I told him that I hadn’t ever thought of it because I knew nothing about soldiering and hadn’t the faintest idea of whether I should ever be any good as an officer. He waved that aside and advised me to apply. Then he added that he himself was going out to France one day in the following week and would I like to go as his servant? Would I? My whole idea was to get to France; and this happened before I had been passed out by the Colonel. So he took down my name and particulars and said he would ask for me when he came to Tidworth, which he proposed to do in two days’ time. Whether he ever came or not I do not know. I never saw him again. Nor did I take any steps with regard to a commission. My friend and I talked it over and I remember rather laughing at the idea of it. Not so she, however. About a fortnight later I was suddenly sent for by the Colonel. “I hear you’ve applied for a commission,” said he. It came like a bolt from the blue. But through my brain flashed the meeting in the Marlborough Hotel and I saw in it the handiwork of my friend. So I said, “Yes, sir.” He then asked me where I was educated and whether I spoke French and what my job was in civil life and finally I was sent off to fill up a form and then to be medically examined. And there the matter ended. I went on with the daily routine, was passed out by the Colonel and a very few days after that heard the glorious news that we were going out as a draft to France on active service. We were all in bed in the barrack room one evening when the door opened and a sergeant came in and flicked on the electric light, which had only just been turned out. “Wake up, you bloodthirsty warriors,” he cried. “Wake up. You’re for a draft to-morrow all of you on this list,” and he read out the names of all of us in the room who had been passed out. “Parade at the Quartermaster’s stores at nine o’clock in the morning.” And out went the light and the door slammed and a burst of cheering went up. And while I lay on my “biscuits,” imagining France and hearing in my mind the thunder of guns and wondering what our first charge would be like, the machinery which my friend had set in motion was rolling slowly (shades of the War Office!) but surely. My name had been submerged in the “usual channels” but was receiving first aid, all unknown to me, of a most vigorous description. 12 Shall I _ever_ forget that week-end, with all its strength of emotions running the gamut from exaltation to blank despair and back again to the wildest enthusiasm? We paraded at the Quartermaster’s stores and received each a kit bag, two identity discs--the subject of many gruesome comments--a jack-knife, mess tin, water bottle, haversack, and underclothes. Thus were we prepared for the killing. Then the Major appeared and we fell in before him. “Now which of you men want to go to the front?” said he. “Any man who wants to, take one pace forward.”