faces. Several of our men had gone West in that charge, and were lying
"somewhere in France" with a little wooden cross at their heads. We
were in rest billets. The next day, our Captain asked for volunteers
for Bombers' School. I gave my name and was accepted. I had joined the
Suicide Club, and my troubles commenced. Thirty-two men of the
battalion, including myself, were sent to L--, where we went through a
course in bombing. Here we were instructed in the uses, methods of
throwing, and manufacture of various kinds of hand grenades, from the
old "jam tin," now obsolete, to the present Mills bomb, the standard
of the British Army.

It all depends where you are as to what you are called. In France they
call you a "bomber" and give you medals, while in neutral countries
they call you an anarchist and give you "life."

From the very start the Germans were well equipped with effective
bombs and trained bomb-throwers, but the English Army was as little
prepared in this important department of fighting as in many others.
At bombing school an old Sergeant of the Grenadier Guards, whom I had
the good fortune to meet, told me of the discouragements this branch
of the service suffered before they could meet the Germans on an equal
footing. (Pacifists and small army people in the U. S. please read
with care.) The first English Expeditionary Force had no bombs at all
but had clicked a lot of casualties from those thrown by the Boches.
One bright morning someone higher up had an idea and issued an order
detailing two men from each platoon to go to bombing school to learn
the duties of a bomber and how to manufacture bombs. Non-commissioned
officers were generally selected for this course. After about two
weeks at school they returned to their units in rest billets or in the
fire trench as the case might be and got busy teaching their platoons