I don't 
 feel that one's philosophy makes one any braver. I 
 have been building and enlarging the canteen all day so 
 as to make it suitable for service for the R. C. padre and 
 myself as well as for a canteen. 
 
 I cannot help feeling that we are being taught in war- 
 time that the first thing we must do, and the only founda- 
 tion we can build on, is to have increasing knowledge of 
 and confidence in each other. 
 
 May 17, 1917. Life is not particularly varied now. 
 Lately it has been largely a series of funerals, visits to 
 batteries and running of canteens. I think some of my 
 last letters must have sounded a little harassed. How- 
 ever, now I seem to have settled down to the life and 
 things are quite a matter of course. One thing is, one 
 never has time to feel bored. The country is getting 
 wonderfully green. The swallows pleased me yesterday. 
 Right among the guns they seemed to be tamer than ever, 
 and almost flew into me. 
 
 3rd D.A.C. 
 
 May 22, 1917. We have had a bad time lately. On 
 Saturday one shell killed four of our officers in one mess 
 the whole of the officers up with that battery and another 
 killed a Major and two sergeants of another battery. The 
 Major was one of our very best, Rogers a young fellow 
 of twenty-seven. I had an unbounded admiration for him, 
 and his death is a bitter blow. Our two best battery com- 
 manders have now been killed. I am afraid I cannot help 
 envying them. You certainly can and must make the 
 best of life, but these days it is rather a poor thing to 
 make the best of. 
 
 May 29, 1917. When I went to Gallipoli war was new 
 and its experiences had a certain amount of excitement; 
 now it has become an occupation, and it has a deadening,
 
 196 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 coarsening effect, and one seems to lose interest in most 
 things. More and more the world seems to have lost its 
 charm and to offer little worth living for. Often I have 
 thought that the simplest solution to its many insoluble 
 problems would be to be blown to pieces. But after all, 
 that is really too simple and also cowardly. I don't 
 think we are quite normal in these days, and I can only 
 hope we shall be forgiven for our many failings. Now we 
 are at last having a quieter time, and the change has its 
 effect on one's mind, and I begin to feel a little more normal 
 again. 
 
 I am rather interested in Letters from Picardy. I think 
 the chapter of Gordon's contrasting R. C. methods with ours 
 interested me most. It never seems to me that the R. C.'s 
 really offer any solution for the mess the world is in. To 
 turn R. C. for one's own sake is surely to begin one's reli- 
 gion at the wrong end. Religion must not primarily be 
 something to give oneself consolation, but something which 
 is going to transform society. And I fail to see how a man 
 really can ever succeed in transforming society by finding 
 that which satisfies his own intellect or emotions. 
 
 Meanwhile the world is in a bad mess. Every one is 
 going on leave at present. Practically all the officers have 
 three days in Paris. It somehow seems a sort of retort 
 to God : " You put me into this wonderful, delightful 
 world of Yours, without consulting my wishes. You then 
 allowed me to do what I liked in it. I saw that following 
 Your directions would probably make mostly for my own 
 and the world's welfare, but then You have allowed the 
 world to become an impossible place a mass of contradic- 
 tions. You have stood aside while we have been plunged 
 into this war, which we none of us wanted. We have had 
 the most terrifying experiences. How can You blame us 
 if as an antidote to them we avail ourselves, when oppor- 
 tunity arises, to the utmost of the pleasures the world can 
 give us ? And don't say they are not pleasures, because 
 we have tried them and know they are. And don't say 
 the best men are not the same, because the best men we 
 know, the finest and bravest and most capable soldiers are 
 the same. Look at So-and-so. His men worshipped him. 
 There was not a finer gentleman or a nobler soldier. And 
 he knew how to enjoy himself. Oh yes, So-and-so is quite 
 proper, but he has not the spunk. He is a mug no man 
 of the world. No, I have made up my mind, if I have got
 
 ARRAS 197 
 
 to put up with so many changes and discomforts, I am 
 going to get all the pleasure I can, and blow the conse- 
 quences. I have my own standards. I don't intend to 
 do any one a dirty trick. I know how to behave myself. 
 I intend to do my duty under the most trying circum- 
 stances, and to do the square thing by my fellow-men. 
 Let the rest rip. This is my gospel, and it is good enough 
 for me, and I am quite prepared to take the consequences. 
 If I am spared I shall probably settle down, marry, and live 
 a respectable life." There seems to me to be really no 
 answer, except simply to say that there is another idea 
 of life, and that some people feel they must do their best 
 to uphold it, even at the risk of being classed as mugs. 
 The wheat and the tares grow side by side, and their roots 
 are inextricably involved. War teaches us to discrimi- 
 nate between them very clearly; but it does not show us 
 how to pull up the one without pulling up the other. And 
 the best soil always produces the healthiest weeds. You 
 can often get a fairly clean but very stunted crop from 
 light sandy soil; neither the wheat nor the weeds like it 
 much. 
 
 Well, you asked for news, and I weary you with problems. 
 I think Papers from Picardy has the advantage of facing 
 the problems and stating them fairly. I don't think any- 
 thing in the nature of a solution is possible at present. 
 The R. C.'s and the men of the world must each be allowed 
 to go their own way unfettered, and we must stand help- 
 lessly and confusedly in between, bewildered and com- 
 panionless; above all things judging neither the one nor 
 the other, but trusting simply to the law of charity and 
 the guidance of the Spirit, Who surely will guide us into all 
 Truth if we only care enough and judge less. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 May 29, 1917. I own and confess I have been bad about 
 writing. My only explanation is that we have been fighting 
 hard and have all been feeling a little shattered. The 
 result is a sort of apathy and lack of interest in things in 
 general. Then we feel a sense of unreality about you at 
 home. No more about you than about anything else. 
 Everything, and to a certain extent everybody, is unreal. 
 This is an unreal world. Everybody is engaged in doing 
 things they take little or no interest in, and filling in the 
 spare time with any kind of occupation that will help to
 
 198 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 pass the time. The newspapers and people in general 
 discuss causes and problems which always seem to me 
 singularly unreal. How can I really be interested in the 
 future of Russia, England, or any other mundane con- 
 vention, when the next moment a shell may come and blow 
 me to blazes ? or if not me, how can I discuss the same 
 questions with some one else, knowing that there are 
 quite large odds on such a fate awaiting him ? When you 
 see a lot of people being killed you seem to lose interest 
 in the world. Their part in it is finished, and it seems 
 selfish to say the least to be absorbed in it when they 
 are out of it all. Of course, people at home must think 
 more of what is going to happen after the war, as that is 
 likely to involve themselves; and most people out here 
 talk about it too. But when you bury them the next 
 day it robs a good deal of speculation of any sense of 
 reality. I feel the only reality remains with those who 
 have been killed. And yet, of course, this is also false, 
 because life is a unity and, presumably, the problems we 
 have to face here are the problems we shall still find 
 unsolved hereafter, unless we continually press for a 
 solution. 
 
 As for classes, the sooner they are ignored the better. 
 I think it rather unreal to separate those who have been 
 to the war and those who have not, into two classes. There 
 is really only one line of division, that between people 
 who are content to be themselves and those who submit 
 to external labels. 
 
 It is curious the love of gardens. We are living on no- 
 man's land, a mass of shell craters and barbed wire, mazes 
 of trenches and dug-outs. The soil is barren and chalky. 
 I went over to see an Irish labour company near by, and 
 found the officers contemplating a little dusty flower-bed 
 in which they had planted a few seeds, and quite excited 
 to see some of them beginning to show. If we all had 
 gardens or farms and worked in them ourselves, the world 
 would be a better place. The man who sows wild oats, so 
 often sows sweet peas and keeps puppies, and appreciates 
 them just as much if not more. 
 
 Some day I may come home on leave, and the King's 
 Mound will be very delightful. I simply long to play on a 
 piano with heaps of music. I will also do much in the 
 garden, and play long with the children. What a delightful 
 existence !
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE LAST YEAR 
 
 June 5, 1917. I am busy at present trying to form a 
 concert troupe out of the R.F.A. men, so that we can enter- 
 tain batteries when at rest, and I have open-air concerts 
 every evening of varying quality. 
 
 I often wonder if it would not be better if all the men 
 were R. C.'s. For men who don't think and have no 
 initiative, what can you have but a dogmatic, authoritative, 
 externally imposed religion ? And even the men who do 
 think are often quite prepared to submit to authority and 
 accept unquestioningly the dogmas for the sake of the 
 unity and strength that are gained. I am always absorbed 
 in insoluble problems, the R. C.'s have none. Everything 
 of immediate importance is settled. I believe that is 
 what makes most R. C. padres so unfailingly cheerful, 
 often boisterous. And yet how on earth is the world 
 going to progress unless men are taught they must think ? 
 Somehow one feels one would rather remain absolutely 
 isolated and solitary than submit to a purely dogmatic 
 religion than feel one no longer leads what must often 
 be the solitary, lonely responsibility of facing and attempt- 
 ing to solve insoluble problems. For the sake of peace we 
 might all submit to German Kultur domination. But 
 what then about liberty ? When all is said and done, the 
 good a man can hope to do in the world must be done 
 through his own personality and his relationship with 
 individuals. 
 
 Paris. 
 
 June 11, 1917. I have just arrived here for seventy- 
 two hours' leave with L. He is a charming fellow and 
 makes a good companion. He does not have any desire 
 to be a man of the world, I am glad to say. We are in 
 one of the most sumptuous and luxurious of Paris hotels. 
 It is rather amusing being in Paris, but I expect three 
 days will be quite enough. 
 
 199
 
 200 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 3rd D.A.C. 
 
 June 19, 1917. I got back from Paris on Saturday. I 
 quite enjoyed my time. L. made a good companion. 
 We did most of the orthodox things, hired a luxurious 
 car for the day and motored to Versailles. We went 
 twice to the Opera. The enthusiasm of some Australian 
 officers there was very refreshing. These colonials are 
 not at all blase. I go to St. Omer next week for a week in 
 the school for chaplains and shall see the Professor. 
 
 St. Omer. 
 
 June 30, 1917. I am enjoying again reading a little 
 I turned the men on last night to discuss the sex question. 
 We are beginning to be a good deal franker, but not so 
 frank as we should yet. What to do with a really pas- 
 sionate nature is a question which never seems to have 
 been properly solved. The teaching of mere self-suppres- 
 sion is in most cases mischievous. You do not have a 
 nature given you simply to suppress it. It must be 
 elevated, guided, directed, brought into harmony with the 
 rest of life. The more I see of all this endless prostitution 
 and men surrendering themselves to what they feel is 
 unavoidable and necessary, simply because we have not 
 really mastered the problem or shown them the true lines 
 of development, but instead have given them a negative 
 direction to suppress their natures, the more I am filled 
 with dismay, and the desire to investigate further. How- 
 ever, this is by the way. The only observation I should 
 like to make is this, that I wish nice, wise, good girls 
 would leave their sheltered homes (if they are still there, 
 which I suppose they are not) and mix among soldiers 
 wherever possible and be really nice to them. Several 
 men have told me of girls whom they were courting and 
 to whom they made an indecent suggestion, who for 
 reply smacked them in the face. I asked them what 
 their feelings were : " Why, to make me think ten times 
 better of her, and now she is my wife," or " I intend to 
 marry her if I get back " ; always " When I marry I 
 intend to marry a clean girl." Very selfish, I know, but the 
 girls have such tremendous power in their hands. We 
 men deserve no excuses for our weakness; but it would 
 be really splendid if the women would take us in hand. 
 
 It is curious getting away from war again. One begins 
 to live and think once more. I was very tired when I
 
 THE LAST YEAR 201 
 
 got here first, and lay on my bed and slept and read. 
 Now I feel refreshed and able to think more. 
 
