The Canadian officer had little objection to the grind nor had his men. The Canadians eat up work. But somehow it did not seem right that the 1st of July slide past without celebration of any kind. He had memories of that day, of its early morning hours when a kid he used to steal down stairs to let off a few firecrackers from his precious bunch just to see how they would go. Latterly he had not cared for the fireworks part of it except for the Kiddies. But somehow he was conscious of a new interest in Canada's birthday. Perhaps because Canada was so far away and the Kiddies would be wanting some one to set off their crackers. It was good to be in England, the beautiful old motherland, but it was not Canada and it did not seem right that Canada's birthday should be allowed to pass unmarked. So too through the Commandant of the Shorncliffe Camp, a right good Canadian he. "I have arranged a Tattoo for the evening," he announced in conversation with the Canadian Officer the day before the First. "What about a holiday, Colonel?" The Commandant shook his head. "Well, then, a half-holiday?" "No. At least," remembering the officer's ancestry and that he was a Canadian Highlander, "not officially, whateffer." "Shall I get a rope for the Tug of War, do you think?" "I think," replied the Commandant slowly with a wink in his left eye, "you might get the rope." This was sufficient encouragement for the 43rd to go on with and so the rope was got and vaulting pole and standards with other appurtenances of a day of sports. And the preparations went bravely on. So also went on the Syllabus which for Dominion Day showed, Company Drill, Instruction Classes, Lectures, Physical for the forenoon, Bayonet fighting and Route marching for the afternoon.