outlines of France. It was a fascination for all of us to look away
over there and to wonder what fortunes were to come to us on the
battle fields of Europe. It was perhaps as well that none of us had
imagination enough to visualize the things that were ahead.

I found the rookies at Dover a jolly, companionable lot, and I
never found the routine irksome. We were up at five-thirty, had
cocoa and biscuits, and then an hour of physical drill or bayonet
practice. At eight came breakfast of tea, bacon, and bread, and
then we drilled until twelve. Dinner. Out again on the parade
ground until three thirty. After that we were free.

Nights we would go into Dover and sit around the "pubs" drinking
ale, or "ayle" as the cockney says it.

After a few weeks, when we were hardened somewhat, they began to
inflict us with the torture known as "night ops." That means going
out at ten o'clock under full pack, hiking several miles, and then
"manning" the trenches around the town and returning to barracks at
three A.M.

This wouldn't have been so bad if we had been excused parades the
following day. But no. We had the same old drills except the early
one, but were allowed to "kip" until seven.

In the two months I completed the musketry course, was a good
bayonet man, and was well grounded in bombing practice. Besides
that I was as hard as nails and had learned thoroughly the system
of British discipline.