 July 9, 1917. I returned on Wednesday. They had 
 moved in my absence, and we are in a very different part 
 of the world now. 1 A change is always interesting, but 
 it means a lot of work. It means finding new places for 
 canteens, collecting material, etc., etc. Now that we have 
 a concert troupe that means much more work as well. We 
 are now building theatres in different places and preparing 
 for shows. 
 
 July 11, 1917. I am still very busy building three 
 stages, and arranging shows, and visiting the guns, which 
 are scattered at long intervals. We are having a very 
 good time of it here, very little fighting and absolute 
 freedom ; no civilians or corps ; we can ride where we like. 
 It is great fun running our concert troupe, and they really 
 are getting rather good. The news seems a good deal 
 better. I wonder what the Germans are thinking. The 
 way they have wrecked and destroyed this country, 
 cutting down fruit trees, blowing up churches, opening 
 graves in vaults, is enough to make one cease to be a 
 pacifist. 
 
 July 16, 1917. The guns are so scattered here. One 
 day I rode seven miles in search of two of them, and 
 eventually found them in the middle of a huge wood, 
 quite isolated from every one else. Just one officer and 
 thirteen men were living there in the middle of a lovely 
 wood full of campanulas and raspberries. It was most 
 amusing lying among lovely flowers, with a great wood 
 behind us and a view of the German trenches in front, in 
 the blazing sunshine, eating raspberries, and watching 
 shells burst about two hundred yards away, knowing we 
 were in perfect safety and that probably there was no 
 one where the shells were bursting. 
 
 I am afraid I have to return to compulsory parades. 
 It is awful the way I keep changing; but men with horses 
 have so many duties (and now the horses are sent out 
 grazing nearly all day) that a voluntary service is prac- 
 tically impossible. I sometimes feel a parade is a good 
 opportunity to collect as many men as possible and at 
 least try to give them something to think about and talk 
 about. That is almost all one can hope to do. I fancy 
 that the main result of war is to make men feel that such 
 1 They were in the line east of Bethune.
 
 202 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 a thing as religious experience resulting in any way from 
 reb'gious worship is out of the question. I sometimes feel 
 inclined to wonder why God hides Himself so inscrutably 
 from our experience. Or is it that the Church has taught 
 us for so long to look for Him in the wrong places? 
 
 I shall put in for leave at the end of this month. 
 
 Aug. 17, 1917. I found everything just the same as 
 when I left, and it is likely to continue so. It was very 
 nice in a way getting back, as every one is so friendly 
 and we all know each other so well. It really is a wonder- 
 fully pleasant life under the circumstances. 
 
 I did so enjoy my leave and loved seeing you all. It 
 could not have been a nicer one. 
 
 Aug. 24, 1917. The other evening we gave our opening 
 show in the covered-in theatre I have built for the D.A.C. 
 It is a wonderful place. The framework and seats are 
 all made of massive timber, collected from the villages 
 round, and the whole covered by three gigantic tarpaulins. 
 The men have fixed up a wonderful little dressing-room 
 behind the stage and are very comfortable. They gave 
 an excellent show to a packed and enthusiastic house. 
 The Church Army have given us a most magnificent 
 marquee, and I have had it erected on one of the wagon 
 lines and built a stage in it and put the canteen in as well. 
 
 We lead a strange life these days, sports, concerts, 
 games of all kinds going on every day. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Aug. 28, 1917. I think I am a little tired of talking, 
 discussing, raising problems. I believe we most of us 
 feel that out here, and perhaps that makes a little cleavage 
 between us and you. I don't see there is much advantage 
 in either judging the other. I believe we are really com- 
 plementary. No one out here thinks at all, but they rub 
 along and learn a lot about human nature and lose a 
 great deal that is false in their judgments and standards. 
 They learn how rotten conventions are and what a lot of 
 bunkum we have allowed ourselves to swallow. Devils 
 are being driven out and the places are left swept and 
 garnished. It is as though we had been violently seasick 
 and were getting to the stage of feeling very empty and 
 ravenously hungry. We are mighty empty now, but on 
 the whole we understand one another. Now at home 
 you are all trying very hard to understand us. At home
 
 THE LAST YEAR 203 
 
 I was always being asked what do the men feel about 
 this and that. I was always being asked for generalisa- 
 tions, for which there was an insatiable demand. You will 
 say I am making them myself, which I admit is perfectly 
 true. I think the main thing you at home have to realise 
 is that the effects of this war are almost entirely negative. 
 We are strangely disillusioned. I get quite alarmed at 
 the extent of my own disillusionment. I don't quite 
 know where I find things that stand the test. I am no 
 longer shocked at things only rather bored. I see 
 singularly little efficacy in any of the religion I have tried 
 to practise as a performance. And I cannot find any one 
 else who does, except in their blind, unquestioning way 
 the R. C.'s. In my own case it is not a difficulty of belief 
 but of expression, and I fancy that is a pretty general 
 attitude. Well, how are we going to fill these empty 
 stomachs with the food that will really satisfy? The 
 Creeds, ministry of women, Prayer Book reform, Life and 
 Liberty, the whole caboodle have all gone overboard as 
 far as we are concerned. We don't really care about any 
 of them. " Well, you are a beastly, destructive, negative 
 lot." Granted. " You don't care about anything." 
 No; false, quite false. We are sick this is my point 
 sick to death of abstractions. We are learning that it is 
 only human beings that count, and that if the Christian 
 religion is to prosper on earth, it can only be by Christians 
 understanding and serving their fellow-men. Discussions, 
 conferences, inquiries, etc., simply do not interest or move 
 us. But if a soldier hears the vicar has been looking after 
 his wife and children in his absence if the wife hears 
 from the chaplain when her husband has been killed if 
 there is any touch of human friendship and understanding, 
 then we get near the foundation of all things, the heart 
 of man. I cannot help seeing a picture of you all great 
 and wise and the best of people gathered together and 
 discussing us and our utter absence of religion. 1 And 
 somehow I feel it is all so remote. There really is not 
 much to discuss. The only thing to do is to go out among 
 the ordinary, ignorant, entirely unenlightened, struggling 
 mass of human nature and try and leaven the lump. As 
 a parson himself remarked, " Parsons are like manure 
 when scattered over the land they fertilise it, when col- 
 lected in one place they become a public nuisance." I 
 1 He refers to the Y.M.C.A. inquiry on " the Army and Religion."
 
 204 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 think far more of an elderly parson I found on the roof of 
 a C.A. hut, repairing it in a forward place out here, who 
 was running the hut with another parson and no orderlies, 
 having to do absolutely everything themselves, than of 
 whom shall I say X. will all his profound intellectualism. 
 Perhaps we are quite wrong. It is difficult to see things 
 in their proper proportion out here. 
 
 Aug. 31, 1917. You would be amused to see where 
 I am writing from. Try and picture a very cosy little 
 room about 14 by 8, and 7 ft. high. The floor is wooden, 
 the walls covered with canvas, the roof tin, supported by 
 wooden pillars. On one side, facing away from the enemy 
 is a door and a window with a sliding shutter to it. On 
 the other side is a wonderful open fireplace. The room is 
 built into the side of a steep bank and the chimney has 
 been cut right through the earth. Little wooden shelves 
 have been fixed above the fireplace, and together with 
 the rest of the woodwork, painted green. Logs are 
 burning practically all day because the weather is chilly 
 and damp. In the middle of the room is a beautiful table 
 with folding leaves and rush-bottomed chairs round it. 
 At one end of the room is a blanket hung up. You lift 
 the blanket aside and find yourself in a long, very narrow, 
 winding passage, which has walls of sandbags and leads 
 to a vaulted chamber, quite long, all covered with massive 
 iron-ribbed arches, with huge wooden timbers down the 
 centre. This is the bedroom. There are beds made of 
 wooden framework and covered with wire netting. The 
 other side of the bedroom is another wider passage leading 
 to the open. This has a shelf along it, and is the washing 
 place, with basins and an indiarubber bath. All along 
 outside is a long path of duckboards connecting up all 
 the various dug-outs. Two guns are close by, two further 
 off. When the near one fires, the acetylene lamp goes 
 out, and has to be relit every time. But life is very peace- 
 ful and there is very little firing. I have been here three 
 nights and am stopping one more. Of course, battery 
 positions are not usually like this. This is the height of 
 luxury and comfort. The first day I was up, the troupe 
 came up to a neighbouring village, and we gave a show 
 at Brigade H.Q. 
 
 Sept. 14, 1917. I have had rather a curious little 
 experience which I hope may result in good. The brigades 
 were resting on Sunday, and we had planned two large
 
 THE LAST YEAR 205 
 
 services in which every one was taking a good deal of 
 interest. Then, as so often happens at the last moment, 
 a General decided to inspect them, and in one brigade 
 the service had to be cancelled. So I had a voluntary 
 evening service and not a soul came. I felt so disgusted 
 that I sat down at once and wrote a letter to the Colonel. 
 My main point was the entire lack of interest shown by 
 the senior N.C.O.'s. They are regulars and have the old 
 regular prejudice to any form of religion. They never 
 attend any service if they can help it, and their influence 
 is very great. I feel it is an impenetrable wall, though I 
 am, I hope, on the best of terms with them all. So I told 
 the Colonel the only thing I could suggest was that I 
 might be allowed to speak to them all, alone, if he would 
 call them together. I have never had an opportunity to 
 do so all this year, and I have always wanted to. So 
 this morning I had them all in the canteen for half an hour, 
 and talked to them, I hope kindly. I said I could do 
 nothing without their help; their influence was very 
 great. In this fourth year of war we needed to do all in 
 our power to reconstruct things, and not let everything 
 drift; we must get away from old prejudices. All I 
 want them to do is to remove this kind of unconscious 
 opposition. I don't think I said anything they could 
 mind, and I was very careful not to appear to be getting 
 at them, but to appeal for their help. 
 
 Sept. 19, 1917. It is very difficult writing after a move. 
 But I don't suppose I am doing anything wrong by telling 
 you that we are in Flanders now 1 an entirely new part 
 to me, like another country. I was surprised to find how 
 rich and luxuriant the country here is. We travelled by 
 train through the night, arriving just before dawn. We 
 are now scattered in groups about eight miles apart. I 
 am writing from D.A.C. H.Q., miles back, in a very peace- 
 ful and picturesque spot, with farms all round, cows, 
 children, pigs, regular civilised rural life. I had my 
 nearest shell the other day, about two yards off, just 
 outside a little shelter I was sitting in. Such a nice boy 
 was badly wounded while I was there. I went into the 
 dressing station with him, as he recognised me. He was 
 very shocked and shouted all the time for his mother. 
 But at intervals he would talk. At one moment he called 
 
 1 The 3rd Division was now in the line west of Ypres.
 
 206 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 out : " Forgive our enemies." Poor boy, I fear he has 
 no chance. 
 
