Sunday within the octave of Corpus Christi was a beautiful day. Just before I began Mass for the Thirteenth at Bailleul-aux-Cornailles the father of M. le Curé came in to see me. The usual great procession of the Blessed Sacrament had been planned, but word had come from the parish priest that he could not be present for Mass, and that very likely he would not be able to reach the church in time for the procession, which was to start at half-past three in the afternoon. If M. le Curé could not come, would M. l’Aumonier have the goodness, if it would not inconvenience him too much, to carry le Bon Dieu in the procession?
I assured the good people that I would be only too pleased to have the great honor of carrying the Blessed Sacrament in their procession. They promised to send a messenger to let me know whether or not the curé would come for the procession, as they would have definite word by twelve o’clock.
At one o’clock, while I was taking lunch, a messenger arrived from Bailleul-aux-Cornailles saying that M. le Curé could not come for the procession, and that the whole parish respectfully requested me to carry the Blessed Sacrament.
When I reached the village for a second time that day, I found all along the way evidences of great preparations. On each side of the road approaching the church, for a long distance, at intervals of about twenty feet, saplings of different trees had been placed so that they appeared to be growing there. Little girls, robed in white, were flitting along the road, some carrying banners, others holding decorated baskets of cut flowers. From one side of the road a narrow lane, arched darkly by old trees, led to a brightly decorated altar under a large Calvary. Just opposite the orderly room of the Thirteenth, where the road turned down to the village church, a high green arch had been erected, and on either side appeared in silver letters the words, “Panis Angelicus.” Alongside the arch was built another repository. While I was admiring this, for there was yet much time, the adjutant of the Thirteenth came down from the orderly room and asked me the meaning of all the great preparations.
When I explained as briefly as possible what was going to take place, he seemed surprised that I was going to take part in the procession. He wondered how it happened that I should know what to do among these strange people.
The people were strange, but the religion was not.
At half-past three, sharp, the procession left the church. It was led by a white-surpliced, red-cinctured sanctuary boy, carrying the processional cross. Behind him walked about a dozen confrères similarly clad; then came the young boys of the parish, with white ribbons on their arms. A lad perhaps eleven years of age followed, clad in the skins of animals and carrying a small cross on which were the words “Ecce Agnus Dei.” The little girls, in snow-white dresses, came next, and a few feet behind the column walked a young girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing a long cream-colored dress with white, gold-bordered wings coming out from her shoulders; a band of gold encircled her head, to which was attached a gold star which shone above her forehead; her right hand was raised and the index finger pointed always towards the sky. Then came four young girls in white carrying on a pedestal the statue of Our Lady, and four others, bearing on high the statue of the Sacred Heart. The women of the parish, most of them wearing a kind of light-blue badge, were next, followed by the men of the parish, with here and there the blue uniform of a French soldier home on leave. A few khaki-clad lads also walked, but I think they were strangers. (I wondered where my lads of the Thirteenth were.) Then came the choir of middle-aged men singing hymns that today were being sung over all the world, “Lauda Sion Salvatoris,” “Pange Lingua” and “Panis Angelicus.” Behind these walked six little girls strewing flowers in the way and two sanctuary boys swinging censers. Lastly, came four old men, no caps on their venerable heads, bearing on high the white and gold canopy over Jesus Host in the great gold monstrance, carried by a Canadian priest in the beautiful Benediction vestments.
The vari-colored procession went slowly down the village street, banners carried aloft and the beautiful old Eucharistic hymns sounding on the summer air, while very old people and others who for one reason or another could not take part in the procession knelt reverently in the dust on the roadside, as Jesus passed.
Then something happened that had never before happened in that little village during a procession of the Blessed Sacrament. Lining each side of the road for quite a distance were men of the Thirteenth Battalion, Catholic and Protestant, and as the procession moved slowly along in all the sweet simplicity of the deep faith of these French peasants, the soldiers stood reverently to attention.
I felt proud of these lads. We had met together in many strange places; but I am sure I shall never forget those gay, light-hearted lads standing so quietly and reverently as we passed—Jesus and I!