ost
popular. Fully sixty per cent. of the men went in for rowing, and some
very skilful and powerful oarsmen were turned out. There were two
regattas each year. The preliminary heats of each regatta were pulled
off on the lake that runs into the grounds of the House, and the finals
took place on the River Thames. Single sculls, pair-oars, and fours were
our strong points. The Bungalow turned out two men who had no superiors
on the river either sighted or sightless. Sergeant Barry, at one time
the world's champion sculler, coached the team during the seasons of
1917 and 1918. So successful were the Canadians that there are now a
number of St. Dunstan's rowing prizes in Canada.

The tug-of-war team, of which I was a member, was quite as successful as
the oarsmen. Indeed, we lost only one point during the whole season. We
treated all comers alike: they were there to be pulled over; and we saw
to it that they came. The following was our war song; we sang it going
to the grounds, and we sang it coming away.

The Canucks are on the rope, on the rope, on the rope;
Their breasts are full of hope, full of hope, full of hope;
They tell the teams they pull against
That they're out to win the cup.
Canadians do your bit, do your bit, show your grit;
Lay back on that rope, legs well braced; never sit.
Make your snow-clad country proud
Of her boys who are on the line.

Chorus--

Take the strain, take the strain;
First a heave, then a pull, then again.
The boys are pulling, the boys are pulling;
Yes, they're pulling with might and main.
Take the strain, take the strain;
First a heave, then a pull, then again.
They'll come over; they'll come over;
For the timber wolves are winning once again.

Not a very elaborate piece of poetry, and sadly deficient in metre and
rhyme; but it certainly did mean much to us when we heard our supporters
singing it. We sang it to the tune of "Over there." Out of justice to my
comrades, I must plead guilty of composing it.

The average weight of the team was only 145lbs., but what the men lacked
in weight was made up in grit. The team was chosen from fifteen
Canadians, all who were at the Bungalow at the time; and seven of the
nine men who comprised the team were "black" blind. Yet this team beat
the pick of five hundred others. I have heard some of the men of the
other teams asking: "Why do they always pull us over? We are heavier,
man for man