 Oct. 1, 1917. When one stops for a moment to think 
 of all the sorrow there must be, it is almost more than 
 one can bear; I can see no hope but almost indefinite 
 slaughter. No one seems in the least inclined to give in, 
 and people only get more bloodthirsty and determined to 
 exterminate each other. Meanwhile all I seem to be 
 learning is to have a profound contempt of death, and 
 consequently of life, as far as this world is concerned. I 
 have been three days at the guns, coming down for the 
 week-ends. Our battles seem to have been quite success- 
 ful and every one is optimistic. We are having the 
 most gorgeous weather, which helps to make things 
 better. I have never seen such gorgeous moonlight 
 nights. The result is endless bombing raids. The night 
 before last was the worst. I had come down to the wagon 
 lines for the week-end. They bombed us almost inces- 
 santly from 8 p.m. till 3 a.m. Hundreds of bombs were 
 dropt all over the place, and it was pretty alarming. 
 We are all barricading our tents with sandbags. One 
 dropped about fifty yards off me, and pieces rattled round 
 the place. I lay quaking in a small hole I had had dug 
 in my little tent and felt such a fool. The horses are the 
 worst off, as they cannot be protected. It is a wonderful 
 sight when the searchlights pick up one of the aeroplanes. 
 They look like huge moths, with streams of light playing 
 on them from all directions, and luminous bullets rushing 
 up along the lights at them, and shells bursting in little 
 points of light all round them a regular Brock's Benefit. 
 I think I feel safer at the guns. I made a very secure 
 little dug-out and had the consolation of feeling that if it 
 was hit, I should probably know nothing about it. 
 
 I was interested last night in seeing a result of my talk 
 to the N.C.O.'s, when a little voluntary evening con- 
 gregation consisted almost entirely of sergeants. I talked 
 to them about the books I have been reading lately and 
 discussed the remark one is always coming across, that 
 Christianity has been tried and failed, and they seemed 
 quite interested. Men seem quite to enjoy it when they 
 do come to voluntary services, but the difficulty is to get 
 them there. 
 
 Oct. 11, 1917. We have been fighting furiously, and 
 it has been difficult to think of anything else. At this
 
 THE LAST YEAR 207 
 
 moment I am horribly distressed. The good luck we have 
 had lately has changed, as it was bound to do, and the 
 last two days have been black with a number of casualties. 
 And just now I have got word that the young Captain I 
 went to Paris with has been killed. I was with him an 
 hour before. We have had nearly four weeks now of 
 the most tremendously hard fighting I have yet seen. 
 Things have been so bad that I have not been living at 
 the guns. I thought my room would be preferable to 
 my presence. I have been up there at least every other 
 day. I cannot tell you how I admire our officers and 
 men ; the strain on them has been terrible, but there 
 seems absolutely no limit to their gallantry and endur- 
 ance. I only hope people at home realise this; it simply 
 cannot be exaggerated. The bravery, cheerfulness and 
 capacity, especially of the young battery officers, are 
 things I could never forget. The artillery have to keep 
 at it all the time, and have more and more put on them. 
 The whole place is a mass of corpses, death and destruc- 
 tion. I suppose some day we shall come out, and the 
 winter will set in, and fighting will stop for a time. Mean- 
 while we just have to stick it. Surely the noble heroism 
 of these men cannot be in vain. They show at their 
 very best on these occasions, and perhaps a war like this 
 is necessary to bring out the best in human nature. I 
 feel the best is so much better than the worst is bad. 
 I hope when I write again it will be more cheerfully. 
 Despite it all, I would far rather be here than out of it 
 all. I really don't think it is as bad for us as for those 
 who have to stay at home and wait. The good is greater 
 than the evil. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Oct. 14, 1917. We have been having a pretty bad time 
 of it. I think the weather has been the worst of all. 
 Nothing can exaggerate the mud and misery of it all. I 
 have been ploughing through the most appalling mud to 
 get to the guns almost every day; walking for miles. 
 One feels peculiarly helpless on these occasions. I bury 
 the dead and write letters to their relations and run a 
 canteen with a roaring fire, where the drivers can go and 
 dry themselves when they come in soaked at night. 
 
 We are simply longing for the day when we can get out.
 
 208 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 At first the fighting seemed to go well, but lately it has 
 been very miserable; ghastly casualties and the wounded 
 lying out in this terrible weather. A battlefield is a 
 ghastly sight. One gets kind of callous and hardened, 
 and it becomes difficult to care about anything. The 
 unending wonder is the way the men carry on. There is 
 practically no sign of fear. 
 
 Oct. 20, 1917. I am glad to say we are at last out of 
 it again 1 and about to move off. At the moment I am 
 writing from a billet where we are living in comparative 
 comfort and complete peace. The country is rather nice 
 and the weather fine. We have had a very harassing 
 time of it. Why more were not killed I cannot under- 
 stand. The day I was last up I had to run for it and was 
 shelled all along the track. It is wonderful how near 
 shells can burst to one and do no damage, and how one 
 can get knocked out by a splinter from one which bursts 
 far away. 
 
 Nov. 8, 1917. We are leading a wonderfully settled, 
 civilised and comfortable life now. The rapid change 
 from the utter desolation of real war to this is strange. 
 At one moment we live a life of utter misery and despair ; 
 the world seems given up to destruction and suffering; 
 then we come out to comfort and comparative peace, and 
 settle down to a regular routine. Every one goes off on 
 leave and forgets their worries as rapidly as possible. 
 But I cannot help thinking of the people who have had to 
 take our place, and the awful time they must be having. 
 I often wonder what people mean by " luck," and if it 
 is really a good thing in itself to be " lucky." The ordi- 
 nary expression is " So-and-so was very unlucky " because 
 he was killed, or " lucky " because he got out safe or 
 slightly wounded. If we attribute all good fortune to 
 " luck," what is luck? People say chance or fate, which 
 does not take you much further. It always seems to 
 me such a desolate gospel to believe that your good for- 
 tune depends upon a perfectly arbitrary and unreasoning 
 luck. I fear I only make people angry when I suggest 
 that possibly they are quite wrong and the lucky ones are 
 those who are killed. But people seem to me to be born 
 fatalists. I regard it as a mere matter of chance and 
 possibly a comparatively unimportant thing whether one 
 
 1 On October 17 the 3rd Division took over the line, north-east 
 of Bapaume.
 
 THE LAST YEAR 209 
 
 comes out safe or not. The only way I can carry on cheer- 
 fully is feeling that it is really a very secondary and trivial 
 matter whether one remains alive in this world or not; 
 but what does matter is what we are succeeding in making 
 of ourselves* I feel more and more that the whole war 
 is so unreal. It has nothing whatever to do with God. 
 He did not cause it or wish it. He never created nations, 
 which are merely man-made. I become more and more 
 an individualist. I don't feel that God can be interested 
 in the war or in the nations taking part in it, or in the 
 righteous causes involved, but solely in each of the in- 
 dividuals engaged. He looks at it all from their point of 
 view. How are they going to take it? What will they 
 make of it ? 
 
 I have been out exactly a year now and only had one 
 leave. I shall not feel guilty in taking another imme- 
 diately after Christmas if possible. 
 
 Nov. 25, 1917'. 1 Why this horrible line of cleavage 
 between the clergy and the laity? This horrible classi- 
 fication is what I hate. And, further, why should the 
 laity bother to understand the clergy? Here am I a 
 miner, say, or a mill-hand. I go out and work hard all 
 day and return to my family and public-house, etc., for 
 the evening. W T hy should I bother to understand the 
 clergy ? But if clergy exist it is their business the reason 
 why they exist to understand me, my life problems, etc. 
 The clergy exist solely for the sake of the laity, to help 
 them to understand themselves. The whole trouble is 
 that the clergy, acting independently of all except eccle- 
 siastical laity, have spent centuries in framing and 
 fashioning a system on their own. If the laity don't 
 want our system and they don't for Heaven's sake 
 let us drop it. Let us be bold and drop our whole organi- 
 sation, I say, and let those who are really interested in 
 these things see that the foundation for them must rest 
 on their " knowing what is in man " before they bother 
 to create a system which is supposed to tell man about 
 God. Everything is a matter of man's relation to his 
 fellow-men. Is he not constantly in danger of wasting 
 time and energy on things independent of them? Even 
 his acts of worship are regarded as having the object of 
 doing himself good. My standard of sin is simply that 
 which in any way mitigates one's usefulness to others. If 
 1 In answer to a report of some discussions in England. 
 P
 
 210 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 you seek your own satisfaction at another's expense, or, 
 in seeking it, harm yourself and so destroy your usefulness, 
 it is wrong. Here I find my sole avenue to prayer. It is 
 and must be disinterested. My confession must not have 
 myself in view, but others. I have injured them by sin- 
 ning. My intercession must be very real and very 
 individual and personal and constant. My attitude 
 towards God will be almost completely agnostic in so far 
 as He is an Almighty Being. I am not almighty, nor are 
 other people, and it is entirely outside my reach, so I 
 leave that severely alone. But in so far as He is human 
 and has shown Himself to me as such, I can understand 
 Him and find Him again in my fellow-men. I know He 
 is behind all and above all, and though I cannot know 
 Him, I would be a fool not to believe in Him as exceedingly 
 active in all that I am active in. I refuse to dogmatise 
 about Him. Creeds bore me, dogmatically, not historically. 
 The Russians are right, the one question is " Do you 
 believe in God " ? Either you do, and base your life on 
 the belief, or you do not. The facts you believe about 
 God are of no importance; and the fewer the better. If 
 you have too many facts about Him, you lose Him for 
 them. Hence ecclesiastical people so often become less 
 believing than the profane. 
 
 Why do I bore you with all this? I know you want 
 to know what I am doing, which I am afraid does not 
 interest me, so I bore you with other things. I selfishly 
 like to clear up my thoughts at times. Only do not pin 
 me too close to my statements. They are not general 
 conclusions arrived at after a discussion. 
 
 The one conclusion I have reached during the war, and 
 I come back to it again and again, is that the great cloud 
 that overwhelms us is the cloud of ignorance. I got back 
 to it again last night at a little voluntary evening service 
 in a sergeants' mess. No working man ever denies it. 
 As soon as he begins to think at all he realises it. The 
 real root division in this world is not between class and 
 class, rich and poor, but between educated and ignorant. 
 I had far rather be a wise, poor man than a rich or aris- 
 tocratic fool. That is a platitude. The only thing we 
 can do is to try and stir up a longing for understanding. 
 The real problem we have to face is first to open men's 
 eyes to their own ignorance and conventionality, and 
 then to stimulate in them a desire to think. No nation
 
 THE LAST YEAR 211 
 
 peopled by individuals would ever desire to fight. And 
 the Church has been such a foe to independent minds, 
 with its fettering creeds and formulas. 
 Well, I really must stop. 
 
 Dec. 10, 1917. I hope I shall get my leave to go home 
 about the last day of the year. 
 
 I wish people would act on Lansdowne's letter and 
 hurry up and discuss peace. The whole war is really too 
 impossible. We cannot hope to destroy Germany without 
 destroying ourselves, and why go on destroying each 
 other? I don't so much mind people being killed as the 
 fact that the survivors will have gone back so much. 
 Think of the mental stagnation of the last three and a 
 half years : no one reading or studying or thinking ; people 
 giving their minds solely to destruction and no thought 
 of construction. Perhaps our ideas were all wrong and 
 needed all to be destroyed before we could start con- 
 structing. I think that is my only hope. That is why I 
 can take no interest in any schemes of reform or recon- 
 struction; I have got into the habit of destruction along 
 with every one else. I want to destroy everything that 
 is not obviously and positively of value nations 
 governments churches . 
 
 Dec. 12, 1917. I am sitting in a most wonderful place 
 waiting to have dinner the Corps Officers' Club. It 
 really is the last word in the refinement of war ; beautiful 
 armchairs and furniture, a bar where you can buy most 
 things, a billiard-room, baths, a barber, grounds beauti- 
 fully laid out, the whole place lit with electric light. Next 
 door is a huge cinema where my troupe has just been 
 giving a very successful show to a crowded and enthu- 
 siastic audience. This is all in a devastated country very 
 much within sound of the guns. As you say, war has 
 become an occupation, and while we fight one day, we 
 try to live a normal, civilised life the next. 
 
