My first night on English soil I shall never forget.  After three weeks on ship coming over, we were all pretty stiff.  The night we landed in England we marched many miles, and as a result my feet were awfully sore.  So, when we finally arrived at Salisbury Plain and were immediately ordered to march across the Plain another ten miles to Pond Farm, I knew I shouldn’t be able to do it, and confided my troubles to Bill and another fellow named Laughlin.  After we had gone about four miles we came to an inviting haystack; it was too much for us and all three of us slipped out of line, but before we could reach the stack we were caught by Major Anderson.  Bully old major!  He volunteered to carry my pack.  In turn, I carried his greatcoat, and we continued the march.

It wasn’t very long before another haystack came in view and again we couldn’t resist the temptation.  This time we made our goal, and there we slept until early morning.  Thus I passed my first night on English soil.  Two days later we landed in camp, after visiting Devizes, Lavington and Salisbury City on the way.  Laughlin wore the major’s coat, and by this device got through where otherwise we should have been pinched.

After the first two days in England it began to rain, and it kept on raining all the time we were there.  The people round about the country told us that never before in their lives had they seen such rains, but this must be characteristic of people the world over.  In Western Canada when strangers come and it gets really 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.