Skip to main content

Full text of "Canada in khaki. A tribute to the officers and men now serving in the overseas military forces of Canada"

See other formats



The Net Profits of this Publication will go to 
the Canadian War Memorials Fund. 

Published for the Canadian War Racords Office by 

The Greatest Work of Reference 
upon the World War 



Magnificently Illustrated 1i>ith Thousands of Photographs direct from the War Areas, 

Portraits, Maps and Diagrams. 

" * The Times ' Illustrated History of the War " stands in a class by itself. It 
is the product of a body of world-famous experts. Written by the writers of 
" The Times," men of outstanding ability, each an authority in his own domain, 
produced by the World's Greatest Newspaper, and backed by all the forces and 
resources of its unique and far-reaching organisation, this History provides a 
Work of Reference upon every phase and aspect of the World War, indispensable 
to those who wish to follow intelligently the tremendous conflict in which the 
destinies of the Empire are being reshaped. Accurate, authoritatively yet 
interestingly written, " The Times " History should be given an honoured place 
upon the bookshelves of every British home. 

Numerous large Coloured Maps specially iraion for this Histor}f are 
interspersed amottg the volumes, together with a unique War Atlas 
and Gazetteer incorporated into Vol. VI. This Atlas contains 40 
new and up-to-iate Maps in Six Colours {to indicate height oj land), and 
a complete Reference Index oj near/j; 14,000 Place Names, with 
other features that assist in the serious geographical stud}) oj the War. 


at prices varjjrng from 10/6 ($2.50) to £1 ($5.00) per volume, 
according to the nature of the binding. 

For Complete List of Prices and Full Information, address The Publisher, Printing House Square, 
London, E.C.4 ; or The Elarle Company, St. Johns, New Brunswick, Canada. 

"Strops Itself" 
as well as a 
Barber could 
strop it. 

Perhaps on some occasion you have come across a barber who has given you 
' the shave of a lifetime '-close,velvety-a razor touch that was almost a caress. 

If so, it was because he was an exceptionally good stropper, and therefore 
had an exceptionally keen blade to shave with. 





will give you every morning jiut this kind of shave, because 
the blade meets the strop at the very angle and with the 
very pressure which will give the keenest shaving edge. 
Moreover, one blade will Icut for months, or even years. 
You may feel that in using the " Valet " AutoStrop you are com- 
bining the greatest shaving luxury with the strictest war economy. 

It is impossible for any razor to shave properly unless 
the edge is renewed by stropping every time ; so the 
razor which can be most conveniently and readily 
stropped is the one which is needed by the man 
with a real beard on his face. 

THE STANDARD SET consists o( heavily silver-plated self- 
stropping " Valet " Safety Razor, twelve genuine " Valet " blades, 
and " Valet " strop ; the whole in handsome leather- 01/ 
covered or nickel-plated case . ^ xi 

Of all hlgh-clai3 Jealera throughout the umrlJ. 

61. New Oxford Street. London. WC. I. 

And also at New York, Piitis, Milan, Sydney, Dublin, Toronto, &c. 

B 45 

Canada in Khaki. 





8th Badge IJrooch. 

1 5 ct. Gold £4 

IS ct. ,. es 

Machine GunC^jrp: 

BjdRc Hroocli. 

Diamijnds .set in P-iUa- 

' diunr. .(iold and Klianu'l. 



16th Badge Brnoch. 

15 ct. Gold £2 7 6 

ISct. „ £3 

BiiKicli. r>iaiimiuls-scf 
in rallaJiuin.. (;.>KI :uh1 
«■- ;j'!n.iincl . ■ ■ 

'£30 O O. 




to H.M. the King. 

RoyW Flying Corps ,Bail(;e_Biooci 
l>iaJnonds set in palladium*. '^Goi 

and ICrjauicl.. 

£65 ■■ 

■ . "' . . Ia 



HE Goldsmiths and Silversmiths Company's 
Military Badge Jewellery is of highest 
quality and workmanship and at the moderate 
prices charged is better value than is obtainable 
elsewhere. The Badge of any regiment can be 
reproduced. A catalogue of Military Jewellery 
will be sent post free on application. 


The Goldsmiths & Silversmiths Company have no branch 
establishments in Regent Street, Oxford Street, or else- 
where in London or abroad — only one address — 112, 
Regent Street, London, W.l. 




s & Silversmith 

■wifA vH^ic^ IS ineopporated 

• a 



Picture Offer 

To " De Rcszke " 
Smokers only 

This picture, " Miss America's Offer — Uncle Sam's Best," printed in colours on art paper, 
13 in. by 10 in., will be sent free to any smoker forwarding to address below a " De Reszke " 
box lid and 2d. in Stamps, mentioning Picture No. JZ. 42 Miniatura Picture* will be seat 
free en receipt of reply envelope, ready addressed and stamped (id.). These are reproduc- 
tions printed in colours of the famous " De Reszke" Cigarette pictures. Address: J. 
Millhofr& Co., Ltd. fDept. 89), 86 liccadilly, I^ndon, W. 

Miss tAmericds Off 67' — Uncle Sams 'Best 

Your boy at the front may not like to ask 
you for them — but cigarettes are everything 
to him out there. He is worthy of the best — 
so send him some " De Reszke" American. 
They are the world's best Virginia Cigarettes 

or post free from J. Millhoff & Co., Ltd. (Dept. 89), 86 Piccadilly, London, W. 

De Reszke 





p ^ 


(Incorporated by Royal Charter 1839) 





18 Moor^ate Stred E C T r^NTP^r^M 

32 Cockspur Steet sw L vJl N UvJi N 


L-__« „ J 


From an almost limitless variety 
of Waterman's Ideals we select 
for special recommendation the 
pens illustrated — as being extra 
large and strong and therefore 
more serviceable and more suit- 
able for use on Active Service. 

A Lieutenant writes: "I feel it 
my duty to write >ou a few words of 
praise for the Waterman Safety Pen 
which I use. Bought before the war 
it has been my never-failing friend. 
During seven months' training, sixteen 
months in France, and thirteen months 
in hospital, and in Camp, Dug-out, 
Trench or Hospital Bel, it has simply 
prove 1 invaluable to me. It is tht 
pen for Active Service without a 

Waterman's Ideal Fountain Pen is 
strongly and accurately made. It well 
withstands the rough wear of Active 
Service. Its supply of ink cannot 
evaporate or escape. It always writes 
at once without blot or blur, and the 
reservoir holds sufficient ink to write 
thousands of words. 

Ifalermaris Ideals are made in three 
types; Lever Pocket Self filling and 
Safety T'pes, 15/- and upwards ; 
Regular, 10/6 und upwards. Of 
Stationers and Jewellers everywhere. 

L. G. SLOAN, Ltd., 

Fountain Pen 

The Pen Corner, 

Kingsway, LONDON, W.C.2. 23/6 

N0.15P.S.F. N0.14P.S.F 
(Lever Pocket .Self-filling) 



















LONDON 42 45,riEW BROAD STREET EC2 & 2l,CHARm6 CROSS, 5 V/,1 /^^A^ 





Distribution of 1,000,000 Four- Fold Hair-Health and Beauty Outfits FREE. 

HERE is a great opportunity and 
a valuable gift for every reader 
of this paper. 
If you desire to look young and 
well-groomed, look to your hair. 
That is why the proprietors of the 
world-famous Hair- 
Grow i ng Speci fi c 
" Harlene " are offering 
1,000,000 Outfits Free. 

Here is a suggestion for you 
to adopt. Send for your 
"Harlene Hair-Drill" Four- 
Fold Gift and gro»» healthy, 
luxuriant, and abundant hair. 
Why not decide to-day to 
banish hair poverty for ever ? 
Why wear aitenuatcd, thin, 
impoverished, lifeless locks of 
hair when all the rich sparkle 
and abundance of hair in its 
natural healthy condition is 
yours for the asking ? 


There is no restriction to 
this gift distribution. Itissuffi- 
cient that you are troubled 
with any form of hair "ail- 
ment," or that you desire to 
improve the appearance of 
your hair. 

The Gift parcel comprises : 

1. A bottle of ■■ Hariene," 
the true liquid food for 
which stimulates It to new growth. 
It is Tonio, Food, and Dressing in 

2. A packet of the marvellous hair 
and scalp-cleansing- "Cremex" Sham- 
poo Powder, which prepares the head 
for " Hair Drill." 

3. A bottle of "Uzon" Brilllantine, 
which Rives a final touch of beauty to 
the hair, and Is especially beneficial to 
those whose sca'p is " dry." 

4. A copy of the new edition of the 
" Hair-Drill ' Manual, tflving complete 

No hair trouble can defy the soothing, 
streiigthcnini; effect of "Harlene ' and its 
scientific method of application, "Hair- 


"Harlene Hair-Drill" daily. They have 
tested and proved that this unicjue prepara- 
tion, " Harlene," and its agreeable method 
of application, " Hair-Drill," is the surest 
way to overcome alt hair def cU, and that 
it IS also the easiest way to ensure the per 
feet growth of long, silky, tjeautilul hair in 
abundance, glossy and bright 

lomt ahuent ft 
I,0«0,0O() Fret 
four nanu and addreu and 4<i. ttampa/br rttum pcHaoi 

kiy pnuUee ^ " Htrint Hal^Drm ' leUt 
: ioiu Iua4 vl"^- Friault and rdalienM 
Tru Vifrttfir OM tealL. Atmpt ontuftlu 

,0U0,00» fret 4-i'i. <;t/l iiutjilt ofrmt tu iKulert lo-iaf. Mmplt tmtCtupon Mow wUh 
" ■ ■ mdpakMWlWKiil. 

the hair. 

There is therefore no need to continue to 
suffer from 

1 Scalp Irrltmticn. 

1. Cmplata or Partial Baldneu. 

3. Thinning or Falling Hair. 

4. Splitting Hairs. 

5. Cvar Craaalnsu. 
0. Scurf or Dandruff. 
7. Unruly, Wiry Hair. 

V'oung women 
can maintain their 
hair in abundant 
beauty, and men 
and women of more 
mature years can 
regain all the lost 
lu>trc and health, 
whether it ari^-cs 
from illness, worry, 
oveiwork, or the 
passing of \'e;irs. 

"Harlene' Way 

with a delightful "Cremex" Shampoo- 
there is no more pleasant, invigorating toilet 
exercise. Then sprinkle the hair with " Har- 
lene," and gently massage the roots of the 
hair with y..ur fingertips. Then add a lew 
drops gf " Uzon " Briltiantine to give the 
hair a final touch of brilliance. 

Prove the wonderful merits of " Harlene" 
for yourself without cost. 
The gifts referred to above 
will he sent you imme- 
diately yon post the coupon 



Every min desires to pre- 
serve a fresh, smart, crisp 
appearance, and in this re- 
spect the care of the hair is 
es.sential. The Free Gift 
Offer mide in this announce- 
ment is open to every man, 
and they will find this two- 
minutes-aday "Harlene 
Hair-Drill" a delightfully 
pleasant and beneficial toilet 

After a Free Trial you will 
be able to obtain suppli'S of 
" Harlene" from your 
at is. 1i<L, 2«. 8d., or 
4s. 9<t per lioule. 

" Uzon " lirilliantine costs 
la. and la. e<L per bottle, 
and " Cremex" Shampoo 
Powders la. tjda per Iwx of 
seven shampoos (single 
packets M. each). 

Any or all of the preparations will be sent 
post tree on receipt of price di-ect Irum 
Edwards Harlene, Limited, 20, ZZ, Z*,i§ 
Lamb's Conduit Street, London, W.C.I. 
Carriage extra on foreign orders. Chequ.s 
and P.O.'s should be crossed. 

^^^^^^^^^~~^^^^^~^~^-^~^"-^^~ I First o: all cleanse- 
Millions of men ai.d women now practise | the hair and sc.ilp 


CDVC Cetaoh and Post to EDWARDS' 
rr\L.L HARiENE. Ltd., 20, 22, 24 and 

26 Lamb's Conduit Street, 

Lon on, W.C.1. 

I>ar Sirs, — Please send me your 
•■■ice •'Harlene" Four Fold Hair 
Gro»ing Outfii as announc d 1 
ciiclos.* 4i. in stamps for )x)staKe 
and pack ng. 


U'ri < voNr /'uit *ami and ad.i'en 

U.t'l on ti flAin f^uce of tap«r. tin thii 

uurm to t. .in.l f-O't as directtti abo\t 

Mf.i * t'ttfl- rt *SamHe l}tf<i.' \ 




Travel by the Canadian Government, New Transcontinental, and G.T.P. Railways. 
Special LOW Rates 'or Officers and Men going home on leave; also for their dependent's. 


Cook pur Strest. 
LaadanhaM Straet. 


FRED C. SALTER, European Traffic Managfer 

LIVERPOOL, 20 Water Streat. 
GLASGOW, 76 Union Street. 


Head Office: TORONTO, CANADA. 
TOTAL ASSETS $97,061,000. 

SIR EDMUND B. OSLER, M.P. (Canada), President. W. D. MATTHEWS, Vice-President. 

C. A. BOGERT, General Manager. 

London Branch-73 CORNHILL, E.C.3. 

J HAYDN HORSEY, Manager (in London). 

Transjers fcj) Cable or Mail ejiected on all points — Canadian, American, and Continental. 





Paid-up Capital and Reserves - $8,600,000 
Total Assets exceed - - $109,000,000 

= Vhe Sink, hat oecr 300 ^Branches == 

= in CanaJa from Atlantic to Pacific, and = 

Agents in all the principal cities in America. ^=^ 

=^ Qeneral Ranking and Exchange Qjusi- z^ 

nejj transacted. Letters of Credit and ^= 

^^= "Cravellers' Cheques issued, aoailable in '^rz 

=^^ all parts of the world. 

^ MONEYS TRANSFERRED to and f om ^ 

Canada and the Uniled Ma'ej by CABLE, &c. ^^ 

= DEPOSITS RECEIVED at favourable rate.. ^ 

^^^ which may be ascenaineJ on application to : — ir^: 

= London Offices : ■- ^^=^ 


^ 26. HAYMARKET. S.W.I. ^ 

= New York Agencg. 49 WALL STREET. = 



The Province of Prosperity 

THE war-time progress of the province of Quebec 
has been in every way remarkable. 

The amount of shipping for the port of Montreal — 
the commercial capital of Canada— was last year the 
largest in the history of the city. The grain export 
trade reached the enormous total of 71.598,046 bushels, 
being a gain of 66 per cent, over the previous year. 

The mine products of the province of Quebec 
showed an increase of 32 per cent. 

The pulp and paper industry of the province has 
made enormous strides. New plant is in course of 
erection, huge quantities of raw materials are on the 
spot ready for use, and a great future for this industry 
is assured. 

To Settlers, Manufacturers 
and Investors, 

the province of Quebec offers unique advantages on 
account of the abundance of raw materials, the exten- 
sive railway and other transport facilities, and the 
great harbour accommodation. 

For further information apply to the 



1 For Active Service 


Radium -lighted Watches. 

Here are miniature photographs of an Ingersoll 
Radiolite Watch — in the light and in the dark. 
In day Hght it shows the time just lik-^ any 
other watch; at night the hands and figures 
glow and show the time clearly. 
The hands and figures are made of Radiolite — a wonderful new substance containing 
real radium. And it is the presence of real radium that makes them self-luminous. 
So the hands and figures of Ingersoll Radiolite Watches glow for years — as long 
as the watch lasts — without ever having ^^^^^ to be exposed to the light. 




A jewelled viatch^ 
dependable in every 
way. Very suitable 
for business men. 




With cut out Protector as shown. 
I/- amtra. 

~A most useful watch — the 
^''/avoiirite in the Services 
for day and night pnrp'ises. 

The "Radiolite" grade of luminous material is used 
exclusively on Ingtrsolls, which ;ire sold by thousands 
of shopkeepers throughout the Kingdom ; but if your 
dealer cannot supply you, any Ingersoll model you 
wish will be sent post free upon receipt of price. 

Handsome illustrated Catalogue sent post fre» 
upon request. 

128 Regent House, Kings way, W.C.2. 

Ingersoll " Radiolite." 

A sturdy watch for general wear 
and hard usage. 

There are Ingersoll models 
from 60/- down to 9/- ; 
" Radiolite " figures and 
hands 5/- extra. 





What is he writing 
in the desert sand? 

The sign of the Red Triangle. At this 
moment many of our men are hoping, 
longing, wondering — when shall we 
have a Y.M.C.A. Hut or Tent ? 

From all the Battle Fronts, from the Base 
Camps, and from the Training Camps at 
Home comes the same demand for more huts 
and tents to carry on the world-wide service 
of the Red Triangle. 

Will you help to give our soldiers what 
they want? Apart from the necessity of 
finding ;^6oo every day for the maintenance 
of the present work in over 2,000 Y.M.C.A. 
Centres, there is an immediate need of more 
Huts and Tents. 

A Hut with equipment costs ;^6oo, and the 
cost of a Tent, fully equipped, is £2S°< or£i 25 
for a smaller size. Will you give one if you 
can ; or help by subscribing part of the cost ? 

£100,000 is urgently needed 

Try to realise what your gift will mean to 
hundreds of gallant men, perhaps to thousands. 
A link with home — a centre of good 
influence — a place of wholesome refresh- 
ment and recreation for mind and body — 

a haven of rest and peace in the midst of 
war — all this and more your Hut or Tent will 
be, wherever it is pitched. And the boys 
are waiting for it to-day. Say that they 
shall have it ! 

Please send your 
Cheque to-day. 

Donations should be addressed to Major 
R. L. Barclay, Y.M.C.A. National Head- 
quarters, 12, Russell Square, London. W.C.I. 
Cheques should be made payable to Major 
R. L. Biirclay, and crossed " Barclay's 
Bank, Ltd." 


I To Major R. L. Barclay, Y.M.C.A. National Head- 

J quarters, 12. Russell Square, London, W.C. 1. 

I I have pleasure in enclosing £ towards the 

J Special Work of the Y.M.C.A. for the Troops. 


Canada in Khaki 




Player's Novg cut ToDacco 

Packed ia Taryiag d«grc«t of atreotih 10 suit «v«ry cUh of ainokcr 

Player's Gold Leaf Navy Cut - 
Player's Medium Navy Cut 
Player's Tawny Navy Cut 


Per OM, 



Also PLAYER'S NAVY CUT DE LUXE (a development of 
Player's Navy Cut) packed in Airtight Tins 

3-oz. TINS 


4-oc. TINS 


Player's Navy cut Cigarettes 


They arc made from fine quality Virginia Tobacco and aold i* Two Strength*^ 


MILD (Gold Leaf) MEDIUM 

100 for 4/6 50 for 2/3 100 for 3 5 50 for 1/9J 

24 for 1/1 12 for 6id. 20 for 8id. 10 for 4^- 


These Cigireltes (aod Tobaccos) are also saprlled at DUTY FIEE lATES far Ike 
purpose o( (ratatloas distribulloa to woaaded Soldiers aad Sailors la ■>ispilal 

'.Vpii«''.U!;?,-" JOHN PLAYER & SONS. Nottingham 

Term* and particuUrs 

I'.raiv h of the Imperial Tobarco Co. (of Great Briinin nnd Iretand) Ltd 


riiiiiiiHiniiiiiniiiiiiiniintiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiini!mii!i!iiiitiiniiiiiHiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii:iin jiiitiimiiiiiiii'i 







Crests not already in our List can be 
made to order— sketches submitted free. 

■W Write for full particular*. *•• 



An entirely unique production in g-ct. 
Solid Gold ; fine Enamel finish (as 

15-ct. Gold ditto 

500 Designs are ready, which include 
almost every Regiment in the British Army, 
Colonials, Territorials, Yeomanry, etc., 
also about 200 Designs of the Ships of 
H.M. Fleet. 

9-ct. Gold on Safety Pin ^ 1 9 /ft 

(as illu-tration) " " Ia/O 

Complete in velvet-lined leather case. 

Solid Silver 
Gilt Enamel 


In velvet-lined box. 


(Est iblished a Century), 

Manu 'acturing Jewellers, etc., 


Actual MaoLfictnrcri. WhoUttle Tradt Supplied. 

Send for our Illustrated Booklet, post free. 
'Phone 172. 

The n6w Slyles in 

PMis Raincoats 

F you want the very latest style 
in your new Raincoat, ask to see 
a "Philis," and recognise the ex- 
clusive lines on which these garments 
are cut. 

There is no skimping about these 

coats — a liberality of cloth, well 

tailored, and of wet-resisting 

properties, which keepyou dry 

in any weather. 

There is a style to »uit your 
taste, at a reasonable price. 

Ask your relailei. and if any diffi- 
culty write to us, the Manufacturers, 
for address of your nearest mantle 
house slockins " Philis." 

Send for fir^ f aider ahowins 
all the newest atylea. 

A Land of Fruit 
and Flowers. 

Vast Natural 

Brltisl) Columbia 


A splendid Cliinate. Magnificent Scenery. The Sports- 
man's Paradise. Excellent Educational Facilities. 
Wonderful Deep Sea and Inland Fisheries. Enor- 
mous Mineral and F"orest Wealth. Vast Water Powers. 
The Canadian Province for Mixed Farming, Fruit 
Growing, Dairying, Ranching, Sheep, Hog and 
Poultry Raising. 

Practically Free Lands for Settlers. Blocks of 
160 acres costing only about 50/- inclusive. 

Canada's Mineral Province. 

B.C.'s Mines have produced to date over £100,000,000. 

A World Supply of Timber for a World Market. 

Eslimnled stand o( Merchantable Timber 
400,000,000,000 ft. board measure. 

Ful In/otvmttofi />« of charge on apf-licatton to Ike Agent-G^-neral for 
B.C., Bri'hk Coliimhia Ho< m, I ami 3 Rceeitl Slreei, London, S.W.I. 

of every 

Order it from your 

The following 
are a feto of the Authors Who are 
noto at Work upon Stories /or The 


AGNES and 


















LONDON 51 BISH0P8GATE, E.C.2, & 29/31 C0CK8PUR ST., S.W.I. 








. ... 65 BALDWIN ST 


18a high ST. 










WEE sconiE 









(Pink) Brands of Salmon are the finest obtainable, and are carefully 
packed for the United Kingdom by the ANGLO-BRITISH COLUMBIA 
PACKING CO., Ltd., London, and Vancouver, British Columbia. Repre- 
sented in Vancouver by MESSRS. HY. BELL-IRVING & CO., Ltd., and 
in the United Kingdom by 

Liverpool, London and Manchester. 

A kingly dish from a loyal land, 

The best of food for the best of boys, 

The net result is very grand ; 

It's the stuff the fighting man enjoys, 

For it gives him the grit to make a stand 

Against the wiles the foe employs. 

Can be obtained from all Grocers, 
Stores, etc. 

U.K. Sales Agents :— 



Telegrams : " Sockeye, Liverpool." 





The Empire's Highway 

Operating over 18,000 miles of railway, the Canadian Pacific has the most 

complete and far-reaching service, not only in Canada itself, but also for the United 

States of America and Alaska. 

Fleets of Palatial Modern Steamers on Atlantic and Pacific (Managers and 

Agents : Canadian Pacific Ocean Services, Ltd.), connecting Canada with 

Eu ope, Asia, and Au5tralasia. 

Canadian Pacific Hotels are to be found in the chief commercial and tourist centres. 

Lands in Western Canada and British Columb'a for sale at moderate prices. 

Through Tickets at lowest rates to all points in CANADA, UNITED STATES 



Fast Freight Services from Europe to the rich markets of the New World. — 

Ship your goods via C.P.R. 


Head European Office : 62-65 Charing Cross, LONDON, S.W 1. 
67-68 King William St., LONDON, E.C.4 ; or Local Agents everywhere. 







Car in Canada. 

No matter where the "Austin" is taken, it emerges 
triumphantly from its tests. The car, illustrated above, 
was the first English car to make the journey across 
Canada under its own power, and, throughout the whole 
time, ran without trouble of any kind, surmounting all 
difficulties of road, hill, and climate with the greatest ease. 

fVe are always glad to answer inquiries with 
regard to our cars, and invite correspondence. 

THE AUSTIN MOTOR CO., Ld., Longbridgc Works, 
Northfield, Birmingham, England. 


Send today for 

Latest Successes. 

"Victorious March 

— : ot the : — 

Princess Pat's." 






A MUSICAL "SPASM " with > 'KICK"). 



Piano Solos : 1/6 ,?.'.•>;_ 

ALL MUSIC LOVERS should add 
tkese to their LIBRARY. 


Music Publishers, 
21 Stamford Road. Daliton. 




Lawrie's Bagpipes. 


was heard on the Heights o! Abrahiiii. From that day the 
house of the Gae! has been in Canada, and where the Gael is 
there you have the Bagpipe. The 'indomitable Canadians " 
fighting in France to-day are descendants of those who fought 
on Abraham's Heights, and there sure enough the music of the 
Bagpipe cheers them on to Victory. 


are as popular with Canadians as they are with the Mqtherland 
troops, and few Battalions of Canadian Scots are without 
Bagpipes of Lawrie's make. 


and general superiority of Lawrie's famed Bagpipes have made 
them popular at Home and Abroad. 

R. G. LAWRIE CAeta&l Maker), 

60 Renfield street, Glasgow. 

LoadoD : 164 Aide sgaK St. Edinkar^k : 62 HaaoTer SI. 

Lovers of beautiful furniture will 


— the perfect uphoUtering material. 

It brings the dignity and beauty of a leather- 
covered suite within the reach of everyone, 
for it is only one-quarter the price of leather. 
Rexine looks just like leather and has the same 
grains and colourings. But it is better than leather 
— wears longer — doesn't crack or peel — is proof 
against stains, grease and water, and will not 
scratch. Even the children cannot damage it. 

Before buying new furnilure or having yonr present >uile 
re-uphoUtered ask to see samplei of Kexine — it ii tlie ideal 
covering for dining 
room and library 

// you experience 
any difficulty drop 
a postcard to the 


Rexine Worki, 

Hyde, near 
u Manchester. 



S— this Trad*. 
Mark in purple 
•¥«ry few inches 
on each sole. 

Without this 
Trade Mark 
the leather is 
a aubaiitttte. 

7M# tn^fity of *' ^' ipf^" availabU to the publtc is greaih 
restricted^€Sf>rciaiiy of the heavier tveij^hts— the Government 
re^ui' ing the major portion of our future output. H V invite 
} 0ttr kimd induigence until the time when normal c^uiitiont 
can be resumed. 



becauta HE raquires Dripped that YOU 
have difficulty in obtaining it. 

And if you hear a >oIdicr'.s cvprritnce of Dripeii— -bow it keeps his feet 
dry and warm— you'll be well content to wait for your own shaie. If one 
repairer has not got it. try another until you do gei it. It's worth while. 
Dri-pcd. the tupcr-lesthcr for soles, it doable wcarloc. abiolatclr 
watcrtiroof. Uiht and flexible, aoaiqaeakiac. ooa-sllpplDff. 

"Dri-pcd" Adverlisint Dcp'.. Coontv Bl'ts.. Caaaoi St.. Maachcster. 
Sole ManuUcturer^ W. WALKER & SONS. Ltd.. Bottoo 


to stand the Test 

of most strenuous wear in the 
roughest area in ail conditions 
of weather. 


** Direct from Scotland." 

will satisfy you with their thorough- 
ness in comfort, At, and durability. 

Th4 ' Noruvlski ' Field Boot Miitary Pattern 
{as lllus*rated). fs one of our most poptilar 
designs in field booCk. Uppert are cut from best 
quauty of block or brown pebble-grain cal skin ; 
watertight tonffues to top ; tuuid-huilt throughout, 
and miaoe exactly as illustration. Three thick- 
ne<4es of leather are uaed in the uppers ; 
thi« feature, combined with our s lecial 
procew of stitching and finishing, 
makes it impossible for water or da«ip 
to penetrate; very light inC/, 
weighing. lUv/ 

"Drl-ped" ■olaa 

5/- extra. 


Perth, Scotland. 

Onlcrs sent po«t free in Britain, foreign poelaf e .«tra. 
B^ Writa new tor Haw Feotiitear Calalogua.ip 



Scientific Aid 

in the Prevention of Disease 

Bacteriologists have been wonder- 
fully sncc^sful in late years in 
discovering and isolating for ob- 
servation purposes the varioos 
mlcro'ori^anisms which are re- 
sponsible for disease. 

They have found that the 
microbes which cause trouble in 
the throat and lungs are best 
met and defeated at the point of 
entry— the throat 

And they recommeod thai when 
dancer thrcalciu in cold and wet weatlMr or when- 
ever th* viuliiy k lovered, ill eOactt Iroin senn 
attacks may be prevented by th« sibject't taking 



The effective prccantlonarr Dcainre 
afalost the miciobes of (aflacnu. 
Catarrh. DlyhthtrU. PataBoaia. ate. 

Evam' PaatUaa r rvntihen iba vocafcfaorrfa, aOar 

aiia|>rFTcnt lrr1Ut.oa of tt>e tliraat. awl kxnm 

any it.u^ou^ sc 

:h may tw prcvnt. 

The Bmeittut ir^utHta. 

twm a mierv^Mvrmfh 
the tnicrv^x laJben at »ur 
Rumom l-^hermSerUs, 

IfAR.Wt.S'G. - Se* the 
'• raiitd iur" en tach Pa»- 
tilie. i\*ne 
art genutnt 



l'.i-.tTi;r* ar« «[>'en-ti(l 

■w-nt.:.j tfw; i,ni>lMl- 

I- •- w u '1 rr^ult Irmn 
'.•-\ in- iTii.iliM' le (or 
«■» I d t ii 1.. the TronL 

1 3fi; 

Obtainable from all Cbeiui$t<( 
and ^'torcs or Post Free Irum 
the Makers, 
56 Haoovcr Street. Liverpool. 

52 Weeks' Home and War News 

Cut oflF from the Motherland during the 
Empire's greatest crisis, the Briton living 
abroad longs for something to bridge 
the distance and keep him in touch 
with Home. 


He gets his war news from various 
neutral sources (and often from enemy- 
tainted newspapers), while no word 
reaches him direct of other happenings 
in the Home Country. 

The ONLY journal published exclusively to 
convey news to Britons overseas, produced by 
men who have lived abroad and know what 
is longed for. A subscription to the Overseas 
Edition of the " Daily Mail " provides 52 weekly 
messages from Home and no empty mails. 





5/- a year to any address in the world and 

secures to you 

I. The weekly issue of the Overseas Britons' 

11. The periodical Drapery, Engineering, and other 
special Trade Supplements. 

III. The services of the Overseas Buying Agency, 
Carmelite House, London, E.G., who will 
supervise for you all your purchases from 
the United Kingdom. 

Subscription Rates :— One Year, 5s. ; Six Months, 3s. 6d. ; Three Months, 2s. 

Address : 
The N'anager, "Overseas Daily Mail," Carmelite House, London, E.G. 




Its delicate flavour and bouquet, its great age, 
and its extreme lightness impart that "tone" and 
quiet recuperative effect so necessary after an 
exhausting day — an ideal "night-cap." 


Glasgow and London. ™ ~ 





Fine and Common News, 

In Reams or Reels. Our 

"B" Fine White Art Printing, 

For Magazines, Catalogues, etc. 




Largest Suppliers of News in the United Kingdom. 

White and Coloured Printings, in Sheets or on Reels. All qualities. Fine Super- 
Calendered, Water-Finished and Coated Papers for Cheap and High-class Magazines. 
Engine-Sized Writings. Long Elephants. Glazed and Unglazed Browns. Mill 
Wrappers. Small Hands, etc. etc. Waste Papers Bought and Sold for Pulping. 
Originators of High-Finished News for Half-Tone Blocks and the well-known 

"B Brand" Papers. 




159 Queen Victoria St., LONDON, E.C.4 







And Principal Ports throughout the World. 

Telegraphic Address: "SPARTEOLUS. CENT. LONDON." 

Telephone Nos. 536, 537 & 538 BANK. 

Awarded Silver Medal and Diploma at International Press and Printing 

Exhibition, Crystal Palace, 1902, Gold Medal and Diploma, Franco-British 

Exhibition. 1908. 



"Canada in Khaki" — the Empire'i hero Sons know 
well the uler dependability of the handy little Douglas. 

Its astonishing turn of speed — its ample power to meet any 
emer.ency — and its wonderful reliability have made the 
Douglas indispensable "at the front," just as those sterling 
qualities have also made it the ideal machine for service in 
all parts of the world. 

Do you ride a Douglas? 

May we tend you a copy of the illustrated Douglas Catalogue 7 
— it is free on request. 






Millions of acres of the most perfect soil are simply waiting 
for the plough ; the mineral resources are inexhaustible ; 
cheap water power and vast quantities of raw materials 
are ready at hand for the manufacturer, and there are 
enough hardwood forests to supply the ttmber demands of 
the world. * 


Men are offered free instruction on Governniont ICxpcri- 
mental Farm at Monteith, Ontario. When proficient, 
they will be given an 8o-acre lot with lo-acre clearing, and 
a loan not exceeding $500 (repayable in 20 years) will, 
where necessary, be advanced by Government for purchase 
of machinery, tools, live stock, etc. 

During training, free board and accommodation and wages 
$1.10 per day, will be granted i al~o in the case of married 
inen, or men with dependants, allowance of $6 per month 
for each child under 16, and $5 per month for wife. 
.Additional grant of $20 per month will be paid in lieu of 
Dominion Government separation allowance. 

For further particulars, apply to the A i^enl -General for Ontario, 
163 Strand, L. ndon, ll'.C.2. 


The favourite Modelling materia! wilh years 
of good solid repulat on behind it. 

Arti.sts use it. 

Sculptors use it. 

Educationists use it. 

Elementary Schools use it. 

Secondary Schools use it. 

Schools of Art use it. 

Soldiers use it. 

Military Instruitioiial Schools use it. 

The War Office use it. 

Parents use it. 

Nearly everyone uses it. 

Children love it an J delight in it. 

Can be obtained frotn Artists' Colourmen, 

Toy and General Dealers, Stationers and 

o h<r», both in the U.K. and all the Colonies. 

Full Partiiulars and Samples, 


33, Batkampton, Batb. 

London Show Rooms: 34. Ludiale Hill, E.C.4. • 


Mmm/mtlwni ty 
Aatwra PtrfiMiry C«., », S2, M WIUm^m Um, N.W. 



Bathurst Lumber Co., 

Bathurst, N.B. Canada. 

Sulphite of great strength and 
exceptional beating qualities. 

Riordon Pulp and Paper Co., Ltd., 

Hawkesbury, Canada. 

Easy Bleaching Sulphite Pulp of High 
Grade and good strength. 

Champion Fibre Co., 

Canton, U.S.A. 

Bleached Sulphite, Poplar and 
Kraft Soda. 

Macleod Pulp Co., Ltd., 

Milton, Nova Scotia. 
Prime Ground Wood Pulp. 

La CompagniedePulpedeChicoutimi 

Chicoutimi. Canada. 
Hot Ground Spruce Mechanical 

Nova Scotia Wood Pulp S PaperCo., 

Mill Village, Nova Scotia [Ltd. 
Prime Ground Wood Pulp. 



Telephone Nos. 1917 \ 

(3 lines) 1918 ^CITY. 

Telegrams ; — 

54, Ludgate Hill, 


The Largest Importers of Wood Pulp. 

Crown Willamette Paper Co., 

strong Sulphite Fibre. 

St. Lawrence Pulp S Lumber Co., 

Gaspe, Canada. 
High Grade Sulphite Pulp. 

Dexter Sulphite Pulp S Paper Co., 

Dexter, U.S.A 
M itscherlich Sulphite Pulp. 

United Pasteboard Co., 

Fairfield, U.S.A. 
Kraft and Easy Bleaching Soda Pulp. 

International Paper Co., 

Fine "News" Sulphite Pulp. 

Whalen Pulp and Paper Mill.Ltd., 

British Columbia. 

High Grade Strong and Easy 

Bleaching Sulphite. 

Laurentide Co., Ltd., 

Grand Mere, Canada. 
High Giade Strong Sulphite Pulp. 

PacHed Bales, 90% air-dry. 

Wayagamack Pulp and Paper Co., 

Three Rivers, Canada. 
Kraft and Easy Bleaching Soda Pulp. 

KHAKI No. 2 

A Tribute to the Officers and 
Men now serving in the Overseas 
Military Forces of Canada 

The net profits of this publication Will go 
to the Canadian War Memorials Fund 

Published for the Canadian War Records Office 





The warm welcome accorded to the first number 
of CANADA IN KHAKI— the entire issue of 
which was sold out within a week of publication 
— has encouraged us to launch a Second Volume, 
which we hope will be equally favourably received. 
Once more we have to thank the many famous 
writers and artists who have so generously contri- 
buted to this publication. The copyright in all 
contributions, both illustrations and letterpress, 
contained in these pages is strictly reserved. 






