The day in question was bright and sunny with a touch of frost which made the horses blow and dance when, with twinkling lance-points at the carry, we rode out with the sergeant-major, every bright part of our equipment polished for hours overnight in the barrack room amid much excited speculation as to our prospects. The sergeant-major was going to give us a half-hour’s final rehearsal of all our training before the Colonel arrived. Nothing went right and he damned and cursed without avail, until at last he threatened to ride us clean off the plain and lose us. It was very depressing. We knew we’d done badly, in spite of all our efforts, and when we saw, not far off, the Colonel, the Major and the Adjutant, with a group of other people riding up to put us through our paces, there wasn’t a heart that didn’t beat faster in hope or despair. We sat to attention like Indians while the officers rode round us, inspecting the turnout. Then the Colonel expressed the desire to see a little troop drill. The sergeant-major cleared his throat and like an 18-pounder shell the order galvanised us into action. We wheeled and formed and spread out and reformed without a hitch and came to a halt in perfect dressing in front of the Colonel again, without a fault. Hope revived in despairing chests. Then the Colonel ordered us over the jumps in half sections, and at the order each half section started away on the half-mile course--walk, trot, canter, jump, steady down to trot, canter, jump--_e da capo_ right round about a dozen jumps, each one over a different kind of obstacle, each half section watched far more critically perhaps by the rest of the troop than by the officers. My own mount was a bay mare which I’d ridden half a dozen times. When she liked she could jump anything. Sometimes she didn’t like. This day I was taking no chances and drove home both spurs at the first jump. My other half section was a lance-corporal. His horse was slow, preferring to consider each jump before it took it. Between jumps, without moving our heads and looking straight in front of us, we gave each other advice and encouragement. Said he, “Not so perishin’ fast. Keep dressed, can’t you.” Said I, “Wake your old blighter up! What’ve you got spurs on for?--Hup! Over. Steady, man, steady.” Said he, “Nar, then, like as we are. Knee to knee. Let’s show ’em what the perishin’ Kitchener’s mob perishin’ well _can_ do.” And without a refusal we got round and halted in our places. When we’d all been round, the Colonel with a faint smile on his face, requested the sergeant-major to take us round as a troop--sixteen lancers knee to knee in the front rank and the same number behind. It happened that I was the centre of the front rank--technically known as centre guide--whose job it was to keep four yards from the tail of the troop leader and on whom the rest of the front rank “dressed.”