I saw my contemporaries one by one being sent out to France to take the place of casualties in the First and Second Battalions, while I remained despondently at the depot. But once more boxing was useful. Johnny Basham, a sergeant in the regiment, was training at the time for his fight (which he won) with Boswell for the Lonsdale Belt, welter-weight. I went down to the training camp one evening, where Basham was offering to fight three rounds with any member of the regiment, the more the merrier. One of the officers put on the gloves and Basham got roars of laughter from the crowd as soon as he had taken his opponent’s measure, by dodging about and playing the fool with him. I asked Basham’s manager if I could have a go. He gave me a pair of shorts and I stepped into the ring. I pretended that I knew nothing about boxing. I led off with my right and moved about clumsily. Basham saw a chance of getting another laugh; he dropped his guard and danced about with a you-can’t-hit-me challenge. I caught him off his balance and knocked him across the ring. He recovered and went for me, but I managed to keep on my feet; I laughed at him and he laughed too. We had three very brisk rounds, and he was decent in making it seem that I was a much better boxer than I was by accommodating his pace to mine. As soon as the adjutant heard the story he rang me up at my billet and told me that he was very pleased to hear of my performance, that for an officer to box like that was a great encouragement to the men, that he was mistaken about my sportsmanship, and that to show his appreciation he had put me down for a draft to go to France in a week’s time. Of the officers who had been sent out before me several had already been killed or wounded. Among the killed was Second-Lieutenant W. G. Gladstone, whom we called Glad Eyes. He was in his early thirties; a grandson of old Gladstone, whom he resembled in feature, a Liberal M.P., and lord-lieutenant of his county. When war was hanging in the balance he had declared himself against it. His Hawarden tenantry were ashamed on his account, and threatened, he told us, to duck him in the pond. Realizing, once war was declared, that further protest was useless, he immediately joined the regiment as a second-lieutenant. His political convictions remained. He was a man of great integrity and refused to take the non-combative employment as a staff-colonel offered him at Whitehall. When he went to France to the First Battalion he took no care of himself. He was killed by a sniper when unnecessarily exposing himself. His body was brought home for a military funeral at Hawarden; I attended it.