 You ask if officers and men are animated by hatred for 
 the Germans. I wish people at home realised that people 
 out here do not go through any elaborate process that can 
 be called thought. We are intensely conservative, un- 
 imaginative, unoriginal, docile people. "Theirs not to 
 reason why," etc., exactly expresses the attitude of the 
 ordinary officers who, though capable, refuse to think 
 independently. You can only get at the men's attitude
 
 212 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 by careful observation. They love arguing and will take 
 any side in argument, but are really much the same 
 despite their arguments. Hatred is a very difficult thing 
 to keep up. In the heat of battle you will kill perhaps 
 ferociously. You will certainly say every one should be 
 shot who disagrees with the official attitude. 
 
 Jan. 1918. I got back to the D.A.C. just as they 
 were finishing breakfast. I found them just the same. 1 
 I felt it a little dreary and was glad I had arranged to go 
 up to the guns. 
 
 Sunday I took six services in the wagon lines and tried 
 to see as many of the men as possible. I felt it my duty 
 to give them a little New Year talk, partly about what I 
 had noticed in England, and partly about Lloyd George's 
 and Wilson's speeches. I don't like doing it, nor do I 
 think it necessary, but I rather took the opportunity of 
 pointing out that we were being asked to stick to it, not 
 for grabbing and dominating reasons, but for the good of 
 the world in general and their own children in particular. 
 Personally I do not think there is any fear whatever of 
 any of these men losing heart. They are not made like 
 that. When it comes to the point, however much they 
 may grouse at other times, they will all do their job. 
 
 Jan. 26, 1918. At present what I am trying to do is 
 to get hold of one or two definite ideas and put them in as 
 simple and picturesque a manner as possible, and go on 
 working at each for a week first on Sunday at services 
 at the wagon lines, and then in the week at occasional 
 little services in the gun-pits. Last week I took the subject 
 " Why does not God stop the war? " I said nothing about 
 the war, but simply asked the men to consider the nature 
 of God, and man's relation to Him. I read the parable 
 of the Prodigal Son. I asked them to think of the father's 
 relation to the son. Why did he not stop him leaving 
 home? Simply because he was his father and not his 
 boss. He wanted him, but he could not stop him and 
 remain his father. No father can thwart his son and retain 
 his love. The son going down the road confidently, excit- 
 edly to see the world and to join the crowd, is the symbol 
 of nearly all mankind. The trouble with the world is 
 
 1 This was on his return from his last leave. During this leave 
 it was his delight to provide treats for as many people as possible. 
 He took sisters and cousins to the play, saying that for the first time 
 in his life he had plenty of money to spend.
 
 THE LAST YEAR 213 
 
 its thoughtlessness and heedlessness. The prodigal son 
 wasted his substance as the world has wasted its civilisation. 
 Did his father forget him because he had gone ? He never 
 ceased watching till he should see him coming back. So 
 God waits for man's return from a life, not so much of 
 evil, but of purposelessness, emptiness, riotous living 
 without anything lasting to show, to his true home of 
 beauty, truth, justice, honour and love and above all 
 of merry-making. The world is in want and pain, but as 
 it returns in penitence, only beauty, the robe, and real 
 merry-making await it. So though God cannot stop the 
 war because He is our Father, He waits and longs for our 
 return from a life without Him, which makes war possible, to 
 a life with Him, when war will be impossible. 
 
 Feb. 5, 1918. This has been quite the best winter the 
 army has had in France. Every one is extraordinarily well. 
 The men do not know what to grumble about now. But 
 life seems emptier and more futile than ever. No one is 
 doing anything worth doing. I certainly feel it more 
 futile than ever, and long for peace, not so much at the 
 moment as an end of the horrors of war, but as an opportu- 
 nity of returning to peaceful reconstruction. 
 
 Leaves are very frequent now and I expect I could get 
 home again about April if I wished. 
 
 Feb. 13, 1918. Here we are at rest, a complete and 
 absolute change. I am living at the D.A.C. H.Q. in an 
 enormous empty chateau. It has been in constant use 
 during the war, and now stands empty, with only a care- 
 taker looking after it. It is a huge, vast, ugly place, and 
 you cannot imagine the filth and shabbiness inside. There 
 are only three of us with our servants living in it. The 
 mess is a huge salon with a parquet floor absolutely filthy, 
 with a number of luxurious shabby arm-chairs and sofas. 
 
 Feb. 18, 1918. After years of war the soul gets emptier 
 and emptier. The word of the Lord is precious. The 
 world can only live again through the men who, whether 
 they know God or not, put themselves into the receptive 
 attitude that God may speak to them, and they may 
 communicate to others. 
 
 It is not merely the R. C.'s who stand between men and 
 God. All Churches do. They monopolise God's word 
 or claim to be the exponents of it. Even the Bible may 
 come between us and God, though throughout it teaches 
 consistently the fact that God speaks direct without the
 
 214 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 help of Churches (surely this is the whole lesson of the 
 Prophets). 
 
 Feb. 23, 1918. I want to talk about the Kingdom of God 
 to-morrow, but every time I try I always feel that I fail 
 hopelessly, and become vague and incoherent. What does 
 it really mean to a clog in a machine ? Something purely 
 internal and personal ? Does he need to think consciously 
 about it? Because if so there really seem so few people 
 who are capable of following up a line of thought. I had 
 a memorandum from Life and Liberty, which I answered 
 in a hurry, and I fear I merely expressed some of my 
 exaggerated views which are familiar to you. If the 
 Church is to be self-governed, I do not want the governors 
 to be the ecclesiastically minded, or necessarily the kind 
 of people who are capable of thinking out things. Not 
 because thought is not essential, but the thinking man is 
 not the ordinary, practical man. He must be there to 
 supply the thought, but I don't think I want him to govern. 
 As I have learnt it, Christianity is something that requires 
 thought; and yet the majority of people do not think, but 
 they still have character and influence. But I digress 
 from the Kingdom. What can it mean to the ordinary, 
 unthinking man ? 
 
 I got so far on Saturday, and now it is Monday, and I 
 cannot continue in this strain. I spoke four times yester- 
 day, and tried to show that the Kingdom was not remote 
 something following death but at hand, and that we have 
 gone wrong in teaching children to sing " Above the bright 
 blue sky," etc. The war, instead of alienating men from 
 the Kingdom, should only determine them to care more 
 about it. The entrance to it is penitence, a complete 
 change of direction for every one. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 Feb. 28, 1918. Life is strangely empty and futile. We 
 live in comfort, ease and luxury, a life of perfect uselessness 
 and purposelessness. Last night was very wild, the wind 
 howled and the rain poured and I lay in bed reading 
 Sinister Street till after one, and then lay thinking what a 
 futile empty life I was leading. I feel I shall utterly 
 degenerate if I do not get some hard work soon. I am 
 certain we are all degenerating. Manliness, courage, 
 sacrifice are not the only virtues. If the mind rusts, the 
 whole machinery goes out of order.
 
 THE LAST YEAR 215 
 
 I am buried in Sinister Street and much absorbed by it, 
 and in some ways like it immensely. Nearly all the more 
 psychological books I have read lately, The Loom of Youth 
 and Dead, Yesterday are fundamentally pessimistic. In 
 all, life seems to be strangely purposeless and disillusioned. 
 These are the books about people who think. Is it really 
 better not to think, and then you can remain optimistic 
 and believe that if only the war ends, life will become a 
 lucid story again? I think we have got into the way of 
 believing that. Peace Day will serve as a talisman for all 
 ills. I read such a profoundly true sermon of Robertson's 
 on " Purity " yesterday, " To the pure all things are pure." 
 Do you know it ? We are the creators of the world. The 
 world has no real objective existence apart from ourselves. 
 What we see is what we help to create. To blame the 
 external for our emptiness is false; we are to blame. Is 
 this true of war? Is it our own fault if it looks ugly, 
 stupid, wasteful? I suppose we ought to be able to look 
 calmly at it and see only the beautiful side, which, after 
 all exists. What right have we to think that peace will 
 make any real change ? 
 
 March 1, 1918. We leave our huge chateau to-morrow 
 and join the Brigade, for which I shall in many ways be 
 glad; I feel quite anxious to be with the batteries again. 
 It is tantalising in a way leaving just as spring is coming 
 on. The daffodils have been out in the woods for some 
 days now. The woods smell of spring, and I have been 
 wandering in them occasionally. I found three of the men 
 in a valley yesterday, sitting on a log, and took them off 
 for a walk up a little wooded valley I had discovered. 
 They were quite enchanted and it was nice to see the men 
 in a different light : "Like England " one said. 
 
 March 6, 1918. We have moved and are fighting now. 
 This is the time of year when every one is full of anticipa- 
 tion. After the peaceful indolent time we had at rest, 
 every one is head over ears in work. I had almost got into 
 the way of forgetting war was on. For three months I 
 have not had to fill in a burial return. Now we are begin- 
 ning war in earnest. For the first time this year I was 
 back among the shells again yesterday. 
 
 March 16, 1918. It has been splendid weather for getting 
 about, and I have been up to the guns a good deal. Life 
 is quite extraordinarily quiet up there. One day I went up 
 and found the men sitting outside their dug-outs having a
 
 216 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 series of little picnic teas. A little later I found a series 
 of old shell holes with a man in each having a bathe. Never 
 a shell comes over. 
 
 We had rather an amusing afternoon yesterday. I 
 invited a party of American Engineers over from a neigh- 
 bouring camp to see a performance by our concert troupe. 
 Several of their officers came over and a number of ours, 
 besides a hundred or so men. The troupe has tremendously 
 improved, and we have fixed up quite a good theatre. 
 They were an enthusiastic audience. There is a tremendous 
 competition over here in troupes, as practically every 
 division has its own without something of the sort what 
 would the men do out here ? They give the men new tunes 
 to sing, and a little relief from the endless monotony of 
 their lives. 
 
 March 20, 1918. Personally I am enjoying life. We 
 have had no casualties this year. The men are all very 
 comfortable. The weather has been simply wonderful 
 until yesterday when the rain started, and has been going 
 on ever since. . . . 
 
 March 25, 1918. I got as far as this, meaning to finish 
 next morning, but that, as you know, was the day war 
 began again. 1 I could not tell you anything even if I 
 knew. We really had no news beyond our immediate 
 front, until we got our newspapers yesterday. Meanwhile 
 we live on rumours, which are most unsatisfactory. Some- 
 how one always imagines the worst. I try to be philo- 
 sophical and feel it is really better that something should 
 happen likely to lead to the end of the war. The stag- 
 nation we were getting into was most unhealthy. As 
 you will have seen in the papers, our Division has covered 
 itself with glory. It is a great thing these days being with 
 such a first-class division. As usual, the gunners are 
 surpassing themselves and fuil of zest. These young 
 majors thoroughly enjoy it and go night after night with- 
 out sleep. 
 
 March 31, 1918. I have hardly written lately owing to 
 the general sense of uncertainty and suspense. You must 
 have read something about the Division and the splendid 
 work it did at the beginning of the German offensive, but 
 that was nothing to the way it broke a far more terrible 
 and persistent attack last Thursday. It was really quite 
 wonderful, considering the long time it had been in the 
 1 The great German spring offensive.
 
 THE LAST YEAR 217 
 
 line. I don't know how much one ought to say at present, 
 but no division has a better name in France to-day. The 
 gunners have been quite wonderful, and I am full of ad- 
 miration for them ; and mercifully they have never had so 
 few casualties not a single officer. It is a tremendous 
 comfort to have been in a part of the battle where the 
 Germans have failed so signally. 1 It would have been 
 terrible to have been further south. Of the rest of the 
 battle we know no more than you. I think I only feel all 
 the more the utter stupidity and imbecility of it all the 
 way so many men have to put all their energy and strength 
 into such terribly futile things. After all what can war 
 decide ? How hateful it all is ! 
 