THE CORPS COMMANDER. By Capt. Theodore Goodridge Roberts . . 5 

FAR AWAY. By T. A. Girling 6 


Thomas, Philip Gibbs, Percival Phillips, and Herbert Russell . ." . 9 

THE SHORTEST WAY TO THE FRONT. By A. St. John Adcock . . 19 

THE RUNNERS. By Sergt. L. McLeod Gould 20 

CANADA IN HUNLAND. By Frederic William Wile 23 


FROM THE LAND OF THE GOLD AND SNOW. By Henry Chappell . . 29 

THE SILENT TOAST. By Lt.-Col. Canon F. G. Scott 29 

IRRECLAIMABLE. By R. S. Warren Bell 30 


Turner, V.C, C.B., K.C.M.G., D.S.O .45 

HARVEST SONG. By H. Smalley Sarson 46 

•• GONE WEST." By F. A. McKenzie 4,v 

CHEERO : By Private F. W. Daglish 56 

THE STAFF CLERK. By Sergt. W. T. Knight 51 

THE LUSITANIA BEGAN IT, By Max Pemberton 52 

A CINEMA AT THE FRONT. By Major Charles G. D. Roberts . . .64 

CHANCE OR DESTINY ? By A. B. Tucker 6.^ 

S. R. D. By J. Gordon Smith 70 


CHRISTMAS DAY ON VIMY RIDGE. By F. A. McKenzie . . . .75 

WINTER. By H. Smalley Sarson 76 

CANADA'S THREE YEARS OF WAR. By Major F. Davy . . .81 

A FIGHT WITH A SUBMARINE. By William Hope Hodgson ... 84 

YE OLDE MESS TIN SPEAKETHE ! By Private F. W. Daglish . . 102 

WHAT'S WHAT. By Captain A. Rocke Robertson, CA.M.C 104 


THE SWORED. By H. Smalley Sarson 10^ 


A CANADIAN. By Jessie Pope 126 

THE CHUMP'S IDEA. By Edwin Pugh i^^ 





THE POP-GUN PATRIOT. By Leonard Crocombe i45 

YOUNG MAY. By Jessie Pope 146 



SOLDIERS. By J. E. Sime I57 

MAKING THE GUNS AND SHELLS. By Lieut. G. W. Cavers . . . .164 

THE TWA DOGS. By W. D. Dodd 168 


LONDON GUIDES. By W. Pett Ridge 170 

BACK FROM FLANDERS. By Adrian Ross 172 

AT PEACE. By Colonel Lorne Ross .172 




THE SECOND BATTLE OF YPRES. By Hon. Major Richard Jack, A.R.A. . 26 

TAKE COVER ! By MacMichael 38 

WINTER. Border Design by Lieut. C. H. Barraud, O.M.F.C 76 


A WAR-TIME WARNING. By Thomas Henry 104 

THE RETURN TO THE TRENCHES. By Dudley Hardy . . . .138 

YOUNG MAY. Illustrations by MacMichael 146 


THE COW PUNCHER. By Arthur Heming 172 


B.v Byram Shaw 


Page • 




SIR ARTHUR CURRIE, commanding 
the Canadian Army Corps in France, 
is a big man with a big command. 
Fortunately, he is as big in mind and 
spirit as irt body ; otherwise, he should 
not be worth any more to us than any 
two ordinary men. 

The First Canadian Division, the 
original unit of the Canadian Corps, is 
not much more than three years old ; 
and yet the Corps as a whole possesses 
battle traditions and a fighting reputa- 
tion equal to those of any Army Corps 
in the field I make this statement with 
an assurance strengthened by the know- 
ledge that any officer of any other unit 
in the British Army who has fought 
with or beside the Canadians will be glad 
to confirm it. 

The Canadian Force has grown un- 
falteringly from one division to its pre- 
sent strength ; and Arthur W. Currie 
has grown unfalteringly with it. He 
was at Valcartier and on Salisbury Plain 
in 1914, and commanded an infantry 
brigade during the Second Battle of 
Ypres and other desperate and vital 
emas-emonts of about that time and 

When our Second Division arrived 
in llic field in the summer of 1915, he 
was prun^nted to the command of 
our First Divisiur During the follow- 
ing winter the science of trench-raiding 
was brought to perfection by his old 
briade and practised ind'istriously by 
hi- whole command. During those 
ni iddy months opposite, many 
brilliant feats of arms were pertormed. 

The Corps, now llirce divisions strong, 

moved back to the tragic salient of 
Ypres in the late spring of 1916, with 
Currie still in command of the premier 
division. In tlie meantime, our Second 
Division, under Maj or-General Turner, 
V.C, had been proved in the terrible and 
prolonged battles of St. Eloi and the 
seven craters. In the salient all three 
divisions were employed in foiling Ger 
many's third gigantic and unsuccessful 
attempt at this point to break through — 
the third terrific assault to be delivered 
and the second to be faced and stayed by 
Canadian troops. These were the days 
of Sanctuary Wood and Mount Sorrel, of 
Armagh Wood and of Hills 60 and 61 — 
of heroic defence against overwhelming 
odds of iron and fire and flesh, and of 
heroic counter-attacks — the thirteen June 
days that shall live for ever in Canada's 
great memories. 

The Corps, at this time commanded by 
Sir Julian Byng, moved to the Somme 
late in August. The premier division led 
the way, after being relieved in the 
salient by the Fourth Division, fresh from 
England. The fighting and conditions 
on the new front were bitter in the ex- 
but again the Canadians held, 
ground and held again, and 
Trench and Courcelette were 
to our vocabulary of proud , 

treme ; 





From the Somme they went north 
again, this time to the Arras Front. 
There a formidable task was to be done ; 
and early in April last we drove the 
enemy from Vimy Ridge and the fortified 
villages and woods beyond — from sinister 
positions in and before which Frenchmen 

Page 6 


and Germans had died in scores of thou- 
sands, in the earlier days of the war. 
Here the Canadians fought throughout 
the spring and summer and autumn, add- 
ing one important position after another 
to their gains. Here, early in June, one 
great general handed the Corps over to 
another — Sir Julian Byng, promoted to 
the command of an Army, was replaced 
by Sir Arthur Currie, of the old division. 
And still the good work went on without 
a pause. 

In the fall of the year, in rain and mud, 
the Canadians were yet again recalled to 
Ypres, where a typical Canadian task 
awaited them. They did the work. The 
great story of Passchendaele is too fresh 
in your minds to require a word from 

The war career of the Canadians, as a 
division and an Army Corps, is one with 
that of our present Corps Commander ; 

so in roughly sketching the former I 
have outlined the latter. 

The Corps Commander is a great 
general. To be a great and successful 
and trusted general, a man must possess 
exceptional powers of observation and 
of concentration. He must be able to 
think and decide swiftly and yet without 
haste ; he must possess unfailing energy, 
and an intimate knowledge and under- 
standing of his officers and men, his guns 
and roads, his defences and his battle- 
fields ; he must know his ground, the 
heart of his men — ^and his enemy. He 
must possess the spirit of justice and a 
high sense of duty ; and always he must 
keep the one great purpose of his being 
bright in his mind — to beat the Boche in 
every encounter with the least possible loss 
of life to his own courageous battalions. 

The Corps Commander is like that. 
T. G. Roberts. 


With equipment strapped to my shoulders, 

And my rifle close to my hand, 
My head stretched out to the ridgeward, 

I. wait here in No Man's Land, 
'Mid the litter and lumber of battle, 

On the shell-churned clay of France, 
Where the craters and crumbling trenches 

Bear the signs of the hoped advance. 

I wait, while the barrage lengthens, 

While the rifles crack o'er the hill, 
Then the bombs explode in the dug-outs, 

And the first line trench grows still, 
'Mid the crash of the answering shrapnel, 

Lit by signal flares of the Hun, 
As the final waves pass over. 

To the tat of the Lewis gun. 

Out here in the rain and bluster, 

Thick mud on my khaki form, 
I wait through the long day's battle, 

Through the night of the snow ai>d the 

As the fighting surges forward, 
Till the No Man's Land of the past 

Is a place of quiet and shelter. 
And reaches its peace at last. 

I wait till the burying party. 

Shall find me here in the clay. 
Shall loose the disc from my bosom, 

And take my poor trinkets away, 
Then dig a grave to lay me 

Away from this weary war. 
And the shell-torn crest of Vimy 

Shall cradle me evermore. 

And then in the roll of honoui^-o-*^ 

Just one feeble flickejr*^ fame 
Ere I sink in thei^^ oblivion,' 
- Will be writtf^ ^^y humble name; 
And the fighliCig will still press Eastward, 

To th« Ji^ctory close at hand, 
But I sh^jj jjg dreamlessly sleeping 
lk. quiet of No Man's Land. 

T. A. Girling, O.M.F.C. 





Lieut.-Genl. Sir A. W. Currie, C.B., K.C.M.G., on his favourite charger 

Canadian Official Phoiograpft 

Page 8 



Sir George Perley has to don a 
service steel helmet 

The High Commissioner inspects one of many 
captured German blockhouses 

Canadian Official Photographs 


Page 9 



The following era true t»l«« of the Canaaian troop, in battle, »i»iaiy and brilliantly 
told by tho.e famous War Correspondent* attached to Br.ti.h Headquarters in France- 
Mr. Perry Robinson, of the Time.; Mr. W. Beach Thomas, of the Daily Mail; Mr. Philip 
Gibbs, of the Daily Chronicle; Mr. Pereival Phillips, of the Daily Expnts; and Mr. Herbert 
Russell, of Router's Agency. 


Mr. Perry Robinson tells of the modesty of the 
Canadian Division which has won immor- 
tality on the Western Front. 

IT'S a long, long way from Salisbury Plain 
to Passchendaele— from Pond Farm to Crest 
Farm— from Bustard to Bellevae ; but at least 
they had one thing in common— namely, 
mud. Oh, that fine old glutinous mud of 
West Down South I The wallows of Lark 
Hill 1 That knee-deep stagnant rivulet which 
ran from Salisbury out to Bustard, and was 
cheerfully known as a road 1 I thought of it 
all again the other day, when I had been 
watching as much as a spectator could see of 
the attack on Passchendaele by the "Iron 
Sixth" Brigade. One could see but little; only 
the long dark ridge, nearly black against the 
dawn in the eastern sky, but all aflicker with 
the firefly flashes of the British guns, while 
everywhere huge spurts of black smoke and 
mud and water flung up into the air as the 
great shells plunged ; and overhead the aero- 
planes swung, passed and circled in the clear 
morning sky. One could not see the indi- 
vidual figures of infantry, but as our guns 
continually lengthened their fire to far beyond 
the Ridge one knew that the infantry had 
gone on and had not come back. Then, far 
up, high and bright against the sky, tossed up 
the gallant signal rocket, which told that the 
Canadians had reached their final line and 
that Passchendaele was cur--. 

On the way down I stopped at a dressing- 
station, and talked with the wounded as they 
came in. And then it was that I remembered 
Busurd and Bulford, and all the rest of it; for 
once again I saw Canadian soldiers muddy 
to the waists; but what a gulf lay betwctn 
those days and these I 

Though knowing Canada and Canadians 
pretty well, yet, when I went to spend a week 
on Salisbury Plain in the winter of 1915, I 
confess that it was with the expectation, com- 
mon to all the English then, of finding the 
Canadians just a trifle too cocksure arid full 
of swagger. I expected to be told how you 
fellows were going to show us how war ought 
to be made, and how you proposed, in some 
few weeks, to wipe the enemy off the earth. 
Never have I found myself more mistaken in 
my life; never have I admired men more for 
the spirit in which they were entering on a 
great enterprise. There was not, in all that 
• First Division, one word of boasting, so far 
as I could learn, however cunningly I set 
mean traps to call the boastful spirit forth. 

Long hours I spent wading through that 
mud and talking to chance men amid the 
slime. Other long hours at messes, and, most 
fruitful of all, yet others with Battalion or 
Brigade Commanders alone in their tents at 
night, while the wind shrieked across the 
Plain and drove the rain in fine drizzle 
through the canvas. The old British Ex- 
peditionary Force had then done its greatest 
work, though we understood but dimly as yet 
how great it was; and it seemed to me that 

Page 10 

there was only one prayer on the lips and in 
the heart of every Canadian officer on the 
Plain : "If only we can do as well when our 
time comes I " 

Every officer had perfect confidence in his 
men. It was himself that he was afraid of. 
"We are only civilians," I heard it said again 
and again; "and have never been trained. 
Now, on us is the responsibility for training 
our men, and there is not one of us who does 
not know he is not competent. If only we can 
make good when the time comes ! " 

Well, Ypres, Courcelette, Vimy, Lens, 
Passchendaele : there is no question now of 
making good. Not many of the men I talked 
to then are to be found to-day, but Canada 
and the Empire owe them an immeasurable 
debt. After every fight, in speaking with 
Canadians, I find my mind going back to 
Salisbury Plain, to the endless slush, the raw 
cold and driving rains, the damp, steaming 
interiors of the little tents, and always that 
simple, earnest spirit of determination and 
the constant prayer: "If only when our time 
comes 1 - 


Mr. Beach Thomas describes a characteristic 
raid by Canadians, and pays a tribute to 
their original enterprise. 

SO many great names are written on 
the escutcheon of Canadian soldiers in 
France that anyone who dares — as we are 
asked to dare — to write of them within the 
space of a paragraph would be likely to suffer 
from plethora of thought and facts. Ypres, 
the Orchard, Courcelette and beyond, Vimy, 
Hill 70, Passchendaele — what a string of 
jewels with how many facets ! So in despair 
at the thought of the amount of material, I 
will write something of one of the smallest of 
Canadian adventures — a mere raid — and per- 
haps it illustrates as well as bigger events 
what seem to us the most salient qualities of 
Canadian soldiers. 

The trenches and earthworks by Kemmel 
were deep, and spick and span. No Man's 


Land separating them from the Germans 
was rechristened Canada, so much at home 
in it were Canadian patrols; and their 
mastery urged them to overflow the boun- 
daries, to pass the frontier. A raid — a quiet 
raid, without help of artillery, was pre- 
pared. The German wire was cut by hand, 
at night; and by a stroke of masterly daring 
a point immediately opposite a machine-gun 
emplacement was chosen as the principal 
avenue of approach. The men were allowed 
to choose their weapons. One lusty smith 
selected a two-pound hammer because it 
"came up sweetly," as we say of a well- 
balanced gun. When the hour of attack 
approached, the Brigadier came down to 
shake hands with the Thors and Heracles, 
equipped with their hammers and axes, and 
other strange implements. I will not describe 
the details of the raid, which is old history. 
Scott said: "One crowded hour of glorious 
life is worth an age without a name." In this 
case, just seven crowded minutes — the total 
duration of the raid — were worth several ages, 
and under a cascade or canopy of friendly 
mortar shells, the triumphant band came back 
over " Canada " near twice as many as they 
went over. 

The importance of this raid, and its im- 
mediate predecessor, was that it was new in 
idea and in execution ; and as a war corre- 
spondent looks back over the Canadian share 
in the war, he sees that original enterprise is 
the supreme gift of Canada to the whole 
British and, indeed. Allied Army. Every 
attack has had originality : the rapid exten- 
sion of the programme by which Courcelette 
was captured, the turning of the German guns 
against the Germans at Vimy, the dodging of 
the marshes at Passchendaele — scores of little 
instances could be quoted. -Perhaps at first 
the originality was excessive. Personally, I 
never hated anyone's originality so much as 
the method of a young Canadian guide dur- 
ing my very first visit to the trenches. He 
seemed to regard trenches as unpleasant and 
unnecessary things designed for cowards. 
Therefore, with characteristically youthful 
and Canadian daring, he took me in the open 
across the top of the hill — it was Hill 63 — and 
pointed out leisurely the fat Germans in their 



Page 11 


By Lint. C. 11. liifrmiil, 0,.V.F.C 


Page 18 


trenches just across the way. Five minutes 
.ater we were smothered with mud from the 
first of a rapid series of shells from sniping 
cannon behind Messines. Then even that 
young guide reluctantly took to the refuge of 
a dirty ditch. But to-day the excesses of 
originality have fallen away without loss of 
dash. No one attacks more carefully or digs 
better defences than Canadian troops, though 
still their genius lies in assault. The brigade 
that I know best calls itself "the Iron — th," 
and the whole Canadian corps is an iron 
corps, in the French sense of the term. 
Never did the English gift of tenacity find a 
better complement. The new world is "re- 
dressing the balance of the old " along our 
front in France as on other fields, and is itself 
in turn gaining equipoise from contact with 
"the Tommy officer," whose gift of order and 
discipline has now perhaps won full recog- 
nition even with the youngest of the new 


Mr. Philip Gibbs tells how the Canadians fought 
a hard, bloody fight for months on the out- 
skirts of the city. 

I MET the Canadians first in the old bad 
places of the Ypres salient, where in those 
early days of the war there was hard, tragic 
fighting — for we were horribly outgunned — 
and nothing to show for it except the all-en- 
during courage of our men. In those long 
months of trench warfare — it seemed as 
though the Western Front would always be 
like that — these Canadian soldiers proved 
their quality. They were stubborn in defence 
and cunning in attacks across No Man's 
i^and, and gave the enemy no rest for his 
nerves, and our English lads said : "Those 
Canadian chaps are hot stuff; they worry old 
Fritz something awful." 

At Courcelette, on the Somme, they did 
more than worry the enemy. In a great ad- 
vance of wave after wave of men they smashed 
the enemy out of his defences, destroyed his 

machine-gun emplacements, and after a fine ^ 
stroke of generalship at a critical moment of 
the day, when the French-Canadians attacked 
at a late hour after a forced march and com- 
pleted a brilliant victory, they repelled and ' 
shattered, that same night, seven desperate 
counter-attacks. The winter of 'sixteen 
passed on the Somme and round about Cour- 
celette, and the Canadians held their lines, 
suffering great hardships, sometimes great 
agonies, in frost and snow and rain and mud, 
and never-ending shell-fire. Then the spring 
of 'seventeen came and that day in April, 
which I for one will never forget, when the 
Canadians, with Highland troops on their 
right, attacked the Vimy ridge, and in a few 
hours captured that great natural fortress, 
with all its tunnels and deep dug-outs and 
concrete "pillboxes" and trenches, and sent 
thousands of prisoners back into the valley 

It was one of the greatest victories in the 
history of British arms, and when I went up 
among the Canadians that day and afterwards 
I saw how the spirit of the men was on fire 
with the glory of it. They came laughing 
out of the battle. The enormous number of 
their prisoners seemed a joke to them. The 
scene below the Vimy ridge among the hos- 
pital tents and the wagon lines and the am- 
munition dumps was like a festival, though 
shells came into the middle of it from long- 
range guns, as one morning a day or two later 
when a Canadian band was playing and a 
new batch of prisoners came marching down 
to La Targette. 

Crash! came a five-point-nine, and it was 
the first of a series. The prisoners ran for 
their lives. The wounded were moved to a 
safer spot. But the band went on playing, 
and Canadian soldiers stood around, whistling 
to the tunes of it, a few hundred yards from 
where the shells were falling. There was 
some bloody fighting on the other side of the ' 
ridge by Oppy and Arleux and Fresnov, and 
then began the great siege of Lens, which in 
my judgment will be the most memorable 
chapter in the history of the Canadian troops 
in France. Lens, with all its outlying 
suburbs of Li^vin and .Angresand Avion, and 
the mining "rites" of St. Pierre and St 


Pane 13 

Laurent and St. Augusie, with its slag heaps 
and pit heads and mining shafts and water 
towers and power stations, was one great 
fortress tunnelled from street to street, with 
every miner's cottage concreted and sand- 
bagged, with machine-gun emplacements 
scattered all over this region in frightful 
numbers, with field guns hidden in the 
houses and back yards, and heavy guns sur- 
rounding it. The Canadians invested Lens 
closely, forced the enemy to retreat out of 
Li^vin, followed him closely, smashed him 
out of the Cit^ St. Pierre and other suburbs, 
stormed the Bois de Riaumont in the south. 

I watched the attack on a summer after- 
noon, and later it swept over Hill 70, which 
guarded the northern' gateway. It was all 
close, hard, grim, bloody fighting. They 
fought from house to house, and in the cellars 
and tunnels and over trenches dug across the 
streets. Two battalions met the enemy out in 
No Man's Land, and fought with rifle and 
bomb and bayonet until there were few men 
left standing on either side. They broke 
through the walls of houses from which 
machine-gun (ire came in steady blasts, and 
in the darkness below ground killed men like 
rats. They soaked the city of Lens in poison 
gas day after day and night after night in 
return for the gas which was poured over 
their own batteries and into their own cellars, 
so that men perpetually wore their gas masks 
and fought in them. 

This siege of Lens is the most frightful 
episode of warfare on the Western Front, and 
did not last for a few weeks only but for 
months. Many times I went to the Vimy 
ridge to stare down upon that city of death. 
On Hill 70 I saw the German dead and 
the hideous wreckage of the battle. And in 
the ruins of the mining suburbs I met the 
Canadian soldiers who had been fighting like 
this, and were blanched and haggard and 
worn by that cellar life and the awful ordeal 
of it. 

Blanched and haggard and worn, but 
with never any weakening of the grim brave 
spirit in them. After the capture of Hill 
70 I bent over a man on a stretcher who 
was badly wounded in the thigh. "How did 
jou get on?" I asked. He looked up and 

grinned, and said an amazing thing to me. 
"1 enjoyed myself this morning, sir. It was 
a fair treat. I wouldn't have missed it for the 
world." He had a hole in his leg as big as 
my fist, and men had been killed on each side 
of him. That is the spirit of the Canadian 
soldiers, and it is no wonder that the enemy 
is afraid of them, and has a great hatred of 
them. In attack they are terrific, ahd in 
defence immovable. 


Mr. Percival Phillips graphically describes how 
the grim soldiers from Overseas settled an 
old account with Fritz. 

HE limped into the sand-bagged dressing- 
station by Ypres, a muddy, tired, 
rather pathetic figure in blood-stained band- 
ages. A wounded man on the nearest bench 
greeted him as "Bill." Under his uninjured 
arm he hugged a German magazine pistol, 
and of this trophy he spoke in a husky 
whisper, between puffs of a dying cigarette. 

"It's a new one," he said, handing the 
pistol to his comrade. 

"We went through the bloody village," he 
continued, "right through Passchendaele, 
and over the hill like all hell alight; the devil 
himself couldn't have stopped us. . . . Hand 
us a cup of that tea; my throat's damned 
near cracked." 

I give this unedited narrative of victory to 
show the Canadian spirit that conquered 
Passchendaele— the climax of weeks of weary 
fighting in the swamps of Flanders. No 
human power could stay the rush of confident 
Dominion men across that pile of concreted 
rubble on the ridge above Ypres. They 
swept over machine-guns and masonry, and 
scattered the Huns like sheep. It was the 
same fine, steadfast courage which carried 
them through Courcelette and up the scarred 
face of Vimy, and through the slag and pit- 
heads to the gate of broken Lens. 

Passchendaele means more to Canada than 
the victories of the past. It was the settlement 

Page 14 


of an old account, dating from the first days 
of the Dominion campaign in Belgium. Her 
men have never forgotten the second battle of 
Ypres. Two and a half years ago the first 
little band of Canadian soldiers, hemmed in 
by the most powerful army the world had ever 
seen, fought stubbornly every foot of their 
leluctant journey back into the plain of 
Ypres — the heroes of a splendid failure. It 
was right that they should come again to that 
historic battleground when the Hun had 
fallen on evil days — fitting that the crest of his 
defeat should be a Canadian triumph on the 
slopes they lost. 

The Canadians left Lens perhaps a little 
unwillingly. Every soldier who fought 
among the collieries in the heat and dust of 
summer hoped to share in a greater victory. 
Lens was a Canadian "claim." But they 
answered the summons with alacrity — I do 
not think a man among them grumbled — and 
when they found that they were destined to 
take back the ground they once held above 
the Yser marshes they rejoiced. 

I saw them marching northward into 
Flanders; I talked with their officers, and 
heard from all of them the same words of 
absolute confidence. They knew the task 
before them would be fulfilled. They came 
mto the mud and marshes; the heavens 
opened, and they were tramping again 
through the desert place called Ypres, with 
the rain dripping from their metal hats, but 
serenely sure of the future. 

That same confidence was apparent in many 
ways, in many places. You would have seen 
it, as I did, in their Corps Commander on one 
morning of battle, as he paced slowly, de- 
liberately up and down the narrow footway 
outside his hut, his hands locked behind him; 
halting now and again to hear the news from 
a bareheaded staff officer, and resuming his 
'aim promenade forward and back between 
he trees. It was apparent in the battle head- 
quarters underground, where other Canadian 
commanders followed the' steady progress of 
little flags over their maps by the light of a 
kitchen lamp. It found expression in the 
words of another general whose battalions 
were cast for the final act in this great drama. 
I saw him on the eve of battle, and he said to 

me: "They will do it; give them a footing 
for the ' kick-off,' and they will take Passchen- 
daele. I know them." 

They did not fail him.' Crouching in his 
noisome German dug-out among the craters 
— four feet of head room and a sawed-off stool 
for his chair — he heard the story of their 
progress without surprise, one might almost 
say without elation. The runners brought 
piecemeal the story of a "clockwork " ad- 
vance; at the appointed moment flares shone 
among the clouds above the furrowed ridge; 
Passchendaele was theirs. 

"Good lads," said the General, "I knew 
they would do it." 

Two and a half years of war have altered 
the first Canadian battlefield. The men who 
came back did not know it. Polygon Wood 
of bitter memories was only a naked mound ; 
the timbered slopes about it had vanished in 
the storm ; of the trim Flemish villages that 
lay between them not a vestige remained — 
Zonnebeke, Poelecappelle, Passchendaele — all 
wiped away. The victors of the ridge found 
only naked brown hills and dead valleys 
pitted with shell-holes and patches of foul 
water, without one green spot or the sign of 
any living thing on the ground they trod. 

But the tenants of this evil place had not 
forgotten the Canadians. High explosive had 
wiped away the face of the battlefield, but not 
the tradition that these grim soldiers from 
overseas were foes to be respected and feared. 
Canada left her mark on the mind of the Hun. 
I found it in one miserabjle Prussian, snatched 
alive from a reeking dug-out in Passchen- 
daele, while the eastern slope was swarming 
with fugitives. "We knew the Canadians 
were going to attack," he said. . . . "They 
are very terrible men." 

Passchendaele was more than a victory; it 
was retribution. The gaunt British Colum- 
bian, fingering his captured revolver as he 
waited in the queue of wounded, voiced this 
thought. "We settled them," he said, in his 
hoarse whisper; "they wouldn't stay to meet 
us. They knew they were ' for it.' " 

"What are you?'' I asked. 

He winked one bloodshot eye. 

"Oh," he said, "I'm one of Kitchener's 


Page 15 

By IC. Heath Eobinson 

Page 16 


Tommy : 
Jimmy: "Well 


That's a nasty cough poor old Fritz has got. 

the cough ain't goin' to worry "im much longer. 

By Will Owen 


Page 17 


Mr. Herbert RusselPs impression of a wonderful 
scene at Plymouth that looked like a cinema 

I HAVE seen the Canadians many times and 
under many conditions during the two 
years that I have been a war correspondent 
upon the Western Front. I recall them 
hilarious with delight over the success of the 
raiding of enemy trenches, which they were 
the first to practise in the winter of 1915-16. 
I have met them battered and ragged after 
the terrible gruelling t-hey received around 
Hooge in June, 1916. I saw them bubbling 
over with exultation after their wonderful 
triumph upon the Vimy Ridge. I have 
caught glimpses of them squeezing the Hun 
life relentlessly out of the red and smouldering 
city of Lens. What great lads they are 1 
What cheery companions ! What incompar- 
able soldiers ! 

But the deepest of all the impressions which 
I retain of the Canadians is of their first 
arrival in the Motherland. Doubtless two 
reasons account for this. Plymouth is my 
home; I was there at the time, and in two 
years of isolation from all that one holds 
dearest, reminiscence will conjure her own 
favourite subjects. Then, again, this great 
Canadian Contingent of 33,000 strong was the 
first batch of troops to arrive in the magnificent 
Overseas' rally' to the aid of the little Old 
Country, coming at a time when hope for the 
future was strong, but concern for the present 
deep. We in Plymouth did not know these 
sons of the Maple Leaf were coming until they 
were right in our midst. For it had been 
ariginaliy planned to disembark the Dominion 
contingent at Southampton, and it was only 
as the great armada was striking soundings 
that a cypher wireless conveyed orders for the 
change of destination. These orders were 
given on the evening of October 14, 1914, 
and some warships were dispatched from 
Plymouth to strengthen the naval escort 
which had accompanied the transports across 
the North Atlantic. By the way, it was surely 


By UuUitiiad 

"Who pinched that sock I hung up lut night?' 

something more than a coincidence that th< 
old battleship Glory should have brought up 
the wake of that stately procession. Assuredl) 
glory has followed the Canadians ever since. 

On the morning of October 15, I went foi 
a stroll upon Plymouth Hoe. As I ascendec 
the slight incline past the spot where Sii 
Francis Drake is said to have played his 
famous game of bowls, and came within view 
of the sea, I saw that it was grey and hazy, 
the Breakwater being invisible, and Drake's 
Island and Mount Edgcumbe looming in 
exaggerated shadows. I gained the esplanade 
which crosses the broad ridge, and, walking 
as far as the old red-ringed Smeaton Tower, 
paused to survey the scene. A few small, 
brown-sailed fishing hookers were making for 
the Cattewater; beyond them a big steamship 

Page 18 


was coming directly shorewards, like a vast 
phantom emerging from the mist. So many 
ocean liners make Plymouth a port of call 
that the only point which arrested my atten- 
tion in connection with this vessel was the 
fact that she should be coming so far up the 
Sound ; most of the mail boats anchor in 
Cawsand Bay. She was blowing off steam in 
a hissing white jet. As she approached the 
Melampus Buoy she altered course so that 
her length drew out, and then I knew that she 
was bound up the Hamoaze, where stretches 
the great expanse of the finest naval dockyard 
in the world. 

A great white patch upon her bow bearing 
a numeral gave me to know that she was a 
transport, and I grew more interested. As 
she continued to grow out of the light 

By Thomas Henry 


Parson: "I had a letter from your chum 
George last week ; he told me all about the 
battle, and that he saw you fall." 

Tommy : " Excuse me, sir, but old George's 
a liar ; I was blown up." 

"mizzle," as they call it in the West Country, 
her details grew more plain. And then sud- 
denly, as it seemed to me, like a cinema trans- 
formation, her contour seemed to be traced in 
khaki. Half-way up her rigging pigmy 
figures seemed to swarm in a dense cluster, 
and a confused sound of cheering was borne 
upon the damp breeze. Then I caught the 
wavering strains of a band playing somewhere 
on board, and gave a start as the revelatien 
came upon me. For the tune was "The Maple 
Leaf for Ever." 

From the Citadel on my left and the Long 
Room Battery under the Hoe to my right 
arose the echoes of multitudinous cheering. 
A naval petty officer paused at my side and 
exchanged looks. 

"The Canadians ! " he said, in a voice tense 
with pent-up enthusiasm. "Thirty-one trans- 
ports chock full of them ! That's the tenth 
which has gone up harbour so far." 

The prompting of an irresistible emotion 
caused me to laugh. A grey destroyer came 
churning out of the mist, overtook the trans- 
port, and kept station abreast of her. Beyond, 
the thin outline of another big ship stole into 
view, and her syren gave a prolonged un- 
earthly screech. The first vessel continued to 
close in towards the promenade pier. The 
khaki swarms had ceased to cheer, and were 
taking up the refrain of the band. Curiously 
enough, the Hoe was almost deserted. Only 
a few officials knew that the Canadians were 
coming in across the historic haven. 

I lingered for about an hour, during which 
time several transports grew out of the near 
offing, swam slowly past, and disappjeared 
around Devil's Point on their way to Devon- 
port. Like the first I had seen, they were all 
packed with hurrahing troops. It was one of 
those episodes which are worth living for, 
when the "pride of race" is stirred into a 
tingling enthusiasm, and one longs to give 
vent to feeling in a burst of shouting. Then 
I suddenly awoke to realisation that, as a 
newspaper man, this advent of our kinsmen 
from the Dominion was going to mean busy 
hours for me, and I turned my back upon the 
Hoe and the grand Empire pageant which 
was still majestically moving across the waters 
of the Sound. 



Page l« 

By Dykt WkiU 

Colonel: "You're in a disgraceful condition! Report yourself to me at 10.30 to-morrow! " 
The Absent-Minded One : " Yesh^ sir I '11 put a knot in m' hanky for fear I forget, sir ! " 



How a Canadian Recruit Discovered It 

The Sergeant who drilled us for -weeks and 

He spoke as a Sergeant mostly speaks : 
He said we were nothin' but blinkin' freaks, 

An' he roared like the cannon crashes; 
My talk isn't always good to tell, 
But the Sergeant's words were the kind that 

The kind that you have to try to spell 
With dots, an' stars, an' some dashes. 

He drilled us for months, an' months, an' he 

He'd drill us for ever and evermore ; 
So I says to him, "Sergeant, we're sick an' 

Fed up with this drill-book stunt; 
I didn't sign on just to romp about 
An' play in the sun like a young Boy Scout; 
What we want you to do is to uke us out 

The shortest way to the Front." 

Page 20 


"You I" says he. "O, you blankety lot, 
I wouldn't be seen at the Front with you, not 
For all the dibs that our dash an' a dot 

Of a Government ever minted. 
Call yerselves men 1 Lord, how was you 

made ? 
You never was born, an' never was laid, 

You're nothin' but blobs o' " (The thing 

that he said 

Is not allowed to be printed). 

'Y' got two left arms, an' yer wind's 

Y' got two right legs that stick to the ground. 
An' yer feet have bin fixed on wrong ways 
You're boss-eyed, knock-kneed, barmy; 
You're deqf," he says, "you star and a blank, 
You can't walk straight an' you can't keep 

You'd pass, maybe, for a shop or a bank, 
But you ain't no good for the Army I 

"Shoulder arms I Form fours! Quick 

march I Keep pace. 
Mark time ! Right turn ! Halt 1 You 

(censored) disgrace ! " 
So he kept us at it all over the place, 

Till the sweat rolled off us in streams ; 
Seemed as he wanted to cure or to kill, 
Nothin' all day but route marchin' an' drill, 
An' all night long, if we slept, we was still 

A-formin' fours in our dreams. 

Then, at last, he spoke as a Christian shud : 
"When they brought you to me you was 

lumps o' mud, 
But now you are men, you are flesh and 

blood, ' 
You are real live soldiers, s'welp me I 
An' if you're as square as you orter be, 
When the Padre arsks, ' Who made yer ? ' 

says he, 
You'll tell him the truth an' say it was me — 
An' Gawd didn't even help me I " 

There's several ways to wherever you go, 
But there's only one for the blokes what 

know ; 
They get there quickest by travellin' slow, 

An' that's why they're worth their blunt. 
I guess it's a howler, at any rate. 
To be there too early, or there too late, 
An' the Sergeant knew, an' was showin' us 

The shortest way to the Front I 


An Appreciation by SERGEANT L. McLEOD GOULD 

{Inspired bp the Runners of the 102nd Canadian Infantry "Battalion) 

When soldiers are ready to drop with fatigue, 
And only an Adjutant's brain can intrigue 
A vital dispatch to the C.O.'s colleague; 
Who are the boys who can still stay a league ? 
The Runners. 

When wires are broken, and pigeons won't fly, 
When shrapnel and whizz-bang are bursting on high, 
When hell's on the earth, and earth's in the sky; 
Who are the boys who will get through or die ? 
The Runners. 

So here's to all soldiers of every degree, 
Be they horsemen, or gunners, or stout infantry; 
But specially those who appeal most to me, 
Who tackle their work with a semblance of glee, 
The Runners. i 


Pane 21 


Canadians make fine airmen and form a large percentage in the R.F.C. Major W. A. Bishop, 
V.C., D.S.O., M.C., has already brought down 37 enemy machines 

Major Bishop is boyish and smiling 

He looks to the sighting of his deadly gun 

Canadian Official Photograph* 

Page 22 



Canadians run their narrow-gauge lines through the most impossible places 

Ammunition going up to the line 

Train passing through shelled village 

When the Canadians cannot wait for light railways they build cordwood roads. This is the 
improvised road on which they followed up victory across Vimy Ridge 

Canadian Official Photograpl 


Piige 83 



Late Berlin Correspoodent of the Vailff Mall 

G' ANAUIANS are the most unloved of 
men in Germany. Their name, indeed, 
strikes such terror to what serves the Hun as 
a heart that orders from On High have been 
issued to mention it as infrequently as pos- 
sible. Gott strafe England is still the prayer 
with which Pirate babes are lulled to sleep, 
but under the breath of all who utter it is a 
second edition reading, Gotl strafe die Kana- 
dier: God punish the Canadians! 

Sometimes I think that if the War Lords of 
Prussia, even in the midst of the orgy of 
blood and iron in which Armageddon was 
born, could have conjured up the vision of 
Ontario's and British Columbia's hundreds 
of thousands of armed giants, and of their 
comrades from the uttermost regions of the 
Dominion — if that prospect could have been 
visualised in war-mad Berlin in the dawning 
hours of August, 1914; well, to drop into the 
vernacular which all gum-chewers and base- 
ball "fans" understand, I guess the Kaiser 
would have had "another think" coming. 

The magnificent way in which Canada 
joined up, instead of seizing the opportunity 
to set up a Republic — that was the dope 
handed out for years by the Benin political 
professors — gave Prussianism its first jolt. 
But the jolting has been kept up by Canada 
in the Field. There are plenty of first-hand 
proofs in existence, if I am not mistaken, 
that Fritz, who does not face danger without 
courage, looks upon fighting Canadians as 
about the most unpalatable work that can be 
assigned him. 

