Perhaps some of them died in the war. Poor chaps! But it is a
very long time ago.

I should like to be a soldier. It is better than going to the best
schools, and to Oxford afterwards, even if it is Balliol you go to.
Oswald wanted to go to South Africa for a bugler, but father would
not let him. And it is true that Oswald does not yet know how to
bugle, though he can play the infantry 'advance', and the 'charge'
and the 'halt' on a penny whistle. Alice taught them to him with
the piano, out of the red book Father's cousin had when he was in
the Fighting Fifth. Oswald cannot play the 'retire', and he would
scorn to do so. But I suppose a bugler has to play what he is
told, no matter how galling to the young boy's proud spirit.

The next day, being thoroughly armed, we put on everything red,
white and blue that we could think of-- night-shirts are good for
white, and you don't know what you can do with red socks and blue
jerseys till you try--and we waited by the churchyard wall for the
soldiers. When the advance guard (or whatever you call it of
artillery--it's that for infantry, I know) came by, we got ready,
and when the first man of the first battery was level with us
Oswald played on his penny whistle the 'advance' and the
'charge'--and then shouted--

'Three cheers for the Queen and the British Army!' This time they
had the guns with them. And every man of the battery cheered too.
It was glorious. It made you tremble all over. The girls said it
made them want to cry--but no boy would own to this, even if it
were true. It is babyish to cry. But it was glorious, and Oswald
felt differently to what he ever did before.