 To his sister Mary 
 
 April 3, 1918. At last there is a good opportunity for 
 writing. We are for the moment as far out of the war as 
 it is possible to be. We arrived at this little village 
 yesterday afternoon. It is the birthplace of a Saint. 
 Consequently there are pilgrimages here, a huge church, 
 a field full of little shrines, and a nunnery where one of 
 the sections has its Officers' Mess. The whole place simply 
 exudes Roman Catholicism. At every corner there is a 
 shrine or a crucifix. Every room in every house I have 
 seen is hung with sacerdotal pictures ladies exposing 
 their hearts hearts all by themselves tables with a 
 rosary wound round every face gaunt and haggard as 
 they strain after the unattainable. The nuns are fat, 
 cheery, bustling, ready to sell a rosary, or a picture of 
 the Saint; quite different to their pictures. The one or 
 two shops are full of the same things. We are living in a 
 quaint old house, with actually a flower garden the first 
 I have seen here. The books downstairs are a series of 
 lives of Saints, Catechisms, Meditations, etc. I am sitting 
 in my bedroom looking out over the garden. The only 
 blemish is a nasty little white china saint in a niche in the 
 side of a little mound, with a nice umbrella tree on the 
 top of it. My bed is in an alcove in the wall, beside it is 
 a picture of a woman tearing her dress aside and exposing 
 her bust with a large heart in the middle of it. There is 
 another cross on the chest of drawers, and a small picture 
 of a saint. The church bell rings every half hour or so. 
 
 1 The 3rd Division were in the line south of Arras.
 
 218 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 I went into one and found a vested priest in the sanctuary, 
 kneeling and shooting his head forward and back like a 
 Chinese mandarin, only faster and more violently. He 
 never stopped as I wandered round the church, but when- 
 ever I looked up I caught, in the corner of my eye, the 
 sight of that head shooting out and back. All rather a 
 contrast to the great war and the great offensive. Surely 
 the whole world needs to be shaken up and awakened to 
 realities, to living things, to life itself. We seem to live 
 under such a ghastly nightmare of bogies and falsehoods. 
 The chief religion one meets is either this, or the belief in 
 bogies, that haunts ninety-nine per cent, of Englishmen. 
 The average officer absolutely refuses to have three 
 candles alight in the room, or to light three cigarettes with 
 one match (a superstition said to have been invented by 
 Bryant and May's in the days when matches were plenti- 
 ful). We nearly had thirteen for our Christmas dinner, 
 and much trouble had to be taken to find a fourteenth. 
 The adjutant dropped the salt the other day. " Damn," 
 he said, and turned very pink and took two pinches of 
 salt and threw them over his shoulder. " Touch wood " 
 is a daily injunction. 
 
 The Division has covered itself with glory. The artil- 
 lery came out practically as it went in. It had phenomenal 
 good luck if escaping death these days means good luck. 
 It did extraordinarily good work. Battery commanders 
 for almost the first time could see their targets. They 
 watched their shells destroying Germans. They fired 
 with open sights at them coming over ridges. They broke 
 up attacks. Several have said to me : " You know I am 
 enjoying this," or " I have never had such sport in my 
 life," or " This has been the best week of the war." These 
 are the sort of sentiments the newspapers love to get 
 hold of, which make our hearts thrill with pride for our 
 brave soldiers. Meanwhile the infantry sit in badly made 
 trenches and are blown to pieces by German shells. I 
 spent one afternoon and evening in the absolutely drench- 
 ing rain, helping to pack them into ambulances every 
 one a shell wound. Probably the majority of the wounded 
 were never got back. Then I get a memorandum from 
 Life and Liberty asking what the men are thinking about 
 the self-government of the Church. People meet in 
 committees and conferences in London and the Provinces, 
 and discuss those things, and wonder we do not thrill with
 
 THE LAST YEAR 219 
 
 excitement over their audacious proposals. They get 
 wildly excited because they have heard of a brothel kept 
 for soldiers in some small place, and think that by shutting 
 it they will save our pure-minded young men from 
 temptation. 
 
 Why do I jump from point to point like this ? Simply 
 because, as one gropes about among all these riddles, the 
 old truth comes back that at whatever cost one must, 
 regardless of all else, cling to truth, beauty, and, if 
 possible, friendship. The war itself is only incidental. 
 What is the advantage of peace unless it is going to build 
 up these things ? Sometimes I feel one gets nearer these 
 things in the heat of war, and that peace will only drag 
 us back further and deeper into ugliness, selfishness and 
 falseness. 
 
 Well, I am hoping for a leave in about three weeks' 
 time with any luck. 
 
 April 3, 1918. We are in the most singularly peaceful 
 spot and the day is before us with nothing to do. It is 
 real April weather and everything is looking beautifully 
 fresh. 
 
 We are moving almost daily now. We spent Easter 
 Day in a village, and I held three Celebrations, to which a 
 number of officers came, but practically no men. The 
 war is really breaking no barriers down. The hardest line 
 ever drawn in human society is that between officers and 
 men. Do what you will you cannot destroy or even lessen 
 it. I know of no officer who shares the thoughts of his 
 men. He thinks that looking after them and making 
 them comfortable is all that is necessary. But they live 
 in two different worlds, and the chaplain lives in the 
 officers' world. I don't think it can be avoided ; it is part 
 of the price of war, I suppose. But I don't think that 
 the Americans are the same. Also I think that probably 
 the Y.M.C.A. method is the only really human one. There 
 only the men attend services and Celebrations and the 
 officers never. It must be either the one or the other. 
 
 The second place we stopped at I enjoyed much. It 
 had been badly shelled and bombed and most of its in- 
 habitants had fled. But there was an estaminet there, 
 with a delightful set of people. Madame was a wonderful 
 woman and so plucky. She stuck on though there were 
 two enormous shell holes close to the house. She slaved
 
 220 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 and toiled all day and would do anything for us. Then 
 there were other women and various children. Every 
 house was full of refugees. I made great friends with the 
 children, who were quite charming, not at all shy and 
 very intelligent. Little Jules spent most of the day with 
 me and we went about buying eggs, butter and milk, 
 climbing trees, looking at shell holes and drawing pictures. 
 
 We are out of the war altogether. 1 Compliments from 
 the King downwards are being poured on the Division, 
 which has fought magnificently. The Generals and Staff 
 are in extraordinarily good temper. 
 
 Meanwhile we know less about the war than you at 
 home do. Some say the Germans have won this last 
 battle; some that they have lost tremendously. Who 
 knows? Probably the real truth is the same as about all 
 other battles here. Another draw, another proof of the 
 ultimate impossibility of violence to settle anything, and 
 a realisation that peace will only come when people decide 
 to have it. 
 
 April 9, 1918. We are once more leading a life of dis- 
 graceful comfort and ease in the very centre of civilisation. 
 I am sitting in my bedroom where I am sleeping in sheets 
 in a very comfortable bed and have a bath every morning. 
 Round us are nothing but mines, and the place reminds 
 me more of a Durham mining district than anything else. 
 The people are all most extraordinarily kind and hos- 
 pitable, and cannot do too much for us. I have got hold 
 of a large hall, with a fine stage for concerts. 
 
 I had a tremendous day on Sunday. The brigades are 
 a long way off. I began with a large service in the hall. 
 Then I started to walk and jump on lorries with a pack on 
 my back and a bag in my hand. I had ten miles to go 
 and had to walk nearly half way for a service for the 
 Trench Mortars. Then at two o'clock I went to a neigh- 
 bouring village and had a memorial service in a battery 
 for some men who had recently been killed. Then at 
 6.30 I finished up with a splendid service in the Y.M.C.A. 
 at yet another large village. I enjoyed preaching to them 
 so much. 2 I finished at 7.30, and started off a little later 
 
 1 The Division was in Rest Billets west of Bethunes. 
 
 2 Of this, one who was present writes : "I entered while he was 
 preaching. His subject was evidently the joy of religion. His 
 face was aglow with interest, and his whole soul seemed to be in his 
 theme. He presented a very striking appearance which I shall never
 
 THE LAST YEAR 221 
 
 on a ten-mile walk back without any supper, getting in 
 at 10.15. It was a gorgeous night fortunately, and I was 
 not really tired when I got in. 
 
 To his sister Gemma 
 
 April 9, 1918. The war goes on, and I really am be- 
 ginning to think something will happen soon. I mean 
 something decisive. I don't know what. But Germany 
 is out for a decision, and there will be no respite till she 
 has done all she can. I feel one must prepare oneself for 
 anything. But it is useless worrying. After all, the war 
 is to decide for all time whether the superman idea or the 
 democratic is the stronger. I keep wondering whether 
 we have not possibly taken democracy rather for granted. 
 I see the Germans say in one of their papers that the 
 success of the late offensive was due not to superior num- 
 bers, but to superior brains. What I learned from the late 
 offensive was that where properly led, with the backing 
 of really capable staff work, our men can fight as well as 
 any one. It all comes back to the brains behind, to orga- 
 nisation, foresight, grasp of a situation, coolness, judgment, 
 etc. This is where we fail, and our failure here is due to 
 our failure in training people in peace-time. We have 
 been far too easy-going, indolent, generally decadent and 
 incompetent. The Germans could not possibly beat us 
 if we were properly organised and directed. The great 
 argument in favour of democracy is that every one is 
 supposed to have brains and so ultimately there is no 
 necessity for leaders. I still have hope in America, 
 because I think the Americans have brains. The German 
 army is entirely controlled by people with brains. If 
 they have not got them they are soon got rid of. If they 
 win, it will mean that, as far as this world is concerned, 
 the superman triumphs. Democracy has degenerated into 
 multitudinous meetings, conferences, pow-wows of every 
 possible kind talk, talk, talk. The superman will have 
 won because while others have been talking, he has been 
 working. 
 
 Meanwhile what about Christianity? Personally I 
 
 forget. Especially when he emphasised the words, ' Then were the 
 disciples glad when they saw the Lord.' Very beautifully he showed 
 how the source of our joy is to be found in the companionship of 
 Jesus Christ."
 
 222 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 always feel it has nothing to do with it. The Kaiser never 
 mentions Christ, nor does the King. Royal messages 
 always talk about God and faith in God's support. The 
 word God means practically nothing beyond a vague, 
 supreme power who ultimately overrules all things. This 
 brings one no further at all. The Christian has Christ for 
 God and does not trouble to make any distinction. Christ 
 is God, and in learning from Him we learn from God. 
 Now this is such an elementary fact that it seems to 
 escape people's notice. Or we have a dualistic religion 
 a faith in Christ mystical and personal, and a faith in 
 God of the royal kind a kind of war God and disposer 
 of the destinies of the world. Well, personally th^t 
 religion I leave to kings and generals. If I have a God, 
 He is Christ and Christ only. I know nothing about any 
 other God, so I am not going to worry about a supreme 
 disposer of the destinies of the world. At Easter-time I 
 always feel the personal note of Christianity. " This day 
 shalt thou be with Me," " Mary," " Follow thou Me." And 
 the corporate side is simply the conglomeration of personal 
 followers. " Ye shall be My witnesses." " Even so 
 send I you," etc., etc. " My Kingdom is not of this world." 
 Christ God takes us away even now from the world. 
 " In the world ye shall have tribulation." Well, we are 
 getting that all right. And yet we are always praying to 
 be delivered from it. We are always planning and schem- 
 ing for a world devoid of tribulation. I suppose it would 
 come if we were all to be Christians. 
 
