Read WC02 - Never Surrender for Free Online Page A

Chichester was not a wicked man but he knew he was a dishonest man, for while he preached duty as being the way to salvation he was aware that the only thing duty had delivered unto him these past years was unhappiness and a feeling that his soul had been placed on a bed of ice, where it had somehow become frozen, unable to move.
    "Today Whit Sunday we celebrate a time of accomplishment," he began from the pulpit. "When men shall go forth and do great deeds."
    It wasn't the standard Whit Sunday sermon, but present circumstances called for something a little different. Many years ago his college principal had told him that while the Word may be eternal, a congregation's attention span never was, so Henry Chichester had developed a reputation for his vivid sermons. But how could he inspire others when his words had long ago ceased to inspire him? He raised his eyes heavenward, but all he saw was a large patch of damp above his head that was growing steadily worse in the salt-wind storms. The roof was long overdue for repair, but what was the point when the entire building might be blown away by a single bomb? Dear God, what was the point?
    "The Whit Sunday story began a little while after Our Lord's ascension into heaven, when the Apostles had come together to celebrate the day of Pentecost. They were alone, uncertain, worried about what the future held in store for them. And as they assembled in their small room, from the sky came a noise like that of a whirlwind and they were surrounded on all sides by leaping tongues of fire. Imagine that. Imagine how those men must have felt. In just a few weeks their Lord had been crucified, then resurrected, after which he had disappeared. And now this. Fire and chaos on all sides. Those poor Apostles must have been terrified." He cast his arms wide to gather in all the concerns his congregation were wearing so openly. "O Lord, how many of our young men in France must share that fear today."
    They wouldn't fall asleep today. Nowhere in the country was closer to the war than this place and not a family in the town could escape it. The town was the port, and the port was the highway to a battlefield that was being fought over for the third time in seventy years. Like it or not, it was Dover's war. All the newspapers carried large maps of Flanders, and the Reverend Chichester had cut out the map from The Times and pinned it on the notice board in the porch alongside the brass-cleaning roster. Something to help focus their prayers.
    "Before his ascension Jesus had told the Apostles, "I leave behind with you peace. I give you my own peace, but my gift is nothing like the peace of this world." The vicar stared over his reading glasses and repeated the words for emphasis. "Nothing like the peace of this world. Our Lord knew that peace didn't come naturally to this world; his message was that it would have to be laboured for yes, even fought for. He was telling us that the crusade for Christ might involve much hardship."
    Eyes gazed up at him, the majority female, anxious, all desperate for reassurance.
    "And he told us this. In his own words, Jesus said: "Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." That's what he told the Apostles. And that is what he is telling us today."
    Mrs. Parnell had seen him post up the map as she arrived for flower duty. There seemed to be more flowers this year than ever. Her eyes had brimmed as she saw what he was doing. "My youngest, Harry," she said, fighting her tears. "Just got his call-up papers this morning." She had made no complaint, simply grabbed her flowers and began cutting and arranging them with even more care than usual. It was only later he had found her sobbing in a rear pew. I know, I know' she waved away his awkward attempt to comfort her 'he's got to do his bit. But as a mother it's so ... well, you understand, of course. With your Donald."
    Reverend Chichester had smiled grimly and nodded. When his son had left, his parishioners