CHAPTER I

ANSWERING THE CALL

One sunny day in the early part of August, 1914, a little man with a bronzed face and a dingy set of overalls walked into the armories in Saskatoon, the wonder city of Saskatchewan. He was the author of this tale.

"Hello, Shorty, what brings you here? Hey, fellows, here's our mascot." This was the greeting I got from one of the recruiting sergeants.

I had come straight from the harvest field, a journey of eighty miles on horseback and train, without a coat, with well ventilated overalls, equally well-worn shoes and an unshaven chin, and my spirits sank perceptibly as I realized the contrast between my shabby five-feet-four and the classy-looking recruits gathered in the armories.

However, like the rest of the Englishmen in Canada who had answered the call I was determined, if it was humanly possible, to go overseas with the first contingent of twenty thousand men, and I duly presented myself for enlistment. My attestation was taken and I was sent to the doctor, being duly warned that I would have to pass the final test at Valcartier, Canada's first great war camp.

When I entered the examining room my spirits took another drop as I saw the magnificent bunch of tall, stalwart fellows who were awaiting their turn. I felt like a pigmy and almost turned tail then and there. "Now or never," I thought, as I stepped up to the doctor.

"What do you want, Bub?"

"To enlist, sir."

"Forget it," he said, "you are too short."

I lacked just two inches of the required height. He gave me the once-over and was a little taken aback when he found my weight was one hundred and forty pounds.

I also thought I would clinch my case by telling him, without winking an eye, that I had served with the First Battalion of the North Staffordshire Regiment in England for four years, which was a battalion of the regular army, and that as they had thought sufficiently well of my stature to sign me up, a Canadian volunteer battalion could not in reason be any more particular than one of the Imperial Army. The falsehood is on record there today in my attestation papers and I'm not in the least ashamed of it.

"Well," said he, "you are as fit as any man, but they are sticklers about the height. I'll tell you what I'll do, you may leave with the boys for Valcartier and that will bring you two thousand miles nearer England. As you are determined to go anyway, part of your trip will be at the government's expense."

I felt as if I had grown two inches when he said this. I got into the ranks at once and commenced drilling with the rest of the boys until we left for Valcartier.

It was a nasty wet night when we left Saskatoon, but a record crowd turned out to see that wild band start for the Great Adventure. Few of us had relatives there; the majority of us were Britishers who had left the Old Country to try our luck in the new land; but many were veterans of other wars who wanted to get into the game again, some had encircled the world in their wanderings, homesteaders, railway men, clerks--every walk of life was represented.

Ardent patriotism for the Old Flag and all that it stood for was the prompting motive of the rush to get into the First Canadian Division, but there was also the spirit of adventure strong within every man.

The mayor and city council and other government officials were present to bid us the soldier's farewell, "Good-bye, Good Luck, and Godspeed," and the train pulled out amid such a roar of cheering that the "Girl I Left Behind Me" was fairly drowned in the waves of departing cheers.