One day while out on open warfare practice, which culminated in an attack on Yarnbury Castle, we came to a small stone bridge across the Avon River. According to the umpire’s orders this bridge was supposed to have been destroyed by the enemy. Our captain looked around and seeing no umpires in sight sent some of his men across the bridge. In no time at all there showed up a couple of imperial staff officers who inquired how he could use a bridge that had been blown up. Our captain thought quickly and replied that the stone falling from the bridge into the stream had left enough footing to be used as a ford in crossing. The staff grinned. It was Sir H. Robertson or Sir H. Wilson. I am not really sure which one it was.
We dug into scout work with both feet on the plains. Road reports, patrol reports, map making, map enlarging, panoramic sketching, observation, night marches across country by compass and by stars, distance judging, concealment and utilization of cover, semaphore signaling, etc. Our field training was given to a lieutenant ex school teacher, ex surveyor from Emo in the Rainy River district, a conscientious soul with his heart in the work all right but seeming to us to be addicted to traveling in grooves and lacking the spirit of initiative and broadness necessary to work ahead, and inclined to be fussy in a school marm sort of way that would not be so bad with boy scouts at home. Over and senior to him was (Capt.- later to become) Major Andrews of Winnipeg a grand old man. Too bad he was so old. He was really too old to be soldiering at all but too game to be left at home. He was supposed to oversee our training and did so to the limit of his physical ability. He went on a night march across country in wet weather with us. Became over heated, caught pneumonia and near died with it. He did not recover in time to go to France with the battalion but followed when recovered. To him as to a true pal we have put our fears about the lieutenant. The upshot was a decision (at an Indian Council) to put in what is known as a round robin asking for his removal and the installation of one of our number, a private named Knobel as our instructor with the rank of sergeant. This was done in a few days.
Knobel was a mining engineer of good education and world wide experience including being with Dr. Jamieson on his famous raid on the Boers in s. a., mining in the Yukon, Alaska, Northern Ontario, etc., and four years at school in Germany speaking German and French fluently. He was an expert surveyor, map man, artist and photographer etc. We now felt more confidant and looked forward to seeing things when we progressed where we could try out our system of scout work in actual practice in the field.
Putting troops in tents on the plains in the winter is not usual practice but was thought feasible in our case as we colonials were supposed to be a tough lot and physically able to survive it. Quite a few of us did live through it and quite a few did not. Spinal meningitis due to exposure and wet also pneumonia due to the same cause carried away quite a number.
A few weeks before going overseas we were transferred to wooden huts at Stone-henge. The huts were better in that it gave us some chance to keep blankets and clothing semi-dry. I know that the after affects of that exposure was the death of a lot of men during the winter and spring of 1915 by cutting down on their vitality, making them easy prey when they were again exposed to tough conditions in the front line.
The collection of huge stone slabs at Stone-henge is an interesting monument attributed to the old druid priesthood. As far as I know we have no definite history of its origin though the nearest stone of the kind is at or near the coast and the ancients must have done some engineering to get them there to the present site. We used to form a hollow square in front of it every Sunday morning for church services. The drums were piled in the centre and served as a sort of pulpit from which the padre held services. The rolling land must have looked on some strange gatherings at this spot, ancient Britons, Romans, Normans, Norse, Angles, Saxons, Danes, old English, modern British and lastly Canadian troops under arms. I am afraid I used to stand and conjure up mind pictures of these old time savage battalions against the background of the grassland instead of listening to the services. The whispering wind in the grasses seemed to tell weird tales of the doings at this historic spot and ones eyes seemed to wander back to the alter stone or sacrificial stone in the centre with each whisper of the south wind.
I caught a heavy cold and a touch of pneumonia early in December. We were put on cross country foot races, a run of six miles with whole companies and battalions in the run, up hill and down dale in the winter rain through wet grass and pools of water. We would finish the run steaming hot, soaking wet with sweat and rain water, ending up in a tent where you waded in soup ankle-deep to the door. No fires here, no change of clothes, no rub down, not even dry blankets. We would squat in the slithery mud smooched floor and get busy with a knife scraping the mud from our clothing to make it presentable on the next parade. Marksmanship tests were on now and we were sent to the ranges from 100 to 800 yards. I was subject to ague-chills and a heavy cough with eyes running water badly. The targets were a blur as far as the bulls’ eye was concerned though I could make out the square outline of the white sheet alright. I used that as a guide to centre. Maj. Andrews was an old Bisely rifleman, and had been over some years before with the Canadian Team. My shooting up to now had been a little better than the average so he challenged me to a shoot off in the finals. I was leery about the ague-chills and the watery eyes but took him on. We shot the course and I was on top by two points only.
On account of something like 52 percent of the division being of British birth or having relatives in the old country, it was decided to allow all ranks a furlough–leave or vacation to the address they specified in the period at or about Christmas or New Years. Alick McRea invited me to go with him to his home at Brora in Sutherland–Scotland. We went via London and while strolling up the Strand we had a rather amusing encounter with a military body of shining aspect. Busy with plans and jabbering like two kids we failed to notice an artillery officer in (full dress peace time parade uniform) with broad red strips on his trousers, cap, oodles of gold braid and trimmings. Failing to notice and duly salute the trimmings we were jacked up very short, questioned as to the intelligence, training, origin of our ancestors and future hopes on this earth. Quandary was here as well as some embarrassment. I stole a shy maidenly look at the broad red strips stating that I had mistook him for a Salvation Army Officer. There was a snort something like a bear makes when disturbed in a blueberry patch and the man of many colors was on his way without any ceremony at all. Oh! You Lassies of London.
I began to be sorry of my plan to go to the top end of Scotland but Alick rushed to the depot and we were off. Great Eastern and Caledonian through train to Edinburgh. Here were coaches like the ones at home with compartments and general layout similar. Traffic was very heavy just then and standing room only was about all that was available on that train. I remember a sailor on leave to London from the fleet in the Cromartry Firth and on his way back to his ship. He was several sheets in the wind and had the big black neckerchief (a relic of Nelson’s Time) filled full of winkles or periwinkles and was seated in the centre of the coach isle hailing all comers (Hi! Mitey, Have a winkle Mitey)? It was interesting to see him fish the meat out of the shells with a bent pin. I tried one but lost interest at that.
Scotland
We had a glimpse of old Edinburgh Castle and some of the city and went on to Inverness. This town was more like a town in eastern Canada than any place I saw in Europe. Alick went out during the evening and being lonely I tried to pick up conversation with some folk at the hostelry where we put up. That must have been an ungodly thing to do, for I can still remember the icy stare that rewarded my efforts at sociability. (Unheard-of-you-know). Really I can see through it now but was puzzled at the time. I know of one G. R. Gibson of Hollinger Mines who went on leave from the trenches to Edinburgh in a private’s uniform. His own sisters would not be seen in public with him because of his low degradation and visible proof of same in his raiment. Class!! The Caledonian Railway and