I had supposed that it took at least six months to make a
soldier,--in fact had been told that one could not be turned out
who would be ten per cent efficient in less than that time. That
old theory is all wrong. Modern warfare changes so fast that the
only thing that can be taught a man is the basic principles of
discipline, bombing, trench warfare, and musketry. Give him those
things, a well-conditioned body, and a baptism of fire, and he will
be right there with the veterans, doing his bit.

Two months was all our crowd got at any rate, and they were as good
as the best, if I do say it.

My training ended abruptly with a furlough of five days for
Embarkation Leave, that is, leave before going to France. This is a
sort of good-by vacation. Most fellows realize fully that it may be
their last look at Blighty, and they take it rather solemnly. To a
stranger without friends in England I can imagine that this
Embarkation Leave would be either a mighty lonesome, dismal affair,
or a stretch of desperate, homesick dissipation. A chap does want
to say good-by to some one before he goes away, perhaps to die. He
wants to be loved and to have some one sorry that he is going.

I was invited by one of my chums to spend the leave with him at his
home in Southall, Middlesex. His father, mother and sister welcomed
me in a way that made me know it was my home from the minute I
entered the door. They took me into their hearts with a simple
hospitality and whole-souled kindness that I can never forget. I
was a stranger in a strange land and they made me one of their own.
I shall never be able to repay all the loving thoughts and deeds of
that family and shall remember them while I live. My chum's mother