Four Escapes from Death

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One obvious divine overshadowing of my youthful zeal and dedication in those five war years was in the constant narrowest of escapes from
death, without which there could not have been the following years of fruitfulness. It was the guardianship of those ministering angels “sent
forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation” (Heb. 1:14).

I had taken by faith that word in Psalm 91:7. A thousand shall fall at th side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.” Rather a selfish prayer, but I had said to myself that any others who wanted to could also claim it! Four times over, I just escaped death.

The first was when my men occupied a trench about half a mile from the Germans. A narrow connecting trench had been dug leading to a small
advanced post, which I occupied with my signallers. Suddenly I clearly felt we should get back from that outpost. So I casually took my men back, meaning to return to our equipment. Within a few minutes the outpost was blown up by a shell. We later found our equipment buried.

Then one night we were digging a trench. A “crump”—a five-inch German shell fell just to one end of that trench. Curiously, I felt strongly that
instead of moving farther away, I should go and stand by that fresh smoking shell hole. As I did so, another crump fell just where I had been
standing.

Later we occupied some trenches which we had captured from the Germans. My company captain and I occupied a small inner dugout, with
two bunks and just a sheet of three-ply wood between us and the company sergeant and staff of about six in the outer end of the dugout. In
the early morning, just when I reached for a tin of bully beef, there was a funny metallic sound and some smoke.

When the smoke cleared, the plywood sheet was leaning crazily over me. On the other side all the men had been killed by a direct hit. Later I found the finger of one of them blown right into my folded raincoat. God seemed marvelously to have had His purpose in preserving me, when so many of my school contemporaries were killed.

Finally, we went “over the top” in the Paschendaele battle. As we stood ready at 3 a.m. to advance under the enormous barrage of the guns, I
gave my last word of witness to my men of how Christ is a Saviour to those who trust Him. Within 30 minutes, after we had advanced about
half a mile, half the men were mown down by bullets from a machine gun emplacement. My batman (orderly) beside me turned white. When I
looked, I saw a bullet had penetrated his heart.

At the same moment I felt a sharp blow on my leg, and there was blood. Although hit with what we called a “blighty” (a wound enough to send you home!), I was able to limp back to an advance casualty post. Preserved once again! And by this—much more than a preservation the
final plan of God for my life was to be brought to me. So I was sent home as a casualty.