A young fellow was brought in on a stretcher to the Red Chateau dressing station one Sunday afternoon at Courcelette.

He was terribly wounded and gave me his father's address in Canada so that I might write to him.

He was carried away and I heard afterwards he died.

Some months later I had a letter from his father, a Presbyterian minister in Ontario, thanking me for writing and telling me how pleased his son had been by my giving him a ride one day in a Headquarters car.

I mention this so that people will realize how much the men had given up when they considered such a trifling thing worth mentioning.
The position of a chaplain as the war went on became very different from what it had been at the beginning.