 I tried to express some of my thoughts on Sunday 
 night, when I had a Celebration in a Y.M.C.A. hut, with a 
 delightful mixed congregation, and I believe helped at 
 any rate one man there. " Peace be with you." The 
 disciples behind closed doors, and the raging world out- 
 side. It is symbolical of all time, only they must not 
 remain behind the doors. " Even so send I you." We 
 need to-day the religion of Christ and His peace brought 
 to all men. 
 
 Immediately after this last letter was written, the 
 enemy attacked the line in front and the division was 
 rushed out to meet the attack. Mr. Andrews asked a 
 gunner if he had seen Oswin, and was told : " You have 
 just missed him, he is dashing about in the same cheery
 
 THE LAST YEAR 223 
 
 manner as ever, as if nothing unusual were happening." 
 This was in the midst of the heaviest shelling ever expe- 
 rienced by the Division. There was much difficulty in 
 the general confusion in arranging to see after the burying 
 of the many men who had been killed during the attack 
 and whose bodies lay scattered everywhere. Oswin 
 volunteered to undertake the organisation of the burying 
 of the men for the whole front. He did not live to carry 
 out this task. He had gone up to a battery position, and 
 had just greeted the men in his usual cheery way, and 
 was preparing to enter the hut when a shell burst, killing 
 instantaneously him and the three men with whom he 
 was talking. 
 
 As one who knew him well said : " One feels so sure he 
 would have rejoiced in his death. He was so absolutely 
 without fear of it, so absolutely ready for it, and must 
 have met it with a smile. It is impossible to imagine 
 him as other than alive or to suppose he was wrong in 
 thinking that he would find another life which he could 
 use and enjoy." 
 
 The Colonel of the Division wrote : " He had been with 
 us over eighteen months, and all ranks were much attached 
 to him. With his strong personality, courage, and good 
 spirits, he was an example for us all. He worked inde- 
 fatigably for the men, and no day was too long, or trouble 
 too great, when their comfort was concerned. His charm 
 of manner was very great, and he was a man of deeds 
 not words. He was fearless of death, and I am sure the 
 death was such as he would have chosen." 
 
 His desire had been to be always amongst his men, and 
 he was buried as he would have wished between two of 
 them in the little military cemetery at Choques. " Many 
 officers of various units gathered for his burial," wrote one 
 who was there, " which told what men thought of him, 
 and how they admired his fearless character." 
 
 I add some remarks made by those who had watched his 
 work. 
 
 " It is no exaggeration to say that no one had the welfare 
 of the gunners and drivers more at heart than he had. The 
 canteens which were entirely originated and kept going 
 by his efforts and the dramatic troupe were only some of 
 the things he did for the men. He just got things done,
 
 224 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 he never cared two straws how much he might possibly 
 offend the powers that be by his innovations; he went 
 straight ahead. He worked hard for others. He had the 
 right ideas and the right ideals." 
 
 "His men spoke of him with the greatest admiration; 
 he was devoted to them, and no shells ever kept him away 
 from his work." 
 
 " The work which he did in this Division with the gunners 
 was splendid, and his untiring energy was simply exem- 
 plary. I shall personally miss him very much, and I 
 know no one will be able to fill his post in such an energetic 
 and original way. He knew his men so well." 
 
 " Three months ago, when I joined the division as Wes- 
 leyan Chaplain, your son showed me much kindness. His 
 long experience and knowledge of the army I found most 
 helpful, and he freely gave me whatever assistance I 
 needed. I greatly enjoyed our fellowship together. I 
 shall not soon forget the experience of last Good Friday. 
 We were unable to have a parade service, as the guns 
 were in action, but your son and I in his little tent read 
 the service together and kept the day with prayer and 
 thanksgiving. In the afternoon he and I visited the men 
 at the guns. He pushed on ahead with that resistless 
 energy which characterised him. He was deeply con- 
 cerned about some poor fellow who had been killed the 
 day before, and on our way to the guns we read the Burial 
 Service over these dear fellows who had been hastily 
 buried without any service. His amazing energy and 
 splendid physique enabled him to accomplish an extra- 
 ordinary amount of work. He was the most unselfish 
 man I have met, never thinking for one moment of his 
 own needs. I shall never forget how insistently he em- 
 phasised the life of service. " I want to do something for 
 the men," he used to say again and again. At his own 
 suggestion, we arranged to have parade services at which 
 Church of England and Nonconformists should be united 
 for worship, and these services we took alternately." 
 
 In his letters much of Oswin's inner self is revealed. 
 A few remarks made by those who knew him will perhaps 
 help to show the impression he made upon others.
 
 THE LAST YEAR 225 
 
 " His energy and activity struck everybody. Whilst 
 others were wondering how to do a job, he would accom- 
 plish what was necessary while they were still considering." 
 Yet with this energy was combined a good deal of the 
 artistic temperament. He could dream and potter over 
 trifles and be at times strangely untidy and unbusiness- 
 like. He loved music, and though unwilling to learn the 
 piano as a boy, he taught himself as a young man to play 
 with a good deal of ease and execution. To go to the 
 opera was one of his keenest pleasures. He loved sketch- 
 ing and would spend happy hours attempting boldly the 
 most impossible subjects. Flowers, country, above all 
 English country, were a constant delight to him, and his 
 enjoyment was always loudly expressed. He was a keen 
 and enthusiastic traveller. During a brief tour in Italy 
 his companion wrote : " There is no restraining him ; his 
 tastes are very universal; after sightseeing all day he 
 insists on going to cinemas in the evening." But though 
 his interests were so keen, his curiosity so alive, he was in 
 no sense a student, except in so far as he was a student 
 of life and of men. And it was the exuberance of the life 
 in him which made the strongest impression upon those 
 who came in contact with him. " The spirit of life in 
 Oswin was the first thing which struck me. I cannot 
 remember any one who had his kind of vitality in the 
 same way. He had physical energy, of course, and energy 
 of will, and an ardour of faith which never failed him; 
 but there was a life in him which seemed almost too candid 
 and spontaneous to be described exactly, and I think of it 
 as a spirit or impulse rather than as anything more de- 
 liberate. It seemed to pass into everything that interested 
 him and colour it; and it was extraordinarily fresh and 
 receptive, without being indiscriminate. He was attracted 
 by anything that was alive, and had a very quick eye for 
 what was not vivid or genuine." 
 
 " Never have I met a soul at once so simple and so life- 
 giving. It was as if one were in direct contact with him, 
 without any outer shell to break through complete 
 abnegation of self, while being all the time somehow 
 intensely himself. He had that perfect harmony of the 
 spiritual and the human which one generally sees only in 
 children, but lodged in so virile a character that it would 
 have seemed quite natural to lean on him." 
 
 He struck people as very young for his years, and he 
 Q
 
 226 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 himself always maintained that he had developed very 
 late. There were those who called him " naive." " What 
 was his ' naivete ' Hke ? He was astonishingly young 
 ten years younger than his age one might have thought. 
 He had not been in the least overgrown with the pru- 
 dences and hesitations which most of us go in for. Perhaps 
 one reason why he seemed so young was because he made 
 as straight as a child for what interested him and did not 
 pretend to be amused by what did not. He would not 
 be put off by conventional estimates, but was always 
 ready for a new view, and he tested things by their truth 
 to life. As everything, and every person, was something 
 fresh and new to him, he was instantly sympathetic to 
 children and simple people." 
 
 "He had that quick, understanding way with him, 
 almost like a woman's, which made him such a very 
 pleasant companion." 
 
 With his eager desire to see things accomplished, which 
 must have made him sometimes seem too managing, and 
 as he said himself too " inclined to boss," and though he 
 was often impatient and critical of the ineffectiveness of 
 others, he was yet " essentially modest." Some, no 
 doubt, thought him " intolerably cocksure and aggressive. 
 He was blessedly unconventional in going straight to the 
 point, and his ideas probably formed very quickly, and 
 became part of himself which he could not help expressing. 
 But if you produced a correction which really was a 
 correction, he took it humbly and he always wanted to 
 learn." 
 
 His brother-in-law, Cyril Bailey, thus describes his 
 first impression of him in 1915 : "I felt him from the first 
 a very marked personality. There was no interval of 
 getting to know one another; torrents of talk, often 
 rather irrelevant, sometimes tedious, sometimes I felt 
 with only half a grip on the point at issue, but yet with a 
 curious intuition, which might at any moment go to the 
 heart of things in a flash. In action, too, he showed the 
 same feverish energy and the habit of total immersion in 
 the thing of the moment, all eagerness to try any experi- 
 ment, and yet there, too, the unconscious revelation that 
 he was sure of the ultimate purpose. His work in estab- 
 lishing the canteens in Alexandria and Mudros was not, 
 I think, organisation in the ordinary sense of the word, 
 but much more the intuition for what was needed at the
 
 THE LAST YEAR 227 
 
 moment, and the will to bring it into being. His energy 
 was spasmodic and opportunist in one sense, yet all the 
 time he knew almost unconsciously what he was after. 
 
 "He had a keen sense of humour, especially perhaps of 
 the humour in persons, which must often have helped 
 him in difficult times and was a large element in the charm 
 of his companionship. 
 
 " I should not say that he had the philosophical mind. 
 The ' thinking ' which he believed to be the first need of 
 the present time and which he practised so ' furiously ' 
 himself, was concrete, not abstract. And this was perhaps 
 the reason why he was so perfectly fearless in attacking 
 the biggest questions and worrying them like a terrier.'* 
 
 It was probably this quality which made many find 
 him so stimulating. " His point of view was commonly 
 so original that he gave constant food for thought and 
 stirred men from their lethargy." 
 
 Others dwell on his unfailing sympathy. " How much 
 he helped me and I am just one of many he may never 
 know, but his readiness to help every man, his utter 
 unselfishness and unfailing cheerfulness made him beloved 
 by all who knew him. He was as true as steel." 
 
 Dr. Burge (the present Bishop of Oxford), as Chairman 
 of the Council of the Western Canada Fund, took a special 
 interest in Oswin, and wrote : " I was very much drawn 
 to Oswin from the first, and the few talks we had together 
 revealed to me the beauty of his character; he seemed to 
 be so entirely sincere and naturally loyal, so thoughtful 
 and real." 
 
 The letters show what was the foundation of Oswin's 
 religious faith. He cared little for the problems of 
 theology. " It was really unique in him that he could 
 combine an almost restless uprooting of thoughts and 
 beliefs with a wonderful fundamental faith." " He was 
 willing to pull up almost every custom or tradition by 
 the roots, and, if necessary, fling it on the rubbish heap^ 
 yet his faith in Christ never wavered for an instant." 
 
 His beloved " Professor " (Canon B. K. Cunningham) 
 wrote of him : " When I think of Oswin's burning indig- 
 nation against all that he thought to be false or unjust, 
 his hunger and thirst for what was true and righteous, 
 and the eagerness of his love, I do not think that numbers 
 of years could have added anything to their completeness, 
 the years could only have disciplined them."
 
 228 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 I close with the words of one who knew him well 
 
 " His simple, unswerving, unquestioning faith will 
 always be an immense inspiration to me. It always 
 seemed the great fact about him, that he showed how 
 obvious and inevitable a complete faith in God was to 
 him, something so instinctive and unwavering that it 
 shone above all the terrible times he had in the war. It 
 is not a common thing to meet and must have inspired 
 so many."
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 OS-win's Answer to the Questions sent out by the Committee 
 of Inquiry on " The Army and Religion" 
 
 OF this paper Mr. J. H. Oldham said that more than any 
 other of the answers it seemed to go to the heart of the 
 situation. 
 