Neuve Chapelle gave him a dose of Canada 
that he will remember as long as the history 
of the war endures. Vimy Ridge provided 
him with some more of the same kind of 
medicine. I mention just those two of the 
countless gallant engagements in which 
Canada in Khaki paid its respects to the 
2 II 

Boche because I happen lo know that they 
left a peculiarly nauseating taste in the Ger- 
man mouth. 

Somewhere the other day I read that the 
Huns call the Canadians "butchers." Well, 
if I were a Canadian, I'd be proud of that. 
You butchered one of their fondest illusions 
by "coming into" the war. And Heaven 
knows, you slaughter their most scientific 
military arrangements every time you get a 
fair chance. 

May I make a passing, friendly and 
fraternal suggestion to all Canadians in khaki, 
who, please God, will, one of these fair days, 
be once again peace-loving warriors at home 
in the unending struggle of commercial and 
industrial pursuits? The Germans, even yet, 
dream of the Dominion of Canada as a great 
market for German trade. They believe that 
Canadians are men and women of short me- 
mories. They think that you will be ready 
to kiss, make up — and do "business as usual " 
with them. They say that Canada "needs 
Germany," and they hint that your golden 
grain will be welcomed at Hamburg and Bre- 
men as of yore, if you will only consent to 
allow German manufacturers to flood your 
markets with dumped goods and to exploit 
Quebec and Vancouver and St. John's for the 
benefit of the Hamburg-American line and the 
North German Lloyd ! 

In the name of their immortal comrades 
whose bones and blood sanctify a hundred 
battlefields in France and Flanders, I hope 
Canadian soldiers — the future business men 
and farmers of the Dominion — will not for- 
give and not forget. If you vow to frustrate 
German commercial ambitions in Canada 
after the war, you will have dealt the third, 
and by no means the least effective, blow to 
their crazv miscalculations about you and 
your country. 

Page 24 



By G. M. Paynt 


Page U 



CANADA IN KHAKI appears for the 
second time for the benefit of the Cana- 
dian War Memorials Fund. No apology is 
needed for the existence of the book ; it pleads 
for itself; and the immediate and striking 
success of the first issue is its best justifica- 
tion. Yet its readers are entitled to know a 
little more of the object to which the proceeds 
of the publication are to be devoted,- and of 
which but the scantiest details have so far 
reached the public. 

The idea of an artistic War Memorial is 
generally connected with a winged and laurel- 
crowned confection in marble and bronze, 
erected on some prominent site for the edifica- 
tion, or derision, as the case may be, of future 
generations. Or, if it take a pictorial form, 
it is apt to be a series of unconvincing, melo- 
dramatic illustrations, more or less fanciful, 
of famous episodes or individual acts of 
heroism, that are of little artistic and abso- 
lutely no documentary or historical value. 
Who can pass through the endless galleries 
of battle pictures at Versailles without experi- 
encing a sense of invincible boredom? A 
War Memorial of this kind, if it is to be of 
lasting value, if it is to teach future genera- 
tions, to stir their imagination, to stimulate 
their patriotic feeling, must be a thrilling 
record of facts, based on personal experience. 

The question arises, whether a time of trial, 
when the collective and general .energy of the 
nation should be concentrated on the stern 
necessitv of bringing the war to a victorious 
issue, is the suitable moment for carrying out 
an artistic scheme of unprecedented magni- 
tude. The answer can only be : Now, or 

If a pictorial record of this greatest of all 
wars is to be of permanent value, it must be 
created from actual impressions whilst they 
are fresh on the mind, whilst emotions and 

passions and enthusiasm are at their highest. 
A "posthumous" war picture is as valueless 
as a posthumous portrait. Only the most 
sordid materialism, which regards Art as an 
unnecessary luxury, can object to the diver- 
sion of a few brilliant men's activity from the 
more material needs of the moment. The 
immediate object of war is destruction — of 
art, creation. Empires, social and political 
institutions, whole civilisations crumble and 
fade away ; the effects of war, that loom so" 
powerfully in the minds of those who take 
part in, or witness, the struggle between 
nation and nation, are transitory, and are 
bound to be modified by future events. But 
Art remains to teach posterity of the glorious 
past of the race, and to keep alive the flame 
of patriotism. Our whole knowledge of 
civilisations that have vanished long since — 
Egypt, Babylonia, Chaldxa, and so forth — 
is derived from the scanty artistic records 
that have been saved from the destruction of 
Time and War. The visual evidence of one 
fragment of art teaches us more, and more 
tellingly and rapidly, than whole volumes of 

These are some of the considerations that 
guided the Committee of the Canadian War 
Memorials Fund, composed of Lord Rother- 
mere (Chairman), Lord Beaverbrook, and 
Captain B. L. Lima, in evolving and organis- 
ing the great scheme which is to provide 
Canada with a magnificent and lasting artistic 
record of her noble share in the world's war. 
The greatest painters of Canada, of Britain 
and the Overseas Dominions, of France and 
of Italy, were to be invited to help in creating 
a vast series of decorative paintings on an 
heroic scale, which will eventually be housed 
in a gallery specially built for this purpose on 
a prominent and suitable site in Ottawa. 
Whilst the nucleus of this collection must 

Page 26 

necessarily be formed of paintings commenior- 
aling the achievements of the Canadian troops 
on the battlefields oi Flanders and France, no 
phase of activity connected more or less 
directly with the war will be disregarded. 
The whole vast significance of this war upon 
the life of the nation will be reflected in these 
paintings, which will deal with the military 
training of men accustomed to the peaceful 
avocations of the city oflice or the land; the 
self-sacrificing devotion of their womenfolk to 
the arduous work of the hospital; the expert 
activity of Canadian lumbermen in our 
forests, cutting down timber for trenches and 
hutments and sleepers; of engineers busy 
with the construction of railways at the front; 
the transport of the Dominion troops across 
the Atlantic, and Canadian patrol boats in 
the Channel; of aircraft and artillery. Fam- 
ous landscape painters will depict the awful 
desolation of No Man's Land, and the gaunt 
ruins of once flourishing cities and villages. 

There will be busts and portrait paintings 
of the political and military leaders in this 
grim business; and the imaginative aspect of 
this Armageddon will be dealt with in one or 
two allegorical compositions. The one thing 
that is to be strictly excluded is the colour- 
less, academic reconstruction from descriptive 
material, which has brought the art of the 
battle-painter into discredit. 

The organisers of the scheme have, so far 
as this was in their power, endeavoured to 
entrust each subject to the one artist most 
likely to do justice to it ; and they have 
arranged, in each case, that the fullest facili- 
ties should be given to every artist for gather- 
ing his material on the spot, and for absorbing 
the true atmosphere of the scene. Apart from 
having the broad outlines of his subject made 
clear to him, and from the rather elastic re- 
strictions imposed by the necessity of keeping 
a certain unity in the general decorative 
scheme, each artist is given tlie fullest liberty 
to do whatever may best suit his temperament, 
so that the artistic quality of his work may 
not suffer from irksome restraint. Those 
whose subjects necessitate close inspection of 
the trenches and No Man's Land are granted 
honorary commissions in the Canadian armv, 
to enable them to work on the spot anH fo 


ensure absolute truth of fact and of atmo- 

The first artist thus sent out for the Cana- 
dian War Memorials Fund was the Hon. 
Major Richard Jack, A.R.A., who has 
already completed a remarkable canvas, 
measuring 20 ft. by 15 ft., of the second 
Battle of Ypres. Though, naturally, not 
actually present at the fighting. Major Jack 
has carefully investigated and sketched the 
whole ground, and has spent some time with 
the units which took part in the engagement, 
collecting from officers and men all the details 
and facts needed for absolute accuracy. Some 
of the men who had been through the battle 
actually posed for the picture, whilst machine- 
guns and all manner of military accoutre- 
ments were temporarily placed at the artist's 
disposal, whose studio assumed something of 
the appearance of a battlefield. It is scarcely 
an exaggeration to say that Major Jack's first 
picture — a companion canvas is already in 
commission — stands so far unrivalled among 
British battle paintings. 

Though treated in a more pronouncedly 
decorative manner. Professor G. Moira's 
large painting of Canadian lumbermen cut- 
ting down trees in Windsor Park, with the 
mighty mass of the Royal Castle towering in 
the background, is equally valuable as a faith- 
ful record of a specialised branch of Canadian 
war activity. Professor Moira is the head of 
the Royal College of Art, the principal art 
school under the Board of Education, and 
enjoys an enviable reputation among modern 
decorative painters. 

Major William Orpen, A.R.A., the famous 
portrait painter, and Major D. Y. Cameron, 
A.R.A., wbose achievements both as an etcher 
and as a landscape [lainter entitle him to 
rank among the masters of twentieth century 
art, are at present with the Canadian forces. 
Major Orpen with a view to painting for the 
Fund a portrait of General Currie and a battle 
picture; and Major Cameron bent on studying 
the topography and atmosphere of the battle- 
fields of Flanders for two typical landscapes 
of the fighting zone. The next artist to pro- 
ceed to the front with the hon. commis- 
sion of Major is Mr. Augustus E. John, 
whose ambition it is to paint a trigantic 













decoration, some 30 ft. or 40 ft. in length, 
representing no particular episode, but sum- 
ming up in synthetic fashion the impression 
created upon a sensitive observer by his 
personal experience of modern war. 

The essential character of modern warfare, 
in which engineering and the invention of 
machinery for wholesale destruction play a 
part more important even than individual and 
collective heroism, a war of giant guns and 
tanks, aeroplanes and submarines, poison gas 
and liquid fire, has so far found its best inter- 
preter in Mr. R. Nevinson, one of the first 
British artists sent out by the Imperial 

Government to paint for 

propaganda purposes. 
One of the firstfruits of 
his recent visit to the 
front is a series of four 
frieze-like panels, show- 
ing the progress of the 
fighting force from the 
base to the front line : 
first the endless proces- 
sion of motor transport 
moving along a tree- 
planted French road bor- 
dered by cultivated 
fields; then the rail-head 
littered with sleepers 
ready for the extension of 
the line, and heavy artil- 
lery being brought up, 
the landscape showing 
the first signs of the de- 
structive effect of artillery 
fire ; then infantry march- 
ing to the trenches, a 
ruined village, splintered 
trees, and similar indica- 
tions of the perpetual 
threat of death; finally, 
the utter desolation and 
confusion of No Man's 
Land, barbed wire, 
ruined trenches, shell 
craters, the once flour- 
ishing countryside turned 
into a grim and weird in- 
ferno. This fine series 
of paintings has been 

acquired by the Ca 

It would be fatiguinglv 
a full list of the artists e 
portant works for the Fund^ 
allotted to each of them accorai 
ticular bent of his talent. It is e. 
that all the leading painters of th« 
been approached with a view to thei 
ment ; and that, w ith one or two inevitable 
ceptions, in the case of artists overburden 
with work or prevented by ill-health, the pr<> 
posals of the Committee have been accepted 
in the most generous and enthusiastic spirit. 


By C. Harrison 


that Canadian artists 
aong the contributors, 
or instance, is to paint two 
."ie ruins of Ypres and of 
yndham Lewis, a native of 
j4nd at present an artillery officer 
inForces, will embody his know- 
experience in an important repre- 
e picture of a Canadian gun-pit ; 
"jRations have been opened with Mr. Mor- 
rice, the doyen' Canadian painier in Paris; 
and several young Canadian artists, who hold 
commissions in the Dominion army, are busy 
collecting sketches at the front which will con- 

stitute a valuable record of actuality, or . 
may serve as material for more ambitious 

Finally, it may be worth noting that the 
Canadian War Memorials Fund is, as it 
were, entirely self-supporting. There is no 
Government grant. The artists will be paid 
from the proceeds of the amazingly success- 
ful official Canadian War Photogrraphs Ex- j 
hibitions, and of publications issued by the ' 
Canadian War Records Office. Canada in 
KHAKI stands foremost among these publica- 
tions. Its success is bound up with the suc- 
cess of the Fund. 

The Secretary. 

'Good mornin'. Harbourmaster I When does the tide go out?' 

Sy MacMichari 











2 = 

OS =• 

u .. 

2 =^ 

a -^ 

< 4 

2 = 




Page » 




What spell hath drawn them, these men from 
the snows, 

From the mart, the trail, and the forests old. 
And the waiting harvest that, wind-kissed, 

In sheeny billows of bronze and gold ? 
O I the trump of War to the four winds blown. 
And the Mother's call from her sea-girt throne. 
They armed them, sped them, and led the van. 
Faith in the soul of every man. 

How have they fared them, these warriors 

Their deeds are told by the camp fires' Aare 
'Neath the shadowy pines that whisp'ring 

And told in the roaring cities' glare. 
O 1 they fared them far, and they quit them well, 
Their legions drove at the gates of hell, 
Shocked them, sundered, and o'er them 

Waves of the tide that saved the world. 

What have they compassed, these noble 

Sons of the land of the gold and snow. 
The dead who fell to the hungry guns, 

And the quick who hazard the final 

throw ? 
O ! quick and dead they have rent a chain 
Whose links had birth in a madman's 

Were forged and tensed by a madman's zeal 
To bind the world to his chariot wheel. 

What have they builded, these quick and 

With priceless mortar and sacred clay ? 
Is it worthy the souls untimely sped, 

Hath the Mother pride in their work 
to-day ? 
Aye ! for on pillars strong and true. 
Linking the Old World with the New, 
A bridge of hearts o'er the gulf is thrown, 
Their deathless Faith as the corner stone. 



(Senior Chaplain First Canadian Division) 

They stand with reverent faces, 

And their merriment give o'er, 
As they drink the toast to the unseen host. 

Who have fought and gone before. 

It is only a passing moment 
In the midst of the feast and song, 

But it grips the breath, as the wing of death 
In a vision sweeps along. 

No more they see the banquet 

And the brilliant lights around; 
But they charge again on the hideous plain 

When the shell-bursts rip the ground. 

And out of the roar and tumult. 
Or the black night loud with rain. 

Some face comes back on the fiery track 
And looks in their eyes again. 

And the love that is passing woman's, 
And the bonds that are forged by death, 

Now grip the soul with a strange control 
And speak what no man saith. 

The vision dies off in the stillness, 

Once more the tables shine. 
But the eyes of all in the banquet hall 

Are lit with a light divine. 




A Short Story 

Author of "Young Couples," "Company for George," "Tales of Greyhouse." etc. 

A YOUNG man of medium height and 
neatly built, sunburnt and clean-shaven, 
the word "Canada" on his khaki shoulder 
affording him a label and a gold stripe on his 
arm distinction, alighted from a motor-train at 
DeephoUow and, having limped a few steps 
up the platform, turned and watched the odd 
little locomotive buzz away through the quiet 

No stationmaster in Authority's grand cap 
was there to greet him, no porter stood at the 
gate to receive his ticket. For it was not a 
station, only a Halt. Tickets were issued and 
collected by the conductor of the queer little 
train. The queer little station, with its 
primitive shed of a waiting-room and isolated 
aspect, rather reminded the traveller of the 
measureless Dominion he had long months 
ago left behind. 

There was at least a bench on the platform, 
and, being in no hurry, he sat down on it, 
lit a fag, and became lost in reverie. 

Ten years — ten years it was since he had 
been at DeephoUow. For he was an English- 
man who, like many another thousand gallant 
lads, had answered the Old Country's sum- 
mons. But ten years is a long time, and the 
DeephoUow boy was not a DeephoUow man. 
His new country called to him, she had found 
his heart. Nevertheless this old one, with its 
toy fields and hedges, its still, old farm- 
houses and unbusiness-like barns, was very 
dear to him. I dare say you can understand 
Jim Brigstock's feelings, divided as they were 
between his new and old love. 

Ten years ! He was a lad then, and a 
caution ! He smiled. It was because he had 
made DeephoUow too warm for him that he 
had got away to Canada. But for the uni- 
form he was wearing — a passport everywhere 
•o men's respect — perhaps he would not have 

ventured to show his face again at Deep- 
hoUow. He had gone from the familiar 
pastures of his youth to a strange land where 
it didn't matter in the least how bad you 
were or had been so long as you did your 
whack of work. Nothing else was asked of 
you in a country of such great spaces that 
the whole of this mighty little England, this 
imp of an island that has somehow become 
possessed of half the globe, would make but 
a patch of it. But he knew that standards of 
conduct were necessarily stricter in the little 
Mother Country. 

"And yet," he thought, "I wasn't so bad." 
It is comfortfng to know that you are not 
half so black as the world paints you, that 
your Conscience is a good chum rather than 
an upbraiding monitor. Jim felt and looked 
pretty easy about the past. After all, young 
shoulders don't carry old heads, and what 
you do at sixteen or thereabout ought not to 
be thrown in your face when you're twenty- 
six. Jim, however, didn't care if it was. He 
had come here for a purpose, and he cared 
not how DeephoUow looked upon the re- 
turned prodigal. All DeephoUow, that is, 
save one. He was curious about that one. 

The latch of the platform gate clicked, and 
he saw a bucolic lass in a blue railway cap 
and dress approaching him. After all, some- 
body had to light and extinguish the lamps, 
keep the place tidy, and answer questions. 
A few years ago this girl (who had been a 
milkmaid before she took up with the railway) 
would have betrayed a becoming diffidence 
on finding herself alone at a wayside station 
with a Man, but on such a pricelessly new 
footing has the Empire's war set the Empire's 
daughters that the girl-porter looked as un- 
concerned as if she had been chaperoned by 
a thousand fierce old ladies. 


Page 31 

"She checked the horse and regarded him carefully. 

know me?' 

Hjl K. If'ollcouiiiiiti 
'Joan,' he said, 'don't you 


Page 32 



Splitting trunks of trees into logs for reinforcing trenches 

Shelled only to be felled 

Steel helmets often save the men 

Canadian Official Photographs 


Page 33 


The terrible machines which strike terror into the Boches are fascinating to the French children, 
who have begged these Canadians to show them "how the wheels go round" 

A Tank snapshotted as it was heavily engaged on Vimy Ridge 

Canadian Official Photographs 

Page 34 



Striking study of Lieut. -Genl. Sir A. W. Currie, C.B., K.C.M.G., during a recent offensive 


Page 35 

Besides, he was a soldier. 

"Any luggage?" she asked casually. 

"No. I've just come over from Ironville." 

"See your folks?" 

"No. 1 have no folks here. 1 had once, 
but they've gone away." 

The girl gazed approvingly on the blue 
band and tiie snip of gold braid on the 
traveller's arm. 

"There's twenty VVoundeds at the Hall," 
she said, and went off briskly to the little 
official hutch adjoining the waiting-shed — 
possibly to get a broom. 

Jim Brigstock was burning to ask her a 
question. But he dared not. He would — 
investigate. Yes. So tie rose and walked 
through the gateway, the girl flinging him a 
smile from the door of her hutch as he passed 

The soldier's eyes searched his environ- 
ment hungrily for familiar landmarks. From 
the lane — it was only a lane — an Approach 
had been cut to the Halt; it was an unlovely 
thing, and^jim was glad to leave it and find 
himself treading the lane of old times. Ah ! 
there was the cottage where the old woman 
would give them a drink of water. A young 
woman stood in the front garden now, with 
a baby in her arms. That would be the old 
lady's little grand-daughter grown up! With 
a baby. Jim smiled. Some sodger's kid, 
he'd swear. 

.•\nd there was the old hollow stump of a 
tree, ivy-clad, that they used to climb. 

A little farther on he'd come to the place 
where four roads met and a battered sign-post 
directed you on your way. Here, he had 
been told when a lad, at this place where four 
roads met, in bygone times they buried 
suicides with a stake through their bodies. 
Jim recalled that he'd always gazed upon that 
mound of green with awe, hurrying past it 
.at dusk. He rounded a corner to fin^ that 
the old post, gnarled and green, had been 
replaced by a smart young fellow with new 
black lettering. One arm said "To Deep- 
hollow, i],{ miles," and he followed that 

He did not like the change of posts, and 
wondered whether the village held other such 
changes for him 

Now he ascended a hill. Below him, 
when he reached its brow, would lie Deep- 
hollow, while just over the hill would be the 
Loosemores' farm. He walked slowly, for, 
after ten years and a lot of lighting, and quite 
a time in hospital while his shattered kne« 
mended, he found himself drawn back to his 
native village by the rather forlorn hope of 
seeing again, or at least hearing something 
of, the girl he had known as a boy — Joan 

Not that they had been sweethearts — 
though to be sure he had been a courtier. 
But she was the only girl he had ever given 
a second thought to. Yes ; all these long ten 
years he had been occupied with a man's 
business, tirst farming, then fighting, and 
never a woman had intruded to trouble him. 
But at the back of his thoughts and heart 
there had nestled the image of the girl he 
had paid boy-court to. Just she, and none 
other. Not surprising, then, his pace 
slackened, his confidence failed a little, now 
he was so close. 

Just over the hill and — he would be there. 
Hakf inclined, he felt, to turn back. Why, 
she would have forgotten him ; she would 
have gone away ; she'd be married and done 
for. "Out of sight, out of mind." Surely 
this was a fool's journey ! And he stopped 
altogether. For would she even remember 
him, he being only sixteen — ^though well- 
grown for it — and she fourteen ; yet a very 
self-possessed, mistressful fourteen. 

He stood there swinging his ash stick. 
This resolute-looking man, with whom to act 
promptly and decisively was second nature, 
halted in an agony of vacillation. 

Somebody coming. Well, he would — yes, 
he would just ask. Casually, bringing in 
Farmer Loosemore first. It was a girl on a 
horse. Another innovation. A girl dressed 
half as a man, astride a big cart-horse. She 
wore a wide linen cap, a holland smock, cord 
breeches and leggings. She looked business- 
like, and yet (like the rest) not a bit mascu- 
line. And w hy was that ? Because they 
weren't apeing men. They were just "carry- 
ing on." Doing the men's work. And these 
costumes were merely part of it. 

It was a big horse and a good one — Jim 

Page 36 


could spot a good horse 
in a trice. She sat him 
gracefully, and she was 
pretty big too. He 
looked at her intently. . . 
It was She I 

Yes, it was Joan — 
Joan with ten years gone 
over her. A slip of a 
girl she had been when 
he left her, 'tis true, but 
a lanky slip. She had 
promised stature — to be 
a "fine" woman. Jim, 
though he was no 
woman's man, knew 
when he liked a woman's 
lines. Joan, the mere 
slip of a girl, had grown 
mto a rare handsome 

He saluted her. She 
nodded and smiled. 
Khaki was everywhere, 
and no doubt she had 
met this Tommy some- 
where. Possibly he was 
one of those who had 
been lent for the hay- 

But he took a step for- 
ward. "Joan," he said, 
don't you know me?" 
She checked the horse 
»nd regarded him care- 

Then she dropped the 
halter and sprang to the ground. 

"I was only thinking to-day 

"Thinking what?" 

"Thinking what a long time it was since 
you went away." 

■ And what made you think of me ? " 
Why," she said, quite simply (though she 
wa-. a woman full grown, and a fine one), "I 
have often thought of you." 

"Though I was but a nipper — and you 

"But we were— exceptionals." She half 

"What are we having, Mick — Irish stew?" 
"No; sardines, now ye've got out av yer tin." 

By Byron 


turned her face away. Then, with pleasure 
lighting her face and something else her eyes 
— or did he fancy it? — she held out her hand. 

"We haven't shaken hands, Jim." 

"No more we have, Joan." 

They shook hands. She let him hold hers 
a little time — an old friend returned ! — but he 
held it so long that at length, with a touch 
of extra colour in her face (for the sun had pui 
much there), she withdrew it a bit abruptly. 

"I'm taking the horse down to turn him 
loose." She grasped the halter. "Shall we 
walk along? " 


Page 37 

"Sure. But you will ride?" 

"No, I will walk." 

They walked on. There was nobody about. 
They had the lane absolutely to them- 
selves, and it was a lovely late-autumn after- 

" Did you know where I was, Joan ? " 

"Why, of course. I knew you'd be 

"I'm glad you reckoned me among it. But 
before ? " 

"No, I've never heard a word. I knew you 
were in Canada — that's all." 

He asked after her father and mother and 
other people. The interval that had elapsed 
offered no great surprises. Life flowed 
smoothly and uneventfully at Deephollow. 
The same vicar was there, the same doctor. 
But Ironville, the great manufacturing town 
fourteen miles distant, was coming closer. A 
few well-to-do town people, availing them- 
selves of the Halt, had built rather fine 
houses on the outskirts of the village. There 
was talk of putting up a road or two of villas 
and running a motor-bus service from Iron- 

Jim shuddered. 

"That spoils a countryside," he said. 
" Horses never do." 

"I think we'll escape," said Joan, "as Mr. 
Matthews, who owns most of the land here- 
abouts, wants too long a price." 

"Mr. Matthews was old when I went 
away," mused Jim. "He must be old for 
work now." 

"Not too old to bargain. But he has re- 
tired. Only Mr. Harold goes to the office in 
Ironville now. Motors in." 

"Oh I " The ejaculation was an indifferent 
one. . Jim wasn't interested in the Matthewses, 
father or son. Many years since, Mr. 
Matthews senior, an Ironville lawyer, had 
discovered Deephollow and bought an old 
country house there to make his home in. 
Jim had reason to remember the hawk-faced 
Ironville business man, yet for the moment 
he dismissed him from his mind. 

For !his conversation was just fencing — 
golfers would say the two young people were 
playing "approach" shots. The village and 
its personalities were all very well, but what 

of hcT? In ten years one looks out of the 
window a good many times, and not always 

The horse was freed of the halter, turned 
loose, and the gate shut on him. There was 
a stile by the gate. While Jim lounged with 
his arm over the gate, Joan seated herself on 
this stile. He drew out his cigarette case. 

" May I ? " 

"You've grown manners, Jim. Why, 

She crossed her shapely legs, right over 
left, and locked her hands round her knees 
as he lit a cigarette. 

"You?" he asked, holding out the open 

She laughed, shaking her linen-capped 
head. "No, I haven't learnt Town ways." 
(They called Ironville "town" at Deejv 
hollow.) "But I'll have a whiff of yours." 
And taking the cigarette from bim she drew 
in the smoke, coughed delightfully, fought 
the smoke away, and gave the fag back to 

"This is an honoured one," said Jim, nip- 
ping off the burnt end and replacing the fag 
in his case. 

Again, one might conjecture, that was not 
all sunburn on her face. "You always were 
— silly," she said, with a toss of her capped 

As if to fill in a space, he said, "I'm glad 
you don't smoke. I hate to see girls smok- 

A little tempestuously, she reversed the 
position of her knees, left over right now. 
Furtively Jim took stock of this quaint new 

"You see more of me now," she said; and 

"And so do other chaps," replied Jim 
grimly. And suddenly seized the brown, 
smooth hand lying nearest to him. "Is there 
another chap, Joan?" 

He saw just a huge linen cap and her pro- 


" Damn ! " said Jim fervently. And then, 
between his teeth, "Who?" 

"Harold Matthews." 

Jim seemed to be listening, as if to make 

h'af:e 38 


Granfa' (pointing to Maple Leaf on cap): "What's yon reckon to be?' 
Young Soldier (trying to be smart) : " Oh, that's the rising sun ! " 
Granfa' : " Na, lad, I wasn't meanin' yer face." 

ByG.S. Dixon 

sure. Then, "I'll kill him," he said tersely; 
and strode away from the stile into the road, 
where he stood with the back of his sturdy, 
khaki-clad figure turned to her. 

She sat still, hands clasping the top bar 
of the stile. Presently he returned slowly. 

"Do you love him, Joan?" 

" Do all people marry for love ? " 

" You do not I " he shouted. (Splendid 
place in which to give way to a little emotion, 
these unfrequented country lanes.) "Then 
why are you going to marry the twister?" 

"I'm not married to him yet. And please 
be polite." 

"I beg your pardon." He put his elbow 
on the gate-post and looked up at her re- 
proachfully. "Couldn't you have bided a 

"You amuse me, James Brigstock," the 
girl cried. (She was annoyed now, and he 
was pleased to observe that she was.) "Who 

and what were you, Jim, when you left Deep- 
hollow ? " 

"A bit of a lad who worshipped you." 

"But you had robbed Mr. Matthews's 

"To give you the apples." 

"You had stolen money from your step- 

"To buy you trinkets." 

"You threw a stone through the great new 
stained-glass window in the church." 

"Because you had angered me by jeering 
at me and going out with Jack Tarply in- 
stead of with me." 

"And you fought the policeman who came 
to take you." 

" And hurt him, so he had to let me go. . . . 
And so I got away." She drew a deep 
breath. "Yes, you got away just in time." 

" Well ? " 

"Well, that was how you went. And never 

*.' f 

umi mi. -III. i.v 


By MacMxehaci 


Page 39 

a word came. Not a card. Folks said you 
had gone to Canada. Then you turn up 
again after ten years and asii me why I 
couldn't have 'bided ' for you I Oh, Jim 1 " 

"Oh, Joan ! " He would have grasped her 
hands, but she locked them behind her. 
"Yes, I'm unreasonable. Wonder is you're 
not married and got a pack of kids." 

She laughed consumedly. "You men are 
so simple," she said demurely. 

"But why," demanded Jim in desperation, 
"are you going to marry him? Will you 
reconsider it ? " 

"That requires consideration." 

"Of course, he's rich." 

" Will be." She sighed. "And father owes 
them money. One has to think of him." 

"And hasn't father to think of you?" 

"He thinks — it's square enough." 

Jim groaned. "Oh, Joan, don't make 
yourself miserable for life." 

"Indeed I shan't do that!" she said 
sharply. "He's not a bad fellow — and very 

A glimmer of hope showed in the soldier's 

"You've kept him waiting?" 

She passed the tip of her tongue over her 
white teeth. 

"I've got to help father during the war. 
Short of men, he is." 

"I see. You're to be married when the 
war's over ? " 

"Something of that sort." 

"Poor — dear— Harold I " breathed Jim with 
the utmost sympathy. "There's you and 
there's him and there's the church — and it 
might be in Quebec for all he can reach it. 
Yes ! We men are so simple." 

More collected now, he took another cigar- 
ette out of his case and lit it. 

"Well, Joan dear, I hope you'll be happy." 

"I shouldn't be surprised." 

He consulted his wrist-watch. 

"I'm glad I've come over. I've leSrnt 
about things quite soon. Shall I come 
again ? " 

"I think you'd better not." 

"It is as you please. Biit I'd like to see 
>ou again — for once." He threw away his 
ciKar^tte and spoke earnestly. "Come and 

spend just one day at Ironville with me. A 
day and night. W^e'll ' picture ' and dine 
and do a theatre. You have an aunt there, 
haven't you? Well, you'll be visiting your 
aunt. Just one day, Joan — give me one day." 

"May I tell Harold?" 

"Yes, if you don't mean to come." 

She laughed. If you ran keep a girl 
laughing, she'll like you. Perhaps love you. 
Because Life is, on the whole, a dull affair. 

Man was first tempted in a garden. The 
aroma, the nature scents, the world as it was 
created — this is the environment for tempta- 
tion. And it was only for one day. One 
day after a ten years' silence. And then 
silence again — and Harold. 

"All right," she said, all at once. 

" Midland station. When ? " 

"Saturday at twelve. Busy — must be busy 
—till then." 

"Sure thing?" 

"Sure thing," she mlirmured wistfully. 
"I'll give you a day, Jim." 

The fair weather of their first meeting was 
gone, and Indoors had that invitingness 
which inclement conditions without invari- 
ably lend it. But even when the roads are 
heavy, the hedges dripping, and not a vestige 
of promise appears in the leaden skies, a 
countryside must ever possess a charm for 
those whose sense for the real is not deadened 
by a brick-and-mortar existence. Even the 
sight of country people arriving at a big 
central station in a great town is a refreshing 
breath of the Beyond. Their rough-and- 
ready clothes, their strong boots, their healthy 
faces betoken the wisdom of their choice. 

Jim Brigstock rather liked the wet edge the 
day had as he awaited the little motor-train 
half an hour before it was due. How he 
had got through the intervening time he 
could not have told you. Controlled in all 
his ways, as a soldier is, and especially a 
Canadian soldier, he had betrayed an un- 
usual restlessness. With a colonist's thirst 
for taking stock and acquiring information, 
he had "beaten " the art gallery, the museum, 
the library, and other public institutions of 
enlightened and progressive Ironville unti' 

Page 40 


he knew them by heart. For the atmosphere 
of a saloon bar choked him. He Hked lofty 
halls and wide staircases. His blue eyes were 
the eyes of a man accustomed to scan far hori- 
zons. And if there was a touch of devil in 
them, that is what you look for in the eyes 
of a gentleman of fortune. 

Impatiently he paced the platform, thread- 
ing his way through hampers of dairy pro- 
duce, crates of live birds, platoons of milk- 
cans, and odd deposits of personal luggage. 
Careful-stepping for all his absence of mind, 
not once did he trip over any article of this 
miscellany nor come into collision with a 
hurrying passenger. He even, compliant as 
a Boy Scout, helped an old lady with her half- 
score of packages, convoying her to the cab- 
rank, shutting her in with her property, and 
giving the address clearly to the cabman. 
Not a few noticed the neat, alert soldier go to 
the old lady's rescue, and to these mid- 
English folk, distant from ships and the voice 
of guns booming in anger, the "Canada" on 
his shoulder conveyed a distinct sense of the 
Empire's world-embrace. 

But Jim Brigstock had no thoughts just 
now for England, or war, or the reasons of 
war. He was watching that distant curve in 
the line where the motor-train from Deep- 
hollow was to be first sighted. Though he 
knew it couldn't possibly be expected yet — 
and he was such a practical man I 

Up and down among the porters' barrows, 
the damp pedestrians, the automatic machines 
— most impudent profiteers ! — he paced in a 
fever of impatience. Yet to outward appear- 
ance he was calmness itself. More than one 
country girl shot a not very shy glance at 
him, but there was no response. His thoughts 
were following the line from Deephollow 
Halt to Ironville. Yet they should not have 
been I For was she not another's ? 

Suppose she didn't come? Suppose, at 
prudence's bidding, she turned back at the 
last moment, in the way women have ? For 
the impulse that says "Yes" recklessly will 
as hastily say "No." What would he do 
then, stranded, disappointed, left! Wait for 
the next train and the next, and then give it 
up? Give it up. And turn back into the 
^own the loneliest, man in the world. 

By Arthur Let 

" Did you ever see the Kaiser when you 
were in France ? " 

" Well, no, mum, I can't say I did. But I 
saw some horrible sights out there all the same ! " 

At the far end of the platform a garrulous 
old gentleman accosts him. "And how do 
you like Old England, sir?" Hang the old 
buffer ! But he must be polite. He just 
loves Old England, and greatly admires the 
fine buildings of Ironville. The old gentle- 
man is an Ironville enthusiast. He dis- 
courses eloquently on the opulence, the pro- 
gressiveness of Ironville. Take the police ! 
Was there ever a better organised body? 

Jim's eyes wandered ominously towards a 
hefty woodman's axe that was propped 
against a seat. How could he get rid of this 
well-meaning bore 1 What time was it? 
Three minutes past twelve! Suppose, arriving 
and not seeing him, she took fright and 
popped back into the motor.«train 

"Ohl Here you are!" 

The old gentleman smiled benignly and 
understandingly as Jim, forgetting him com- 


Page 41 

By H. M. Batman 


Page 4S 


pletely, turned to find Joan at his elbow. He 
suired at her— she looked so different. She 
\va- transmogrified. Become a wagoner for 
war-time, she was changed again to a woman. 
\one could have taken exception to her smart 
hat. her well-shaped boots, her trim raincoat, 
her kid gloves. Jim took in the ensemble 
quickly — and the blush on her face. He held 
out his hands, but she, very properly, ac- 
cepted only one of them. 

" Fancy making me hunt for you ! " 

"I'm real sorry." 

He was a little thunderstruck by the change 
in her appearance, and she was not displeased 
by that. But how awkward these men were ! 
She would have to take command of the ex- 
pedition, Jim following her like an obedient 
collie. She didn't altogether like this. 

"Well, come on," she said, slipping her 
gloved finger-tips round his arm. 

And then Jim woke up. She was here — in 
the flesh and blood. His elbow closed on 
his side, imprisoning her hand. 

"This is good," he breathed, and piloting 
her out into the station-yard he hailed a taxi. 

"Oh, I'll walk, Jim," she said, with a 
thought for his soldier's purse. 

"Not a step," he replied, holding the door 
open for her. He gave an address to the 
driver, and got in. As the taxi wheeled off 
he seized her hand and kissed it through the 

"Jim, you must not ! Or I'll be sorry I've 

He smiled. If she objected to that 

Through the crowded streets they spun, 
and lo ! the taxi stopped at the gates of a big, 
grey building. 

"Here we are," quoth Jim. 

She peeped out. "Where?" 

He alighted, and held out his hand. They 
were outside a church. 

" Wait," said Jim to the driver, and led her 
•within the gates. It~was drizzling, and no- 
body bothered about them. 

"Jim," she said in a scared way, "what 
does this mean ? " 

"You know," he said. "You are going to 
do me the honour of marrying me." 

"Oh, Jim, I can't. I'm'pledged." 

