The following narrative was originally intended, as a record of the events it relates, for the use of the Community only. But, shortly after the arrival of the Mother Prioress in England, the manuscript was placed in my hands. I soon formed the opinion that it deserved a larger circulation. My friend Reginald Smith shared this view, and so the story has come before the public. It is in truth a human document of thrilling interest, and will, I believe, make an abiding contribution to the history

These simple notes, destined at first for the intimacy of our Abbey, we now publish through the intervention of Mr. Barry O’Brien to satisfy the numerous demands of friends, who, owing to the horrors of the fighting round Ypres, have shown great interest in our welfare. Owing, also, to the numerous articles about us, appearing daily in the newspapers—and which, to say the least, are often very exaggerated—I have charged Dame M. Columban to give a detailed account of all that has befallen the Com

I have been asked to write an introduction to this book, but I feel that I can add little to its intense dramatic interest. Ypres has been one of the chief centres of the terrible struggle which is now proceeding on the Continent, and it is well known that this same old Flemish town has figured again and again in the bloody contests of the past. It may, perhaps, be well to explain, in a few words, how the tide of war has once more rolled to this old-world city. On Sunday, June 28, 1914, in Saraj

The War, with all its horrors, into which the Emperor of Germany plunged the world in August 1914, had been raging nearly six weeks, when, towards the end of September, vague rumours of the enemy’s approach reached us at Ypres. Several villages in the neighbourhood had had visits from the dreaded Uhlans, and, according to report, more than one prisoner had avowed that they were on their way to Ypres. An aeroplane had even been sent from Ghent to survey the town, but had lost its way. In these ci

The contrast between the reception of the two armies was striking. On the arrival of the Germans, people kept in their houses, or looked at the foe with frightened curiosity; now, everyone lined the streets, eager for a glimpse of the brave soldiers who had come to defend Ypres. A week before, the citizens had furnished food to the enemy, because they dared not refuse it—and only then what they were obliged to give. Now, each one vied with the other in giving. Bread, butter, milk, chocolate—ever

The ‘Flag’ at Ypres BY R. BARRY O’BRIEN There is a ‘legend’ of a ‘blue flag’ said to have been carried or captured by the Irish Brigade at the battle of Ramillies, and which was subsequently deposited in the Irish convent at Ypres. This is a sceptical age. People do not believe unless they see; and I wished to submit this ‘blue flag’ to the test of ocular demonstration. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1907, I paid a visit to the old Flemish town, now so familiar to us all in its misfortunes. I was

We were soon recalled from our reflections; for Mother Prioress, emerging from the parlour, announced to us that we were to have visitors that night. Two priests and five ladies had begged to be allowed to come to sleep in our cellars, as news had been brought that the Germans might penetrate into the town that very evening. One could not refuse at such a moment, though the idea was a novel one—enclosed nuns taking in strangers for the night. But in the face of such imminent peril, and in a case

To return to the Abbey. Everything had become suddenly animated there; for, at the departure of Dame Placid and Sister Romana, Reverend Mother Prioress had declared that we should all follow, taking advantage of the occasion, as there was a cessation of hostilities for the moment. In vain some of us begged to be allowed to remain behind; but we had all to make our last preparations and go. When, however, the packages turned up, each bigger than the other, we looked at one another in dismay. How

During dinner the bombardment had been at its height. In that short half-hour almost twenty shells had burst quite close to us. It was our side of the town that was being attacked—already a poor woman, begging for something to eat, had told the portress that the roof of the college was struck. Mother Prioress, deaf to all entreaties, said that everyone without exception was to be ready at 2 o’clock. We went about, looking—perhaps for the last time—at the dear old scenes, which we had thought to

It was late the next morning when we awoke, for there were no guns to disturb our slumbers. However, we were up in time for the last Mass. Having breakfasted, we set to work to carry our parcels upstairs, and to clean our shoes, which, owing to our peregrinations, were hardly recognisable, being simply clotted with mire and dirt. This finished, we made our first visit to the wounded soldiers in the ambulance. What a scene of suffering met our eyes! If it made us realise, more than ever, that we

When we arrived at the convent, we found that a soldier had called to say that a motor-car would be starting for Ypres at 4.30, but which would not return until the next day. We felt hardly inclined to accept the invitation, but dared not miss the opportunity which would perhaps not present itself a second time. Mother Prioress and Dame Placid decided to go, and to pass the night in the abbey and come back the following day in the motor. We were all so anxious at the idea that two of us, viz. Da

Reverend Mother, despairing of getting into Ypres, was now determined to leave Poperinghe and go to England; but again the question presented itself—How were we to get there? As the English officers had been so kind to us in our efforts to get to Ypres on the previous evening, she thought that perhaps they would help us also for the journey. Dame Teresa offered to accompany her, as, being the niece of Mr. Redmond, it was felt she might be specially useful. So, accompanied by Dame Columban and Da

Were we, then, to leave Belgium without seeing our beloved monastery again? The thought was too dreadful. This time Dame Placid begged to be allowed to venture back, and asked Dame Columban and Dame Patrick if they would go with her. They at once agreed; and having begged a blessing from Mother Prioress, started off, accompanied by the two servants of Madame Boone, poor Mother Prioress being still unwell and quite unable to accompany them, to her great disappointment. Dame Columban and Dame Patr

‘The hand-cart being overloaded, we had to carry some of the things ourselves; and we must have looked a strange sight, carrying books and clothes, stuffed in white pillow-cases—even Mr. Walker had one, which he hoisted on his shoulder. We did not trouble about this, but silently made our way back, through the deserted streets. We left the town by a different way from that by which we had entered it, as a sinister boom from the station warned us of the presence of the enemy. Our road took us thi

There was now no time to waste. The few treasures we had brought with us were promptly added to the other packages; while it was decided that each nun should wear her great-habit, as much to lessen the number of parcels, as to preserve us from the cold, especially when crossing the sea. We bade adieu to the Superioress and community of La Sainte Union, who had given us such a warm welcome, and shown us such hospitality during the past fortnight. They asked us in return to beseech Our Lord not to

Next morning we were all motored from our different lodgings to Euston Station, where we were met by Mr. Nolan, brother of Rev. Dom Nolan, O.S.B. , and at 10.30 we entered on the last stage of our never-to-be-forgotten journey. We had three reserved compartments at our disposal, by the kind intervention of a gentleman at Victoria Station, who had given a signed card to Mother Prioress, telling her to show it to anyone who should question her. And so we travelled safely from Ypres to Oulton. How

THIRD EDITION. Paris Waits: 1914. By Mrs. M. E. CLARKE. With 24 Illustrations. Large Post 8 vo. 5 s. net. Punch. —‘I have seldom met a volume of more pronounced “heart interest” than “Paris Waits.” Not only are her pen-pictures remarkably vivid and realistic, but the camera has also helped.’ Times. —‘It is a very familiar tale that is told in these pages, yet it gains a new pathos, a deeper significance from the simple yet eloquent way it is told.’ A Memoir of the late Very Reverend MONSIGNOR RO

San Celestino: An Essay in Re-construction. By JOHN AYSCOUGH. Author of “Marotz,” “Admonition,” “Dromina,” etc. New and Cheaper Edition. With an Introduction and Notes. Crown 8 vo. 2 s. net. ⁂ This edition has been provided by the author with an Introduction and Notes for the benefit of Students taking the Oxford Local Junior Examination in 1915, for which it is a set book in English literature. It is the only work of a living author included in the Syllabus. Italian Gardens of the Renaissance,