Then, to our dismay, the bugle sounded.  We were back on the parade ground, but no Sergeant took charge of us.  Instead there appeared a man without a cap and wearing a jersey.  He was of colossal size.  He had coarse, brutal features.  He was our physical drill instructor.

He scowled darkly at us for a short while.  Then he looked at one man after the other.  His eyes rested on me.  I wondered what was the matter.  I was kept in suspense for a brief space and then he roared like a bull, “Take those bloody glasses orf,” as though the wearing of glasses were a crime against humanity.  I took them off and put them into my pocket.  The instructor gave me a savage look and then bawled out a number of commands in rapid succession—­so rapid that we were unable to follow any of them.  We stood still and felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to do.  There was an embarrassing pause, and then he thundered: 

“Bloody lot o’ fools—­gorne to sleep ‘ave yer?  Don’t try any o’ yer tricks on me.  I ain’t ‘avin’ any. I’ll smarten yer up a bit—­by Gawd—­I’ll break yer bleed’n’ ‘earts afore I’ve done wi’ yer—­by Gawd I will.  When I tells yer ter do a thing yer’ve got ter do it, else there’ll be trouble, Gawd strike me blind.  Now then, let’s see what yer can do.”

He gave his orders more slowly and performed each movement himself while we imitated him as best we could.  We jumped and ran, we bent our bodies, and threw back our heads, we stretched our arms, we rose on our toes, we flopped down on to the ground and got up again with lightning rapidity.  We ran to and fro until we were breathless.  Mistakes were frequent, and whenever a mistake was made the instructor would stride up to the culprit with bared teeth and clenched fist and bellow contemptuous and filthy abuse at him.  Not one of us had the courage to remonstrate.  Suddenly our tyrant looked at his watch, and, to our immense satisfaction, walked off without saying a word.

We remained standing irresolutely for a while and then sat down on the grass one after another.  It was not long before a Sergeant came up and said he was going to give us saluting drill.

“On the order ’Right ‘and Ser-loot,’ yer bring up yer right ’and to the peak o’ yer cap an’ turn yer ‘ead sharply to yer left an’ ’old it there while I counts six paces.  At the end o’ the six paces yer cuts yer ’and away an’ brings it smartly dahn ter yer side an’ looks to yer front.  Squad—­Tshn!  By the Right, Quick March!...  Right ’and, Ser-loot!”

Up went our right hands and our heads turned smartly to the left, while the Sergeant shouted, “One, two, three, four, five, six, Dahn!” whereupon we brought our hands smartly down to our sides and turned our heads to the front again.  We marched to and fro saluting imaginary officers with our left hands, it may have been twenty times, it may have been fifty, we were so overcome with infinite boredom that we regarded everything with complete apathy and could not trouble to count.  Then, by way of variety, we saluted with our right hands, and some more dreary minutes passed by.  Then we stood to attention and saluted to the front.  Finally, in order to complete our mastery of the art, each man had to leave the ranks in turn and salute the Sergeant in passing.  Some of us did so clumsily and incorrectly and were sent back in order to repeat the performance.