 "It is exceedingly difficult at the present moment to 
 be able to judge at all satisfactorily of the state of religion 
 among the men. In many ways they seem wonderfully 
 little changed by the war, and any observations made 
 might apply equally well to pre-war conditions. And yet 
 the war is bound to have its effect. Again, war conditions 
 are unnatural and artificial. Men are away from their 
 homes and from the society of women. I suppose in few 
 countries does home stand for more than in England, 
 especially among those who have to work for their living. 
 The men realise this quite clearly. I have often been told, 
 when I have asked the question, * Do you think the war 
 has made you better or worse ? ' ' Better, because it 
 has made me appreciate home more.' The sheaves of 
 letters men write show this. A photograph is always in 
 every man's pocket-book, which he never tires of showing. 
 His one desire is that the war may be over, so that he 
 may get home. The only time, as a rule, when his wrath 
 is stirred against the enemy is when he hears of an air- 
 raid on English homes. If this is so, how can you see a 
 man as he really is away from home ? You must see him 
 in a false, unnatural light. 
 
 " Then, again, army conditions are of necessity artificial 
 owing to necessities of military discipline. As a rule, 
 there is the best of relationships between all ranks. But 
 an officer cannot and may not associate with a man under 
 natural conditions. It is almost impossible even for a 
 chaplain, however much he may try. The men cannot 
 forget that they stand in a special relation to officers and 
 
 229
 
 230 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 N.C.O.'s. Officers get to know each other intimately, so 
 do sergeants, and so do the men. If the chaplain tries to 
 be on intimate terms with all, he is very liable to fall foul 
 of one or the other. He may do all kinds of things for 
 the men, but must not speak freely to them, unless he 
 uses the most continual discretion. But all this must 
 be obvious; it is only stated to show how difficult it is 
 to arrive at conclusions and how cautiously they must 
 be taken. 
 
 " Generally speaking, and here I find every one agrees 
 with me, the men are not thinking at all. They are just 
 carrying on. Much material for thought no doubt is 
 being subconsciously hoarded up. I should like to make 
 a few observations at the risk of appearing dogmatic and 
 exaggerated, because I believe they lie at the root of 
 the inquiry. 
 
 " Englishmen as contrasted probably with French- 
 men, Russians, possibly even Germans do not think, 
 and never have thought. They have not either been 
 helped or expected to. (1) Education has been merely 
 imposition the learning of lessons, not the stimulus to 
 think. Education stops at fourteen for the vast bulk, at 
 an age when a boy has not, as a rule, the capacity for 
 independent thought. Public School and University 
 education have too often sacrificed thought to good form. 
 (2) Industrial conditions, trade unionism, etc., seem to 
 have entirely militated against independent thought. A 
 man must industrially do as he is told, and politically 
 and socially follow leaders who do the thinking for him. 
 The only men out here who, as a class, have the capacity 
 for independent thought are the Colonials. Their con- 
 stant observation about Englishmen is that they have no 
 initiative, which, of course, can only spring from inde- 
 pendent thought. (3) Religion has been in practically 
 all denominations simply dogmatic, whether negatively 
 or positively. What denomination has, for instance, 
 adopted as its first tenet ' Seek and ye shall find,' or 
 4 When the Spirit of truth is come, He will guide you into 
 all truth'? I asked an officer of very saintly and deeply 
 religious character, perhaps rather Evangelical by up- 
 bringing, and a corporal, also deeply religious and very 
 Catholic in training : * Can you really be a Christian 
 without thinking? Is, for instance, the simple, good old 
 woman, pious and kindly, really a Christian, except in
 
 APPENDIX 231 
 
 germ ? ' They both said ' No.' You must think and 
 be stimulated to think, to be a real follower of the Logos 
 the Way, the Truth, and the Life. 
 
 " The Churches once the pioneers and champions of 
 independent thought have sacrificed it to orthodoxy, 
 dogmatism, formality, emotionalism, etc. The cry is 
 still the same : ' Where is the place of understanding ? ' 
 All this has been said so often that it is perhaps hardly 
 worth repeating. But it is almost useless asking what 
 are the men thinking about things when they are not 
 thinking at all. I have proved and tested this in many 
 ways. I have had many debates and discussions, formal 
 and informal, among the men, and they have always 
 admitted this. Eventually we decided the next debate 
 must be on ' The Causes of, and the Remedy for Ignorance,* 
 which led to much fruitful discussion. 
 
 " Most things really come from this cause ; for instance, 
 men are usually immoral from ignorance or thoughtless- 
 ness or want of understanding what morality means. 
 They drink because they are ignorant of intellectual 
 stimulus. They swear and this is the perpetual excuse 
 without meaning it. They cannot even use language 
 which has any meaning. Their letters are appalling, 
 absolutely failing in originality or interest. Their con- 
 versation is the merest drivel. They spend hours in 
 playing a game like house, because it requires no thought. 
 A great deal of this thoughtlessness is due to war con- 
 ditions. Men may have had independent interests before 
 the war, and other opportunities for stimulating thought, 
 which are impossible now. Hence both officers and men 
 take the line of least resistance and follow the crowd. 
 
 " The officers practically universally decorate their mess 
 with rude and suggestive pictures, talk incessant filth, 
 and make it an almost universal practice either to have 
 sexual intercourse on leave, or to say they have, because 
 it is the right thing. Hardly an officer out here has 
 enough to do to occupy his time except during really 
 stringent fighting. There are no regular hours. They go 
 to bed and get up when they like, if not actually on duty. 
 At his post the average British Officer is one of the noblest 
 of men, nothing that can be said about him is too much. 
 But in mess or on leave they seem to degenerate at once. 
 I consider that the root of the whole matter lies in the 
 mind, and that certain chapters vii., viii., and ix. of
 
 232 LETTERS OF OSWIN CREIGHTON, C.F. 
 
 that much-neglected book of Proverbs throw more light 
 on the subject than anything else. If wisdom is neglected, 
 the inevitable result is what we find to-day. The Church, 
 which should be the place of understanding and the 
 ground of truth, the dwelling-place of the Logos, has 
 degenerated either into emotional ritual, or hymn-singing, 
 or secluded and entrenched piety. It has gone into its 
 trenches for safety and let the world pass by. It neither 
 understands the world nor touches it at any point. Men 
 are heartily tired of it in any form. For Heaven's sake do 
 not let the Y.M.C.A. think that a sloppy, emotional, 
 vague hymn-singing, teetotal, purity religion is going to 
 be of any value whatever. Its clear and only course is 
 to build up a society, straining after truth, holding wisdom, 
 as Job did, as above the price of all else. 
 
 " I could go on indefinitely elaborating this point. 
 The obvious criticism will be that most of what I have 
 said is negative, and I have painted an unnecessarily black 
 and very one-sided picture of the men's character. With 
 practically everything I have read or heard said in their 
 favour I entirely agree. I am increasingly and inces- 
 santly astounded at their qualities. How men can go 
 on as many of my men have now done, for three years, 
 with often only four days at home during that time, under 
 the conditions we have to face out here, and yet remain 
 so unchangeably cheerful and ready to do and face any- 
 thing, is something one could never have imagined in 
 peace time. The wheat and the tares grow together, and 
 the wheat is what counts. It is a wonderfully strong 
 growth, but so are the tares. And either they grow much 
 more vigorously or we are more able to see the growth in 
 war-time than in peace. 
 
 " But there is one positive statement I should like to 
 make. Almost all men enjoy thinking if they are helped 
 to think. The most valuable work a chaplain can do is 
 to stimulate thought by good conversation in messes or 
 bivouacs. He must not come with a programme or a 
 bias. Let him chaff, provoke, challenge, draw out, direct, 
 stimulate but never assert, impose, or dogmatise, unless 
 he is absolutely clear. Let him love the men. Their 
 hearts are open wide. That is the most wonderful part 
 of the war. If it empties already empty minds, it warms 
 and opens what before were very confined and reserved 
 hearts. The door is open. But it will be rapidly closed
 
 APPENDIX 233 
 
 against any mere programme of services and pi- jaws. 
 The men do not understand themselves and their own 
 nature. What is the primary and essential qualification 
 of a Christian worker or teacher if not to know ' what is 
 in man ' like their Master ? Here is the failure of prac- 
 tically all parsons, ministers, church or Y.M.C.A. workers. 
 I am only at the age of thirty-four beginning to have a 
 little knowledge of my fellowmen. If the Christian 
 Church is composed of men who both love and know, it 
 will challenge the world. But love without knowledge, 
 and knowledge without love, will do nothing. I am 
 always surprised to find how the men with whom I abso- 
 lutely fail to do anything on the old orthodox lines of 
 services, etc., respond to a really good discussion, or love 
 a stimulating talk. The difficulty is to drag oneself 
 away. 4 When are you coming again to finish that argu- 
 ment ? ' ' What a relief it is to talk about something 
 different ! We have been discussing that point ever 
 since.' These are the kind of remarks so often made. 
 Of course, men's talk can degenerate into so much air. 
 It must always have action and the moulding of character 
 or the directing of movements as its ultimate goal. 
 
 " To sum up. The war reveals that the Englishman 
 is the best-hearted, most enduring, and most ignorant 
 and least original man in the world. The work of the 
 Church is to help him to build up what he has not got on 
 the basis of what he has. An understanding Church is 
 our great need."
 
 INDEX 
 
 ABERDEEN GULLY, 133 
 Acton, Lord, 21 
 Alberta Battalions, 158 
 Alexandria, 125, 136-138, 140-143 
 Alix, 71, 74, 77, 78, 81, 82, 88, 92, 
 
 94, 116, 118, 120 
 Altham, General, 142 
 Americans, the, 221 
 Andrews, Rev. L. M., 138-140, 143, 
 
 160, 161, 165, 222 
 Anglican Church, the, 55, 56 
 Anglicanism, 74 
 Aquitania, the, 145, 152 
 Aragon, the, 140, 142 
 Archbishops' Mission to Western 
 
 Canada, 23 
 Army and Religion, the, 203, 214, 
 
 229 
 
 Arras, 179, 182-184, 191-192 
 Australians, the, 151 
 
 Baalbek, 11, 12 
 
 Boys' Camp, 65-67 
 
 Brent, Bishop, 25, 70 
 
 Buffalo Lake, 80, 106, 107 
 
 Buffs, the, 123 
 
 Burge, Dr., Bishop of Oxford, 227 
 
 Bury, Bishop, 157 
 
 Bus, 161 
 
 Buya, 5 
 
 Caboose, the, 98, 101-103, 109 
 Cairngowan, the, 148 
 Cairo, 138 
 
 Calder, 30, 40, 45, 90 
 Calgary, 30, 77, 119, 158 
 
 Bishop of, 40, 71, 109, 119 
 
 Canada, 24 
 
 Canteens, 168, 170, 171, 172, 175, 
 
 176, 186, 205, 207 
 Cards ton, 59 
 
 Carrick, Rev. R. M., 18, 24 
 Castra, 142 
 Catholicism, 16, 29 
 
 90 
 
 Bailey, Rev. C. H., 43, 46, 79, 80, Chaplain General, the, 123-124, 157 
 
 Chaplain's meetings, 166, 179 
 Chaplains, Roman Catholic, 123 
 Characteristics of Oswin Creighton, 
 
 224-228 
 
 Children, work for, 89, 91, 94 
 Cheques, 223 
 Chores, 42, 85 
 Christmas Day, 1917, 167 
 Church, the, 83, 85, 87, 88, 96, 113, 
 
