My brother, with whom I spent all my week-ends in those days, had a house just off the Park. He put in his time looking like a rather tired admiral, most of whose nights were passed looking for Zeppelins and yearning for them to come within range of his beloved “bundooks” which were in the neighbourhood of the Admiralty. Thither I went at full speed in a taxi--they still existed in those days--and proceeded to wallow in a hot bath, borrowing my brother’s bath salts (or were they his wife’s?), clean “undies” and hair juice with a liberal hand. It was a comic sight to see us out together in the crowded London streets, he all over gold lace, me just a Tommy with a cheap swagger stick under my arm. Subalterns, new to the game, saluted him punctiliously. I saluted them. And when we met generals or a real admiral we both saluted together. The next afternoon, Saturday, at tea time a telegram came. We were deep in armchairs in front of a gorgeous fire, with muffins sitting in the hearth and softly shaded electric lights throwing a glow over pictures and backs of books and the piano which, after the barrack room, made us as near heaven as I’ve ever been. The telegram was for me, signed by the Adjutant. “Return immediately.” It was the echo of a far-off boot and saddle.--I took another look round the room. Should I ever see it again? My brother’s eye met mine and we rose together. “Well, I must be getting along,” said I. “Cheero, old son.” “I’ll come with you to the station,” said he. I shook my head. “No, please don’t bother.--Don’t forget to write.” “Rather not.--Good luck, old man.” “Thanks.” We went down to his front door. I put on my bandolier and picked up my haversack. “Well--so long.” We shook hands. “God bless you.” I think we said it together and then the door closed softly behind me. _Partir, c’est mourir un peu.--Un peu._--God! 13 The next day, Sunday, we all hung about in a sort of uneasy waiting, without any orders. It gave us all time to write letters home. If I rightly remember, absolute secrecy was to be maintained so we were unable even to hint at our departure or to say good-bye. It was probably just as well but they were difficult letters to achieve. So we tied one identity disc to our braces and slung the other round our necks on a string and did rather more smoking than usual. Next morning, however, all was bustle. The orders had come in and we paraded in full fighting kit in front of the guardroom. The Colonel came on parade and in a silence that was only broken by the beating of our hearts told us we were going out to face the Boche for our King and Country’s sake, to take our places in the ranks of a very gallant regiment, and he wished us luck.