"To a man you don't love. Pledged to go 
through a ceremony that will be a mockery. 
Think of that ! " 

"But— father 1" 

"/'//see him through." 

"Jim, it's not right." But she was yield- 
ing, and he was filled with an intoxicating 
sense of triumph. 

"I love you, Joan," he said, "and you lo\e 
me. If you didn't, you wouldn't have 
kept Matthews off. You were waiting for 
me — and didn't know it. I was in love with 
you when I stole for you. You were meant 
for me, and if you marry any other man, 
before God it would be a sin. . . . And now, 
the gentleman is waiting. He's been oblig- 
ing. They manage these things quickly for 

Tenderly but firmly he took her hand — and 
rejoiced. It was his. 

"And now," she said, as she stood again 
with him within the railings, while the two 
soldier friends who had been in attendance 
chatted light-heartedly with the taxi-maVi, "1 
suppose we've got to face — father." 

She felt like a bather swept off his feet by 
an irresistible wave. But the gold emblem 
on her finger was very real. 

"No," he said, "I'll wire before we start 
for London. We'll just have time to give 
these boys some lunch at the Grand before 
we catch our train." 

"But, clothes, Jim, clothes! I'm a 

"You are," he said admiringly. "W^ell, 
while they have their coffee we'll slip out and 
buy some." 

"'Grand '—'buy some.' But it'll all be a 
great expense, Jim." 

He laughed. "I've a ranch as big as this 
county. I've made good, Joan. Do you 
mind very much my being rather — rich? But 
I thought I'd steal you before I told you." 

She sighed. "You're worse than when you 
went away, Jim ! " 

"I think I'll begin to turn over a new 
leaf— after this." 

And there, within the grim railings, in the 
drizzle, he stole his first husband's kiss. 


Page 43 


By Snaffles 

Page 44 


LIEUT.-GENL. SIR R. E. W. TURNER, V.C., C.B., K.C.M.G., D.S.O., 

Commanding Canadian Forces in the British Isles 

Canadian Official Photograph 


Page 46 


C.B., R.C.M.G., D.S.O. 

TO the last day of history, Canada will be 
proud and glad that when the sudden 
and unlocked for call came in 1914, she did 
not hesitate to throw herself into the struggle. 

Even when war was declared, however, the 
great majority of the people of Canada did 
not understand that for Germany it was 
indeed a war of "World-Power or Down- 
fall," which had been long and deliberately 
planned and prepared. It was the common 
instinct for the truth and the right, rather 
than any reasoned argument, which drew 
Canada to the side of Great Britain in the 

But the truth was soon revealed. Ger- 
many's shameless disregard for treaties and 
honour, her creed that "necessity knows no 
law," and the immediate self-revelation of 
the Hun as butcher and bully in Belgium, 
were quick to open eyes which had been shut 
and to shatter illusions which had been 
cherished as to Germany's civilisation. 

Now, every day it becomes more and more 
apparent that it is a War of Humanity 
against a nation of Ishmaelites. Every day 
it becomes more apparent how complete 
would be the enslavement of the world if the 
Germans triumphed. Every day it becomes 
more apparent, in the words of Sir Robert 
Borden, that "Canada's first line of defence 
is in the trenches in Flanders." 

There are no uncertainties in the world so 
great as the uncertainties of war. After 
three years of bitter struggle, the Allies seem 
to be slowly gaining the ascendancy. But 
one never can tell. No man can yet say when 
this war will end. It is impossible to say 
whether sudden collapse on the part of the 
enemy may bring the war to a speedy and 
unlooked-for end. It is impossible to say 
whether the war is well nigh over, whether 

we are half-way through it, or only at the 
beginning of it. We only know, as General 
Smuts, that great Empire soldier and states* 
man, has told us — we are bound to win. 

But whether we are nearly at the end of tha 
war, or half-way through it, or only at the 
beginning of it, we know that Canada will 
be in it to the end. 

Of this we are certain, though the people 
of Canada are not a militarist race. They 
knew indeed so little of war that our young 
men, when they rushed to the colours, had 
an idea that they would be in the fighting 
line within a few weeks. And that, to their 
lasting honour, was their dearest .wish. It 
was a terrible disappointment when, dumped 
on to Salisbury Plain, they found the period 
of training barring their path, as it were, 
to the Field of Glory Overseas. 

It was a sobering check. But not a mar 
who fought at Ypres was not thankful for the 
hard, grinding training and discipline to 
which he was subjected, before he was thrown 
into battle with the Kaiser's troops. To 
rigid discipline and careful training, com- 
bined with the valour of our rnen, are du*- 
also our later successes on the Somme, Vimy 
Ridge, and before Lens. 

Nothing can ever detract from the glory of 
the men who stopped the gap at Ypres. Bui 
they were, in spite of their training, as raw 
and untrained troops in comparison to the 
reinforcements we are now sending Overseas. 

We, if Canada, hate war, detest its science, 
and are nfced by the gruelling training which 
is necessary for so damnable a trade. But 
we are quick, we are adaptable, and we are 
thorough ; and although we may be an army 
of civilians and are proud of it— and are deter- 
mined that if we must fight, we shall still 
remain an army of civilians — our men in 


Page 48 


France to-day are veterans trained as severely 
and as thoroughly as any levies of the 

But the spirits of the two Armies are, of 
course, as wide apart as the poles. In the 
German troops we faced at first an astonish- 
ingly virile and determined Army borne 
onwards by the tradition of Victory and the 
lust of conquest. But those Divisions have 
melted, as, alas 1 have melted the English 
Divisions of the First Expeditionary Force. 
To-day, we have opposite us men who know 
that the bubble of World-Conquest has been 
pricked, and lads who are steeped in the 
spirit of revolt against the order of things 
in the Fatherland, before they are hurled into 
the ranks. 

The end cannot be doubted, but it can only 
be achieved by hard training, and hard fight- 
ing inspired by high thinking. It is dogged 
does it. But there is a long way to go yet. 

That is why we must, in the words of 
Kitchener, "have men, and still more men, 
until the enemy is crushed." 

That is why, at the present moment, the 
men in France are looking so anxiously to- 
wards home. Reinforcements are still the 
need of the hour. Guns we have, and ammu- 
nition we have, such as Sir John French said 
the other day he never even dreamed of. 
But still we need more men. 

To the men in the" trenches, it seems in- 
credible that any man at home should lag 

This is not a question that should be re- 
garded as politics at all. It is a' question of 
National, of Imperial Necessity. It is a 
question of life or death, victory or defeat. 

That is why I hope that, as surely as this 
book will reach Canada, the voices of the men 
in the Field will reach Canada, too, and in 
such an insistent chorus that they cannot be 

We all feel confident that our need for men, 
and still more men from the land of our birth, 
has only properly to be understood for the 
need to be supplied. 

The prospect of reinforcements may look 
black for the moment, but neither I, nor any 
soldier in the Canadian Expeditionary Force, 
knowing what Canada has already done, can 
believe that our Motherland will fail us now. 

Nothing has so impressed itself on my mind 
as the overwhelming welcome which has 
been given to the Canadians in England, and 
the utterly unselfish and chivalrous way in 
which the English blazon forth whatever we 
may do for the admiration of our Allies. And 
this welcome never grows less warm, and the 
chorus of praise never slackens, although per 
head of the papulation, we have not con- 
tributed so many men as have the British 

Thus, in addition to the duty to our men 
in the Field, we have also a dyty to the 
Motherland which is fighting our battle every 
whit as much as she is her own. 

Whether the Editor of Canada in Khaki 
intended me to devote the space which he 
offered to me in this manner, I cannot tell, 
but I am sure he will forgive me when I say 
that I seized this opportunity only because 
I knew that I should be filling a very wide 
pulpit from which to appeal to my country- 
men to sink their differences and to send us 
more men! 



" Tis harvest time, 'tis harvest time, 
The corn lies stocked on the stubbled plain. 

Scythe and sickle sing their song, 

In tune and time as they move along; 

"'Tis harvest time, 'tis harvest time. 
We gather the golden grain." 

" 'Tis harvest time, 'tis harvest time. 
Red is the harvest we must reap." 
In the whine of shrapnel overhead 
The guns sing loud to the live and dead 
"'Vis harvest time, 'tis harvest time, 
We gather that you shall weep." 


Page 47 

By C. E. brock 


Page 48 




IN a corner of my desk there is a little bundle 
of letters, ever growing bigger, from 
parents and wives overseas asking me if I can 
obtain news of their missing sons and hus- 
bands at the front. They are letters written 
in agony of soul. All one has been able to 
do in most cases has been to shatter the last 
vestige of hope that remained. I avoid, when 
I can, opening the drawer that contains them. 

The heaviest blow of this war has fallen, 
not on the soldier who is killed, but on the 
parents, wives and children left behind. You 
have met the old father whose only son dis- 
appeared, and who is eating his heart out 
with anxiety because all that he can learn is 
that his boy is missing. "If I could only get 
some definite news," he cries. Alas ! in most 
cases he never will. We all know the mother 
whose life has come to a sudden stop because 
her only boy has gone. What can we say to 
people such as these? To talk of courage, 
submission and patience to them sounds the 
merest mockery, at least, until the first pas- 
sion, of grief has exhausted itself. 

The waste of it ! we cry. These men who 
have gone were the very pick of our nation, 
trained leaders of the rising generation. War 
gave the final touch to their great qualities. 
It taught them endurance, it tested their un- 
selfishness, it developed their manhood to the 
full. These were the men fitted, if ever men 
were fitted, to create a new and greater 
Empire. The waste of it I 

And yet is it wholly waste ? Have all their 
great qualities really gone for nothing? 

A father known to me, himself a world- 
famous man, lost his favourite son on the 
Western Front. The boy died splendidly 
when going to the rescue of others. He had 
cut short a brilliant college career to take up 
a commission. His friends had already, in 
the days before the war, detected the touch of 
genius in him, and not without cause. 

A woman friend approached the father. 
"What a waste I " she said pitifully, "that all 
his genius should have been thrown away." 
The father turned on her fiercely. "Waste ! " 
he said, with great emphasis. "What do you 
mean by waste? If I believed that my son's 
life and sacrifice had been lost for nothing, 
I would go mad. Thank God I know better 
than that I Do you think that all his bigness 
and all his goodness came to an end when a 
sniper's bullet struck him ? No I No ! I 
No ! ! I These things can't die ! " 

There are times when death seems glorious 
even to the man who wants least to die. I 
remember on one occasion being asked to go 
on patrol in a warship m a mine and sub- 
marine haunted area. "It's not likely they'll 
get us," said one Naval officer before we 
started. "But if they do, can there be a more 
glorious death ? " 

He spoke simply, naturally, and as a matter 
of course. That is the spirit of the Navy. 
That is the spirit of the Army. 

No soldier wants death. No soldier wants 
wounds. It is the hope and prayer of every 
man that he may come back, and come back 
whole to home and kin. But if this is not to 
be, "Can there be a more glorious death?" 

A young soldier came one night to my 
rooms in London in great bitterness of spirit, 
and as we sat together over the fire he told 
me of his troubles. "They are threatening to 
send me home," he said. "I'm a crock. A 
medical board has reported that I am not fit 
to go to the Front. Fancy having come this 
far, and then being obliged to go back home 
overseas a failure, to have one's friends think 
of one as a man not fit to fight." 

And then his voice rose a bit. "I shan't 
do it 1 " he cried. "I will get across the 
Channel somehow 1 There is a big fight 
coming on. I'll sneak out and join my bat- 
talion and go over the top with them. Maybe 


Page i» 

I'll get killed. That would be a fine finish ! 
But to go back home a failure — I can't do it. 
Wouldn't it be lucky," he talked on, "if I 
got knocked out leading my platoon ? I don't 
know much about religion, but I'm sure that 
no man could go into the other world better 
than when he is strung up to the best that is 
in him, as you must be when you are going 
forward under fire." 

All along the line of the Western Front 
one sees graves, sometimes solitary graves, 
sometimes little groups, sometimes vast ceme- 
teries with neat lines of wooden crosses — 
crosses, incidentally, largely made by Ger- 
man prisoners in England. British graves, 
French graves, German graves, lie close to- 
gether. Most of the crosses have names, 
sometimes many names on them. Others 
have the simple inscription, "Sacred to the 
memory of an unknown British soldier," or 
"Here rests unknown French comrades." 

Then we come to the German graves. 
"Hier ruht in Gott " ("Here rests in God"). 
We leave the inscriptions, the faded flowers, 
the laudations of our enemies untouched. 

May they do the same over the graves of our 
boys ! 

Yet for every grave that is marked, a score 
and more have no sign. In one valley known 
to me, close on 200,000 French and Germans 
are said to lie dead beneath the soil in lines 
and swathes and packed trenches. There are 
few crosses there as yet. 

Some day, when fighting is over, we will 
go back and erect, outside Ypres, on the great 
ridges of Messines and Vimy, on the undu- 
lating lands of the Somme, and in the mud 
bogs of Belgium, splendid memorials to our 
lads to mark our remembrance. But their 
memories need no such token to keep them 
green. Dead, their work lives. The very 
sacrifice of their lives is bringing a new era 
of liberty and justice to the whole world. We 
mourn for them, but even in mourning let us 
remember to rejoice and be proud. For if 
the grief is ours, the glory of great accom- 
plishments is theirs. Youth cut off in its 
prime has accomplished more than most lives 
that have stretched out to three score and ten 
years of self-centred existence. 




By Tom ColirtU 

Page 90 


By W. F. Thomas 
Jack (acting as amanuensis) : " What shall I say, Tom ? " 

Tom : " Durned if I know. Let's see — er — ' My dear wife — er — I'm all right — ei — an' you're all 
right — er — so that's all right, as it leaves me at present. . . . Your loving husband.'" 



When it's raining cats and dogs and you're 

feeling kind of glum, 
And your dug-out's full of water and your 

billet's on the bum; 
With mud up to your eyebrows, you go 

marching through the street. 
And then you drag and push along two 

weary things called feet, 
With iron rations at the end, your hungry 

face to greet ; 
Tighten up your belt, my lad, you're not a 

"fed-up " hero. 
Put on that British bull-dog smile 

And Cheero ! Clieero ! Cheero ! 

When you're going "O'er the top" and your 

stomach's kind of queer. 
And you try to put on "Brave face" to 

conquer so-called fear, 
But somehow lumps keep rising and 

a-sticking in your throat. 
And your pal politely tells you this time 

they've got your goat. 
And you wish you were a sailor, with just a 

chance to float. 
Buck up, my lad, don't worry, your heart is 

not at zero. 
Pull off that British bull-dog stunt 

And Cheero ! Cheero ! Cheero ! 


Page 61 

When your "Kurnel" is a rotter and very 

hard to please, 
Who makes you always work like hell and 

never stand at ease, 
Inspecting rifles every day, brass buttons all 

galore ; 
When going the rounds finds trouble and 

always looks for more. 
And makes your comrades quarrelsome and 

N.C.O.'s quite sore; 
Come, brace yourself together and never have 

a fearo. 
PuirofT that good "old soldier" stunt 
And Cheero I Cheero 1 Cheero 1 

When you're travelling to Blighty in a 

dreamy kind of way, 
Just peppered full of shrapnel and not feeling 

very gay; 
The bed it seems as hard as wood, your 

muscles kind o' weak, 
Your life jusi hanginc by a thread! 'Sh ! 

Such a narrow .s(jueak. 
Say 1 There's lots of life left in you yet, fo' 

Blighty is a dearo. 
There's music-halls and theatres, winr 

women, glorious beero, 
You'll "swing the lead " in Leicester Square. 
Eh ! Cheero I Cheero I Cheero I 



It's the soldier's right to grumble, 

When in billet or in line. 
When the* raid becomes a fumble. 

Or when things are going fine. 
But you've heard so many stories 

Of their life where dangers lurk. 
So for once we'll hear the wailings 

Of a poor Staff Clerk. 

We have heard about the sniper, 

Calling down the heavies' wrath. 
Of the bomber and the piper. 

Making fun of Heinle's Staff; 
Yet these heroes all do tremble 

When Lieutenants act the "Turk," 
But it's cursings c{ a General 

On a poor Staff Clerk. 

Though the C.T. may be narrow, 

And each shell-hole filled with rain. 
Yet the narrowness of Redcaps 

Sends a Staff Clerk quite insane. 
For it's "Type this," "Check my figures," 

"What's the strength of men at kirk?" 
"Order bombs," "Phone Signals," "Dam'it, 

You're a poor Staff Clerk." 

In the Field. 

While they never take Stafif courses. 

They must know the Martial Law, 
Quote K.R. and O. on horses, 

And ten thousand items more. 
G.R.O.'s and ancient history 

They can tell you with a jerk. 
For the modus operandi 

Ask a poor Staff Clerk. 

When the guns have ceased to thunder 

And the front line is no more; 
When the Kaiser sees his blunder 

And they stop this bloody war; 
What a life will be the private's — 

Lots of fun and little work ; 
But they'll still be wanting statements 

From the poor Staff Clerk, 

When we've gained the last objective 
Of this life and get above. 

Where the soldiers stop their scrapping. 
And do nought but sing of love, 

Then their faithfulness to duty. 
And the jobs they did not «:hirk. 

Will be entered in the Good Rook- 
By the poor Staff Clerk. 

W. T. Knkjht. 

Fage B2 


By H. ]. Mowat, O.M.F.C. 

He held her hand with the grip of one who never meant to let it go again " 


A Short Story by MAX PEMBERTON 

Illustrated bp H, J. MoWat 


I SHALL call the man Anthony just be- 
cause that was not his name. And I shall 
speak of the City just because that was the 
place in which he did not live. Yet for all 
that this is a true narration, and there are 
some who will be able to lift the veil and to 
cry "That is he 1" 

Now, Anthony is a very good name, and 
here was an Anthony who was heard of in 
a little matter connected with a bush. But 
this was not the kind of Anthony of whom 
I am writing. He, quoting the dramatist, 
would have told you that he could resist 

everything but temptation. In the American 
City he was the "horrid example" at whom 
parsons pointed the finger, while prigs 
thanked God they were not Anthony. A hard 
hitter with a fine punch in the right. But 
somehow or other the poor devil was always 
turning to the left. 

Anthony would have liked to marry Nance 
Oldfield, but Papa of that ilk was not taking 
any. He had a ridiculous aversion to keep- 
ing a son-in-law whose future was behind 
him. A man of affairs, he spoke of dividends 
and investments and the sweat of the brow 
and other trifles. Also he objected to four 
aces when four kings looked so much better. 


Page 53 

By n. J. Moxi-at, O.U.F.C. 

"They were toasting the sinking of the 'Lusitania.' Good God! and he^ must listen to it! 
If ever a man saw red, it was Anthony Viner that night" 

' ' The ' LusiTAXU ' Began It ' ' 

Page 54 



Vizor down: the protection given to the 
head is complete 

Vizor up: worn thus the helmet has a 
Cromwellian appearance 

This helmet shows the care of the Germans for their snipers. The cut-out on the right 

allows the rifle to be held in proper position 

Cahadian Official Photographs 



In vain did Nance point out that there was 
not a better horseman nor a finer shot for ten 
miles round than the particular person in 
question. Papa Oldfield did not like pistols, 
and horses were prehistoric. He shut the 
door in Anthony's face, and said, "There, 
my darling," when Nance shed a tear. But 
.Anthony was not there. Most probably he 
had gone off to a billiard saloon. 

One night Anthony had a rare old row in 
that paternal mansion and for ever shook off 
the dust from his heels upon a mat which 
welcomfed him with a salve. Nance was 
out at a party and that riled him to begin 
with. Then Papa Oldfield had talked about 
the Lusitania and had stammered e?ccuses for 
the Hun. Anthony could not stand that at 
any price. He told the Old Man off, threw 
in what he knew about Whited Sepulchres, 
and handed out certain gems of speech which 
caused prayers to be offered for him next 
Sunday. Then he clapped his "broad- 
brimmed sombrero" upon his agitated fore- 
head and, as the novelists say, he set out into 
the night — ^a soft and balmy night and re- 
dolent of stars. Would you believe that sucV" 
a man was something of a poet ? 'Tis true 
nevertheless. Despite that wonderful "right" 
and the bad habit of saying "hell" upon 
unnecessary occasions, Anthony had read 
Shelley and Keats and would have quoted 
you more than one line of Omar Khayyam 
incorrectly. The few who knew him would 
swear he was as tender-hearted as a spring 
chicken. He was even a dreamer sometimes 
and would walk alone upon the prairie. 

Anthony left Papa Oldfield's house that 
night in a state of indignation which might 
fairly be called righteous. His girl had gone 
to a party, perhaps with that dirty rotter 
Oscar Helferich ; the Old Man had dared him 
to cross his threshold for ever and ever, amen, 
and his best pal Willy Playton had gone 
down in the Lusitania. Enough to make a 
man drink anything that was handy, especially 
when the other man paid for it. Fortunately 
Anthony was in no mood for the bars, and 
he turned instead to the meadows — those wide 
meadows of the lakeside where the poets 
should have dreamed and the marigold tmdc 

The City now lay behind him and the wide 
world of waters was his horizon. He had 
passed from mean streets to a park and from 
a park to a river drive. All kinds of wild 
ideas were in his head, but one idea was 
paramount — he would see 'Nance Oldlield no 
more, and his best friend was dead. Tragic 
indeed that this war so far away should have 
killed the one man who understood him. He 
had never thought much about it hitherto, but 
the sinking of the Lusitania had come like a 
vision in the dark. What human devils were 
these who sent women and children to their 
death in the great Atlantic Ocean which man 
had conquered so proudly ? And what Cause 
could be right which needed such weapons? 
Oh, he could depict it all— the great steamer 
and the still sea and the periscopes above the 
swell ; the roar of the explosion ; the cries of 
the doomed ; the heeling and sinking of the 
giant ship; women's hair spread upon the 
waves and their eyes looking upward to 
the heavens. An awful scene — it gripped him 
like a nightmare. 

Remember, he walked by the lakeside and 
his hallucination will not surprise you. It 
was a dark night with a wonderful heaven of 
stars above. He stood alone gazing over the 
waters, and while he stood he saw the 
Lusitania sink for the second time. Yes, 
there she was, rising like a splendid castle 
above the still sea ; her lights all glowing ; her 
passengers thinking of home or the old 
country. And then he saw her heel suddenly 
as clearly as ever he saw anything in his life 
— down she went amid terrible sounds which 
left nothing but that echo of human sorrow 
most weird to hear. Oh, those cries of the 
living, how awful they were ! They rang in 
his ears like a very dirge of death. He stag- 
gered on and still he heard them. If he could 
but. save the women and the children. Help- 
less, he clenched his hands and cursed the men 
who had done this thing. No longer con- 
scious of direction, he walked to and fro like 
a man distracted. His only <l«sire was to 
avenge the dead — to wring the very life out 
of the men who had done this thing. 

All this time, mark you, the cries con- 
tinued. Anthony came to himself presently, 
and a measure of sober reason returned to 

Paga M 


him. It was odd, surely, that he still heard 
tM doleful sbunds which had come to him 
from a phantom ship. Yet they were real 
enough, and when he had convinced himself 
of the fact, he stood and asked himself where 
he was. By the lakeside certainly, but also 
in front of a considerable house. He looked at 
it closely and thought that he recognised it. 
Was it not the house of Oscar Helferich, that 
slobbering German whose name he could 
hardly repeat with patience. He was sure of 
it, and now he convinced himself that the 
cries did not come from any phantom ship at 
all but from this very mansion. As true as 
the Gospel it was. 

He went into the garden and up to one 
of the open windows, and looking in he saw 
a banquet spread and men and women about 
it, and they were lifting their glasses — to 
what? To the very tragedy which had 
shaken the civilised world to its foundations. 
They were toasting the sinking of the 
Lusitania — those d — — d Huns. Good God, 
and he must listen to it. If fiver a man saw 
red in his life it was Anthoi^y Viner that 


They hurried back to the City together — 
Nance Oldfield in the shelter of his bruised 
arm and her tears upon his cheek. 

"You must go," she would say from time 
to time; "if Oscar is dead they will bring it 
in murder. Oh, Tony, you know what they 
are. For God's sake, do not let them take 
you. Go to-night, because I ask it." 

He was quite dazed; his clothes were 
mangled and torn and there was blood on his 
face. His one desire was to know what he 
had done in the room, and of that she could 
give him no clear account. 

"I know that I did their supper in and 
threw Oscar over the table," said he ; "the big 
fellow caught me one on the top, but he might 
have been an accordion when the wind came 
out of him. If the dark-faced man says his 
jaw is broken, he's a liar, for I heard him 
talking afterwards. There's four of 'em on 
the police council, and that's as good as hemp 
for me if Oscar's really gone for ever. Guess 

I'll have to go, Nance — but I'm not sorry, 
and so help me God, I'd do it every night if 
I met another party like that," 

She did not reprove him, telling him in- 
stead how she had come to go to the party, 
her father wishing it and she not under- 
standing at all what kind of an affair it was. 
Her whole anxiety was to get him out of the 
City quickly, before the police could act, and 
here she proved herself a woman of decision 
and device beyond all he had imagined. 
Money, clothes — he must have the former, but 
the latter did not matter. His qualms were 
silenced with an insistence and an authority 
which seemed ridiculous coming from so 
fragile a person. He would never see her 
again, perchance, yet here she was promising 
him that she would never forget, and implor- 
ing him for God's sake to leave her. And 
in the end he went off like a robber that is 
hunted, into the woods and the by-ways — 
sweafing that Helferich, anyway, should not 
have the satisfaction of taking him, and 
without a thought of that future he must now 
face alone. 

He was over the frontier by the following 
afternoon and in the good city of Montreal 
a few days afterwards. When somebody 
suggested to him that he should go and fight 
Germans, the words came as a revelation 
from on high. Why had he never thought 
of it? He could stop the singing of some 
of them, surely; and that way lay redemp- 
tion. Anthony put on his uniform gladly. 
When the good ship sailed for the East at 
last, there was no man aboard as musical 
as he. 

"Going to toast them in Flanders," he 
wrote to Nance. It was a true saying. 


One night, after many days, he stood in an 
observation post and looked across the 
wilderness bevond. 

It was black dark and a cold wind blowing. 
From time to time a big gun boomed omin- 
ously and there was the occasional rattle of 
the trench mortar or the blast of the Minnie 
which declared the Hun to be at work. 


Page 67 

By Arthur MortUmd 

" It's all right, Hans, don't get scared. We air't short of glycerine " 

Page 58 


Anthony, however, was not thinking of 
Xo Man's Land at all. His mind was back 
to the City and the lake. Again he heard 
the Hun singing; once more looked in 
tlirough the open window and saw Nance 
at the table and the uplifted glasses of 
the Germans who toasted the Lusitania's 

What was Nance doing this night, and 
why had he not heard from her these many 
weeks? Was she still going to parties, and 
would they have music there? Anyway, he 
thought that she might have found an hour 
to write to him, and he remembered in the 
same breath all that the poets had said about 
women — fickle jades, and God help the man 
who trusted them. Yet for all that, he was 
not quite sure that he would put Nance Old- 
lield in that category, and he began to make 
excuses for her, saying that she might have 
written after all and her letter be at the bottom 
of the sea. That would mean the sinking of 
another' big ship, and the champagne corks 
popping and more music from the Huns. 
Why, they were always opening their dirty 
throats, and even as he stood there he could 
hear them across the wilderness. 

Anthony listened a long time and then he 
became quite sure of it. Somewhere in the 
void a group of Huns were carolling, just as 
they had done on the night the Lusitania 
sank; and 'By God," said he, "it's the same 
song that I heard by the lakeside." 

He ould not stand this at all and the 
longer he listened to it, the less had he the 
will to suffer it patiently. 

When he called his new pal Bill Barnard 
to him and told him the story, they agreed it 
was damnable, and arranged a surprise party 
upon the spot. What was to prevent them 
going over together? "Regimental orders," 
you say, and all that sort of thing. 

But Anthony did not give thirty cents for 
regimental or any other orders to-night. An 
idea had come to him and had remained an 

"Bill," says he, "we ought to be at that 

Bill agreed with a grim nod. 

"Say, Bill, what do folks take to parties? 
Crackers and things, I've heard. Guess 

we'll fill our pockets all right. Are you ready 
for a sortie among the Alleymans, Bill? 
Those that are in favour, hold up their 

Bill did not hold up his hand, but he was 
in favour nevertheless. 

Presently they were over and out and 
crawling like the parson's snake in the grass, 
away towards the music which had so 
charmed them. 

In Bill's report next morning he remarked 
that he had "bombed the creator at nine 
o'clock" — but this was merely his way of 
spelling it, and what he meant to say was 
that he had thrown a grenade into the musical' 
hole and that, as he remarked tersely, 
" groans were heard." 

Anthony, however, made no report at all, 
and for reasons which were obvious. If he 
could have told you anything which was 
useful about it, he would have said that he 
looked into a deep hole beyond a hummock 
and saw a doorway and stanchions of wood 
and sandbags, and beyond it the red glow of 
a coke fire in a crazy grate. 

The light showed him three dead Germans, 
and one of them he recognised. He was 
Oscar Helferich, the man who had toasted 
the sinking of the Lusitania in the house by 
the lakeside. 

All this he would have told you, we say, if 
he could have given any coherent account 
of it. 

As a matter of fact, the craqkers which 
he and Bill tossed down as a lively accom- 
paniment to the carolling raised the devil's 
own row along that particular front and set 
the guns barking with a vengeance. Soon 
star lights were glowing in the sky above and 
machine-guns rattling on the earth below. 
They hooked it with expedition, the pair of 
them, as Bill remarked, and it was real bad 
luck which put a bullet through Tony's back 
at the very moment he was about to say 
"Cheer-oh" to his comrades in the trench. 
Nevertheless, these are the facts, and down 
he went in a heap and soon the stretcher 
bearers were trotting him to the base hospital 
and apologising for their haste on the score of 

"The worst piece of land in Flanders," 


Page 59 


His Majesty was deeply interested in the battleground of Vimy Ridge, which he is here seen 
crossing. General Currie is immediately following the King 

His Majesty is presented with a souvenir of 
the battle and is well pleased 

His majesty usienb to ii.e tale ot a man who 
fought at Vimy Ridge 

Canadian Official Photographs 


Page 60 



Is It a i3oche> -An aeroplane crea 

tes a diversion during the sermon 

The Staff faced the Chaplan at the drumhead service 

Masses of steel-helmeted men listened with close attention '^/^^^.^--^f "^,'^;.^,^,;„,,„.,,, 

C(iiui(h(ni OflicKil I iKiiiiiiiuiJiia 


Page 61 


Lt.-Gen. Sir Arthur Currie, who directed the Canadians' lightning and brilliant attack on the 
"Key to Lens," stands in a village street to watch his victorious troops file past 

Pipers of a Canadian kilted regiment with their veteran goat led the proud march back to a well- 
earned rest in billets after some of the stillest fighting they had known 

Canttdiaii Official Photographs 

I>(Hie 62 



These gas masks, taken from the Germans by Canadians, show that, owing to shortage of 
rubber, the flexible parts are now made of leather 


1 hese gas masks, also captured trom tne eiernian^. > . t; no lOLCCtion tor tne eyes. 1 hey are 
used by runners in the trenches where progress would be impeded by goggles 

Canadian Official Photographs 


Page 63 

they said. Tony accepted the excuse, but 
did not care a dump either way. 

Despite the pain of it, he was still thinking 
of that amazing apparition in the dug-out — 
Oscar Helferich lying dead there. Miracles, 
then, were happening, in this ancient uni- 
verse after all. 


In the hospital Tony dreamed many dreams, 
but they were not wholly unpleasant. His 
wound was awkward but not dangerous, the 
doctor said, and he spent his time in reading 
stories about impossible people and wonder- 
ing when the beautiful hospital train would 
take him back to Blighty. What he was go- 
ing to do afterwards he knew no more than 
the dead. 

Nance had not written to him, and 
since she had not written, he determined that 
he would not return to Canada even should 
they invalid him out. Perhaps be thought 
he ought to have got the Military Medal or 
something for heaving crackers into Oscar 
Helferich's pleasant little party; but his 
officers merely seemed to think that he had 
been a fool, while his friend Bill had been 
severely told off by the Colonel. So it seemed 
that things were all wrong for him now, and 
he really began to wonder if it would not 
be better to set off for the East and teach card 
efames to the heathen Chinee. ^ 

In this mood he fell asleep one night and 
actually dreamed that Nance had married 
Helferich. He saw the whole thing as clearly 
as possible — the big church in the City he 
knew so well ; smart autos dashing up to the 
door; bridesmaids in flummery, and a wed- 
ding-cake as big as a barrel. When they got 
back to the house again they opened the 
champagne bottles and drank once more that 
cursed toast which had sent him across to 
Europe in search of the Hun. How plainly 
he heard it and how clearly he saw Nance 
herself — yet not dressed as a bride, but, oddly 

enough, in the uniform of the Canadian Red 
Cross — that uniform he had seen so often 
and admired so much since he had come to 

This he could not understand, and he felt 
inclined to remonstrate with her about it. 
Even to marry Helferich she ought to have 
worn something more suitable, and he told 
her so emphatically, rising at the breakfast 
table to make a speech, to which nobody 
apparently desired to listen, Helferich least 
of all. When they pulled him down, a strong 
hand upon his shoulder, he resisted actively 
and there was very nearly another scene such 
as there had been in the old house by the 
lakeside. Fortunately, however, this did not 
come to be, and with a last violent protest 
expressed in no measured terms, Master Tony 
opened his eyes and saw Nance at his bed- 

"Hallo," says he, "I thought you were 

She smiled, but begged him to be quiet. 

"You have had a horrid dream," she said; 
"I had to wake you up." 

He told her that he liked being waked in 
that way and held her hand with the grip of 
one who never meant to let it go again. _ 

"Say, Nance," said he, "I dreamed" that 
you had married Helferich — but that could 
not be, could it? We killed him in the 
trench over yonder; I saw him dead myself." 

She shook her head. 

"He was in America three weeks ago," 
she said. " I have had a letter to say so. But 
I know that his son is fighting here." 

Tony opened his eyes very wide at that. 

"His son, good God! He had a son 

She repeated the words. Helferich had 
told her so himself. 

Tony turned half over and sighed. 

"It's a rum world," he said, "but justice 
is still knocking about sonaewhere. Don't let 
go my hand, Nance, I guess I want to 
think.'' ' 

Page 64 


By MacMichati 
Officer: "Surely you are the man I pulled up this morning for being improperly dressed — and 
now you fail to salute." 

Recruit : *' Yes, sir — ^but I thought you might still be cross with me." 



TH E long, deep-shadowed hall was packed 
with dim forms, their glimmering faces 
all upturned toward the pictures on the 
lighted screen. It was an intent audience, 
silent except for snatches of muttered com- 
ment, an occasional shuffle of heavy boots, and 
the creaking of equipment. Here and there, 
spotting he gloom vividly for a moment, a 
resolute face would be lit up in the fleeting 
flare of a match. The air was thick with the 
smell of cigarette smoke and wet leather. 

The I cinema-hall was in a side street of 
shell-shattered Albert. Outside, under the 
glassy, blue-white flooding of the November 
moon, the great falling statue of the Virgin 
and Child, arrested midway in its dizzy 
plunge from the top of the Cathedral tower, 
looked down upon the jumble of broken roofs 
and windowless walls, and on the ceaseless 
procession of ambulances, lorries, limbers, 
and tramping battalions which thronged the 
Bapaume road. 

.i\-ii;A IN KHAKI 

Page 86 

'ht- lower sky all round to east and 
lonli was continually stabbed with jets of 
flarne, so savagely intense that even the un- 
rlouded moonlight could not drown them. 
The windless air quivered and shrank under 
rhe shocks of our nearer guns — the 6-inch, 
;he 9.2's and the ii-inch high-nosing 
riants. It wailed or whined or whimpered to 
the soaring passage of the 

shells, as they streamed 

outwards toward the Ger- 
man lines. Every now 
and then the fierce wailing 
in the sky, instead of dying 
off into the distance, drew 
nearer, rose into a venom- 
ous scream, and ended 
with a nerve-shattering 
crash which jarred Albert 
to her deep cellars ; for the 
ruined town, being 
crowded with troops, was 
the object of ceaseless at- 
tention from the German 
batteries along the yet un- 
conquered heights of the 
Ancre. In the pauses of 
the bombardment would 
be heard, now and again, 
the waspish drone of an 
aeroplane questing and 
quartering the sky far 

But to all these outer 
sounds and befallings the 
packed spectators in the 
cinema - hall gave not a 
thought. They were en- 
grossed in the moving pic- 
tures which passed before 
them on the screen. And 
what were the pictures that 
could so rivet their atten- 
tion while swift death 
roared and screamed all 
about them? They were 
scenes of an earlier por- 
tion of the tremendous 
conflict going on even 
now just beyond their 
walls. For the film was the 

great battle-film of the fighting on the 

It was all theirs. The naked rises* swept 
with shell-bursts, the fire-scourged roads lead- 
ing straight into the hell of the locked 
struggle, the cratered and tortured rolling 
fields, the ghastly pale patches of wreckage 
which had been La Boiselle, Ovillers, Con- 

The Apparition : " 'Alas, my poor brother,' indeed 

By G. E. Studdy 


I'll learn 'em I " 

Page 66 


talmaison, the half-obliterated white lines of 
trenches for the capture of which the best 
blood of the Empire had been so lavishly and 
so splendidly outpoured — ^all this they knew 
to every hallowed acre of it. They had 
marched over it, endured over it, many of 
them fought over it. 

