Continuing our narrative today, it is hard not to be struck by the extraordinary good humour of Fr Doyle. The “cathedral” to which he refers was, of course, just another dug out or shell hole somewhere in a battlefield. His final comment about being glad not to be asked to say the rosary with bombs falling around him is classic Irish wit. It is important to remember that these letters were sent home to give comfort to his worried father. By putting such a brave face or circumstances that it is clear that he loathed, Fr Doyle once again shows us something of his heroic virtue. It also shows that his hard, ascetic life did not deprive him of his charm one bit.
Also of note is the devotion of the other soldiers in carrying out the corporal work of mercy of burying the dead, at some risk to their own lives.
In Fr Doyle’s own words…
There is little to record during the next couple of days except the discovery of a new cathedral and the happiness of daily Mass. This time I was not quite so well off, as I could not kneel upright and my feet were in the water which helped to keep the fires of devotion from growing too warm.
Having carefully removed an ancient German leg, I managed to vest by sitting on the ground, a new rubric I had to introduce also at the Communion, as otherwise I could not have emptied the Chalice. I feel that when I get home again I shall be absolutely miserable because everything will be so clean and dry and comfortable. Perhaps some kind friend will pour a bucket or two of water over my bed occasionally to keep me in good spirits.
When night fell, I made my way up to a part of the Line which could not be approached in daylight, to bury an officer and some men. A couple of grimy, unwashed figures emerged from the bowels of the earth to help me, but first knelt down and asked for Absolution. They then leisurely set to work to fill in the grave. ‘Hurry up, boys’, I said, ‘I don’t want to have to bury you as well’, for the spot was a hot one. They both stopped working much to my disgust, for I was just longing to get away. ‘Be gobs, Father’, replied one, I haven t the divil a bit of fear in me now after the holy Absolution’. ‘Nor I, chimed in the other, I am as happy as a king’. The poor Padre who had been keeping his eye on a row of crumps which were coming unpleasantly near felt anything but happy; however there was nothing for it but to stick it out as the men were in a pious mood; and he escaped at last, grateful that he was not asked to say the rosary.
Also of note today are two feasts that we would celebrate if it were not a Sunday. Firstly there is of course St Dominic, founder of the Order of Preachers. A special hello to all Dominicans and lay Dominicans who many wander past here.
And for Jesuits, today would be the feast of Blessed Peter Faber, one of the very first companions of St Ignatius and the man largely responsible for the vocation of St Peter Canisius, Doctor of the Church. (Or at least, according to some calendars, it would be his feast, others place it on the 2nd. But since we didn’t mention him on the 2nd, we’ll do so here).
He died in 1546 in the arms of St Ignatius, on his way to the Council of Trent, worn out from his apostolic labours aged only 40. He was beatified in 1872 and awaits canonisation. Sometimes causes move slowly, even in very worthy cases, a point of consolation for all devotees of Fr Doyle.