learnt all the tricks of barrack-life. We knew how to "come the old
soldier"; we knew how and when to "wangle out" of doing this or that
fatigue; we practised the ancient art of "going sick" when we knew a
long route march was coming off next day.

We knew how to "square" the guard if we came in late, and the others
learnt how to dodge church parade.

"'E never goes to church parade."

"No; 'e was a fly one--'e was."

"Wotchermean?"

"Put 'isself down as Quaker."

"Lummy--that's me next time I 'list-- Quaker Oats!"

By this time I had been promoted to the rank of corporal.

Next to the regimental sergeant-major, I had the loudest drill voice
on the square, and shouting at squad-drill and stretcher- drill was
about the only thing I ever did well in the army--except that, having
been a scout, I was able to instruct the signalling squad.

Route marches and field-days were a relief from the drill square. For
five months we got no issue of khaki. Many of the men were through at
the knees, and tattered at the elbows. Some were buttonless and
patched. I had to put a patch in my shorts. Our civilian boots were
wearing out--some were right through. Heels came off when they "right