But now, here in the shadowed hall, they 
were getting really acquainted with the mag- 
nificence of their own achievement. They 
were learning to apprehend the Battle of the 
Somme. As he who is in the forest cannot 
see the forest for the trees, he who is in the 

thickest of the fight sees least of it as a whole. 
His senses are absorbed in the immediate de- 
tails which mean life or death to him, and 
what his fellows in the next ditch are doing 
he must take on faith. Here, however, before 
the flickering film, he feels himself on a watch- 
tower high above the gasping fury of the 
battle. He sees now what he looked like— and 
perhaps he remembers what he felt like — as 
he plunged forward with the attacking wave, 
and followed the barrage, and broke with red- 
dening bayonet into the German trenches.- 
As the film rolls on it grows more and more 
realistic; for as the pic- 
tured shell-bursts crowd 
upon the screen, the spec- 
tators not only see them 
but hear them. The walls 
of the hall are shaking 
under what seem to be 
those pictured explosions. 
And at any moment one 
of those great shells, in- 
stead of bursting on the 
crest of yonder ridge, may 
swoop down through the 
roof above their heads, 
and blow the whole audi- 
ence into eternity. It is 
not strange, therefore, if 
the breathing of the audi- 
ence grows deeper as the 
show goes on, and for 
some the line between pic- 
ture and reality becomes 
confused; for never before 
was pictured story 
brought to such close 
grips with life and death 
as in this turn in the 
cinema hall at ruined 
Albert on the Somme. 

By Geo. S. Dixon 
Recruit 'on sentry duty for the first time): "Who goes there?" 
Voce: "OfiBcer of the day." 
Recruit : "Then what are ye doing out at night?" 



In honour, chivalrous; 
In duty, valorous; 
In all things, noble ; 
To the heart's core, clean. 


Page 67 


By Pay 

Rocky Mountain Explorer: "Great Caesar! I had no idea there were such creatures 
in Canada ! " 

The Creature: "Well, I didn't draw this picture. You must blame it on Poy!" 

4— n 

Fage 68 




Author of "The Battle Glory of Canada' 

THE men at the front are becoming 
fatalists. They see a shell burst and kill 
perhaps two out of a little group of half a 
dozen and leave the other four unhurt — the 
wo hit not being close together, but one on 
he near side of the group and the other on 
the far. 

Frequent experiences of such wonderful 
escapes on the one side and such unaccount- 
able bad luck on the other have made them 
believe in destiny. They argue, "If that shell 
that is coming towards us is meant for 
me, it will have me anyway, and if it is 
not for me, I shan't get hit; so it's no good 

Having arrived at this conclusion, they 
ceaje to take much notice of bullets flying 
near them. To their own satisfaction they 
have solved the problem whether it is chance 
or luck, or what is variously called destiny, 
the finger of Providence, or Fate that decides 
what is to be their own particular lot in an 
engagement. They do not express their feel- 
ings quite in Swinburnian language, but 
when that master of musical diction wrote 
those beautiful lines : 

" Unto each man his fate. 
Unto each as He saith, 
In Whose fingers the weight 
Of the world is a breath," 

he summed up the soldiers' attitude to-day. 

In ordinary life, we are less prone to believe 
that our fate is mapped out for us, and are 
more inclined to talk of good or bad luck. 
But even with us at home there are times when 
the chain of events in our lives makes us think 
whether it is all just chance that brought them 

There is immense satisfaction when we 
feel that justice has at length been done, 
or a wrong righted after many years; and it 

is curious how strong and how common the 
belief is that injustice, or wrong done, will 
inevitably be righted some day. 

The following story, which seems to suggest 
this much-discussed problem, is absolutely 
true in all essentials, though if it formed part 
of a novelist's plot, it would be criticised as 
being so highly improbable as to demand too 
much credulity from the reader. The names 
in the narrative are for obvious reasons 

Some twenty-four years ago, Tom Richard- 
son, a young fellow not much more than a 
lad, left a little village in the South of 
England for Canada. He left his home not 
because he wished to seek adventures or a 
fortune in the New World, but because he 
was sore and bitter with life as he found it in 
his native village. , 

The 'trouble was a girl. One of the 
prettiest girls in the village was Mary Wells, 
and though there were several young men 
anxious to pay attentions to her, she would 
have nothing to do with any of them, for her 
heart was given to Tom Richardson. He was 
devoted to her, and they looked forward to 
being married when he was in a position to 
provide a home for her. 

But — it is the "buts" in life that change our 
whole outlook and make our futures very 
different from what we anticipated — in this 
case the course of true love, which is said 
never to run smoothly, quickly ran among the 

Mary's parents were ambitious for their 
handsome daughter, and Tom's prospects 
were not such as to make him in their eyes an 
acceptable suitor. Mary was forbidden to 
have any more to do with him ; and being 
very young, fond of her parents, and accus- 
tomed to obey them in everything, she gave 
way and said good-bye to Tom. He, deeming 
her compliance with her parents' wishes to 


Page 69 

mean that her love for him 
was not worthy of his 
whole-hearted love for her, 
left the village, angry and 
bitter with the world gen- 
erally and with a mean 
opinion of women's con- 

Nothing was heard of him 
again in the village. He 
dropped out of people's 
ken and was soon forgot- 
ten. In the meantime he 
had taken kindly to life in 
his adopted country, and, 
being steady and industri- 
ous, he became fairly pros- 
p e r o u s. But he never 
married. No other woman 
but Mary Wells had any 
attraction for him, and he 
was regarded as a con- 
firmed bachelor. 

^hen war broke out, 
Tom Richardson, like most 
of the old countrymen in 
Canada, enlisted, though, 
according to regulations in 
his country, he was over 
military age. He came to 
this country in due course, 
and then went with his unit 
to the front. While serv- 
ing there he, one day, 
found himself in the com- 
pany of a man who had 
come from his own native village. Of 
course, he asked after old friends, and by 
and by spoke of Mary Wells. His new 
companion, who seemed astonished that any- 
one who had belonged to the village had not 
heard of her, then told him the following 
story : 

Mary, many years ago, had married a man 
of the parents' choice, solely to please them, 
for she had no love for him. Her married life 
was most unhappy, and when a child was born 
of the marriage, her unhappiness became 
melancholic, and in an insane moment she 
killed the baby. Tried for murder and found 
to be insane, she was committed to » criminal 

By Thoma% Henry 

Short-sighted Old Dame: "Aye, it do seem wunnerful, Garge, a.< 
these men can fly over us for all the world like birds." 

lunatic asylum, where she had been ever 

Tom Richardson, when he heard of the 
terrible fate of the girl he had loved, and still 
loved, at once determined that when he got 
leave, he would go to the asylum and ask to 
be allowed to see her. He had already learnt 
from his new-found friend that Mary's hus- 
band had died some years ago, and that her 
parents were dead. 

He got leave a month or so after hearing all 
this sad story, and made his way at once to the 
asylum, where he was told that for some time 
Mary had been regarded as perfectly sane, 
and that recently she was to have been re- 

Page 70 


leased, but that she begged to be allowed to 
stay in the asylum, as she had no home to 
which to go. Like the caged bird, she had 
grown so accustomed to captivity that she 
had no desire for liberty. Richardson ex- 
plained his relations with Mary, and asked if 
he might see her. The doctor said that he did 
not think any harm would come of the meet- 
ing. "You shall see her quite alone," he said ; 
"I do not think that she will have any relapse 
through seeing you." 

Mary had already been told rtiat there was 
"someone" to see her, and had been con- 
ducted to a waiting-room, wondering who 
that someone could be. The door opened and 
in walked Tom. Without a moment's hesita- 
tion she flew into his arms. It might have 
been only yesterday that these two parted. 
For an hour they talked, and then Tom was 
told that it was time to go. Before he left he 
promised Mary that he would come back when 

he next got leave. After parting with her he 
saw the doctor again and told him that he 
wanted to marry Mary if she might be re- 
leased. It was then agreed that arrangements 
should be made for her release when he next 
came back from the front. 

So Tom went back to the front happier than 
he had been for years. Let us hope that he 
will get his leave soon and that he will be 
spared to return to his old sweetheart. Surely, 
after such a happy reunion after so many years 
of grief, nothing will happen to spoil the end 
of the story. The prospect of happiness 
held out to the poor woman who has been 
dead to the world for years seems like poetic 

We may each have our own opinion as 
to what it was that brought these two old 
lovers together again, but in Mary's mind 
there is no doubt whether it was chance oi 

S. R. D. 

(The mystic tetters sometimes seen on jars containing ram for soldiers.) 

There is a jar we love to see, 
Which bears the letters S.R.D.; 
Of all the rations in the cart, 
It's dearest to the soldier's heart. 

When e'er you're dreaming in a trench, 
And rains your weary limbs do drench. 
With what wild glee you hail the jar 
Which holds that nectar from afar. 

Let the old whizz-bangs shriek and roar. 
And Heine's H.E. o'er us pour. 
We reck them not, when we can see 
Those mystic letters, S.R.D. 

Old Omar in his palmy days 
Sang of his jug in Persian lays. 

And he'd sing more if he could see 
The jar that's labell'd S.R.D. 

So when you sit in chairs of ease, 
And drink your waters and your teas, 
Don't you worry, or yet get glum 
Because the "soldat " likes his rum. 

He doesn't get a healthy swig, 
For, be assured, his share's not big; 
But even so that little tot 
To us poor chaps means quite a lot. 

The prim old maids may agitate. 
And 'gainst rum sing a hymn of hate ; 
Let them rave on — for what care we ? 
We watch and wait for S.R.D. 

1. Gordon Smith, O.M.F.C. 


Page 71 

OF HoeS5.S . 

Ws/abili-tv to 
— WHLL, — ^?s/^rl.L■y,• 

^ COK1K)l£5IOM AT-' 


im AIR . Six -riM=S o«y^oF>)x , B=J=oR3. 

•T FSLI- To TH=. <;f30UMD , 
FICUR5.D 'T^^^ 

>Ni-r>tiN Two 




By Tom C.nlrell 

Page 72 



By MacMiehatl 



Oh, let me have a glimpse at you, my 

Invent'ry of Kit, 
My list of necessaries for a guy that's done 

his bit. 
I haven't got no Bible left, I haven't got no 

I haven't got no braces; my brushes, tooth, 

is lacking; 
I haven't got no blinkin' tin of min'ral jelly 

One only of my titles with its plate and pin's 

a fixture ; 
My housewife, who has stuck to me the whole 

of this campaign, 
Is positively empty and wants filling up 

again ; 
And here it's down in black and white on 

Form B two five three, 
I've almost got a whole trousseau a-comin' 

clear to me ! 

Here, just a whisper in your ear, my Invent'ry 

of Kit; 
I'm a very modest feller, but I've got to 

mention it : 
My flannel shirt is on the rocks, and I ain't 

got a cotton ; • 

As for my socks — well, I'm the gink that 

Sister Sue's forgotten; 
And I'm entitled to some trousers — serge — 

one pair, of Khaki, 
And here am I paradin' like a Caribbean 

And on my Sam, I tell you straight, altho' 

I guess it's rude. 
If the Guv'ment don't help soon, I'll be posin' 

in thp nude; 
Yes — moi qui parle — a hero of a half a dozen 

With an option on a wh61e layette if I could 

get my rights ! 



Now get a wriggle on you, plsiise, my 

Invent'ry of Kit, 
I can't believe you have at heart my real 

benefit ; 
As long as I've. my bayonet, my pull-through, 

and my rifle, 
Tho' I possess no puttees, it don't worry you 

a trifle; 
As long as my equipment's fixed with carriers 

or pouches, 
You do not give a tuppenny for my sartorial 

grouches ; 
As long as of accoutrements and arms I have 

my whack, 
You don't care if I have no vest, grey flannel, 

to my back ; ' 
I ought to be arrayed in all my pomp and 

Now the blinkin' lilies of the field have sure 

got one on me 1 

Page 73 

Driftin' away from common talk, my 

Invent'ry of Kit, 
I've got a heart that's been condemned, a 

soul that doesn't fit; 
I've got a line on higher things that's lost its 

true perspective, 
I've got a sense of humour that is cruelly 

non-effective ; 
I've got a brain that will not wbrk, a mind 

that- never grapples 
With facts (as once it used to do) for nuts or 

sour apples; 
All of those heav'nly gifts were once my 

private propertee. 
And now I have part-worn them in this 

blinkin' Infantree — 
Before I lose my self-respect, oh, do be 

Cover my awful nakedness — please — for the 

love of Mike 1 R. M. E. 


Oh, testimony to three blameless years 1 
Unsullied witness of avoided clink. 

And abstinence from those belated beers, 
That blacken to incriminating ink 

And mark the downward courses of careers I 

Proof negative that naught to me befel 

In rumpuses and wrongdoings and crime ; 
How thy blank lines of spurned temptation 
Thy virgin columns of the place and time 
Where nothing happened when it might have 

If I committed fault the spot's not mapped. 
Nor is the date I did it calendared ; 

No witnesses were present an it happed, 
No punishment awarded an I erred. 

The incident with no "remarks" is capped. 

Oh, resum^ of righteousness unwrit. 
Oh, happy tale of heeded p's and q's; 

Gaze on those unfilled spaces and admit 
The speechless proof how nobly did I choose 

Strictly and soberly to do my bit. 

Oh, count me not a hypocrite and smug 

Because I have tiptoed the paths of sin. 
Nor turned when tempters gave my sleeve a 


Often less brave a "mention" 'tis to win 
Than pass the bottle and escape the jug. 

Record of rectitude ! Her marriage lines 
Were not more treasured by the cast-off 

Nor by the saint the halo that defines 
The spice of sanctity in which he died, 

Than thee on whom my untold virtue shines. 

The characters that plain good cooks present, 
The reference the sober butler brings 

In answer to the Times advertisement; 
How much more true of honest virtue rings 

My conduct sheet of stain all innocent. 

When it's in Orders, and my turn I wait 

To be paraded 'fore the O. i/c, 
And halt at ease outside the seventh gate, 
"If you've done little right," they'll say 
to me, 
"Pass — you've done nothing wrong at any 
rate." R. M. E. 

Page 74 



(According to the artists, and according to fact) 


Page 75 

' How'd that happen, chum — shrapnel ? ' 

By A. E. Horn* 




The Famous Canadian War Correspondent 

ON Christmas Day, 1914, the British and 
Germans, after months of fierce fight- 
ing, fraternised freely. The spirit of Christ- 
mas was 100 strong for the spirit of war. 
Both sides met together between the lines. 
They exchanged drinks, joined in mutual 
choruses, shook each other by the hand and 
offered each other smokes. It was one of 
the most ironic and one of the most human 
touches of this great war. 

On Christmas Day, J915, there was very 
little commingling. Bitter memories acted 
as a barrier, memories of murdered wounded, 
memories of tortured prisoners, memories of 
poison gas. Strict orders had been issued 
from Headquarters that there was to be no 
rapprochement. According to the accoun"= 

published immediately afterwards this order 
was strictly obeyed. But as a matter of fact, 
here and there men did exchange greetings 
in half-hearted manner. They sat openly 
on the trenches, chaffing one another. A 
waiter from Montreal serving in a German 
regiment shouted inquiries after some old 
friends. Grim jokes were hurled from side 
to side until the Company officers, uneasy 
lest treachery might be intended, ordered the 
men down again. 

.On Christmas Day, 1916, Canadians and 
Germans remained strictly apart. The time 
for even half-hearted Christmas greeting had 
gone by. Along most of our line the order 
was issued that if the Germans did nothing, 
we would do nothing; if the German guns 

Page 76 


did not fire, we would not fire either. Even 
this regulation, however, was not universal, 
for, at one point of the line an enterprising 
Nova Scotian battalion had a raid in the 
early morning, and brought back a little 
bunch of German prisoners. "We knew they 
wouldn't expect us, so we paid them a sur- 
prise visit," my old friend the Major in 
charge told me. And a very successful sur- 
prise visit, too. At another point the Germans 
occupied themselves in the afternoon by 
throwing "rum jars" on our front trenches. 
But, generally speaking, actual fighting 
ceased from daylight to dusk on the anni- 
versary of the birth of the Prince of Peace. 

The weather had been abominable, rain, 
sleet and snow. The countryside, far behind 
the lines, was a picture of dreary desolation. 
Parsing through the quiet French villages to 
the rear, I came at noon to a village where 
two battalions were resting, straight from the 
trenches. They had had a hard time, and 
only two days before they had marched back 
to the village almost worn out. But two days 
do a lot. They had washed the mud off their 
faces and scraped some of it off their clothes. 
They had had a good long sleep, and they 
were ready for all the fun of the day. 

Christmas began with church services. 
Our Anglican padre held an early communion 
service in the foremost dug-out. Church 
service over, every man's mind turned to 
Christmas dinner. The officers had sent out 
scouts for days before to buy up turkeys and 
all the good things available. Many of the 
Christmas parcels from home had not arrived. 
The Santa Claus ship had gone aground 
right in the entrance of Boulogne Harbour, 
blocking the passage way. Most of the 
Christmas letters and messages from home 
were not yet to hand. 

The French village in which we were stay- 
ing was typical of its kind. It consisted 
mainly of several large farms, each con- 
structed on the good old plan of the midden 
and the dung heap in the courtyard ; of ponds 
that were virtually cesspools just by, and 
of the farmhouse and farm buildings built 
around. These barns had been taken over 
by the Army. Their long attics were turned 
into dormitories. They were very dark, for 

there were no windows and the only illu- 
mination came from faint candles. They 
were very draughty, for the tiles were loosely 
laid, with no under covering, so that the 
wind and the rain beat and poured through. 
On either side of the roof were the roughly 
made bunks. In the centre was a long table. 
Outside, in the passage way, the cooks stood 
with their great tins and monster baking 
dishes full of cut up turkey and bacon, 
dishes of boiled corn, potatoes and green- 
stuffs, apple sauce and gravy. 

The men filed along, holding their tin 
canteens in their hands. As they passed, the 
canteens were heaped up with turkey, vege- 
tables and savouries, all in one great pile. 
One wise man had obtained a wash-hand 
basin. He was greeted with a roar of 
laughter, but it enabled his food to be well 
spread out. It is impossible on active service 
to carry plates. An attempt had been made to 
secure paper plates for that day, but it failed. 
However, no one was in a mood to grumble. 
After a man has had a spell in the trenches, 
a dinner of turkey and sweet corn with plum 
pudding to follow sounds so good that he 
cares nothing about the way it is served. 

Outside in the yard, another Company, 
housed on the lower floors, was being served 
from its travelling kitchen. Every face wore 
a happy grin. "Gee!" said. one boy, "all I 
want is for Christmas to come twice a week." 
A young McGill man was opening with 
hearty goodwill a big case that had arrived 
from England in time. It contained smokes 
and other good things for every man. 

At each point the Colonel tasted the food 
in orthodox fashion and wished one and all 
".'\ Merry Christmas." "Men," he said, 
"may this be the last Christmas in the 
trenches. May our job be done and well 
done before next Christmas comes round, 
and may we share it with our own loved ones 
at home." There was a sudden response, a 
stir as though a wave of emotion had swept 
•over the crowd. 

He railed on me to say a word. I have 
spoken to many assemblies in many lands, 
from vast mobs of striking Eastern European 
miners In Pennsylvanian coalfields to the se- 
lect audience of a Royal Society in London. 

Iliirili r ill nifiii hif I. II III. ('. II. Hiiniiiiil. (l.M.I'.i 


Page 77 

But as I looked in front of 
me at the cheering soldiers, 
with their worn, weather- 
beaten faces, their trench- 
stained garments, their air 
of resolution, endurance 
and confidence, I felt that 
this was no moment for 
oratory. For a few brief 
seconds I told them of the 
messages the dear ones at 
home had sent through me 
to them. "What word 
shall I send back?" I 
asked. "Shall I say that 
to-day your hearts are with 
them and that you are 
dwelling on the memories 
of the old folk, and the 
waiting wife?" "You bet 
your life I " shouted one 
man from the corner. 
There was no need for me 
to say more, and I would 
have found it difficult to 
go on. 

I am tired of the conven- 
tion which always repre- 
sents the soldier at the 
front with a grin on his 
face. Of course, he makes 
a brave show of it; of 
course, he keeps a speci- 
ally stiff upper lip when 
visitors are by. Yet the 
life of the man in the 
fighting lines is any- 
thing but a time of laughter. It is a life 
where human energy is taxed to the full. It 
is a life with its hours of great loneliness, its 
constant spells of almost incredible endur- 
ance. That it has its splendid compensations 
no one would deny, the soldier least of all. 
But it would be well if the civilian could 
sometimes realise more its hardness and the 
supreme test of body and soul that it involves. 

In the village itself there were notices up 
about Christmas entertainments. At 2 p.m. 
there was to be a Band Concert; at 2.45 
there was a show in the Cinema Hall, led 
by Captain Plunkett and a quartet. The 

By A. Moreland 
Tommy: "I think you'd better walk sideways, Fritz, or youll 
be too much for my sense of humour" 

Scots — trust them for that — were not ne- 
glected, and Captain W. A. Cameron, of 
Toronto, was going to lecture on "An Hour 
wi' Burns." The sun had now come out. I 
could not stay to see the afternoon in the 
villages, for I was already due in the 
trenches. The communicating lines up to the 
front were very long at this point. At first 
they were well laid with bath mats, but as 
one got near the front, the mud grew thicker 
and thicker. Darkness was already creeping 
in by the time we reached the Colonel's dug- 
out. He was just having tea, and he opened 
as a Christmas treat a little packet of short- 

Page 78 


bread. You cannot get Christmas fare in the 
front lines, whatever imaginative chroniclers 
may say. He was in the best of spirits, for 
only a few days before his battalion had con- 
ducted a successful raid against the enemy. 
He told me the story aver again, how they 
had swept through the German lines, de- 
stroyed hundreds of yards of defences and 
come back in safety. Leaving him, I went 
on to the outposts. 

The mud was now almost impassable. 
"We had better not go round this way," said 
my guide. "Three men got stuck in here 
yesterday and had to be dug out. Let's try 
the other way." We passed by a detour out 
into No Man's Land. We were now wading 
through mud. Go as quickly as one could, 
it was impossible to avoid splashing. We 
slipped through our own wires; we moved 
along, crouching low. "We are just under 
the German wires now," my friend said. 
"Move a little to our left and we will come 
to our advance post." And there we found 
them. They were soaked, for they were 
standing almost up to their middles in mud. 
The parts of their clothes that were visible 
were all covered with mud. Their steel hel- 
mets were mud splashed; their gas helmets 
were wet. The clouds had gathered again, 
the rain was beginning to come on. But 
their bombs were dry and their rifles ready 
for business. They were listening intently. 
At any moment the enemy might be on them. 

Again I looked at them. I started to offer 
the conventional Christmas greeting, "A 
merry Christmas," but the words died away 
on my lips. It was quite dark by the time 
we left the front lines, and the journey back 
was by no means easy. Horses were to have 
been waiting for us when we got out of the 
communicating trenches, but, by some mis- 
understanding, they had not arrived. My 
companion made his way to a field telephone 
station and I waited outside. It was a 
strange Christmas evening. A bitterly cold 
wind was blowing. There was beating rain, 
hardening to sleet. All along an immense 
arc. away behind to the left, away behind to 
tht richt, away in front, great flares were 
consiJinily showing. These were the flares 
sent up on the enemy from, for the Germans 

were on three sides of wliere we now stood. 
This very road could be, aad was at times, 
swept by their guns from behind. From the 
distance there came the occasional sound of 
an exploding shell. Apart from that, the 
countryside seemed wrapped in the stillness 
of death. 

My companion came out and we walked 
on. The horses soon met us, and thea came 
a sharp ride through a heavy hailstorm to 
the officers' mess of a friendly battalion. We 
were much later than was expected. Christ- 
mas dinner was almost over, but our shares 
had been saved and kept hot. "Take those 
wet things off," said the Colonel, "and get 
warm. You have nothing to change? Well, 
come down in your pyjamas if you like, so 
long as you come." But the Major lent me 
a tunic, sorrteone lent me something else, and 
very soon I was sitting at the table. Every- 
one was in high spirits. The Brigade had 
done well in the fight during the last month. 
It was to do better still in the future. Big 
plans were ahead and victory was before us. 
There were the old toasts to be drunk, the 
old songs to be sung. And then we gathered 
our chairs around the fire and exchanged 
experiences of other days and other climes. 
But gazing in the firelight there came again 
before my mind the vision of the men I had 
been with a few hours before, standing even 
then in the sea of mud in No Man's Land, 
soaked, worn, half frozen — and yet ready. 

If the Kaiser were Kinii ! 


Page 79 


Hi !■ nsfathcr 

'Their Christmas don't seem to fall on the same day as ours, does it, Bert?" 

Page 80 



By A. Mor eland 

'Say it again, George dear; the guns are making such a noise that I didn't hear 


Page 81 

" Hello, Alf ! I thought you were right up the line.' 
" No, they sent me down here for a rest." 




(CANADIANS cannot look back over the 
^ past three years of world history without 
much fullness of heart and great depth of 
thought and feeling. None who have taken 
an active part in the great struggle can review 
the war without a multitude of reminiscences 
—some picturesque, some gay and bright, 
many fraught with sadness, but ail interest- 
ing and all tempered with the gratification that 
Canada in the freshness of her national youth 
has taken a high-souled part in the war. In 
the valour of her fighting men and the 
national sincerity of her people Canada stands 
always in the front rank. 

Of those who still remain of the first thirty- 
three thousand — Canada's counterpart of 
Britain's original E.xpeditonary Force — none 
will forget that majestic journey of the Cana- 
dian Expeditionary Force fleet across the 
Atlantic. Not many such transport fleet for- 
mations have been seen during the war, and 
none such are likely to be seen again as long 
as the war lasts. The activities of those busy 
little cruisers and the great stretch of the 
three long lines of ships, the large expanse of 
ocean covered, and the lights and shades of 
the glorious weather will never fade from the 
memories of those who witnessed them. 

Page 82 


Salisbury Plain came next, and it was 
almost as severe a trial as war itself. Cana- 
dians well earned the soubriquet "Mudlarks," 
and incidentally fought colds, influenza, sore 
throat, cerebro-spinal meningitis, and scores 
of other ills that flesh is heir to. But after 
that nightmare the mud of Flanders carried 
no threatening terrors for Canadians. As far 
as mud was concerned, they had experienced 
the superlative. Nothing in future could be 
worse. ' 

The first trenches entered by the Canadians 
were in the locality of Armenti^res and 
Ploegsteert. There they were distributed 
among some of the original British Expedi- 
tionary Force units which were holding the 
line at that point. They chatted under the 
silent stars with men whose units had fought 
brigades, whose brigades had fought divi- 
sions, and whose divisions had fought armies; 
and as they chatted they absorbed some of 
the spirit of those heroic veterans of the 
darker days in the campaign in 1914. 

Strange old days of war they seem now, ^ 
those days when no communication trenches 
existed, and reliefs and rations went in over- 
land under cover of the darkness. Pill-boxes 
and tunnelling companies were then unknown, 
and in most cases a single ditch formed what 
was called the front-line trench. The line of 
guns then was thin indeed. To some extent, 
perhaps, archaic drill-book ideas determined 
their distribution, but even when more had 
been asked for they were not forthcoming, 
for they had not been made. 

Next, the Canadian Division — at that time 
a mobile force sometimes belonging to one 
Army, sometimes to another — moved to the 
vicinity of Fleurbaix, Bac St. Maur and 
Sailly-sur-la-Lys, and some time in March, 
1915, the little gatherings in divisional and 
brigade messes drank a toast to "The Day" — 
the day Canadians first held a bit of the line 
all on their own. On that day the New World 
rejoined the Old, and henceforth Canadians 
were to be for ever linked in the chain of 
European history. 

Not long afterwards the Canadian Division 
supported the left flank in the attack on Neuve 
Chapelle, the fir^t big concentration of artil- 
lery in the war, a concentration so well 

planned and executed that it blew the enemy's 
front line trench out of existence, demoralised 
his line at that point, and resulted in the 
capture of a large number of prisoners and 
material. It was in that battle that Britain 
first used her newly designed 15-inch 

Then came a short period of rest, and the 
Canadian Division was moved to Ypres, 
where in the well-remembered second battle 
of that ill-fated place it earned undying fame. 
Then it moved to Givenchy and FestuBert, 
in the vicinity of Bethune, then back to 
Ploegsteert and Neuve Eglise. Meanwhile 
the Second Division arrived, and the Cana- 
dian Corps came into existence. For a long . 
time the two divisions valiantly held the line 
in the Ypres sector and portions to the south, 
such as Neuve Eglise and Ploegsteert Wood. 
The Third Division arrived a few months 
after the Second, and troops of each of the 
three divisions had their share of the fighting 
in front of Kemmel, at St. Eloi, at Hooge, 
at Sanctuary Wood and other points in the 
fatal salient. After its long service in Flan- 
ders it was with great joy that all ranks of 
the Canadian Corps in the late summer of 
1916 received orders to proceed to the Somme.' 
Just as -the Corps was leaving Ypres the 
Fourth Canadian Division arrived and took 
over a portion of the line. It rejoined the 
Corps later when it took over the Vimy 

The work of the Canadians on the Somme 
wrote mor^ glorious pagep of history for them, 
and culminated in the capture of Courcelette 
(when tanks were first used) and in the heroic 
defence of the territory beyond it. Moving 
with great facility, the British Divisions went 
in and out of the Somme valley; and the 
Canadian Corps' next duty was in the Loos 
and Vimy sectors, where, after, nine months' 
study of the positions, the Canadians, with 
the technical exactness of veterans and with 
unfailing valour, captured the ridge that for 
so long had dominated the British positions 
in the coalfields of France. Then followed 
persistent and heroic work about Lens, a 
position of tremendous technical difficulties, 
and in October, 1917, the Canadians found 
themselves again on the ground of their early 


Page 83 

sacrifices, the salient of Ypres, where they 
again distinguished themselves on the heights 
of Passchendaele. 

Ypres, Givenchy, Festubert, St. Eloi, Sanc- 
tuary Wood, Hooge, Courcelette, Vimy, 
Lens, Passchendaele — what prouder record 
could a military force desire? 

As an American paper said: "It is an 
epic which Homer might have been proud to 

The Canadian Corps, through its magni- 
ficent service, has made it a proud and hon- 
ourable thing to be called a Canadian. 

Canadians have gone forth to the war with 
fightheartedness and gaiety. In their con- 

versation and in their little trench journals 
they have carried into the battle line the terms 
of the Canadian mining camps, Canadian 
lumber woods, Canadian prairies, and the 
picturesque slang of city streets, of lacrosse 
fields, hockey rinks and baseball grounds. 
But in" England, in France, or at home they 
have never let their gaiety of heart turn them 
aside from a serious view of the war, its re- 
sponsibilities or its dangers, and Canada's 
recently accomplished Union Government and 
adoption of conscription bear incontestable 
pjoof of her determination to stay in the 
game to the finish and to let her full weight 
be felt to the end. 

By Thomas Htnrf 

A pathetic sketch frooi life 

Page 84 



Tale of a Newfoundland Skipper 

Author of " The House on the Borderland," " The Ghost Pirates," etc. 

YOU don't believe in miracles, don't you ? 
Well, I do, and I'll tell you ,hy, if 
you care to listen. A miracle happened to 
me this last October, out in the North Sea. 
Oh, I'm not telling you whereabout, nor 
where we were bound for; but I don't mind 
telling you we got the shock of our lives when 
a darned brute of a German submarine came 
alongside of us, shoved up a quick-firer out 
of a sort of hatch foreside of the conning- 
tower, and batted a shell bang across our 

Not being either a hero or a man-of-war, 
but just an average aggregate of flesh and 
blood and bones born and bred in the ways 
of common sense in the port of St. John's, 
Newfoundland, I rang the telegraph to stop, 
pretty smart; and when our way was off us, 
she slid alongside near enough to talk, and 
the officer in command, a snorty sort of 
person, sung out to me to lower our dinghy, 
with a couple of men, and pull across to her, 

" Do you want me ? " I asked. 

"Nol" he said in English good enough to 
go down anywhere. "Stay where you are, 
Cap'n, and keep order. If anyone starts any 
funny business, just understand I'll sink you 
before you can say your prayers. Be smart 
with that boat, I want it ! " 

Well, of course, I sent the boat, and she 
came back in about ten minutes with three 
thumping, greasy, great Germans, and a cute 
little dumpling of an officer, partly gold lace, 
and the rest bad manners and thirst. 

First thing he did was to go for the mani- 
fest, and the second was a bottle of "Black 
and White." The third thing was to start in 

Copyright in the United States of America. 

on my own special ,brand of cigars, and the 
fourth was to tell me to keep out of my own 
cabm! Suffering Jehoshaphat ! But the little 
brute was nearer Kingdom Come that same 
moment than ever he'll guess, till he gets 
there ! They say there's something in the 
blood of Newfoundlanders that makes it boil 
at the thought of the most tepid insult. Arid 
this wasn't an affront of the brand marked 
"extra mild." 

However, I kept the stopper on, and shoved 
my gear into the first mate's room, and he 
went into the second's and pushed poor old 
Welby into the bottom bunk. I felt sorry 
for Welby, but I guess we all had our 
troubles ! 

They were busy all day — the German 
thieves, I mean — carting stuff across in the 
boat. They took charge entirely, and I was 
told if I showed on deck they'd shove day- 
light through me. The same with the two 
mates. And I understood from the steward, 
who was allowed to go along the decks to 
the galley, that the men had been told to keep 
in the fo'c'sle. 

I couldn't quite twig what the whole game 
was. It was something more than stocking 
their larder and filling up with oil from the 
engineers' store-room. They kept us going 
at about quarter speed, I judge, and from the 
tell-tale in the saloon I could see they'd 
altered the course a couple of points more to 
the norrard. There was something ugly in 
view, and I'd have given a whole lot to shove 
a spoke in their wh^l and mess up their little 

Well, after thinking it over I began to get 
the beginnings of a plan in the back of my 
mind that would start something on the 

r.lV t/>,l IX K II Ah' I 

rape 85 

/;v (_ ii.i.-. fears 

"It came for us. Then 'cr-rash' again, and the whole top of the engine-room skylight seemed to fly 

up in a shower of glass splinters" 

"A Fight with a Submarine" 


Page 86 



There is no such thing as a gloomy Canadian soldier. These snapshots, taken in the front 

line, should convert the worst pessimist 

Canadian Official Photographs 


Fage 87 

enemy, and I went to call the mate to talk 
things over with me. 

"Come into my room, Mister Belston," I 
said. "I've been thinking this confounded 
business over, and I've got an idea." 

The mate climbed out of the top bunk, 
and the second mate, Mister Welby, shoved 
his head out of the bottom one. 

"Not you, Mister Welby," I told him. "If 
we have a crowd in my room that fat German 
hog '11 get smelling seven kinds of rats, and 
that won't do. The mate will tell you what 
I've got to say when he comes back." 

I went back to my room, and the mate 
followed me in his shirt and trousers. 

And then, you know, I'd no more got the 
business opened up to Mister Belston when 
the steward knocked gently on the door and 
shoved his head in. 

"Sir, they're talking German. The sub- 
marine's right alongside, an' him " — he 
jerked his thumb over his shoulder to mean 
the officer who had been put in charge of my 
ship — "he's gassing back. I been listening 
through the pantry port-hole, only I don't 
know no German. You do, don't you, sir? 
It's dark in there, an' maybe you'd hear 

K-^mething as would be useful " 

Good man, steward," I said, interrupting 
him. "Get along and keep cave for me. 
Mister Belston, you stay here, quiet. I'll be 
back in a minute." 

I went across to the pantry, which was dark, 
and told the steward to get out and keep 
watch in the hood companionway, and let me 
know the moment he saw anyone coming 
along to come below. Then I shut myself 
into the pantry so that the light from the 
saloon would not show me through the port. 
After that I got close up to the port-hole, and 
started to listen for all I was worth. 

The submarine was lying within two 
fathoms of our side, and the conning-tower 
was almost level with my face. The night 
was absolutely still and calm, and I could 
hear every word. What was more to the 
point, I'd picked up enough German in my 
schooling days in St. John's to be able to 
understand all that was said; and what they 
were saying was just plain life and death to 
every man aboard, and to others as well, 
a— II 

Of all the cold-blooded brutes that ever 
sailed God's seas, they were the — well, judge 
for yourself, then you'll realise just how much 
chance any of us had got of being alive the 
following night, unless I could start in and 
work a small miracle. 


The officer in the mouth of the conning- 
tower did the bulk of the talking. He was 
the boss. What he said I can put briefly. 
Here's the point. They were planning to 
use the old Narcissus as a stalking-horse. 
They'd got inside information from some 
darned traitor who traded into Hartlepool, 
so it seemed, and was the mate of a small 
coaling steamer in the Dutch trade. He gets 
hold of information from a German bum 
"agency" ashore, and peddles it round to. 
those beggars on the trip to Holland. My 
oath ! I swore if ever I came out alive 
there'd be a new mate to that steamer, and 
he'd make a hole in the sea just big enough 
to hold him through Eternity ! 

