Oh, the misery of those terms at Woolwich!  I hated the work, the drill, the gym and even the riding school.  I hated the officers, and above all I hated the spirit of the place.  As far as I remember, the one eternal topic of conversation and subject of “wit” was the sexual relation.  Of course the boys had never been taught sensibly anything about it.  Consequently the place was continually circulated with filthy books, pictures, stories, etc.  When I went there I was extraordinarily innocent, and devoid of curiosity.  I had been recently the more disposed to purity through the death of my mother.  At Woolwich I remained extraordinarily innocent and uncurious, letting the poisonous stream flow continually by me, shrinking from its stench, and finding more and more relief in my own company.  I must have been a very unpleasant person at that time.

One friend I had.  He was a small, compact, keen, and capable little Rugbian named F——.  He was like me in that he had recently lost his parents, and was interested in religion and philosophy in a boyish way.  Unlike me he rather enjoyed Woolwich.  He had a lot of friends, was keen on riding and on a good deal of the work, and generally speaking plunged into life, taking the rough with the smooth, and both in good part.  Although we have drifted far apart in ideals and sympathies, and though misunderstanding has come in and destroyed our friendship, I shall never cease to be grateful for all that F——­ did for me in those days.  He routed me out when I was in the blues, laughed at me, cheered me up and made me look at life with new eyes.  Moreover he did this, as I know, in defiance of the set with whom he was friendly, who despised me for a milksop, and were at no pains to conceal the fact.  But for F——­, my life at the Shop would have been intolerable.

Besides him, I had a few associates, boys with whom I naturally associated for the simple reason that they, too, were left out of the main current of the life of the place.  But they were not particularly congenial.  One or two were hard workers.  One was a great slacker, and more timid, physically and morally, than even I. He was a boy with a fatal facility for doing useless things moderately well, especially in the musical line.  He was even more frightened of gym and horses than I was, and unlike me was not ashamed to show it.  If the Shop was purgatory to me, it must have been hell to him.

My happiest times were week-ends spent at home.  I used to arrive on Saturday evening and leave on Sunday evening.  About now I began to get to know my father much better, and to develop my theological bent under his advice.  In my disillusionment as to my capacity for military life I began to wish I had chosen the clerical profession.  I think my father had the shrewdness to see that failure in one profession was not necessarily the sign of a “call” in another direction.  Anyway, he did not discourage me; but spoke of five years in the Army as the best training for a parson.