That night I didn't sleep much. I was up and dressed by five-thirty. I
hid beneath the shadow of a wall near the barracks and struck matches
to look at my watch. At ten minutes to six the street was full of
unseen, hurrying feet which sounded ghostly in the darkness. I
followed them into the parade-ground. The parade was falling in, rolls
were being called by the aid of flash-lamps. I caught hold of an
officer; for all I knew he might have been a General or Colonel. I
asked his advice, when I had blundered out my story. He laughed and
said I had better return to my hotel; the class was going to stables
and there was no one at that hour to whom I could report.

The words of the sergeant at the Empire came back to me, "And I'll
give you hell if I get you in my squad." I understood then: this was
the first attempt of the Army to break my heart--an attempt often
repeated and an attempt for which, from my present point of vantage, I
am intensely grateful. In those days the Canadian Overseas Forces were
comprised of volunteers; it wasn't sufficient to express a tepid
willingness to die for your country--you had to prove yourself
determined and eligible for death through your power to endure
hardship.

When I had been medically examined, passed as fit, had donned a
uniform and commenced my training, I learnt what the enduring of
hardship was. No experience on active service has equalled the
humiliation and severity of those first months of soldiering. We were
sneered at, cleaned stables, groomed horses, rode stripped saddle for
twelve miles at the trot, attended lectures, studied till past
midnight and were up on first parade at six o'clock. No previous
civilian efficiency or prominence stood us in any stead. We started