They'd got the news from this chap that 
a Battle Squadron was going North, and they 
were aiming to take my ship right across their 
track and lie hid under our lee until the 
squadron was quite close up to us. Then 
they were going to slip out and bust off all 
the torpedoes they'd got into the middle of the 
fleet; and they reckoned they were absolutely 
certain to get at least a couple of our Dread- 
noughts. They simply gloated about it, until 
I was ready to let loose with my automatic 
and make one less, at any rate, of that little 
lot. And then came the final thing — the 

limit The it of German milk of human 

kindness and decency ! 

Listen ! As soon as the English Battle 
Fleet was sighted, we were to be shot, so as 
to ensure that there would be no danger of 
our giving any sort of warning signal at the 
crucial moment. Wasn't that just German I 
Efficiency gone mad ! And, as all extremes 
are bound to do, defeating its own ends; for 
that last detail, when I told it to the mates, 
made them ready to go right slam down into 
hell and pluck the Kaiser himself by the 
moustache out of the biggest pot of brim- 
stone there. I guess when men know they've 
got to die they ain't exactly particular what 
risks they run to get a chance of living and 

Page 88 


American : " A darned good suit, but not gas-tight. 

By K. H. Broc^ 

getting even. That may be Irish ; but, by the 
Lord, it's like a lot of Irishisms I've heard 
from Paddys toiling in the mists on the Great 
Newfoundland Banks; it's plain sense! 

Of course, all this fresh news altered my 
half-cooked plans, and I just loaded the mate 
up with all I'd learnt, and sent him back into 
his room to prime the second mate, and make 
him as ready for murder and sudden death 
as the two of us were already 1 

Well, we held a War Council later and 
settled something that meant quick death or 
sudden delivery for the whole lot of us. 

First of all I told the steward to keep on 
the watch, and to start coughing the moment 
he heard anyone coming. Then I went over 
the whole plan again, and told the mates 
exactly what to do. 

They were to lash me up in my bunk and 
gag me. As soon as I heard the other 
officer come below with the man who seemed 
always to attend him wherever he went, I 

would groan in such a way as to call their 
attention. They'd come to see what was the 
matter, and the two mates who would be 
waiting were to bash them on the head with 
a couple of bootjacks (excellent "bashers" 
are bootjacks too !) and tie them up. The 
bashing was not meant to break anything, 
but just to daze them a bit and make them 
easy to handle. 

Then they would haul the dinghy alongside, 
shove some grub and water mto her, and 
take the German officer and one or two of his 
men and "get." 

"You see," I finished up, "the submarine 
will be bound to go searching for you as soon 
as she finds you're gone; otherwise, if you 
get ashoie with your men, or reach a patrol, 
it'll be all U.P. with her little plan to use us 
to stalk our ships. And while she's gone, why 
I guess we'll coax our old engines to take us 
away out of this before she gets back. And 
she'll never sink us before going, because 


Page 89 

she'll look to catch you and be back in three 
or four hours, and if we're sunk, well, we'd 
be no use as a stalking-horse — eh?" 

The whole thing worked excellently next 
day. I heard the officer and his companion 
(a sort of senior seaman, I fancy, who was 
apparently dry-nursing him 1) come down 
into the saloon. Then I groaned, and I heard 
them stand a moment to listen. I groaned 
again, and they came to my cabin door which 
was opened and looked in over each other's 
shoulder, as you might say. 

"Mein Gott 1 " said the officer. 

"Mein Gott! " said the man. Then I saw 
my two mates behind them, and the two boot- 
jacks got in a useful thump apiece on their 
thick German heads. 

Exactly ten minutes later the two of them 
were lashed up solidly and gagged, and laid 
on the floor of my cabin to groan in unison • 
with me. We all groaned. 

My two mates and the steward went on 
deck in search for the two other men. One 
was at the wheel, and the other was sleeping 
in my chart'-house. Both got bashed, and 
lashed up and gagged. Then the second 
mate took the wheel, while the mate went 
forrard and routed out a man to steer, whilst 
he and the second mate got busy on other 

The dinghy was towing astern. They hauled 
her up quietly and shoved Armours' tinned 
beef, water, whisky, hard biscuit, Dutch 
cheese and other etceteras into her. Then 
they came below and carried the German 
officer on deck and lowered him quietly into 
the dinghy. They collared also the two Ger- 
man sailormen and lowered them on top of 
their officer. 

Then they came down and told me 
that they were going, and just how many 
sorts of a fool I had been to refuse to come 
with them and to threaten to prevent them 
from leaving the ship. They said they would 
steer west-sou '-west, which should take them 
into the Firth, and there hand their prisoners 
over and start a warship off to us. After 
that they elevated thumbs of insolence to their 
separate noses and therewith departed, leav- 
ing the German leading seaman on the floor 
of the cabin to keep me company. 

Seven hours and a half later the people in 
the submarine came aboard. They must have 
smelled a rat. Perhaps they hailed us and 
got no answer; and then, when they sang 
out for the dinghy, well, there was no dinghy. 
Result, I guess they came right in alongside 
of us, and shoved half a dozen men aboard 
with rifles. 

When they found the German leading 
seaman and me they cut us both loose, and 
then started to rough-house me ; but the Ger- 
man who had been lying on my cabin floor 
explained all he knew, and they had no excuse 
to keep on taking it out of me. All the same, 
they were pretty beastly I I guess it's just in 
the blood, and they can't help it. 

Well, as soon as they'd got all the detail* 
they put a hustle on. They shoved a handy- 
billy tackle down through the engine-room 
skylight, and what do you think the cunning 
devils did I They lifted off the lead of the 
high-pressure cylinder and lowered it aboard 
their own craft. 

" Good Lord ! " I thought to myself, " that 
snuffs out the cut-and-run plan ! " But 
naturally I said nothing. 

They weren't more than half an hour on 
this job, and after that they rummaged the 
flag locker and took every bit of our bunting. 
It was pretty plain that they meant that we 
should have no chance to fly signals during 
the few hours they expected to be away in 
chase of the boat. I got hoping that these 
signs meant they would leave no one aboard 
on guard; but I soon saw I was mistakeii; 
for after holding a bit of a pow-wow on my 
poop the commanding officer cleared off and 
left two armed Germans aboard under the 
control of the man who had been lying on 
the floor of my cabin. 

"Cap'n," sang out the Commander of the 
submarine, after he'd got aboard his own 
craft again, "I'm trusting you to keep order 
while I'm gone. If you don't, well, my men 
know what to do, and there'll not be one of 
you left alive by the time I get back. So, I'd 
be wise, if I were you, Cap'n." 

"I'll be wise, right enough," I told him. 
" I guess wisdom's best policy just now 1 " 

"At a premium, Cap'n," he said, and 
called down the speaking-tube to go ahead. 

Pare 90 


I could hear him laughing for a minute after- 
wards as the submarine glided like a fish 
into the darkness. 

I leant over the poop rail and watched her 
for a bit. She was evidently not going more 
than half speed, and I guessed the German 
officer was anxious not to get loo far before 
daylight lest he should overshoot the boat 
in the dark. 

You see, he'd got the course the boat 
would steer from the German sailorman 
who had been on the floor of my cabin when 
my two mates made so many unnecessary 
explanations ! 

I grinned to myself; but all the same, I was 
deuced anxious; for unless I could bottle up 
those three armed Germans, and unless Mac 
could see some way to do the impossible, and 
unless I could carry out another notion or 
two of mine, why, I couldn't see anything 
but a mess, and a bad mess, inside the next 
twelve hours or so, with good-bye to all hopes 
of ever seeing the good port of St. John's again 
at the end of it. For whether the submarine 
found the boat or not we could expect her 
back before the day was half through. You 
see, she'd never miss a chance to get her 
torpedoes off at the ships she was laying 

Anyway, the first problem was how to get 
rid of those three big Germans. 

Six hours later I went on deck, but the 
leading seaman person wanted to show he 
was Lord of Creation and ordered me below 
without bothering to be polite about it. And 
because I didn't exactly jump to do his bid- 
ding he gave me a poke in the ribs with the 
butt of his rifle just to make his meaning 
clear. It was ! And I went ! 

In a way I was rather pleased. I felt more 
like killing a man or two than I did. I never 
was much good at the cold-blooded act. But 
now I Well, you try a German rifle-butt in 
your ribs if you want the edge taken off some 
of your finer scruples ! It's effective ! 

I sat a bit in the saloon and smoked, then 
I thought I would risk going through the 
alleyway to Mac's room and have a word 
with him. When I got there, however, Mac 
was not in his bunk, and I knew he must be 
down in the engine-room. So I thought 

I'd risk a bit more and follow him there. 
I did. 

But on the fiddley I stopped; for things 
were happening, right there before me. 

Mac was up at the open head of the high- 
pressure cylinder, with his rule and a pair of 
dividers in one hand and a piece of ch;jlk 
in the other. At the moment, however, he 
vyas not taking measurements, but lookitig up 
at the engine-room skyliglit. As I looked 
up also I heard someone say from the engine- 
room below : 

"Vat yoous do mit dat cylingder. (iome 
away dis von momengt, or tead I shood 
yoous ! " 

"Two of *em, begowb ! " I heard Mac mut- 
ter as he stared down now into the engine- 
room below. 

There were certainly two of them I One, 
the leading seaman, with his head shoved in 
under the leaf of the open skylight, and the 
other, a big brute, who must have gone down 
the engine-room stairway and entered through 
the stokehold doorway. 

"Get away from that cylinder," said the 
German in the skylight, speaking such perfect 
enough English, or rather American, that it 
seemed to carry me straight back home. "Get 
away right now, or I'll sure lead you up solid 
so you'd sink a thousand miles. I will, by 
Josh I " 

He began to pass his rifle in through the 
opening of the skylight; and right then Mac 

"Ye'll do phwatl" he said; for he's an 
Irish Mac, not a Scottie. "Ye'll do phwat ! ' 

He said never another word, but let fly 
with one of the big holding-down nuts from 
the cylinder-head. The nut took the German 
in the chest with a thump like a drum, and 
the man went white and gasped a moment. 
Then, deliberately, and before I could con- 
ceive he would really do such a thing, he 
shot poor old Mac through the tniddle of his 
forehead, and Mac flopped a moment soft 
and quiet over the edge of the cylinder. Then 
rolled with a dull, sickening thump to the 
floor of the engine-room. 

Then I was awake, as you might say. 
There's one thing in favour of an automatic, 
it's quicker in the, change-speed gear, and I 


Page 91 


.•%....-v . 

ini>iiin« ^ 

A billet known as "Our Flat," just behind the Lines 

Canadian Official Photographs 

Paqr 92 



Not a house escaped the enemy's shell 

The wreck of what once were quiet homes 

The Grand Place was the most stately spot in France's beautiful old city 


Broken shell of the Cathedral's glory 

Only ruins remain of the Hotel de Ville 

Canadian Official Photographs 


Pape 93 

drilled the German's forehead with two 38 
holes, one above each eye — one for payment 
and the other for good measure. 

He hung there, dead ; half of him one side 
of the skylight-coaming, and the other half 
the other. But I'd no time to think about 
him; for something split away a great piece 
out of the peak of my cap, and the same 
moment the engine-room loomed again to a 
rifle-shot. The German down below had 
loosed off at me. 

However, I'd no need to bother about him. 
The second engineer and two of the stokers 
got him on the run, and what they did to. 
him was sufficient and a bit over. Only, of 
course, Mac was a good boss and well liked, 
and I can't say / blame them. 

I heard someone running along the after 
well-deck then, and I stepped out with my 
automatic in my fist. It was the third Ger- 
man, and the moment he saw me with the 

automatic in my hand he let drive. So did 
I. It was a draw, I should fancy, for we both 
missed ! 

Before he could work the bolt I let drive 
again, and got him through the right fore- 
arm. But he was plucky, right enough. He 
snapped the bolt back and forward and fired 
from his hip. The bullet took away the whole 
of my right coat-pocket without touching me. 
It's queer what tricks a bullet will play at 

I fired again, and got him in the left Hand, 
and at that he ran all the way aft to the poop, 
crying aloud with the pain of it. I was 
sorry for the beggar; but he was still dan- 
gerous, for he had taken his ride with him ; 
and the next thing I knew, he snapped oflF a 
shot at me from behind one of the after 

He missed me by a mile. I guessed he 
was shaking too much, and I felt he couldn't 

By 0<nn Av<\ 


Fancy sketch of a meeting of educated savages to emphatically object to the libcllnm •*atemcnt 

that Hun outrages are acts of primitive savages. 

Page 94 


hit me now, except by a fluke; so I just 
rushed him, for 1 was sick of the killing, 
though I knew the brutes would not have 
hesitated to shoot the whole crowd if we 
hadn't got them going right from the first. 

He managed another shot as I ran at him, 
which was the best he made, for it nicked 
the left side of my neck, and I bled like a 
pig; but it was nothing more than a shallow 
gouge; and the following instant I'd taken 
the rifle from him and was sitting on his 

Afterwards I whistled for the steward, and 
the two of us bandaged him up and carried 
him down ' and locked him in the spare 
cabin on the starboard side. Then I got 

I had poor old Mac put in his berth, and 
the two Germans were shoved on the fore- 
hatch under some canvas. Then I went for 
the second and third engineers and told them 
what I wanted doing. 

It seems there is an old high-pressure cover 
in the store-room that has been there for 
many a voyage, and Mac had been planning 
to make a try at fitting it on in place of the 
other, so that we could get up steam and 
be away before the submarine returned. 

■We got the cover out of the store-room, and 
while the engineers tried it for the fit, I had 
all my deck hands running around on a 
special job of my own. The old packet 
fairly hummed with energy let loose, 

" Well ? " I asked a bit later when I went 
back to the engine-room. "How is it, you 
two ? Can it be made to fit ? " 

"Yes, sir," said the second. "All the bolt 
holes don't come into the same places, and 
we'll have to drill four new ones, and we'll 
have to pack her up, but I reckon we can do 
it, only it'll take time." 

I nodded, and Ifeft them to get at it; for 
they are good men, both of them, and I knew 
they'd do their darndest. But, as you can 
guess, I was as anxious as a maggot on a 
hot brick. However, I'd business of my own 
to do, and I did it, and between whiles I paid 
visits to the engine-room, and I'll own to a 
prayer or two; for there would be no sort of 
mercy shown us once the submarine came 
back, as I jolly well knew. 

Two hours passed, and I'd paid three 
visits to the engine-room. The donkey-man 
and two stokers were taking one-minute 
spells at a geared hand-drill which the two 
engineers were tending in a pretty earnest 
sort of way. 

The fourth time I went they'd got the four 
holes drilled out by hand, and a weary job 
it had been with the poor tools they'd 
got, and the cylinder cover, of course, prov- 
ing to be extra hard stuff, just for sheer 

The sixth time I went along aU hands were 
busy, working like madmen, with sheet 
copper and cold chisels cutting out packing 
to raise the cylinder head which was not 
enough domed to give sufficient clearance to 
the newer-pattern piston. 

"Mister Melbray," I said to the second en- 
gineer, "it's four hours and twenty minutes 
since that darned submarine went away look- 
ing for the dinghy. I guess we can look for 
her back any time inside the next hour or so ; 
an' if she finds us here like this it'll be 
bye-bye for all of us. How long do you 
reckon you'll be now before you can put 
steam through your gadgets?" 

"Another half-hour, maybe, Cap'n," he 
told me; "an' even then, it's God help us, 
I'm thinking, if we can't make a good steam- 
tight job of this. She'll have to do all she , 
knows to get anywhere before that darned 
submarine be on top of us, if we don't get 
shifting before she gets near us. What do 
you reckon those U submarines can do on the 
surface, sir?" 

"The Lord knows," I told him. "No one 
knows, really; but I understand they're sup- 
posed to run up to fifteen knots in fine 
weather, that is." 

He shrugged his shoulders in a sort of 
hopeless fashion, but he never stopped work- 
ing for a moment. 

"Give us another twenty or thirty minutes, 
Cap'n," he said at last. "I'll try her then; 
and I guess we'll blow something adrift 
before we let them come up on us." 

I went away again. I had sent a man aloft 
to keep a look out all round, but there were 
BO signs of the submarine ; though, as a bit 
of a breeze had sprung up, she wouldn't 


Page 95 

be SO easy to see in the broken water if 
she were running with only her periscope 

I walked the poop, pretty anxiously for the 
next ten minutes; then I got more philo- 
sophical, and decided the whole job wasn't 
worth indigestion. So I came below and had 
a smoke. At the end of the half-hour I 
walked forrard to the engine-room and shoved 
my head in the skylight. 

"Well?" I asked. 

"Just going to put the steam through her, 
Cap'n," said the second engineer. 

He was sweating, and he and the third 
engineer and the donkey-man were heaving 
away pretty fierce on a four-foot spanner, 
compressing the sheets of copper packing to ' 
a steam-tight "consistency." 

And then, from my man aloft, came the 
yelp of : 

"Submarine on the port beam, sir 1 Sub- 
marine on the p6rt beam. She's dead on the 
beam, sir; about four miles off, I reck'n. 
. . . She ain't got the boat! " He yelled 
that out with triumph. Then, in a different 
voice : " 'Less they've sunk her ! " 

"That's all right, my lad I " I said to my- 
self. "Don't worry! " 

You see, when the two mates explained 
their proposed course with such exact detail 
in my cabin, well — they were remembering 
that they were going to l^ave one German 
behind just for the one purpose of passing 
on that bit of information. I need hardly 
say that the boat steered a very different 
course indeed 1 That would have been on^ 
comfort whatever else happened. 

I shoved my head in the engine-room 
again to see how they were managing. As 
I did so the engine began to turn over slowly. 
The third was at the main steam-valve giv- 
ing her steam gently, and the second and 
the donkey-man were standing anxiously by 
the high-pressure to see how the packing 
held the steam. It held fine, and the second 
grinned up at me as pleased as Punch. 

"Good man," I said, and pulled out my 
head and bellowed for a m^n to go to the 
wheel ; for the old Narcissus had started to 
forge slowly ahead. 

I went to the side and grinned down like 

a delighted maniac at the water moving past 
our side as our speed increased. Then there 
was a yell from the man aloft. 

"They'm shootin', sir I They'm shoot- 
in' 1 " 

As he yelled I heard the scream of a high- 
velocity shell from the submarine's si.\- 
pounder, and cr-rash, a regular hole was bust 
in our steel bulwarks on the port side about 
thirty feet foreside of me, for the shell struck 
there and, burst, the bits cracking and 
thudding viciously all over the place. I 
should never have imagined that six pounds 
of iron would have gone so far in the spread- 
ing line. It sounded like half a hundred- 

No one was hurt, and I made one jump for 
the bridge and rang the telephone for full 
speed ahead. 

"Shove your helm over hard-a-port I " I 
shouted at the man at the wheel. 

As the old Narcissus started to pay off I 
saw a flash aboard the submarine, now about 
two and a half miles away, or perhaps a bit 
less. And then, almost in the same instant, 
the queer, beastly "meeee" whine of the 
high-velocity shell crowding the wide miles 
into a couple of seconds. "Meee-owww," it 
went, changing its note in a queer fashion as 
it came for us. Then "cr-rash" again, and 
the whole top of the engine-room skylight 
seemed to fly up in a shower of glass 

I grabbed the speaking-tube to the engine- 

" Anyone hurt ? " I called. 

After a few moments the third engineer's 
voice answered : 

" It got the, second, sir. He's dead. The 
engine's all right, though," he said. He 
sounded calm enough, and I sent a man for 
the steward to go down the engine-room and 
see if the second was quite knocked out. 
Then I turned and looked for the sub- 
marine again. She was right astern now and 
seemed to be gaining only slowly. As I 
stared I saw the flash of the gun again, and 
then once more came the beastly whine of 
the shell. 

" Bang ! " it struck the middle steel bridge- 
stanchion which supports the centre of the 

Page 9« 


By Tom Arthur 

Professional Guardian of the Peace (who knows where the sergeant is): "Evening, gentlemen. 

Nasty night for your job." 

bridge. This is a stout three-inch stanchion 
of solid steel. The shell gouged away a piece 
as easily as if it had been putty and burst 
with a stunning crash directly under the 
bridge. Two of the middle planks were blown 
up on end, and in three places fragments of 
shell struck clean up through the deck of the 
bridge penetrating right through the heavy 
planks. One of these fragments killed the 
man at the wheel, and I jumped to steady the 
helm, while I sung out for another man to 
come aft. 

I looked round with a feeling of despair. 
The whole sea was empty of shipping from 
horizon to horizon, and I didn't pretend to 
hide the fact that nothing short of a miracle 
could save us; for the German wasn't out to 
coddle us, I could bet on that ! 

The steward came up on the bridge and 
reported that the second engineer was head- 
less and therefore unmistakably dead. I told 
him to give a hand to carry the dead helms- 
man down on to the main deck hatch, and 
then bring a flag and cover him. I guessed 

we'd be gone inside twenty minutes; but we 
might as well be decent. 

1 was just beginning to get sentimental 
over the old folks at home and saying a last 
farewell, as it were, to all my pals in New- 
foundland I should never see again, when I 
caught suddenly the " meeee " scream of 
another shell coming. " Meeee-oww, cr-rash I " 
... It ripped a monstrous great chunk out 
of the funnel, about half of it; and it seemed 
to me I felt our speed drop right then in that 
same moment. 

Then one, two, thuee, four . . . one after 
the other they loosed oflf at us as fast as, they 
could work the quick-firer. The air seemed 
one whining scream as the four shells came 
"Cr-rash ! Cr-rash ! Cr-rash I Cr-rash I " The 
rest of the funnel vanished. The wheel, and 
the man at it, v^ent in a flying cloud of spokes 
and torn flesh and clothing, and the after 
mast was punched clean through, and the 
chart-house was wrecked. My steward was 
wounded, and I saw one of the deck boys 
limping along the main deck. 


Page 97 


Canadians dug up the money which the officials r^i the recovered town had hidden two years 
before when they were compelled to fly before the enemy 

1 i.e Alderman, with the Mayor on his right, finds the cash correct, and is delighted 

Vaiituliaii Official Photograph 

Page 98 



The Canadian photographer was well to the front when he "took" this portion of the 

German barrage at the Somme offensive 

Three remarkably interesting "studies" of trench-mortar shells bursting 

Cluster of shells bursting on Vimy Ridge 

A mine exploding on Vimy Ridge 

Canadian Official Photographs 


Pagr !)9 


A picture taken close up. The shell killed several men near the photographer 

Smoke from bursting shrapnel frequently assumes fascinating and fantastic shapes 

A view from Vimy Ridge. Enemy shrapnel bursting over advanced positions to which the 
Canadians had pushed towards Lens after the victory 

Canadian Official Photographs 

Vnqr 100 



Fierce as was this engagement the casualties were remarkably light 

German prisoners, as usual, were glad 'o help carry in their own wounded 

Vunaclian Official Photographs 


Pa^e 101 

"Jehoshaphat! " I said; "we're done 1 " 
... I didn't even know I was bleeding all 
down my face where a shell-splinter had 
cut me. 

Two more shells came Thud ! Thud ! — 
dull ugly thumps away aft in the stern of her 
that told me the Germans had started now to 
sink us in real earnest. You never saw such 
deliberate murder ! 

"Cr-rash ! " came another shell, higher this 
time, and killed the boy who was limping 
along the deck. 

I stared round and round the horizon in 
despair. I sung out to the man aloft to know 
whether he could see anything. He simply 
shook his head in a hopeless, silent sort of 

I found myself praying aloud in a fierce 
sort of fashion for a miracle to happen ; 
for nothing but a miracle could save us 

And suddenly, like the voice of God : 

B-A-N-G ! 

It was coming from somewhere ahead of 
us on the starboard bow, but precious 

I raced across to the starboard end of the 
bridge : 

B-A-N-G ! 

The miracle had happened. A long grey 
shape was tearing through the sea, firing as 
she went. 

It was one of our latest submarines that had 
just bobbed up : 

B-A-N-G ! 

I whipped round with my binoculars and 
stare^ at that murdering brute astern. 

" Flash ! " 

I was just in time to see her go straight 
down into hades with all her devils aboard of 
her. The shell from the submarine ahead had 
hit her slap at the base of the conning-tower, 
and she just simply vanished — went 1 

No, there was no miracle about it; not if 
you want to argue. But I don't 1 

The dinghy was overhauled and my two 
mates and the greaser taken aboard by the 
submarine, one of our latest type on patrol 
duty. The poor old Narcissus foundered 
inside of half an hour. 

But, by the Lord, I'm a believer in miracles 
from now onwards. 

By A. MortUnd 
Sergeant (who has exhausted his vocabulary): '•Would you like me to say 'please' to you?" 

r.nrc 102 



By Private F. W. DAGLISH 

Illustrated bt> WDLEY HARDY 

NEARLY every item in the Army has 
been " iMentioned in Dispatches." 
F.ven my unworthy friend the Ross Rifle ha^ 
received write-ups galore, but never a word 
about me. Yet I'll wager that I've been of 
more service to Tommy than any rifle. 

I distinctly remember being born. That 
IS much more than some of you can do. 

How proud I felt, the day they piled me 
up with hundreds more, shining in my newly 
tinned glory. But those nursery days were 

I was soon hustled into the world to 
finally attach myself like a faithful dog to 
Tommy ; to be blest, curst, kicked and dented 
around the battlefield. 

I understood that my duties were to carry 

I ha been used for a shaving-mug " 

and hold fo'od and drink for Tommy ; 1 never 
thought of being brought so low down 
as to becorhe a "wash-bowl" and "hand 
basin." I have also been used for a shaving 

I cried so much at this injustice that the 
tears salted down the outside, and I rusted. 
No gentle hand or dry cloth was used to wipe 
my face. Eventually when on parade an 
officer bawled Tommy out for my sickly look- 
ing condition. 

The result of this interview was my being 
scrubbed and scoured most mercilessly, with 
threats and curses about being thrown on the 
scrap pile. 

During my career I have been a "Loving 
Cup" to many thirsty mouths; I was 
originally intended for the "Tea-total" 
service, but was soon torn away from those 
moral paths. 

I have often visited the estaminet, and been 
brought back home foaming at the mouth ; 
getting gleeful satisfaction in the morn watch- 
ing the grimace made by Tommy as he tasted 
his tea mixed with the dregs from the 
debauchery of the night before. 

I have even in a small way attempted to 
compete with the big Stone Jar. Many a time 
has Tommy stolen away with me at night, 
with an exploited portion of "Neat stuff" 
filched from that jar. 

My internal discolourings would turn the 
inside of a black teapot green with envy. 
You may laugh when I say I have even saved 
Tommy's life on more than one occasion. 
Yes, this little thin crescent-shaped piece o' 
tin has sufficed to turn aside many a deadly 
piece of shrapnel. 

My career nearly came to an end one bright 
moonlight night when going "over the top." 
Poor Tommy, he "Went West," and Fritz 


Page I 03 

"I have often visited the estaminet" 

pounced upon me with many guttural ex- 
clamations. How I hated that German ; he 
was like all the rest of them, "souvenir-hunt- 
ing," I suppose. 

I will admit he polished me up, and for a 
while he seemed quite proud of me. But soon 
the novelty of my capture wore off, and I was 
torn from my pedestal to administer to his 
gluttonous appetite. 

How I longed to be under the BrJtish flag 
once more, to carry a D.C.M. (Decent 
Canadian Meal) to some hungry Tommy. 

My breath soon reeked with the taste and 
smell of mysterious sausages, while fats and 
oils of a doubtful character sickened me. 

One night after supper, when lying on the 
shelf, I heard great excitement outside. My 
German friends "beat it," leaving me all 
alone. A bomb hurled down the steps blew 
me clean off the shelf ; I sure thought my last 
day had come- 

Then down those steps came a bunch of 
Tommies, flashing lights everywhere. How 
glad I was to hear an English voice once 
more. Then I thought, "Suppose they miss 
me, or think me of no consequence." My 
heart froze within me when one fellow kicked 
me into the corner. 

But one of them grabbed me, saying, 
"Just what I want I Fancy raising a Billy 
Can in Fritz's lines, after hollering my head 
off at the Q.M. two months for nothing." 
He then looked me over and saw poor 
Tommy's name scratched on the bottom. His 
face hardened as I heard him say, "Belonged 
to some poor devil that's 'Gone West,' I 

For a time I was cared for much better 
by this fellow than before; perhaps he had 
learnt from experience the value of a Mess 

Eventually I was thrown on the scrap 
pile to make way for one of those r.ew 
"Draft tins." Having done my duty, I 
desired to "Rest in Peace," but such was not 
my lot. 

" Just what I want ! " 

I was salvaged with many other things, 
shipped to the Base Hospital, and there re- 
tinned and soldered, and shipped up the line 
again, just like new. 

No; my career is not ended, I'm here for 
the Duration, if not a little longer. 

Pte. F. W. Daiglish, O.M.F.C. 

Pnse 104 




When you've done your' 
bit in Flanders, that 
amazing muddy spot, 

It starts one cogitating and 
a-wondering what's 
what — 

Why you left the plough, 
the ink-pot, or some other 
"cushy" job 

For the slushy, shivering 
trenches with a vermin- 
stricken mob ? 

'Cause a Tommy is but 
human after all, and 
prone to doubt 

What the devil all the kill- 
ing and the murdering's 

Ever since I came to Blighty 

I've been reading ^p a bit 
How the world was ever 

fighting; had to have a 

martial fit 
In the Bowery or the Bal- 
kans or some Asiatic zoo, 
Where a martyr may be 

Tartar, Mongol, Malay, 

or Hindoo. 
E'en the pre-historic cave 

man was as happy as 

could be 
As he slew his sleepi 

bride with nasty, neolithic 





Then the Jews and 'Gyp- 
tians also were a mighty 
martial lot — 

Slew each other with a shin- 
bone, ass's jaw, or drink- 

Interference with longevity 
was their besetting sin ; 

They were fairly nuts on 
brevity— unless it's men- 

Methuselah, the good old 
scout, who lived a life so 

That he rivals Johnnie 
Walker in the art of "go- 
ing strong." 

And as for Greeks and 

Romans, well, they made 

a mess of it, 
'Twas a scandal such as 

Vandal, Hun or Goth 

would ne'er commit — 
So civilised and legalised ! 

Ach Gottl it's all the 

Only "Kultur " is a vulture, 

eau-Cologned and slightly 

It's no use reading history ; 

the riddle or the plot 
That the sages of all ages 
couldn't solve remains — 
what's what. 

By J. Hassall 



r,y TIwiiuLs 11 cur y 


Page 106 

By Frank Stychi 
Cheerful Pal (to weary Tommy on his first route march, with Main Body half a mile ahead) : 

"What are yer laughing at, Charlie?" 


A Veracious Account of an Actual Conversation 

IN the days before the war," said the Cock- 
ney with emphasis, "I should have been 
paying for that drink of yours, and I 
shouldn't have allowed you to pay for this 
drink of mine " 

"You don't say," remarked the Canadian. 
He had his doubts evidently, but the Cockney 
was not disturbed. 

"We should have had these cocktails to- 
gether, and then we should have dined," he 
continued. "Our dinner would have consisted 
of caviare, soup, fish, entree, joint, game, two 
hundred sweets and a savoury. We should 

have drunk champagne, and brandy that 
came over with William the Conqueror. The 
waiters would have put two pounds of our 
change under the bill and taken five bob out 
of the eight and fourpence they brought to 
us. We should have lighted cigars which 
now cost three shillings, and they would have 
cost us two. The girls would have taken 
creme de menthe, and twelve pence would 
have bought it. But, of course, we should 
have laboured under the disadvantage of not 
seeing their ankles, and that has to be 

Page 106 


The Canadian became reflective. 

"Say," he exclaimed, "it almost makes 
the war worth while, doesn't it? Do you 
mean to tell me that they dressed differently 
then ? " 

"Differently," said the Cockney, "is hardly 
the word for it. The best of them resembled 
Charles Lamb in that they began late, but 
they differed from him in that they did not 
leave off early. The best dresses were under 
the table most of the time. We had not 
reached the stage when the more a woman 
took off, the more she got on. There was a 
thing called a hobble skirt, which, looked at 
sideways, had its consolations. A woman 
leaped from the pavement to the platform of 
the omnibus with both feet together and a 
prayer upon her lips. When the Kaiser saw 
her doing it he mobilised his army. That was 
the real cause of the war." 

The Canadian said, "Have another," and 
then put the Cockney's shilling dreamily into 
his own pocket. 

"Is that what the Bishops have been talk- 
ing about?" he asked. 

"It is, sir," said the Cockney; "war has 
brought great good and great evil in its 
train. If it had not been for the war, sir, I 
should have been a plus two man at golf by 
this time and might have won the Amateur 
Championship at Sandwich. We played 
games in those days, and a million people 
lost half their wages at football every Satur- 
day. Lawn tennis absorbed the greatest in- 
tellects, and the card game of Patience had 
somehow put whiskers on the memory of 
William Shakespeare." 

The Canadian said, "Gee," but did not 
quite get it. He wanted to know about those 

" Plenty of 'em about before the war ? " he 
asked. The Cockney worked out the sum like 
lightning, remembering that two shillings 
and fivepence plus one old brandy stood for 
ten shillings sterling— as the waiter at the 
hotel had taught him. 

"There were girls," he said, "but not 
enough to catch the eye of the Bishops. 
Mostly they had primitive notions, and the 
soldier in mufti was often a back number. 
Phyllis behind the footlights was quick in 

discovering exactly how much moss had been 
gathered by Abraham, and the attentions of 
Isaac were soon derided when they became 
unremitting. W^ar has changed all that. A 
soldier, who is not honoured of Cox, could 
sup with half a dozen of the major and the 
minor constellations every night if the 
champagne and the supper were to be found. 
In the old days he was very lucky if he could 
hand out Phyllis at the door of the Savoy 
and find her table ready. He would have 
gone there through a blaze of lights in the 
streets and have read divers illuminated ad- 
vertisements of pills worth a guinea a box. 
These he could have pointed out to her for 
lack of any other common topic of conversa- 
tion, and possibly he would have declared 
that she was worth very much more. In the 
hotel itself, somebody might have danced 
the Tango as a profession of Western civili- 
sation, and a first-rate orchestra would have 
grappled with the technicalities and the ab- 
sorbing difficulties of that intricate score, 
' You Made Me Love You.' It is true that 
at half-past twelve the lights would have 
played monkey tricks as an intimation to you 
to 'get.' But you had only to move on a 
street or two to find a night club where you 
sat in a box and drank, or barged into other 
people who had been sitting in boxes and 
drinking. This was the very last word in 
cosmopolitan debauchery. You might have 
another word with the policeman outside if 
you asked him whether it was Bond Street or 
Thursday — but that was a minor affair. A 
dinner, a rollicking show, brightly lighted 
street, London awake all night, golf to- 
morrow if you could see the ball, racing, 
football, cricket — all gone into limbo, sir. 
Do you wonder that I am proposing that we 
should refill these glasses." 

The Canadian offered no objection. 

"Look here," he said, "are you really say- 
ing that it wasn't until the year 1915 that 
they took two reefs in the mainsail, so to 
speak, and let you see their ankles?" 

" It was not," replied the Cockney with a 
scb in his voice. 

"Then the war is all right," said the 
Canadian, and he laid down two shillings 
with the dexterity of a practised hand. 


Page 107 

"Thank Gawd fer that bit o' rest. Bill!" 

Page 108 


(A very dramatic sketch 





It may be acted without fee or iWence by anyone applying 
for a commission.) 

Time. — Three years, or the duration. 

Place. — The ancestral home of young 
subaltern, who, having been granted fourteen 
days' leave for the purposes of buying kit 
preparatory to leaving on draft, has just in- 
%ested four pounds odd in a sword. 

Curtain discovers Lieut. X. standing in 
front of large mirror struggling with obstinate 
buckles. Sings: 

A Captain Courageous of sixty odd blades, 

All ready to fight 

By day or by night, 
I leave every rival in love in the shades, 

To fret and to fume 

In perpetual gloom, 
Whilst I steal the hearts of the prettiest maids. 

O, I am a soldier exalted and fierce, 
1 can parry in quatre, I can parry in tierce, 
And leave every rival in love in the shades 
As Captain Courageous of sixty odd blades. 

Having extricated the weapon from between 
his legs, Lieut. X. continues: 

I can handle my man with the veriest ease, 
A lightning twist 
Of my elegant wrist — 
So; I've skewered his heart and he drops to 
his knees; 
One moment to feel 
The keen edge of my steel, 
Then I sever him close to the waist, if you 

Chorus again with vigour. 

My noble Excalibur clasped in my hand. 
With vivre and aplomb, 
With gun and with bomb, 

Then I'll marshal my men; at the word of 
We'll scatter poor Fritz 
To a million bits; 
Or, point at his throat, on his carcass I'll 

Sings final chorus, making violent lunges at 

O, I am a soldier exalted arid fierce, 
I can parry in quatre, I can parry in tierce; 
Whether one against fifty or leading in raids, 
I'll be Captain Courageous of sixty odd 


Time. — Some two months later in 
trench 321B.S. 

Lieut. X. discovered groping at 2 c^ -in. in 
two feet of water. 

Lieut. X. : Where the . . 
stick? We're due to go 
minutes ! 

