Since I could not have a parade of my men at Arras I decided to do what good I could at Agnez-lez-Duisans. We had early Mass for the civil population, and as their curé was serving in the army I acted as parish priest that morning. Following my ordination to the priesthood I had been sent, as assistant priest, to a parish where French only was spoken. For three years I ministered to these people and when I had left them I felt that I had a fair working knowledge of their language, though when I first went among them, I received quite a shock. During my classical course I had studied the French language for four years; my theological course had been made at the Grand Seminary of Quebec, where the great majority of the students were French-Canadians. I had left the Seminary thinking that I had an adequate knowledge of the French language; nevertheless, I took a whole week to prepare and memorize my first French sermon in the little parish. I entered the pulpit a little fearful, though when I found my words flowing with no great effort I warmed to the work. I went down to the altar feeling that I had done fairly well; but after Mass, while receiving a Mass offering from a gentle old lady who had come into the sacristy leaning on a cane, I asked her very simply how I had preached. I shall never forget the kindly look with which the old lady regarded me, as she said: “It was all right, Father, all right! We all knew what you were trying to say.” And I had been preparing for eight years! However, when I left these good people I think they used to know what I was saying. And this Easter morning, in far-away France, as peasant after peasant came to me to confession, I recalled these golden days of my early service for the Master when the first fervor of the young priest was strongly aglow and all the world was at peace.
On Monday morning I took Holy Communion to an old woman who was an invalid and could not come to the church. Everything was spotlessly prepared and all the people knelt reverently when I entered the house bearing the Divine Guest. I tried to tip-toe softly in my big heavy military boots, but as they were built for marching on long roads I did not succeed very well. It seemed very strange there in the soft, carpeted room; two or three women knelt near the bedside; the feminine touch was everywhere; for the first time since my enlistment I felt the lack of cassock and surplice. Somehow, I felt a little awkward. She was an old woman, and her life must have been a very holy one. Simply and with great faith she received the Divine Guest and I knew Our Lord would feel at home.
When I was leaving one of the women pressed into my hand a five-franc piece. It was the first I had ever seen; but when I wished to return it, the woman seemed determined that I should keep it. I did—as a souvenir.