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good many of the men in my squadron, which to
some extent balanced my ignorance and inefficiency
in other respects.

The basis of my life with the "jolly Yeo-boys" was
bodily fatigue, complicated by the minor details of
my daily difficulties. There was also the uncertainty
and the feeling of emergency which we shared with
the rest of the world in that rumour-ridden con-
juncture. But my fellow troopers were kind and
helpful, and there was something almost idyllic about
those early weeks of the War. The flavour and sig-
nificance of life were around me in the homely smells
of the thriving farm where we were quartered; my
own abounding health responded zestfully to the out-
door world, to the apple-scented orchards, and all
those fertilities which the harassed farmer was gather-
ing in while stupendous events were developing across
the Channel. Never before had I known how much I
had to lose. Never before had I looked at the living
world with any degree of intensity. It seemed almost
as if I had been waiting for this thing to happen,
although my own part in it was so obscure and sub-

I belonged to what was known as the " Service
Squadron", which had been formed about three
weeks after mobilization. The Yeomanry, as a Terri-
torial unit, had not legitimately pledged themselves
for foreign service. It was now incumbent upon
them to volunteer. The squadron commanders had
addressed their mustered men eloquently on the
subject, and those who were willing to lay down their
lives without delay were enrolled in the Service
Squadron which for a few weeks prided itself on being
a corps ilite under specially selected officers. Very
soon it became obvious that everyone would be