Slow curtain. 

did I leave my 
over in seven 



By Frtderick Gamett 


Page 109 


Battered Shelter of water tanks 

Peep of ruined Willerval 


In spite of desperate German resistance the Canadians pushed into Lens. Here are the 

remains of a Boche barricade 

Canadian Official Photographs 

Page 110 



A church which the Germans pulverized beyond recognition. They still shell the ruins 

Canadian Official Photographs 

C'^.V.l^).! IX KHAKI 

Pagi 111 



Desolation of Albert Cathedral 

Not the Huns' fault the walls still stand 

Pitiful is the wreck of this church whic'.i the Muns shelled viciously for months 

Canadian Official Photographs 

I'nnr 112 


By Norah Schlcgel 
"See here," said Winter, putting his arm around Mollie's waist, "this is where you quit. 
You re not on in this act." "The Knight-Ereant itiom Saskatchewan. 


Page 113 

The knight-errant FROM 

A Short Story by DONOVAN BAYLEY 

ttlastrated by Norah SchUgel 

ONE of the most disturbing things about 
the campaign of Destiny against the 
little plans of men is its cat-footed ness. 

Telefer Smaithe looked out of his window 
at the highway up the hill past his house, and 
saw a man in khaki coming slowly along, 
stopping every now and then to admire the 
vivid gorse on the common on each side of 
the rambling road. 

"This place is becoming crowded, Mollie," 
he said to his secretary. "As soon as I feel 
I can work, that very moment when ideas 
begin to come, my attention's distracted like 
this ! This is the third time this morning it's 

"What's the matter?" 

"What's the matter? Look out, and you'll 
see. Why doesn't the ass get on, instead of 
fluttering about in front of my windows to 
destroy my ability to work?" 

The girl came to the window, and stood 
beside him to see what was happening. 

"He's not making a noise," she said, "so 
why look at him? If you don't look outside, 
you won't " 

"If I don't look out! Mollie, you know 
how much better I write when I turn my 
eyes to the stimulating spaces. Just now the 
editors want passionate love scenes. How 
can I write passionate love scenes with that 
man out there behaving like a weak-minded 
moth ? " 

He sagged back in his chair. 

"I came to this place to be quiet. Every- 
body told me it was quiet. Everybody — as 
usual — lied." 

He looked out of the window again. 

"Oh, lord, he's sitting down I He'll be 
here for hours." 

"Don't think of him. Get on with the 

story. You've broken off just when I was 
all wrought up and excited. Do go on." 

"How can I go on ? Look at him. Lying 
on his back, waving his great feet in the air." 

He sat up, put his hand under her elbow, 
and pulled her down until she was sitting on 
the arm of his chair. 

"My head's tired— baffled," he said. "Let 
me rest it. Tell me when that gambolling 
crusader has gone. Watch for me, Mollie. 
At least, I can rest." 

As a matter of fact, the idea bag was nearly 
empty to-day, and he was glad of an excuse 
to postpone the remaining two thousand three 
hundred words to finish the passionate love 
story upon which he should have been busy. 

There was silence for a while. Mollie 
watched the distant soldier, and Telefer 
Smaithe dozed, his head against her shoulder, 
and all the lines on his forehead smoothed 
out. He was one of those men who look best 

She sat thinking over all the stories she had 
helped him to write, and wondering what the 
end of this one would be. She liked the idea 
of it, the originality that he managed to get 
into it. 

The real — though unconscious — reason for 
her approval was that the plot was her own. 
Telefer Smaithe, however, was very well 
aware of it. 

He got many ideas from her. Until she 
had come to work for him he had been one 
of the authors with about a dozen plots, who 
make their living by dolling them up in turn 
in fresh clothes. That is why he was in- 
tensely afraid she would go, and leave him 
back again in his rut. 

"What's he doing now?" he asked 

"Bowling big stones at a gorse bush. He 
can throw well. He hits it every time." 

"A schoolboy could do that." 

"It looks to me as if he's practising 
bombing." . 

She got up, and Stood at the wmdow, 

intere.sted. , 

" I would like to know how many men he s 
killed. I wish I were a man." 

"And if you were ?" 

"I'd kill Germans. See! He's going now, 
I think. Look at the decisive way he's light- 
ing his pipe." 

She was right. The pipe drawmg well, 
he went, leaving the common, the highway, 
and the whole world to the author. 

"Now we can get on," she said merrily. 
"If the writing mood hasn't gone. You've 
no idea, Mollie, how devastatingly these 
interruptions frustrate me." 

"Authors should be hermits," she said 
soothingly. "They should live in caves in 
the mountains." 

"Well, let's get to work," he said, newly 
brightened and made cheerful, for his quick 
brain had seen a practical setting for another 
rustic love story, the tale of an author who 
fled to the hills to get on uninterruptedly with 
an overdue serial, and of the mountain maid 
who discovered and commandeered him. 
That was the way in which Mollie habitually 
helped. That one remark meant, counting 
British and American serial rights, at least 
fifty pounds, and she was always dropping 
such precious gems. 

"We're rather lucky, you and I, Mollie," 
he said. "It isn't everybody in this crabbed 
world able to work with someone so in sym- 
pathy as you and I are with each other." 

"I love the work, I love it. I think I 
should go mad if I had to do dry business 

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Well, 
well," he said, "let's get on. Where were 

She smiled at him happily, glad to be of 
so much use to a man in his creative art. He, 
for his part, had a difficult game to play. 
He wished her to believe he cared for her, 
but it was all policy on his part, for he was 
too selfish to be really in love, and for the 


next couple of hours he kept up the output of 
modern English literature. 

And ne.\t day the soldier was there again, 
just as lonely and energetic. Telefer Smaithe 
took one look at him, groaned, went down- 
stairs, put on his hat, and fumed up the hill ; 
nor did he come back until he was physically 
too tired to work. 

And, moreover, on the next day, which was 
also fine, the soldier was there again ; and this 
time he was at his most distracting, for he 
made himself a fire and cooked by it. 
Now, that is not done in England. 

"This is becoming persecution," Telefer 
Smaithe said. 

" Persecution ? He's probably never heard 
of you," said Mollie. 

The author looked at her bleakly. 
"Please," she said, "I'm awfully sorry; but 
I don't suppose he knows he's annoying you." 
"I want sympathy, Mollie, and you give 
me logic." 

Once more Telefer Smaithe departed for 
the day. Besides, he had not worked out the 
hermit story yet in all its details. 

Mollie put her note-book away with a sigh, 
thinking of two editors who were worrying 
him for overdue manuscript. She peered at 
the soldier from behind the curtain. 

Then one of her brightest ideas glinted into 
her mind. She went to the looking-glass, 
preened her hair, thoughtfully pulled one — 
only one — little piece of it across her cheek, 
and happened on to the common. 

Lured by her idea, she went straight up to 
the soldier, intending to explain that a great 
>yriter lived in the red house confronting him 
— a great writer whose delicate thoughts were 
shattered by these continued activities under 
his study window. 

The soldier, who had ideas of his own, 
seeing that she was coming towards him, 
stood up, saluted, and said : 

"When I came to this morning I had a 
hunch it was going to be my lucky day." 

What was a girl to say to that? She stood 
and looked at him. 

"Say," he said, "do you warn rescuing 
from an ogre, or is there a dragon of your 
acquaintance would be better for a 'ittle 


Page 115 

"A little H.E.?" 

"That's what I said. H.E.— High Explo- 
sive. Sit down right now, and tell me what 
I can do for you." 

"You can go right away," said MoUie, 
"and never come back. You'd make me very 
happy. I live in that house there." 

She was a little confused. The man's eyes 
were so very direct. 

" Gee I Am I as fierce as that ? " 

"You're not fierce; I didn't say you were 

"Then why in thunder " 

"Oh, I can't explain. It isn't for my 


For it had become apparent to her that she 
could not ask this man to give up his enjoy- 
ment of a public common for the sake of any- 
body at all, even Telefer Smaithe. 

"If you really mean' it," he said, "I'll quit, 
and I'll stay quit." 

"No, no, I didn't mean it." 

"I see," he said; "you were just making 
conversation. May I say it's a gift with you ? 
Won't you sit down and hand me out some 
more? It's sure the goods." 

Mollie began to laugh. So did he. They 
stood opposite to each other, laughing. 

"Now we're getting on," he said. "But 
we'd enjoy it much better if we sat 

She sat down with her back to a little bay 
in the gorse bushes, and he lay strategically 
at her feet. 

"You're a Canadian ? " she said, for he had 
not spoken again. 

"You must be little Miss Guesser from 


By W. F. Thomas 

". . . And is it true that two shells never hit the same place twice?" "Never! " 
" Er — curious ! How do you account for that ' " , 

"WelU if one ot our heavies hits a place once, there ainl any place for the sicoml lo hit 1 ' 

Pa^e lie 


•'But it's written all over you in brass 

"That's so as we won't be too modest to 
own up where we come from. Now, say : 
you came straight over to me to tell me some- 
thing, and I was hoping you wanted me to be 
of use some way. If there's anything at all I 
can do, I will." 

"Well, I did mean to tell you something, 
but now, I'm afraid you'll be offended." 

"Well, if you're afraid of offending me, 
it's unperjured evidence that you don't want 
to do it." 

"Of course, I don't want to." 

"Then you can say what you like, and I'll 
keep as calm as a clam in a can of bromide." 

"You see that window?" she said, point- 
ing up the common to the house. 

"Yes, I can see that window." 

"Have you heard of Telefer Smaithe, the 
author ? " 

"I've even read some of his stories, and 
still I wish him no harm. I'm a forgiving 

By J inner 
OflBcer (to Irish Tommy) : " But why are you 

writing such a large hand, Murphy?" 
Private Murphy : " Because me ould mother 

is deaf, and when she reads it out loud she 4:an 

hear it better." 

man. My chums say it's my worst vice. 
What about the window? Did one of his 
readers throw him through it?" 

"No," she said; "it's his study window, 
and I work for him." 

"I'm real sorry if I've offended you. For 
those who like his sort of writing, he's a very 
great author. I'm told he's a best seller. 
This world is wonderful." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I was thinking of a wild night way back 
in Canada, when it was blowing all of a bliz- 
zard, and then a bit over, and I sat at the 
red-hot stove, with icicles on the back of my 
neck, in a railroad hut, reading one of his 


"I little thought the day was coming I'd 
talk to anybody who knew him like you must." 

"Oh, I see. Well, when he's working, the 
least thing distracts him." 

She stopped, and he waited. 

"Don't you think," she went on, "that you 
could have just as good a time on this com- 
mon if you kept out of sight of that window ? " 

"It's become part of my religion." 

"Then that simplifies it tremendously. 
Would you think it very impertinent of me 
if I asked you to do so? I know anybody 
may go anywhere on this common, but he 
writes so beautifully. And you've put him 
quite off work for the last three days." 

" Does that make it any worse for you ? " 

"I wasn't thinking of myself at all," she 
said. "If it were for myself, I'd never have 
spoken about it." 

, "I beg your pardon. Of course you 
wouldn't. Whereabouts do you think I 
ought to put myself not to scare his muse?" 

"Oh, it's awful of me ! " she said. "You've 
come all this way to fight for England, and 
then " 

"I didn't. I came to fight for Canada, and 
because I couldn't tolerate the Kaiser. 
Where would i shock your man least ? " 

She blushed. 

"I shall never forgive myself. I oughtn't 
to have asked you." 

"But why not? It's a very little thing to 
do. I didn't come over all the land and sea 
between here and Saskatchewan to annoy 



Page 117 

Mr. Telefer Smailhe; and 
now I'm here I don't pro- 
pose to do it." 

" Anywhere, where he 
can't see you from the 

"Can he see us now ? " 

"Oh, I hope not!" 
• He smiled. "I'm quite 

"I didn't mean that. I 
meant he'd be fearfully an- 
noyed if he knew I'd asked 

"I guess you know him 
better than I do," said the 
Canadian. "Let's move 
camp before I've hurt his 
sensitive mind irrepar- 

Wherefore, upon the 
next day when Smaithe, 
feeling that he ought to 
work, looked out across the 
common in search of a 
reason why he should not, 
he failed to find one. 

"He won't worry you 
again," said Moilie. 

"Oh! How's that?" 

She told him how she 
had gone out, and had 
pleaded with the Canadian 
to efface himself. 

"I wish you'd spoken to 
me first," said the great 
author. "Had you con- 
suited me first " 

"You'd have stopped me. I know. I didn't 
want to be stopped, so I didn't tell you." 

"I don't desire to preach. There's nothing 
I hate more than preaching, as you know; 
but if I were you, I wouldn't do that sort of 
thing, Moilie. In nine cases out of ten it 
may be all right; but it's the tenth that 

"But I did it to make things more comfort- 
able for you." 

'I know that. It was very good of you. 
But I'd rather have put up with any incon- 
venience- " 

By HUda Cowk» 
"Were you born on an allotment, grandpa?" 
"I don't think so; why?" 
" Oh, cos Jackie Brown says you're a dug-out." 

"Well, it's done now. We ought to be 
able to get in a lot of work this morning." 

He lay back in his chair and gave her 
great deal of advice, pointing out how unwise 
it is to trust oneself with unknown men, hov 
ever gallant and brave. She listened de- 
murely, but he saw that he had not convinced 
her, felt that he was losing his hold upon her 
to that extent, and allowed his mind to get 
into a fussy condition. She, to her own 
astonishment, discovered that she was amused 
at him, and sat looking at the spot on the top 
of his head where the hair was beginning to 
become discouraged. 

Page 118 

At last he settled down to dictate the story 
of the hermit. After lunch he went for a walk, 
because he found, by sour experience, that 
physical exercise was necessary to his brain. 
Mollie settled down to type her shorthand 
notes, and then, when that was done, took a 
book into the garden. 

" Everything cpmes to him who waits," said 
a voice from nowhere. She looked about her 
and saw no one. 

" Don't be scared any. It's your little white 
conscience talking." 
"Where are you? " 

"Where I belong. Right here, at your feet, 
amongst the green truck." 

She looked down then, and saw the face of 
the Canadian smiling out at her from between 
a couple of cabbages. 

" What on earth are you doing there ? " she 

"Keeping myself to myself, .to show I'm 
learning English ways. Do you mind?" 

"No, I suppose not, if you like it. You're 
not doing any harm." 

"Not any. I'm too old a scout for that. 
Say, was that lad who went scudding past a 
while back the Telefer Smaithe ? " 
" Have you been here all that time ? " 
"Longer than that." 
"But why?" 

" Because I wanted to see you. Now talk to 
me. I shall get as morose as an Injun if 
someone doesn't hand out some talk to me 

"Well, come and sit down beside me like 
a rational being," she said. 

After all, soldier-men, particularly from the 
Dominions, have privileges. 

"No, thanks; I guess I'm better here. If 
the great syllable mechanic happened back, 
and found me lolling around, he'd want ex- 
planations. I'm quite happy here, camou- 
flaged among the savoys." 

" For goodness' sake, come out 1 How can 
I talk to a head in a cabbage-patch ? " 

"Please don't make me," he said. "I'm 
playing a game with myself, pretending that 
vou're in the power of an ogre. I don't want 
anyone to know of me, except you. Now tell 
me all about the ogre, and I'll see best how to 
rescue you." 


"There isn't any ogre," she said. 
"This is some fairy story," he answered. 
"Not only is the maiden in the power of an 
ogre, but she's enchanted too. It's up to me 
to dissimulate. Maiden, let me admire all his 

"You're rather impossible," she answered. 
"The want of reasonable conversation, per- 

"That's it," he confessed. "Talk to me 
about how literature is manufactured these 
days, and my parlour tricks will all come back 
to me, glad to be home again." 
"First, get up out of the cabbage-bed." 
"What must be, must be, though the 
ground's quite dry," he said, rising to his 
feet, though he took great care not to be seen 
from the house. She noticed that, and smiled. 
"You're nothing but an overgrown boy. 
Why did you hide like this?" 

"Call it a play game, and let it go at that. 
Now talk to me about yourself. It's seven 
and a half centuries since I had any real talk 
from a girl." 

With that, they got on quite well together, 
until Telefer Smaithe came in at the gate. For 
a moment she wondered how she would ex- 
plain the Canadian. Then: "Why shouldn't 
I talk to him if I want to? " she thought. She 
stood resolutely up to face the author, who 
strode over to her. 

"Sunning yourself?" he asked, dropping 
one hand over hers on the back of the chair. 

"I've been " 

She looked round, and found that she was 
alone with him. The Canadian had vanished 
as soundlessly as would have faded tlie old 
"Injun " who had taught him his scouting. 

She did not see him again until the end of 
the week, when Telefer Smaithe went to town 
to interview editors, for he believed in the per- 
sonal touch, and, by inference, in his own 
charm. She took a book out on to the com- 
mon, for she had nothing to do, looking sus- 
piciously at the cabbages as she passed by 
them, but no voice came from amongst them. 
She went to a little patch of bracken, stretched 
out among its cool, green fronds, and opened 
her book. 

Soon the voice came again, once more in- 


Page 119 

By S. Sfymour 
"Come on, mine kamerads ! Ledt us encourage ourselves mit der conversation about der 
mighty conquests of der Vaterland, until ve can get a shanst to bunck oudt und surrender to der 


"I began to think you were ill," it said. 
"Where's the pawing ogre, the monster who 
keeps you on the treadmill ? " 

She did not look up from her book. 

"You mustn't talk like that," she said. 
'He isn't a monster, and I love working for 

•m. Nothing makes me happier." 

The ferns parted, and he slipped through 
them, until he was lying face to face with her. 

"I guess he can't see me here," he said, 
grinning like a boy. 

"No, I suppose not. He's in London." 

"Since you haven't asked me," said the 
Canadian, "I'll tell you my secret. My 
name's Billy Winter, and my home is Sas- 

"You're quite wrong," she answered. " It's 
Puck, and you live in a cavern under the hills. 
That's why you come and go so mysteriously ." 

"I'm sure exposed. Can you forgive, or are 

you one of those hard, good women who'd 
hunt a gnome into the never-never, because 
he didn't carry visiting cards?" 

"Who can banish Puck?" 

"It's a difficult proposition. Now, tell me 
what you do with yourself all day." 

He made her talk about her "work, listening 
analytically to all she had to say, and putting 
innocent questions from time to time, until, 
before she ' had finished, he had a clear 
enough, and true enough, impression of the 
exact position. 

"She's on the way to falling in io\t with 
that wordsmith," he thought; "and it won't 
do. She'd fit my home like a coat of paint." 

"Now tell me about yourself," she said. 
"From the hrst day I saw you I've been 
curious about one thing." 

"And what is this thing?" 

"How many Germans have you killed?" 

Page 120 


"I've never used a weapon in this war." 

"Do you mean you haven't been in 
Flanders yet ? " 

"1 don't. I mean I'm an engineer. That's 
my profession, and it seemed to me I'd be 
more use where I belonged than in the 

"Ohi^ I see. What do you do ? " 

"Make and repair all sorts of communica- 

"Oh, you've been under fire, then?" 

"Frequently, and liked it less each time." 

" I begin to understand. You make bridges 
and railways, and roads on the battlefield. 
You must have been the means of killing 
many Germans, indirectly." 

"That's what I tell myself, when I'm down 
in the mouth." 

"You were wounded at the front, then?" 

He nodded. 

"It's my work in Canada that I like to think 
about most. It's just as big a fight there, and 
it's all to the good, unrolling railways in the 
backwoods; and after me homes grow up, 
with contented, happy people in them, and, 
as I go up and down the line in the construc- 
tion trains, I can see them. When God made 
the world He saw that His work was good. 
Well, that's how I feel, sometimes, at my real 

"But what you're doing in France is 
splendid too." 

"I sure wonder," he said. "Sometimes I 
feel I'm asleep in a ghastly nightmare, but 
"ve always got the notion that the morning's 
certainly coming when I'll wake to a good, 
clean job, pushing a bridge out over a white, 
tumbling river, so that the wheat cars can roll 
safely along the trestles, hundreds of feet up 
over the roaring, broken water. Now, that's 
man's work. Just that one bridge for a gate- 
way into new lands as big as England. Then 
we'll clear the timber, and let in the miles of 
corn to help feed all the world. That's work 
for a white man. Say, you're laughing at 

"No, I wasn't. I was interested." 

"I don't often let off speeches," he said; 
"but that work is all of me, and nothing else 
I do matters. The world hasn't begun to get 
a hint of what Canada's going to be. Well, 

that's what I was at. And then this lop-sided 
Kaiser creature, with his uniforms, and his 
posturings, and his terrible earnestness about 
himself, interfered. Do you wonder I can't 
tolerate him ? Can you tell me what came 
over Europe that it let him happen ? " 

But that was a question that neither she nor 
anyone else could answer. 

When she met him again he brought her 
photographs to see. He showed them to her 
hesitatingly, unreasonably afraid that she 
would find them dull, when they meant so 
much to him, for they were records of things 
he himself had done. He kept side-glancing 
at her delicate profile as she bent her head 
over them, like a nymph delightfully puzzled 
by scale drawings. 

"Look at that," he said, showing her a pic- 
ture of a single track line running through 
conifer forests. "Doesn't look much, does 

"Perhaps not. What's the history of it?" 
Her eyes dwelt on his face, reading behind 
its level impassivity the spirit that had made 
his life one great fight for mankind against 
the sullen primitive. 

"It's the highest bit of track I've ever laid," 
he said; "and it meant, amongst many other 
things, eight bridges, and four hundred 
charges of blasting powder to get it there. 
Now, look at this." 

And he showed her a clean, new town, with 
a church and schools and a market place 
and broad, level roads. 

"I made that possible," he said. "Five 
years back that was prairie. And now see 

"But that isn't Canada? That's a destroyed 
town at the Front." 

"Yes. That's the Kaiser's work. If you 
were a man, which would you rather be? Me, 
or the Kaiser?" 

"Why, you I " The flush on her face and 
the glow in her eyes showed him how little 
doubt there was of that. 

"And that's what keeps me a sane man in 
this nightmare. See here." 

He handed her a photograph of one of 
the great, new graveyards "Somewhere in 

"That's the German Mountebank's work 



Page 12'' 


too." He shuffled the prints and took out 
another for her, showing ripening corn from 
horizon to horizon. "And that's my work. 
It's certainly odd when a plain man can weigh 
himself against an Emperor, and find the 
Emperor shucks in the balance. We're going 
to get a new conception of manhood out of 
this war." 
"We've got it," she said. "Were you badly 


"Not enough to hinder my real work. Does 
it appeal to you ? " 

"Tremendously," she said. "When do you 
think you'll get back to it? " 

"When Germany's whipped and yelping. 
If they won't let me back to France, I can 
sure be of some use over here, if it's only as a 
mechanic in an aircraft shop. Whipping the 
Kaiser's a rush job just now. I don't care 
what I do, so long as I help that on. Then 
we can get back to sanity. What are you 
thinking of? " 

"Oh, I don't know. Just thoughts." She 

Really, she was contrasting him with 
Smaithe, and wondering why she had ever 
thought that the "wordsmith," or his work, 
mattered so vastly. She was in a new mood, 
and not, perhaps, a very just one — at any rate, 
as far as the necessity for his work was con- 
cerned. Shakespeare, it might be argued, was 
a bigger event than even this war. On the 
other hand, Smaithe was not Shakespeare. 

"You seem fond of this common," she said, 
the next time he met her upon it. 

"The doctors tell me that moderate exercise, 
and all the open air there is, are good for me. 
Besides, I met you here. Do you remember I 
called you an enchanted maiden ? " 
"Yes, I think I do. Why?" 
"Oh, because that's how you looked to me. 
That's all the why I know. You live here, 
remote and lonely. I came, bored from the 
spinal cord to the skin, not expecting to meet 
a friendly soul, and, by the grace of God, I 
happened on you, you who lived in another 
world, familiar spirit to a wizard of make- 
believe. It got into my bones that your word- 
smith was a wizard." 
She laughed. 
"He's really an ordinary man," sh^ said, 

"except that he writes splendidly. He cut 
himself this morning when he was shaving, 
and I'm sure a wizard wouldn't do that. He'd 
draw a magic circle, say ' Hey, presto 1 ' and 
his beard would be gone." 

"I don't care," he said. "The house looks 
as if it were inhabited by a wizard. Where's 
he now ? " 

"He's gone to London. He'll be away foi 
the day." 

"Will he? He'll sure get rattled, then." 

"Oh I How's that?" 

"One of the men on the gun told me as 
I came along there was an air raid getting 
up. In this haze, if it's got half the spunk 
of a may-bug, it'll reach London." 

"Oh, the odds are very much against his 
getting hurt," she said. "He'll be all right. 

By Litut. Howard Ptnton 

Sentry (to Tommy who on his way up to 

the front line is singing, " Garden of Eden just 

made for two ") : " You're going the wrong way 

for that, mate." 

Page 124 


He'll probably be in the Tube wheh it 

"Yes; there's nothing much to worry 
about. Would you be very sorry if he got 

"Naturally. I like him tremendously." 

"Because he's himself, or because you 
admire his work ? " 

"Lately I've wondered about everything 
connected with him," she said. "I think a 
girl really admires most in a man the most 
forceful kind of labour." 

"Then you'd be tickled to death by some 
of our gunners at the front," he said. "They 
move slices of countryside wilh one blow. 
Why wasn't I a gunner?" 

"Malign fate, I suppose," she said, pre- 
tending seriousness. "Is i< too late to 
change ? " 

" Yes, the tide in my affairs has passed the 
lood, as far as this war is concerned. I shall 
never be a gunner. I couldn't heave shells 
bout now." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry." 

"Still, I made roads for the guns to move 
• 'ong. That was something." 

'I didn't mean that. I meant I was sorry 
because of your wound." 

"Say, you needn't be. If it hadn't been 
for that I shouldn't have met you; and that 
counts a whole heap with me. Hallo 1 " 


"Here's the wordsmith coming." 

He 'shaded his eyes and watched him. 
"He's about as happy as a polar bear in a 
bakehouse. What's eating him ? " 

Mollie stood at gaze, with her hand on her 
bosom, breathing rapidly through parted lips. 

"So-ohl Then you haven't told him you 
know me?" 

"No, I haven't. He knows I spoke to you 
once, but " 

"Kid, do you mean you're afraid of that? " 

"No, I'm not afraid of him; but " 

"By my mother's bones!" said Billy 
Winter. "He'd better be careful, or he'll 
get a whole heap handed out to him that he 
can't carry." 

Telefer Smaithe halted about twenty yards 
from them. 

"Mollie I" he shouted. 

"You're stone deaf and otherwise occu- 
pied," said Winter. "Can't he see you're 
talking to someone ? " 

She hesitated. 

"That's it," he said quietly. "If he's got 
to speak to you, let him come here. I don't 
allow my friends to be shouted for." 

"Mollie! " 

"He's put his manners away in cold 
storage. I'm not used to being interrupted 
by somebody shouting across the landscape. 
It doesn't go." 

"I think I'd better go." 

"You stay right here, dear. If that's how 
he treats you, it's time he learnt where he 
belongs in creation." 

"I've never known him to be so rude 
before," she said. 

"And he won't know himself to be so rude 
again," Winter snapped. 

Telefer Smaithe, finding that she did not 
reply, strode towards her, most evidently in 
a very bad temper. Winter saw that she 
trembled a little. She had reason. She had 
a humorously grim man beside her, and an 
excitable, angry man coming towards her. 

"I returned home. They told me at the 
station that the air-raid warning had been 
given. I decided to come back and work." 

"I see." 

Her tone was as cold as his own, and he 
instantly changed his manner, sensing that 
it would not do this time, and half realising 

"May I offer you the shelter of my house 
until this affair has blown over?" he said 
to Winter. Then, without waiting for a 
reply, he put his hand on the girl's shoulder. 

"Mollie, you'd be safer " 

What seemed like a mechanical claw 
closed about his wrist and moved his arm 
back to his side. 

"That's where that belongs," said Winter, 
with all the snows of the Northern trapping 
country in his tone. "As to the raid, it's 
been driven. back, or we should have heard 
it by now." 

"Who are you?" Smaithe aslced. 

"I'm a real stranger to you." 

"Oh! Well, whoever you are, you ougb* 
to know better than to behave as you're 


Page 125 


By Fred Fegram 

Page 126 


doing. Mollie, where did you meet this 
man ? " 

".She met me right here, where we're stand- 
ing now, and it's all of a pretty place. You're 
her employer, aren't you?" 

"And her friend too." 

"You don't say I Tell me, does that make 
you her chaperon ? " 

"You see the sort of person he really is, 

"She's had many opportunities of seeing 
that," said Winter, "and I think she's formed 
her judgment. What I'm asking you is 
this : Do you claim to choose her friends for 
her because you've hired her to type your 
love-mongering output?" 

"Really, I don't " 

"Do you, or don't you, claim that?" 

Telefer Smaithe turned to Mollie. 

"This is becoming impossible," he said. 

"Surely, when you know I want you, you're 
not hesitating whether to send him about his 
business or not, are you ? " 

Mollie's head went up, and Winter saw it. 
He caught her eye. 

"Mollie, you must choose now," said 
Telefer Smaithe, turning on the deep notes 
to show he was moved. "It's come to that. 
Do you prefer this man, this stranger, to 
me ? " 

She did not answer. She resented his 
putting it upon such a basis. The Canadian, 
for the first time during the interview, smiled 
— a broad, humorous smile that was more 
chilling, more enervating to Smaithe than the 
grimmest scowl could have been. 

"See here," said Winter, putting his hand 
upon Mollie's shoulder, "this is where you 
quit. You're not on in this act." 

And the arm slid about her waist. 



Calm-eved, well-seasoned to endure, 
Straight as a sapling, not too tall, 

He is the lad who answered, "Sure I " 
When England gave a call. 

Gay, but heroic to the end, 

Fierce and unshaken in a "show," 
Loyal and solid as a friend, 

A relentless foe. 

Easy in manner, self-contained. 
Quick-witted, picturesque of speech ; 

By risk or danger unrestrained, 
Gripping his share of each. 

Taking his turn at many parts, 
A soldier and a man complete — 

He is the lad who warms our hearts 
And freezes Fritz's feet. 


Page 129 

By G. S. DixoH 
Affable British Tommy: "Changeable weather you get here!" 
Canuck : " Changeable, do you call it ! If it only was, you bet we'd have changed it long ago." 



I DON'T think much of this war," said the 

We call him the Chump because his name 
— beginning with Cholmondeley and ending 
with Higgins — is far too gorgeous for every- 
day wear and tear. He is a sunny-faced, 
bright-eyed lad of thirteen or so, and I am 
one of his favourite uncles. 

"That so?" said I. "Well, I don't know 
whether I'm sorry or glad to hear that you 
disapprove of this little European fuss we've 

got mixed up in. At the same time I must 
confess that I am curious to know why you 

"It's so muddly," said he. "So slow and 
monotonous. So deadly dull. It wants gin- 
gering up. A bit of excitement. If only " 

He paused. 

"If only what?" I prompted him. 

"If only it were a cricket-match," said he. 
"On the lines of England v. Australia, say, 
with a thrill in every minute of it, and a 

Page 130 


definite finish to look forward to before you 
were dead. England v. Germany, or The 
Allies V. The Central Powers, with picked 
sides and a shilling gate, and so on." 

"But that wouldn't be fair," I objected. 
" England, with her Colonies, and America 
and India thrown in, have practically a 
monopoly of cricket. The Central Powers 
wouldn't stand an outside chance. And, 
besides, what would our Allies be doing? 
Neither France, Italy, Russia, Belgium, 
Rumania, Serbia, Portugal, Japan, nor any 
other country on our side plays cricket to any 
extent that I am aware of. You must think 
of something else, Chump." 

"Ah, you're so beastly literal," said he. 
"I mentioned cricket merely because it came 
first to my mind. But it needn't be only 
cricket. We could have a regular Inter- 
national Sports Carnival. Sort of Olympian 
Games, don't you know, like we had some 
years ago, only on a far larger scale. Do you 
follow me ? " 

"To the final goal," said I. 

"Yes, of course,, there'd be football," he 
rejoined. "Surely the Germans or the Hun- 
garians or somebody play a sort of football ? 
And even if they didn't it would be up to 
them to learn it, so as to be ready for the next 
rumpus, just as it would be up to us to train 
some of our wrestlers against those Terrible 
Turks and chaps. And, to pass from great 
things to small, there are games like chess 
and coddam, and dominoes and spellicans. 
We'd have to hold our own in those as well. 
And noughts and crosses. For all you know, 
the Bulgars may be frightful swells at 
noughts and crosses." 

"It's quite possible, quite possible," I ad- 
mitted. "Indeed, your idea simply bristles 
with possibilities." 

"Yes, and I've only given you hints of it 
up to now," said the Chump. "If I went into 
details — if I laid the whole scheme before 
you- " 

"I wish you would." 

"If you really mean that, I will. At any 
rate, I'll do my rotten best." 

I signified my gratification in the usual 
way. For some seconds there was silence 
whilst the Chump brooded heavily. 

"I don't want anybody to think I'm try- 
ing to be funny," he said, "or guying the 
war in any way. I know it's jolly serious, 
and all that. That's why — in the words of 
the guv'nor — I say once for all : Don't let it 
occur again. I want everybody to understand 
that next time there's an international row 
there needn't be any slaughter. When this 
war is over and peace is declared, let every- 
body agree on a general disarmament. By 
all means let us go on raising armies, but let 
them be armies of sportsmen. Every country 
must have some sport it's good at. Even 
Germany. What's that cheek-slashing game 
their students go in for, for instance ? " 

"I forget the name of it," I replied. "But 
I should say that's a bit too Kultured " 

"Yes, perhaps we ought to bar that. Still, 
there used to be a German Gym. in London 
once upon a time, and they couldn't all have 
been duds there. So they must be dabs at 
something — if it's only sitting on a patent 
walking-stick and shooting pigs. However, 
we won't go into minUtias. We'd all have to 
have some sport of some kind — or go out. I 
didn't mean to mention it again, but — there's 
cricket, to begin with. We thought we British 
could whack the world at that — until India 
gave us Ranji. And boxing, which I under- 
stand the ancient Greeks invented and the 
Romans improved upon, until somehow it 
drifted to England, and for centuries we were 
the absolute topnotchers at it. Other nations 
we despised — niggers and trash of that sort — 
and especially Frenchmen. Until France 
went crazy over the game, and in less than 
no time raised a champion who knocked our 
own champion out, not by a fluke, but twice 
running, and each time giving away tons of 
weight. So you see, uncle, if every nation 
took up every kind of sport played by every 
other nation in the world, and practised it 
and trained for it, tliere wouldn't be any un- 
fairness, after all, when the next war broke 

"Your idea, then ?" 

"I am just coming to it. We'll say war is 
declared. Very well. There's a general 
pow-wow between the heads of all the nations 
that can't somehow hit it any longer. They 
draw up a programme. Each one puts down 


Page 131 


Thought there was nothing in the world to equal his six-shooter 


-Till he found something better. 

By H. M. Batfmm. 

Page 132 


the games that his fellow-countrymen excel 
in. It would be a long list, and it would 
take a long time to get through all the items. 
But not so long as this war is taking. And it 
wouldn't cost a farthing either, because the 
gates would eas,ily pay for the expenses. And 
nobody would be killed, though a few might 
get knocked about a bit. And the excite- 
ment I Just imagine the excitement, if you 
can. Almost every five minutes there would 
be the ' Latest Results ' for the papers to 
publish. Every day the points would fluc- 
tuate, just as they do even now in the football 
tables. There'd be disputes and arguments 
and bets, and all manner of fun. And always 
something to talk about, and always some- 
thing to buck you up instead of giving you 
the pip. You'd always be counting points, 
and working out the figures to the last recur- 
ring decimal. Now England, would be on 
top, now Canada, now France, now Bonnie 
Scotland, now Italy, now Japan, now Sal- 
vador on a foul, now England again, now 
Italy, and then some wild outsider like Cam- 
bodia might butt in. And, I suppose, Ger- 
many and Austria and Turkey and Bulgaria 

would be pegging away all the time, and, if 
they never topped the list, be always spoiling 
other nations' chances. 

"And when the last game v^-as played, the 
last goal kicked, the last wicket taken, the 
last Himalaya climbed, and the first of ten 
thousand Channel swimmers safely landed, 
then we could tot up all the totals and find 
out just where we all were. And there 
wouldn't be any win, tie, or wrangle about it. 
There wouldn't be any bad blood. We'd all 
have scored at something or other. We'd 
all have our victories to balance our defeats. 
We shouldn't have wasted thousands of 
millions of pounds, not to speak of lives. 
We'd all have liad a clinking good time, we'd 
all be better friends, and keen for another war 
so as to get our own back." 

