The red altar lamp cast a dim light in the sacred building, and every now and then in the stillness I could hear, like the roar of a distant sea, the sound of shells falling at the front.

The mysterious silence of the lofty building, with the far off reverberations of war thrilling it now and then, was a solace to the soul.
A smaller chapel in the monastery, with a well-appointed altar, was allotted by the monks to the chaplain for his services.

While I was at Mont des Cats we heard of the death of Lord Kitchener.

The news came to the Army with the force of a stunning blow; but thank God, the British character is hardened and strengthened by adversity, and while we all felt his loss keenly and looked forward to the future with anxiety, the determination to go on to victory was made stronger by the catastrophe.

As the chaplain of the hospital was away at the time, I held a memorial service in the large refectory.