Always there were women in black weeds kneeling before the side-altars, praying to the Virgin for husbands and sons, dead or alive, lighting candles below holy pictures and statues. Our men tiptoed past them, holding steel hats or field-caps, and putting their packs against the pillars. On the steps of the cathedral I heard two officers talking one day.

“How can one reconcile all this with the war?”

“Why not?⁠ ⁠… I suppose we’re fighting for justice and all that. That’s what The Daily Mail tells us.”

“Seriously, old man. Where does Christ come in?”

“He wasn’t against righteous force. He chased the money-changers out of the Temple.”