me which would mean that I was to report at the
regimental depot at Hounslow. My first impression of the men with whom I
was to live for three years, or the duration of the war, was anything
but favorable. The newspapers had been asserting that the new army was
being recruited from the flower of England's young manhood. The throng
at the Horse Guards Parade resembled an army of the unemployed, and I
thought it likely that most of them were misfits, out-of-works, the kind
of men who join the army because they can do nothing else. There were,
in fact, a good many of these. I soon learned, however, that the general
out-at-elbows appearance was due to another cause. A genial Cockney gave
me the hint.

"'Ave you joined up, matey?" he asked.

I told him that I had.

"Well, 'ere's a friendly tip for you. Don't wear them good clo'es w'en
you goes to the depot. You won't see 'em again likely, an' if you gets
through the war you might be a-wantin' of 'em. Wear the worst rags you
got."

I profited by the advice, and when I fell in, with the other recruits
for the Royal Fusiliers, I felt much more at my ease.

CHAPTER II

ROOKIES

"A mob" is genuinely descriptive of the array of would-be soldiers which
crowded the long parade-ground at Hounslow Barracks during that memorable
last week in August. We herded together like so many sheep. We had lost
our individuality, and it was to be months before we regained it in a new
aspect, a collective individuality of which we became increasingly proud.
We squeak-squawked across the barrack square in boots which felt large
enough for an entire family of feet. Our khaki service dress uniforms
were strange and uncomfortable. Our hands hung limply along the seams of
our pocketless trousers. Having no place in which to conceal them, and
nothing for them to do, we tried to ignore them. Many a Tommy, in a
moment of forgetfulness, would make a dive for the friendly pockets which
were no longer there. The look of sheepish disappointment, as his hands
slid limply down his trouser-legs, was most comical to see. Before many
days we learned the uses to which soldiers' hands are put. But for the
moment they seemed absurdly unnecessary.

We must have been unpromising material from the military point of view.
That was evidently the opinion of my own platoon sergeant. I remember,
word for word, his address of welcome, one of soldier-