 127, 131, 155, 168, 169, 176, 177, 
 
 202, 211,233 
 
 Army, the, 145, 149, 202 
 
 Parades, 123, 129, 158 
 
 Churches, the, 213, 231 
 
 Churchiness, 34, 41, 83 
 
 Clergy, the, 209 
 
 Clive, 72, 81, 83-85, 91, 109, 154 
 
 Cockneys, 146 
 
 Colonials, the, 146, 230 
 
 Concert troupes, 199, 201, 216, 
 
 223 
 
 Constantinople, 13, 125 
 "Cookie," S. Watkins, 31, 46, 97, 
 
 98, 102 
 Corporals, the, at Romsey, 156 
 
 Cyril, 79, 80, 226 
 Gemma, letters to, 85, 87, 94, 
 
 129, 197, 202, 207, 214, 221 
 Band, Captain, 148, 150, 153, 157, 
 
 172 
 
 Bapaume, 208 
 Bashaw, 97, 98, 107, 109, 114, 117, 
 
 118 
 Batteries, the, 162, 164, 167, 184, 
 
 185, 188, 189 
 Battery positions, 204 
 Beaupre, 26 
 Belfast, Dean of, 65, 70 
 Bethune, 200, 220 
 Beyrut, 11 
 
 Bickersteth, Burgon, 103 
 Blood Reserve, the, 58-60 
 Bombing raids, 206 
 Bosphorus, 13 
 Bossington, 17 
 
 Bournemouth G. F. S., the, 108 
 Boustead, Rev. G., 30, 32 
 Boyd, Rev. W. G., 23, 30, 44, 46, 
 
 47, 64, 98, 104 
 
 235
 
 236 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Corps Officers' Club, 211 
 
 Coventry, 124 
 
 Creeds, 210, 211 
 
 Creighton, Beatrice, letters to, 121, 
 
 122, 135 
 Cuthbert, letters to, 113, 130, 
 
 136, 170, 192 
 
 Dr. MandelJ, 1, 2 
 
 Mary, letter to, 69. See 
 
 McDowall. 
 
 Walter, 119 
 
 Cunningham, Canon B. K., 64. See 
 
 the "Professor." 
 
 Dardanelles, lecture on, 156 
 
 Day, Mrs., 20 
 
 D. C. G., the, 166 
 
 Dead Yesterday, 215 
 
 Death, 185, 195, 206 
 
 Democracy, 221 
 
 Denham, 19, 20, 21 
 
 Depdt at Mudros, 145, 146-149, 
 
 152, 158 
 
 Devas, Father, 124 
 Dewdney, Archdeacon, 71-73, 76, 
 
 108, 120 
 
 Diana, Temple of, 8 
 Dickson, Mr., 106 
 Diphtheria, 135, 144 
 Discipline, 134, 147, 151 
 Dresden, 20 
 
 Edmonton, 90, 92, 104, 113 
 
 Edson, 70, 71 
 
 Education, 230 
 
 Eighty -ninth Field Ambulance, 130- 
 
 132 
 
 Elham, 124 
 Englishmen, 230, 233 
 Entwistle, 36 
 Ephesus, 8 
 Europa, the, 148 
 Excursions at Smyrna, 8 
 
 Farnham, 10, 15-17 
 Figgis, Dr., 21 
 Flanders, 205 
 Folkestone, 121 
 Follies, the, 22 
 French women, 1 73 
 Funerals, 185, 191 
 
 Gallipoli, 124, 125, 128-131, 158 
 German Kultur, 199 
 Germans, the, 221, 230 
 Gibraltar, Dr. Collins, Bishop of, 4, 
 
 54 
 
 Gillson, Rev. M. P., 25, 27 
 Glass, Mr. and Mrs., 57 
 
 Gordons, the, 187 
 Gray, Archdeacon, 113 
 Gregory, Mr., 108, 109 
 Grenfell, Mr. A., 35 
 Gun Pits, the, 162 
 
 Halifax, 27-29 
 Harris, Mr., 61 
 Haslemere, 67, 71 
 Hatred, 211, 212 
 Haunted Lake, the, 74, 91 
 Heroism of the men, 207 
 Hichens, Rev. A. S., 4-6, 9 
 
 Mrs., 8 
 
 Holdom, Rev. M. W., 117, 118, 
 
 120 
 
 Holy Week at Romsey, 155 
 Hordern, Rev. H. M., 138, 143, 
 
 153 
 
 House-building, 164, 165 
 Hythe, 123 
 
 Ignorance, 210, 231 
 Inge, Very Rev. W. R., D.D., Dean 
 of St. Paul's, 62, 100 
 
 Jeremiah, 68 
 Jerusalem, 11 
 
 Keble College, 2, 3 
 
 Kensington, Dr. Ridgeway, Bishop 
 
 of, 17, 19 
 Kikuyu, 112-115 
 Kingdom of God, the, 214 
 Kinloch, Rev. M. W., 147, 148 
 Klondyke Trail, 32 
 
 Lac la Nonne, 32 
 
 Lacombe, 75, 82 
 
 Lancashire Fusiliers, 158 
 
 Lansdowne, Lord, 211 
 
 Lantern services, 98 
 
 Leave, 202, 209, 213, 219 
 
 Lemnos, 135, 139, 143 
 
 Letters from Picardy, 196, 197 
 
 Lidja, 10 
 
 Life and Liberty, 203, 218 
 
 Livingstone College, 23 
 
 Lloyd, Mrs., 36, 45 
 
 London, Bishop of, 17, 24, 25, 140, 
 
 144 
 
 Loom of Youth, the, 215 
 Love of boys, 7, 9, 10 
 Luck, 208 
 Lyminge, 123 
 
 McDowall, Mary, letter to, 217 
 Macleod, 57, 61 
 Majestic, the, 130
 
 INDEX 
 
 237 
 
 Malta, 152, 153 
 
 Manchester's, the, 157, 158 
 
 Marlborough, 1 
 
 Maurice, F. D., 68 
 
 Meander Valley, 9 
 
 Mercer, Rev. F. E., 64 
 
 Methodism, 74, 114 
 
 Methodist Minister, the, 83 
 
 Methodists, the, 36, 52, 55, 63 
 
 Mex, 125, 126 
 
 Middleton, Mr., 58 
 
 Miletus, 9 
 
 Mirror, 72, 73, 81, 83, 99, 108, 109, 
 
 114, 116 
 
 Missionary Convention, the, 76 
 Mission of Help, the, 97 
 
 , the Edmonton, 104 
 
 Mitchell, Rev. C. F., 194 
 
 Mogg, Rev. A. B., 36 
 
 Moore, Rev. C. W. A., 153 
 
 Mott, Dr. J. R., 76 
 
 Mowat, Rev. W. H., 51, 57, 59-61 
 
 Mudros, 138, 140, 141, 142, 153 
 
 National Mission, the, 158, 159 
 
 N.C.O.'s, 205, 206 
 
 Nevasa, the, 143 
 
 Nevis, 81 
 
 New York, 119 
 
 New Zealanders, the, 144 
 
 Nonconformists, 49, 50, 52 
 
 Norton, Mrs., 13, 20 
 
 Netting Dale, 24 
 
 Nuneaton, 124 
 
 Oldham, J. H., 228 
 
 Old Timers, 80 
 
 Oliver, Rev. R. T. Deane, 121, 122 
 
 Oxford Movement, 68 
 
 Packing Plant, 30 
 
 Padstowe, 73 
 
 Panrucker, Mr., 73 
 
 Parade services, 170, 174, 178, 201 
 
 Paris, 196, 199, 200 
 
 Parish work, 18, 19, 20, 24 
 
 Parlby, Edward, 73, 119 
 
 Mrs., 97, 101 
 
 Walter, 88, 91, 119, 120 
 
 Parlbys, the, 82, 97, 101 
 Parsons, 203, 204 
 Pellat, Sir Henry, 30 
 Petit Cap, 27 
 Pow Wows, 168, 169, 171 
 Prairie, the, 29 
 
 Presbyterian Church at Alix, the, 
 112 
 
 minister, the, 83, 112, 114 
 
 Prodigal Son, the, 212, 213 
 
 "Professor, The," Canon B. K. 
 
 Cunningham, 16, 115, 166, 200, 
 
 227 
 
 Prostitution, 200 
 Protestantism, 29 
 Prussianism, 193 
 Pusey, 21-23, 68 
 Pym, Mr., 106, 107 
 
 Quebec, 26, 27 
 Quiet Days, 67 
 
 Radiopticon, the, 82, 89 
 
 Raikes, R. T., 15 
 
 Rectory, the Alix, 83, 95 
 
 Red Deer, 118, 139, 140 
 
 Reed, Miss, 94, 99 
 
 Reunions at the Mission, 45, 70 
 
 Robertson, Rev. F. W., 59, 68, 
 
 215 
 
 Robinson, Major, 183 
 Rogers, Major, 195 
 Roman Catholicism, 55, 199, 213 
 Romsey, 152, 154-158 
 
 Abbey, 156, 157, 159 
 
 Royal FusiJiers, the, 146 
 Russian Pilgrims, 12 
 
 Sandgate, 122 
 
 Sandling, 122-124 
 
 St. Andrews, 36, 42, 43, 47, 64, 65, 
 
 67,90 
 
 St. Faith, 30 
 
 St. James, Norlands, 18, 23 
 St. Lawrence, the, 27 
 St. Monica's, 81 
 St. Omer, 200 
 St. Pancras, 81 
 St." Paul's Mission, 57-60 
 Scott, Canon, 26, 27 
 Scouts, 19, 60, 97, 100, 103, 106 
 Selwyn, C., 113 
 Serre Front, 161 
 Services, 192, 212 
 
 Church, 78, 79 
 
 Voluntary, 78, 79, 163, 164, 
 
 170, 175, 189, 205, 206 
 Shore, Rev. H. M., 159 
 Sicilian, the, 137, 141 
 Sinister Street, 215 
 Smyrna, 5, 13 
 Sokia, 9 
 
 Soldiers' Christian Union, the, 123 
 Somali, the, 151 
 Southport, 159 
 Spiritual values, 181 
 Storrs, Prebendary, 25 
 Superstitions, 218 
 Swan wick, 157
 
 238 
 
 Synod, Calgary, 77, 107 
 at Edmonton, 113 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Tabor, Mount, 11 
 
 Talbot, Rev. Neville, 160, 166 
 
 Tannhauser, 2, 113 
 
 Telegraph Hill, 190, 191 
 
 Thinking, need for, 230-333 
 
 Third Division, 160, 216-218, 220, 
 
 223 
 
 Thomson, Sir Courtauld, 139 
 Three Hours' Service, the, 91 
 Tilley, 192 
 Triumph, the, 130 
 Trek of the Column, 173, 174, 176 
 Tunnel, the, at Arras, 188 
 Turkey, 13 
 Turner, Mrs., 57 
 Twenty-ninth Division, the, 124, 
 
 129 
 
 " U " Beach, 133 
 Uppingham, 16 
 
 Varengeville, 29 
 
 Versailles, 200 
 Vimy Ridge, 188 
 Virgin Birth, the, 99 
 Visiting, 48 
 Voluntary services, 123 
 
 Waburnum, 35 
 
 Wagon lines, the, 167, 168, 194, 
 
 212 
 
 Wanqueter, 183, 190 
 War, the, 116, 117-121 
 Wells, Miss, 58 
 Western Canada Fund, 227 
 Whitaker, Rev. G. D., 30 
 Wilson, President, 212 
 Winchester, Dr. Ryle, Bishop of, 10 
 Winter, Rev. C. H., 153 
 Winter campaigning, 179 
 Wisdom Literature, the, 68 
 Witley Camp, 157, J58 
 Women's Auxiliary, 36 
 Worsley, Captain, 86, 119 
 
 Y.M.C.A., the, 140, 142, 149, 165, 
 219, 220, 223, 232, 233 
 
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