Your Boys | Page 4

I was standing and blew part of it over my head. I have suffered as your boys have, and I have preached the Gospel to your boys in the front line. I long for the privilege of doing it again.
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If I had my way I'd take all the best preachers in Britain and I'd put them down in France. And if the church and chapel goers grumbled, I'd say, "You're overfed. You can do without a preacher for a little." And if they were to ask, "How do you know?" I should reply, "Because it's hard work to get you to one meal a week. You only come once on a Sunday and often not that. That's how I know you are not enjoying your food."
I love talking to the Scottish boys--the kilties. Oh! they are great boys--the kilties. When the French first saw them they didn't know what they were, whether they were men or women.
"Don't you know what they are?" said a bright-faced English boy. "They are what we call the Middlesex."
You can't beat a British boy, he's on the spot all the time--"the Middlesex!" Some of you haven't seen the joke yet.
* * * * *
I once went to a hut just behind the line, within the sound of the guns. Buildings all round us had been blown to pieces. The leader of this hut was a clergyman of the Church of England, but he wasn't an ecclesiastic there, he was a man amongst men, and we loved him.
"Gipsy Smith," he said, "I don't know what you will do; the boys in the billets this week are the Munsters--Irish Roman Catholics. You would have got on all right last week; we had the York and Lancasters."
"Do you think they will come to the meetings?"
"I don't know," he replied; "they come for everything else! They come for their smokes, candles, soap, buttons--bachelor's buttons--postcards, and everything else they want. But whether they will come for the religious part, I don't know."
"Well," I said, "we can but try."
It was about midday when we were talking, and the meeting was to be at 6.30.
"Have you got a boy who could write a bill for me?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, "I've got a boy who could do that all right."
"Print it on green paper," said I.
Why not? They were the Munsters. Why shouldn't we use our heads? People think mighty hard in business, why shouldn't we think in the religious world?
"Just say this and nothing more," I said.
"'_Gipsy Smith will give a talk in the Hut to-night at_ 6.30. _Subject--Gipsy Life_.'"
I knew that would fetch them.
At half-past six the hut was crowded with eight hundred Munsters. If you are an old angler, indeed if you know anything at all about angling, you know that you have got to consider two or three things if you are to stand any chance of a catch. You have got to study your tackle, you have got to study your bait, you have got to study the habits of your fish. When the time came to begin that meeting, one of the workers said,
"Shall I bring the box of hymn-books out?"
"No, no," I replied; "that's the wrong bait."
Those Munster boys knew nothing about hymn-books. We preachers have got to come off our pedestals and not give our hearers what we want, but the thing that will catch them. If a pretty, catchy Sankey hymn will attract a crowd, why shouldn't we use it instead of an anthem? If a brass band will catch them, why shouldn't we play it instead of an organ?
"Keep back those hymn-books," I said. "They know nothing about hymn-books." I had a pretty good idea of what would have happened if those hymn-books had been produced at the start.
I got on that platform, and I looked at those eight hundred Munsters and said, "Boys, are we down-hearted?"
"No," they shouted.
You can imagine what eight hundred Munsters shouting "No" sounds like. They were all attention instantly. I wonder what would happen if the Vicar went into church next Sunday morning and asked the question, "Are we down-hearted?" I knew it would cause a sensation, but I'd rather have a sensation than a stagnation.
Those boys sat up. I said, "We are going to talk about gipsy life." I talked to them about the origin of my people. There's not a man living in the world who knows the origin of my people. I can trace my people back to India, but they didn't come from India. We are one of the oldest races in the world, so old that nobody knows how old. I talked to them about the origin of the gipsies, and I don't know it, but I knew more about it than they did. I talked to them