Private Peat | Page 6

cold, we tell the same story of
never having seen the like before.
We hadn't been in camp long when they began to issue passes to us.
The native-born Englishmen were the first to get leave, and the
Canadians next. At last my turn came, but unfortunately I had to go
alone. Personally, I think the English people made too big a fuss over
us. The receptions we got at every turn of the way were stupendous;
and I am certain a majority of the men had more money than was really
good for them. As one young Canadian boy said afterward: "Why, they
treated us as if we were little tin gods."
But from a military view-point, we, the boys of the First Canadian
Division, did not make such a tremendous hit with British officials. It
was not long before they even criticized us openly, and looking at it
from a distance I do not blame them. Never in their lives had they seen
soldiers like us. They had been used to the fine, well-disciplined,
good-looking English Tommy. Of course I will admit that we were
good-looking all right, but as far as discipline was concerned, we did
not even know it by name. The military authorities could not
understand how it was that a major or a captain and a private could go
on leave together, eat together and in general chum around together.
The English people, I dare say, had read a lot about the wild and woolly
West, but now in many instances they had it brought right home to
Piccadilly and the Strand. With a band of young Canadians on pass, I
assisted once in giving Nelson's Monument in Trafalgar Square the
"once over" with a monocle in my left eye. A few hours later this same
crowd commandeered a dago's hurdy-gurdy, and it was sure funny to
see three Canadian Highlanders turning this hand organ in Piccadilly
Circus.
The folks, of course, took all these little pranks good-naturedly; and, as
a Canadian, I can not speak too highly of the treatment handed out to us
by the Britishers. If there ever was a possibility before this war of
Canada's breaking away from the Motherland, such a possibility has
been shot to the winds. No two peoples could be more closely allied

than we of the West and they of this tiny but magnificent island.
The little training we had had in Canada was good, as far as it went,
and we had devoured it all. But the most vital part of a soldier's
up-bringing was absolutely forgotten by our officers--discipline! As
I've said before, as far as discipline was concerned, we were a joke.
Certainly we were looked upon as such by the Imperial officers.
In one of the leading British weeklies there appeared a series of
comments reflecting rather seriously on our discipline. One of the most
humorous yet caustic, it seemed to me, was of an English soldier on
guard at a post just outside of London. His instructions were to stop all
who approached. In the darkness it was impossible for him to
distinguish one person from another. Before long he heard footsteps
coming toward him:
"Halt! Who goes there?" demanded the sentry.
"The Irish Fusiliers," was the answer.
"Pass, Irish Fusiliers; all's well."
Before long some more steps sounded....
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"The London Regiment."
"Pass, Londons; all's well."
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"Hic ... mind your own damn business...."
"Pass, Canadians; all's well."
At a parade, one bright November morning, when we were at Salisbury,
a certain brigadier-general from Ontario, since killed in action, while
reviewing the soldiers of a particular battalion, made a unique speech to

the boys when he said:
"Lads, the king and Lord Kitchener and all the big-bugs are coming
down to review us to-day, and for once in your lives, men, I want to see
you act like real soldiers. When they get here, for the love o' Mike,
don't call me Bill ... and, for God's sake, don't chew tobacco in the
ranks."
There is no doubt about it, the authorities probably looked on us as a
bunch of good fellows, but that's about all.
While still in England, all the men of the First Canadian Contingent
were issued a cloth lapelette or small shoulder strap; the infantry, blue;
the cavalry, yellow with two narrow blue stripes; the artillery, scarlet,
and the medical corps, maroon. I was told that these lapelettes were
given to distinguish us from other contingents. To-day there are only a
few hundred men entitled to wear what now amounts to a badge
distinction. Personally, I feel prouder of my blue lapelette than of
anything else I possess in the world.
The so-called training that we were supposed to have in