long time before I could run it to earth. "Deeds not words" seemed to be
their motto.

One night at a small dance my partner told me he had just joined the
Surrey Yeomanry; that brought the subject up once more and I confided
all my troubles to him. Joy of joys! He had actually _seen_ some of the
Corps riding in Hounslow Barracks. It was plain sailing from that
moment, and I hastened to write to the Adjutant of the said Barracks to
obtain full particulars.

Within a few days I received a reply and a week later met the C.O. of
the F.A.N.Y.'s, for an interview.

To my delight I heard the Corps was shortly going into camp, and I was
invited to go down for a week-end to see how I liked it before I
officially became a member. When the day arrived my excitement, as I
stepped into the train at Waterloo, knew no bounds. Here I was at last
_en route_ for the elusive Yeomanry Camp!

Arrived at Brookwood, I chartered an ancient fly and in about twenty
minutes or so espied the camp in a field some distance from the road
along which we were driving. "'Ard up for a job _I_ should say!" said my
cabby, nodding jocosely towards the khaki figures working busily in the
distance. I ignored this sally as I dismissed him and set off across the
fields with my suit case.

There was a large mess tent, a store tent, some half dozen or more bell
tents, a smoky, but serviceable-looking, field kitchen, and at the end
of the field were tethered the horses! As I drew nearer, I felt horribly
shy and was glad I had selected my very plainest suit and hat, as