"And you think that would settle all our 
racial, economic and political differences, 
our trade disputes, and the rest of it, 

Chump laughed me to scorn. "By the time 
the crowd had done clapping," said he, 
"there wouldn't be any of that silly rot left to 























for the Army we're with Overseas; K 

for the Boys just as busy as bees; L 

for the Corps commanded by Currie; M 

for the Deutschers coming in in a N 

hurry; O 

for Old England; we mean to see P 

through ; Q 

for the Frenchies who speak "Paries- R 
vous " ; 

for the Guns; how we love their old S 

barks ! X 

Headquarters, which won't stand no U 

larks. V 

for Intelligence, up to Boche tricks; W 

for the "Junk" that sometimes we X 

nicks : Z 

s for the Kamerad, too full of love; 
is for the Lorries we have to help shove ; 
s for the Mud of most evil repute ; 
s for the N.C.O., none dare dispute; 
is for Officers — wish 'em good luck I 
s for Plugstreet and Pill-box and Pluck; 
s for "Quarters" housewife in the Field; 
is for Rupprecht, whose fancy troops 


is for Srniles, which will never come off; 
s for the Tanks, to which we caps doff; 
is for U and the Maid and Occasion ; 

for Vaterland, marked for invasion ; 
s for Wilhelm, the Kaiser so gory ; 
doesn't count; Y is Wypers and Glory; 
(thank the Lord I) is the end of my story. 


Page 133 

By Alfred Leete 

Canadian Tommy (bringing in well-fed prisoner) : "Look 'ere. Bill, I believe I've copped 

the Boche Food Controller" 

Page 134 


The Cat: "Thank 'evins I was born in the Isle of Man!' 

By W. Ileafh Robinson 


Page 136 

' I cannot be happy here — not even with you." 

By H. J. Mawat 


A Complete Story 

Illustrated bg H. J. Mobiat 

PEACE had come suddenly. There had 
been hints that it was coming in Mon- 
day's morning papers, broader hints in the 
evening papers of that day. The same sort 
of thing on Tuesday. On Wednesday the 
French papers were reported to have definitely 
stated that Peace was only a 
matter of hours. On Wednesday 
night the evening papers sold in 
hundreds of thousands. 

The first indication to Lon- 
doners that the rumours really 
were true was that sudden reap- 
pearance of the placards. The 
Star and the Evening Neivs both 
threw official regulations to the 
winds with their Noon Edition, 
and the rest of the evening papers, 
with the exception of the West- 
minster Gazette, followed suit. 


"I really think there must be something in 
it," was a remark made by thousands of 
Londoners that night when they reached their 
suburban homes. "The placards have come 
out again." 

The next morning, Thursday, a curt official 
announcement appeared in all the 
morning papers. An armistice 
had been signed, practically 
simultaneously, on all the fronts. 
It was now Friday night. Save 
for, perhaps, a few solitary shep- 
herds in the Highlands, some 
isolated dwellers in very remote 
parts of the West of Ireland, a 
few fishermen still at sea, every- 
one now knew that Peace had 

Who can describe the joy, the 
wonder, the amazement, the 

Edward Cecil. 

Pape 136 


excitement, which welcomed this sudden and 
wellnigh unbelievable news? In Cannon 
Town, that district of mean streets, ware- 
houses and. factories at the foot of the hill on 
which the suburb was built, people wellnigh 
lost their heads. 

Here and there a woman's heart ached for 
a man whose body lay somewhere in France, 
but whose spirit lived, and always would 
live, somewhere in England; here and there 
a mother's heart was glad because her son's 
life would be standing no longer in jeopardy 
every hour. And sober men and sober women 
were thankful silently, in house after house, 
in street after street, because now, at long last. 
Victory had been won. 

There was a general feeling of mutual good 
will. It was not Christmas time, but a sort of 
immensely magnified Christmas feeling per- 
meated the minds of all. 

In the suburb there was the same sort of 
thing differently expres^d, with this differ- 
ence — people were much more self-conscious. 
In the suburb people did not let themselves 
go. They could not have sung or shouted in 
the streets had they tried. They sedately 
talked to each other in the terms of the news- 
paper articles they had read that eventful 
Friday morning. It is astonishing how many 
people there are who, though they often allow 
themselves to be wholly miserable, never per- 
mit themselves to be wholly glad. 

We will now pass from the general to the 
particular, and enter the home of Edward 
Draycott, Esq., East Indian Merchant, of 
Leadenhall Street, E.C., in the City of 
LondoHi and 26, Bessborough Gardens, in 
tlie suburb which looked down on Cannon 
Town, on the night of the day after the day 
on which the Great War ceased. 

"Pass the port, dad." 

Jack Draycott was expected to say some- 
thing, and that was all he said. 

For the first time since his return home from 
Canada to fight in the War reference had 
been made to the reason why he had ever gone 
to Canada. And his answer to the very 
pointed opening was : " Pass the port, dad," 
and for the rest — silence. 

Jack Draycott had a clear-cut face and a 
determined mouth. Despite the strength of 
his face, however, his father considered him 
weak. It sometimes happens that the 
squarest-jawed man is a weak fool, but it also 
sometimes happens that strong will gains for 
its possessor the furious attacks of those who 
are not themselves strong-willed. And one 
of the stones of abuse thrown by the weak 
man is to allege weakness in his superior. 
We are always ready to accuse others of the 
faults we have ourselves. It is the easiest 
short cut in abuse imaginable. 

Now, Jack Draycott and his father held 
widely different opinions on many things. 
Each thought the other weak. But Jack Dray- 
cott never said he thought his father a weak 
man, though, in his heart of hearts, he did. 
On the contrary, Edward Draycott had fre- 
quently expressed the opinion, first of all that 
Canada would "strengthen Jack's character," 
and latterly that the War would. Edward 
Draycott belonged to that type of man who 
reckons himself to be strong for no better 
reason than because he feels himself to be 
strongly entrenched in a strong position. 

"It's kill or cure," had been Mrs. Dray- 
cott 's comment, made with wifely resignation, 
when Jack had been sent out to Canada. She 
had been brought up to accept her husband's 
ruling in all things. Jack was her favourite 
son, however, and in her opinion there was 
not much fault in his character to cure. She 
used the same words, "It's kill or cure," 
when her husband talked pompously about 
the strengthening process on a man's char- 
acter worked by fighting in Flanders. But 
she then used them bitterly. As he was now 
sitting at his father's dinner-table on the 
evening of the day after Peace had come, 
the two great experiences of life — Canada and 
the War — had not killed Jack. Had they 
"cured" him? Mrs. Draycott's own private 
opinion was that her dear old boy remained 
just exactly the "same as ever." 

And now, almost the very minute the War 
was over — when he might have observed a 
decent interval before reviving topics decently 
buried during the War — her dear, respectable 
husband had opened up the past. 

"Did you say you could hear the shouting 


Page 137 

in Cannon Town up 
here, Herbert?" he 
asked. "I'm afraid 
there will be a good 
deal of drinking down 
there. The public-houses 
ought to be shut till 
things are normal again. 
Peace celebrations will 
become an orgy — of 

And he had looked 
straight at Jack, and 
Jack had looked straight 
back at him. The young 
man's answer, his 
straight look unwaver- 
ing, his lips curling in a 
smile, had been deadly. 

"Pass the port, dad." 

Reluctantly and with- 
out comment Edward 
Draycott had passed it. 

Jack had been sent out 
to Canada because he had 
been too fond of Cannon 
Town, even to the extent 
of falling in love with a 
remarkably pretty girl 
whose home was in one 
of the mean streets of that 
infamous district so 
despised by the suburb; 
and finally, supremely, in- 
evitably and irrevocably, 
because on one never-to- 
be-forgotten night he had 
come home drunk. 

"Why, neither I nor 
your brother Herbert 
have ever been drunk in our lives 1 " ex- 
claimed the outraged Edward Draycott that 
memorable night. It may be mentioned that 
Edward Draycott was vicar's churchwarden 
at the suburb's parish church. Jack Draycott 
never went to church at all unless expressly 
asked by his mother to do so. 

"I am not — incapable," the poor boy had 

"No; but you are drunk." 

" I am nOT — speechless." 

By Hilda Cowham 


"Now, then, children, what's this animal?" 
" Please, teacher, it's a horse wot's put on a bathing suit to 
deceive the Germans." 

"It would be as well if you were," said 
Draycott, who was stupidly cross as well as 
outraged. He had been kept up late 
"Besides, don't argue with me." 

So Jack had been sent out to Canada. He 
had made "some sort of a start out there." 
He had come back to the Old World to fight 
its battles, to make the New World secure. 
He had twice been wounded, once near 
Ypres and once in the great battle for Lille, 
and now on the day after Peace, he was sitting 

Pane 138 

at his father's dinner-table drinking his 
second glass of port. 

Facing him was his brother, Captain 
Herbert Draycott, who was always what he 
ought to be, and who, in his military career, 
had never made a mistake, and had come 
through the War without a scratch. Facing 
his father sat his mother, who, knowing what 
Edward Draycott had it in his mind to say, 
had decided at the Peace Dinner to be "one 
of the men." 

"Thank you, dad," said Jack, and. poured 
himself out half a glass. 

Draycott smiled. Jack smiled also. The 
one reflected that his Bon knew what he was 
doing. The other reflected that his father 
might as well be reminded that his son was a 
man and not a boy. 

By W. F. Thomis 
" Sure, an' Oi've got the vurry horse for ye ; 

come round an' see him, sorr. He's the vurry 

patthern ye wannt — that is, if yer honour doesn't 

object to a ' green ' 'un." 

" Oh, not at all, thanks. I don't mind about 

the colour." 


" 1 quite agree with you, father," said Cap- 
tain Herbert Draycott. "The public-houses 
ought to be shut." 

"Oh, let the people have their fling," said 
Jack carelessly. "They have waited long 
enough for it." 

"I don't think you have ever realised. 
Jack," said his father, "that it is not always 
wise to let the people have what — for the 
moment — they want." 

"Wisdom depends on the point of view," 
returned Jack quietly. "Yours or theirs." 

He was evidently able to hold his own. He 
knew, of course, that he was one against two. 
That stiffened him. 

"The best of us," observed the self-satisfied 
Herbert, "have to think for those who are 
not able to think for themselves." 

Herbert Draycott had some reason to be 
satisfied with himself. He had been taken 
into his father's business before the War broke 
out. In the first glory of his khaki and his 
commission he had married the prettiest girl 
in Bessborough Gardens, who was now not 
present with them for the satisfactory reason 
that she was now about to become a mother 
for the second time. He had come through 
the War without distinction, but without mis- 
hap, and he was on the point of returning 
very comfortably to the profitable occu- 
pation of understudying his father in the 
old established business, Edward Draycott 
and Son. 

"You are not qualified to express an 
opinion, Herbert," said Jack quite amiably. 
"A man who has come through the War with- 
out spoiling the polish on his boots knows 
precious little about what people are thinking. 
It sometimes does people good to get what 
they want. They can then see for themselves 
whether it is really worth. having." 

"Well, we've all got what we want," said 
Mrs. Draycott hastily. "We all wanted Peace; 
and we've got it." 

She looked straight into her husband's face, 
and, slightly frowning, nodded to him to 
speak. He took the hint. 

"On this auspicious occasion," said Edward 
Dravcott, " when the War is at last over, and 
both you boys are safe ... I have some- 
thing to say." 


Page 1^9 

'I wish she'd go away, Bert. What's the French for 'shoo'?' 

By A. E. Hon* 

He cleared his throat. He had prepared 
what he intended saying — to the very words. 
Mrs. Draycott smiled and nodded. She 
knew what was coming, and she very much 
approved. Jack felt an inclination to give 
an encouraging "Hear, hear I " It was so 
like the first pause in a speech. But he 
checked his inclination. Herbert smiled. 

"We have much to be thankful for," went 
on Edward Draycott. "I hope we are . . . 
thankful ! I am. I propose to celebrate 
Peace in my own way. I will come at once 
to the point. I shall be glad, Jack, if you 
will come into the business. I intend alter- 
ing the title of it from ' Edward Draycott and 
Son ' to ' Edward Draycott and Sons.' " 

He beamed, and Mrs. Draycott beamed, 
and Herbert Draycott stretched out his hand 
across the table. Jack shook it. He could 
not do anything else. But there was a lack 
of warmth in the grip, and, ever so slightly 

but perceptibly, Herbert felt he was 
snubbed. Then all three of them looked at 
Jack and waited. And suddenly all three of 
them became aware that something was 
going to happen. 

Jack sat back in his chair, his face serious. 

"I am grateful to you, dad, but I wish 
you had consulted me before making this 
sort of public announcement." 

"You don't mean to say . . ." exclaimed 
Edward Draycott, speaking naturally in his 
sheer amazement. 

Jack raised his hand. He commanded the 

"I suppose what you say means that you 
have forgiven me — for not being respectable 
in the past, and that you count on my being 
respectable in the future. . . ." 

"Jack, dear, the past is dead and buried. 
Why, the War wiped it out I " Mrs Dray- 
cott interrupted hurriedly. 

Page 140 

"Dearest mother, I don't want to pain 
you, but are you so sure of that? I'm not. 
I don't think the War has altered the pater, 
here, in the very least." 

"The War has had a marked effect on all 
of us," said Edward Draycott, sheltering 
himself behind a generality. Herbert mut- 
tered something about "bad taste." Mrs. 
Draycott was frightened. 

"But if dad means that he has really for- 
given me— I'm glad. About going into the 
business, let's talk about that to-morrow." 

"I should not take you into the business 
if I had not forgiven you. . . ." 

"There was nothing really to forgive. 
Besides, you've fought in the War. . . ." 

Husband and wife both spoke at once. 

Jack said nothing. 

"Perhaps Jack does not want to come into 
the business," Herbert suggested quietly. 

"You've hit it," said Jack. The sharp 
sentence came like the crack of a whip. "I 

"Jackl" exclaimed Mrs. Draycott, horri- 

Edward Draycott opened his mouth to 
speak, but could not think of the right words. 
Then he sighed and poured himself out 
another glass of port. 

Captain Herbert Draycott shrugged his 
shoulders. One ''can always shrug one's 
shoulders when one does not know what to 

Mother and son were alone in the drawing- 
room ; father and son had gone into the little 
room which was dignified by being called 
the library. 

"Jack, dear, why are you bent on annoy- 
ing your father? " 

Mrs. Draycott sighed. Life was not alto- 
gether easy for her. 

"I'm not bent on annoying my father. 
But he and I have such different outlooks on 

"But he is your father. You should try 
to agree with him." 

" How can I ? He sent me out to Canada, 
in disgrace. He made, as I now see, quite 
an absurd fuss over nothing. Well, I got 


to like Canada. I intend doing quite well 
out there. To put it in a nutshell, my future 
lies in Canada. That's why I do not want 
to go into the business." 

"But, Jack, it's a good thing for you — to 
go into the business. Herbert has taken to it 

" It suits him ; it would not suit me." 
"Why wouldn't it suit you?" 
"An office all day long— to be taught by 
my father and patronised by Herbert — to 
wear a black coat and a silk hat — to have a 
nice little home like Herbert's and take ray 
views of life from a nice morning paper as he 
and the pater do. Mother mine, it wouldn't 

"You would settle down to it sooner than 
you think. Jack." 

"But I don't want to settle down to it!" 
He stood there, a fine stalwart man, and 
suddenly he felt sorry for his mother, of 
whom he was very fond. She had always 
been so dominated by her husband and his 
respectability. She had never had a fair 
chance. And he could not tell her so ! 

There was an awkward silence between 

"Let me put it this way, mother," he said 
at last. The War has made a difference. 
We've got to hack out a new world — new 
ideas, new everything. Some people, however, 
like father, think it's just the same old world, 
same old ideas, same old everything. Her- 
bert's that type. He's quite content with the 
world as it was before the War. How could 
he and I and the pater ever work together ? " 
What a boy he was still I How impul- 
sive, how enthusiastic ! She loved him for 
being so. He was like what she herself had 
once been, just as Herbert was like his 

" And you like Canada ? " she questioned. 
"I love Canada." 
- He said this quite seriously. 
"And you also love Muriel Hetherington ?" 
She smiled. And behind her smile lay her 

"Yei. It's well known that I do." 
"And what does she say?" 
" You also know that. She has said she will 
not be engaged to anyone till after the War." 


Page 141 

" Well, it's ' after the War ' now." 

"I know. I hope to marry her." 

"On what?" 

"I shall make a place for her in the world." 

"In Canada?" 

"Yes — in Canada." 

" Is she content ? " 

"She doesn't think me serious. But I shall 
convince her." 

"Jack, sit down, I've something to tell 

"If it's about Muriel, and it's unpleasant, 
I prefer to take it standing up." 

"It need not be unpleasant. Your father 
and I have talked to Mr. and Mrs. Hethering- 
ton about you and Muriel. They will consent 
to her being engaged to you if you settle down 
in the business. Otherwise she must stop 
seeing you. That is one reason why your 
father consents to taking you in. I persuaded 

"When did this happen?" 

"Last Tuesday." 

"And does Muriel know?" 

"Probably she does by now." 

"Exactly. I'll go and see her at once." 

Mrs. Draycott got up. She put her hands 
on her son's shoulders. 

"Jack, dear, it's late; it's nearly ten o'clock. 
Won't you think things over? But I do want 
you to be happy." 

"So do I, mother, and I mean to be happy." 

He kissed her and went. 

When Edward Draycott and Herbert 
came into the room they found he was not 

"Where's Jack?" Herbert asked. 

"He has gone over to see Muriel Hether- 
ington," his mother answered. 

"A bit late, isn't it?" remarked Edward 
Draycott. "Where's the Times?" 

"Never too late for lovers," said Herbert 

Steve: "What price the old lady, Jock?' 
Steve : " But what price the young 'un ? " 

Jock : " Pretty awfu' ' 
Jock : " Awfu* pretty 

By Tom CottrM 

Page 148 


"Lemme see, you don't like ends, Percival, do you?" 
"Well" (cuts cake in two), "me and Bill does." 

•• M«,., " 


lightly. "I must go now, or Ethel will be 
wondering what has happened to me." 

"Give her my love," said Mrs. Draycott. 

Presently Edward Draycott and his wife 
were sitting together — the one reading his 
Times, the other nodding over a novel. Only 
once did they speak. 

" Do you think she'll persuade him ? " 
asked Jack's mother. 

"I expect so," said Draycott. "The 
Hetheringtons have brought up their daughter 
very well, and Jack seems to be fond of 

The Hetheringtons lived on the other side 
of the suburb, but Jack Draycott, with long. 

easy strides, made light of the distance. He 
heard sounds of street singing and shouting 
coming up from Cannon Town, and he 
noticed the new glare in the sky — London, 
lights up ! Peace — ^and a day or two ago it 
had still been War I 

Well, Peace has her battles, just the same 
as War. 

He had his battle. He went straight to it. 

By great good luck he found Muriel 

" I nearly telephoned for you ! " she ex- 
claimed, after he had kissed her, "when I 
found father and mother were going out." 

"Why didn't you quite?" 

"I heard you were having a family Peace 
dinner. I thought perhaps you might walk 


Pace 1-^3 

over afterwards — of your own accord. You 
liave. I'm glad." 

He kissed her again.* 

"I'm glad to find you alone," he said. "I've 
something important to say. I'll say it at 

Of course, she guessed what he was go- 
ing to say. She was a fine-looking, open- 
air girl, and she was -very fond of Jack 

"Well, say it," she commanded. She was 
very happy. 

"I will. You said you would not be en- 
gaged to anyone till the War was over, not 
even to me. Well, the War is over. May I 
take it that our engagement now begins?" 

Her eyelids fluttered. Then she looked up 

"You may," she said. 

He kissed her for the third time, and then 
commanded her to sit down. 

"And now," he said, "for what I have come 
to say." 

"Why!" she exclaimed. "I thought you 
had said it 1 " 

"No. I wish I had. But it's soon said. I 
understand that your father and mother have 
seen my father and mother, and that they 
have said that they will consent to your 
being engaged to me if my father takes me 
into his business. Well, to-night he has 
offered to do so, and I have refused the 


"I have refused to go into my father's 

"Meaning losing me ! " 

"I did not know at the time. But even now 
that I do know, I still refuse. I am going 
back to Canada." 

She looked at him, frightened. 

"And what am I going to do?" 

"Coming out to Canada with me." 

"They would never let me." 

" They have nothing to do with it. You 
and I have everything to do with it. Nobody 
else has anything to do with it. I am go- 
ing back to Canada because my future 
lies in Canada. Will you share it with me? 
I can promise you it will be worth your 

"But, Jack, why go out to Canada to be 
happy when we can be happy here ? " 

" I cannot be happy here — not even with 

She pouted. She had the little tricks of a 
well-brought-up girl. But Jack Draycott 
knew she was something better — or thought 
he did. He loved her. 

"Listen, Muriel. I was sent out to Canada 
in disgrace. An absurd thing to do, I admit; 
but my father did it. Now you know all the 
story, because I've told you. Well, when I 
first got out there they laughed at me. They 
said I was one of the No-goods at home, how 
could I expect to be one of the Some-goods 
out there? I didn't argue. I was never a 
No-good here. I was soon a Some-good out 
there. Up in the fur country, I've an open- 
ing. I'm going back to it." 

"They will never let me go," she said piti- 
fully. She was near tears. 

"Don't ask them. I don't ask them for 
you. I ask you — for yourself." 

"They will never let me go." 

"Muriel — if you say that again I shall go 
without you. I mean it. It is you and me — 
not your parents and my parents. That sort 
of thing belonged to the old world, before the 
War. It is now the new world, after the War. 
I want you. I want no other woman in the 
world but you; but from you I want every- 
thing or nothing." 

He was putting her roughly to the test, but 
he knew it had to be done. 

She sat silent. 

"It will be a rough life, perhaps, at first. 
But you will be quite safe with me. It will 
be a grand life, my life out there, a free life ; 
no chufch-going every Sunday morning, 
no At-Home day once a month, no heeding 
what other people do, and thinking that to be 
right which others tell you to be right — a free 
life instead of a fettered life — a life for you, 
lived with me — giving me what I ask, just 
what I give you — everything or nothing If 
I give you everything, dearest, my life into 
your hands, will you give me everything, 
your life into mine?" 

She still sat silent. 

"You want time to think?" he asked. 
"Take as long as you like." 

Page 144 


"You are quite decided that you are going 
back to Canada ? " 


"Because you like Canada?" 


"You want me to come straight out with 


"And the life which is good enough for 
your brother Herbert is not good enough for 
you ? " 

"No, Muriel, it is not." 

"Neither would it be good enough for me." 

"My Queen!" 

"It is with me as it is with you — everything 
or nothing. If you want to go back to Canada 
and you want me, I will come. As you say, 
it is simply you and I who are concerned — 
no one else at all." 

"I always knew you would stand by 

He was triumphant. 

"I will try to be good enough — all through. 
But if ever I am weak, help me to be as brave 
as you are." 

"It is a miracle — love like mine and love 
like yours coming together." 

He took her in his arms and kissed her 
again and again. Not merely the pretty out- 
side, which is all many ever know, and which 
soon gets soiled and worn ; but the very heart 
of Love was theirs. 

Cheerful Reinforcement : " Why do they 
call this junk ' Bully ' ? " 

Dyspeptic : "Because it ain't." 



By Tom ColtreU 
Fond Granny: "What is it. Cherub; can I help you?" 
The " Cherub " : " Yes, Granny ; get down on your hands and knees — I want to draw a tank." 


Pa^e 141 

By H. P. Jcnntr 

Photographer : " Of course, sir, you can hassume any expression you please, but I might 
mention that at the present moment the fashionable thing among the hupper classes is to look 



THE guard's whistle shrilled. I heard a 
hoarse "Stand away, there, sir!" Then 
the door of the compartment was flung open 
and a little, fat, round man flopped in. 

He perched on the edge of the seat like 
a perky cock sparrow, and mopped the 
shining pinkness of his bald forehead with a 
large handkerchief. Then he rearranged his 
tie, brushed his coat-sleeve over his silk hat, 
flicked a speck of dust from a white spat, and 
settled his pince-nez almost on the tip of his 
pcxigy nose. 

He then coughed, looked across the carri- 
age at me and ejaculated : " Bless my soul 1 
It's a first I " 

.My mild surprise must have been apparent, 
for the pink and corpulent individual put his 
chin inside his collar and glared at me fiercely 
over the tops of his glasses. 

"I find that I have inadvertently entered 
a first-class compartment, sir," he exclaimed. 
"And it is not my habit, sir, I may say that 
it is against my Principles in this time of 
my Country's stress, to enjoy the — er — un- 

Page 146 


necessary luxury of first-class travel. I de- 
termined, as an Example, sir, to the thought- 
less, to become a Third-class Passenger im- 
mediately on the outbreak of the War. That 
is ten months ago, and this is the first time, 
sir, that I have broken my — er — vow." 

I inclined my head to signify my perfect 
sympathy with the little man. "You are a 
true patriot, sir," I murmured. 

" And who is not, sir ? " he thundered, with 
an excited rustle of his morning paper. "By 
gad ! sir, I see Red every time I open the 
confounded newspaper." 

"That must be inconvenient." 

"Inconvenient, sir 1 It's my natural feel- 
ings that get the better of a True-born Briton, 
sir ; a True-born Briton who's not been accus- 
tomed to standing any nonsense from any 
damned foreigners, sir. No ! Gad ! if I were 
only ten years younger ! Ten years I I'd 
set the young slackers an example." 

His eye presumably caught a headline in 
his paper, for he added fiercely: "The best 
thing about the Germans, sir, is their Mili- 
tarism. We need a System like theirs, that 
instils all the Great National Virtues — stern 
^'atriotism, unflinching Discipline, blind 
Courage, unhesitating Devotion to the Flag 
and implicit Obedience to Superiors 1 That's 
what this Nation wants, sir 1 " 

And that was my first introduction to Mr. 
Peter Poddigrew. 

I met him a few mornings later on the 
station platform, and we exchanged formal 
greetings. Then, entangling me in his 
wordy barbed wire, he insisted on my journey- 
ing to town with him. 

Although I don't suppose I managed more 
than a dozen words during the journey, be- 
fore we parted Mr. Peter Poddigrew (he had 
already insisted on an exchange of cards) 
complimented me on my "conversation." 
"It's seldom, sir, that I meet a Man with 
whom I so thoroughly Agree. Come and 
dine with me, sir, to-morrow night. I shall 
expect you. I insist." 

Urgent business calling me from town, 1 
was glad to be able to wire Mr. Poddigrew 
my regrets. 

I did not see him again for about six 
months. Then I met him one morning at 

the station, and was unable to avoid him. 
He showed his gratification at the renewal of 
our acquaintanceship by making a speech at 
me which lasted practically the whole journey 
citywards. The main theme of his discourse 
that morning was the special duty of every 
young man to take unto himself a wife 
("not one of your damned pampered, de- 
generate, fashionable hussies, sir, but a 
Healthy, Sensible Woman capable of bear- 
ing at. least four or five children I "), and 
hasten to shoulder the responsibilities of 
fatherhood, "for the Good of the State, sir, 
to the Glory of the Flag." 

I gathered, by the way, that he, was a 
widower with one young daughter, an only 
child, who house-kept for him. 

A month later I was knocking at the door 
of Mr. Peter Poddigrew's villa in Surbiton's 
most select corner. I was admitted by a 
smart young manservant into a well-appointed 
hall, in which a picture of a bloody hand-to- 
hand battle, draped with a Union Jack, had 
a conspicuous place. 

As I handed my hat and coat to the man 
I wondered, for the twentieth time, what had 
induced me to accept Poddigrew's pressing 
invitation. The man was a complete bore. 
He jarred horribly on my nerves. Still, at 
the same time, I felt an interest in him as a 

My hostess was standing before a cheerful 
fire in the drawing-room. My first quick 
impression of her was gold and pink. She 
was a slim, pretty girl of about eighteen or 
nineteen, and welcomed me gracefully, if a 
trifle shyly. We had scarcely exchanged a 
couple of sentences before her father bounced 
and bustled overpoweringly into the room. 
From then on he monopolised the talk until 
dinner was announced. I let him rattle on, 
feeling in no mood myself for conversational 

The table entertainment, so far as I was 
concerned, was not a great success. The 
menu was over-ample and unimaginative. 
The wines were good. The daughter — her 
name was Daphne — was pleasantly mannered, 
but with little conversation. She appeared to 
be in a perpetual state of acquiescence. "I 
agree entirely," she would say, opening wide 



Up to date from her curls 
to her toes 

Undisturbed by the 
weaiher she goes — 

In a snug "trencher" 

And with furs at her 
young May doesn't care 
if it snows. 

But, when snow clouds 
are swept from the 

Up yonder she raises her 

To the stars in the 

Her secret's confessed— 

Keep my soldier in 
safety," she sighs. 




By MacMlchael 


Page 147 

her china-blue eyes; or else, "I qutte see what 
you mean," or "I can't think why people 
won't see that." 

Then, suddenly, my interest in her quick- 
ened. I scented romance. 

Poddigrew (confound him I) had been hold- 
ing forth again on "Duty to the State," the 
"wickedly declining birth-rate" (whereat 
Daphne had blushed quite in the approved 
English and maidenly manner), "the curse of 
selfishness, sir," and the urgent need for 
every young man — it was always the young 
man with Poddigrew — to marry, whatever his 
circumstances, and rear numerous offspring 
"on Principle." 

"I know a young Canadian," I said, as 
Poddigrew paused to sip his Burgundy, "who 
holds your views on that subject. He was 
telling me so rather forcibly the other day. 
He's an engineer in civil life, quite success- 
ful, and " 

Here Daphne dropped her fork, and I saw 
that her face had suddenly assumed a rosier 
hue. Poddigrew glared. 

I continued: "This young Canadian is a 
man after your own heart. He believes sin- 
cerely that everything in one's life should 
be considered primarily in its relation to the 
State, to the Empire; that individual am- 
bition and desire should be subservient to that 

"Fine, sir, fine 1 " cried Poddigrew. "I'd 
like to meet that young man. That's the 
Spirit we want. Buskin, fill up the glasses." 

"My Canadian friend sacrificed his busi- 
ness and something like a thousand a year to 
join up immediately war was declared. He 
came over, too, with the avowed intention of 
marrying a British g'rl, and taking her back 
to Canada with him. Well, about a couple 
of months ago he met his ideal, so he tells 
me. She is a beautiful — and, I believe, 
he added, thoroughly healthy and suitable — 
young English girl. He fell in love 
with her." 

" And they are married ? " asked Poddigrew 

"No. The girl's father objects to my Cana- 
dian friend. He objects so strongly, although 
his daughter's affections are centred on the 
fellow, that he won't even allow him to call 

at the house to discuss matters. Up to now 
they have only exchanged letters." 

"The man's a fool, sir, a fool 1 " 

"Yes. He said he wasn't going to have his 
daughter carted away into the ' wilds.' I 
understand that the suitor pointed out in his 
letters that, quite apart from the fact that they 
love each other, it is the duty of the father to 
permit his daughter to marry the man of her 
choice, especially as he is going to take her 
to another part of the Empire where women 
and children are wanted more than here. He 
also explained, during the course of the corre- 
spondence, that it is for the good of the Em- 
pire that they should marry and rear healthy 

"And quite right too, sir. In my opinion 

" Poddigrew broke off with a gesture 

of irritation as his daughter suddenly pushed 
back her chair. 

"I think I'll leave you," she said quietly. 
I looked at hor, but she did not meet my eyes. 
I noted that her cheeks had grown paler. 
"You'll come into the drawing-room later, 
won't you ? " she added. 

" Yes, yes, my dear ! " Her father answered 
her, a trifle testily I thought. Then he turned 
to me, and volleyed forth a verbal barrage 
through which I did not attempt to penetrate. 

Later I spent an equally uninspiring half- 
hour or so in the drawing-room. Daphne, 
conversationally bankrupt — I was really sorry 
for the poor child now, for she seemed to be 
flustered and overpowered by her father's un- 
quenchable rhetoric — turned to the piano, 
almost, it seemed, in self-defence. She sang 
one of the Indian Love Lyrics — "Less than 
the Dust," I think it was — in a pretty but 
uninspired voice. 

I had come to the definite conclusion that 
something was troubling her. I decided that 
she was in fear of her father, and that he w.t; 
something of a tyrant towards her. 

Suddenly, as I stooped to turn a page of 
music for her — she had finished singing — shp 
whispered : "Is his name John Vane? " 

I believe I started. But lurk-ily her father 
could have noticed nothing. He was turninc: 
over the pages of a monthly review. 

She continued playing. I whispered my 
reply: "Yes!" 

Page 148 

She had mentioned the name of my Cana- 
dian friend. I wondered. So this was the 
girl. And Poddigrew— Poddigrew the Super- 
Patriot, the all-for-the-State merchant— it was 
he who, in one of his ridiculous letters, had 
called Vane "an opinionated young cub!" 
Poddigrew, who "saw red " where others were 
concerned, sang a different tune when it was 
a matter of personal inconvenience, to the 
extent even of refusing his daughter to the 
man she loves I 

Just as I was leaving, Poddigrew said : "By 
the way, I wonder if you would bring your 
Cai>adian friend along one evening? I'd like 
to have a talk with him ! " 

I was shaking hands with Daphne at the 
moment. She smiled at me meaningly. I 
turned to her father. "Of course," I answered; 
"I'll bring him whenever it's convenient to 
you. He'll be delighted. He knows very few 
people in England." 

"Wednesday night, then," said Poddigrew 
breezily. "Seven-thirty sharp. I'll expect 

"Thanks.- You and he will have a chance 
of exchanging ideas on the subject which 
seems to burn with almost equal intensity in 
the breasts of both of you." 

I laughed and turned again to Daphne. I'll 
swear she was hiding a smile behind that 
ridiculously small handkerchief. 

And thus it came about. I fixed it all up 
with Vane. He was boyishly enthusiastic 
over the scheme. "One' thing's sure," he 
said boisterously, "I'll be an engaged man — 
a real finance — before we leave that Pop-Gun 
Patriot's shanty. We'll make Mister Peter 
Poddigrew sit up all right 1 " 

We did, too. 

When Vane and I were shown into the 
drawing-room, Poddigrew was standing be- 
fore the fire. Daphne was not with him. I 
introduced Vane as "Corporal Smith." Pod- 
digrew welcomed him cordially, and at once 
opened fire : "I've heard a lot about you, sir ! 
You're the kind of Man I like to meet." 


So he continued, in the strain of one ap- 
pointed by the gods to be Higl? Priest of 
State and Expositor Extraordinary of Im- 
perial Principles, emphasising his trite re- 
marks with blows of his fat fists. Vane 
listened and agreed to all his drivel without 
the suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes. Then 
Daphne entered the room. The stage has lost 
a promising actress in that girl. She didn't 
so much as blush as her father presented 
"Corporal Smith." 

The inevitable topic cropped up soon after 
Daphne came in, and provided Vane with the 
opportunity he'd been angling for. 

"Forgive me if I seem impertinent, sir," 
Poddigrew said, "but I have been given to 
understand that you have been abominably 
treated by some unpatriotic devil who doesn't 
see things as we do. I need not assure you 
of my Sympathy, sir. I agree, as you see, 
entirely with your High Ideals. It is every 
man's Duty to the Empire to marry the 
Woman of his Choice, just as soon as ever he 
can, and for them to rear children who shall 
grow up to be of Service to the State. Every 
young man worthy of our Glorious Empire 
should be Ready and Eager to shoulder the 
Responsibilities of Fatherhood with the Rifle 
and defend our " 

Vane strode quickly to Daphne's side, and 
put his arm round her shoulders, without 
taking his eyes from Poddigrew's face. 
"Then why the — why, may I ask, do you re- 
fuse to allow me to marry your daughter ? " 
he demanded. 

Poddigrew gasped ; and then his jaw 
dropped. He stared, first at Daphne and 
Vane, and then at me, while his face 

"Why— why !" he spluttered at last, 

showing symptoms of apoplexy. "Well, I'm 
— but, confound you, sir — well, of all the 
damned young blackguards! " . . . 

That dinner party was a great success. But 
Poddigrew, strangely enough, left most of the 
talking to his future son-in-law. 


Bu II. Viffun 


Page 149 


By " R.M.E." 

Illustrated bg Dudlep Hardp, 

Dear daughter of the Empire, you 
Who drew a dollar from your purse, 

Purchased a pipe — a beauty, too — 
And mailed it 'cross a universe 

To reach some lonely soldier's hands; 

I have it — one who understands. 

No introduct'ry card it 
This welcome friend 
from overseas; 

It just arrives, pot-luck 
it shares. 
With my surround- 
ings it agrees. 

And you who sent it, 
you're a dear, 

Part of our priceless 

Unknowingly, and all 

They sign a pact that 

lasts the years — 
The sender of the gift, 

to wit, 
The man whose awk- 

ward hours it 

And last the happy, 

honest bowl. 
The symbol of a con- 
stant soul. 

"It just arrives, pot-luck it shares" 

I fill your gift with Honey Dew, 
And Golden Flake, and 'Arf-a-Mo, 

A hundred times, and oft of you 
I think as quiv'ring rings I blow; 

And framed in some of them I see 

The kind of woman you must be. 

Tis pity that you did 

not give 
Some tiny clue to 

trace you by; 
But I've a notion where 

you live. 
Even a name for you 

have I. 
And whether you're a 

miss or ma'am, 
I've got ideas — but I'm 

a clam ! 

Countless the chances 

are to one 
That e'er I'll see you 

in the flesh. 
Are you a flapper full 

of fun. 
Or twenty-four with 

roses fresh ? 
Are you kind sixty, 

sweet sixteen, 
Or some "just-nice" 

age in between ? 

'Tis good to love one woman well. 
To own one dog, to trust one chum ; 

But when they play you false, farewell 
To your life's equilibrium. * 

Fidelity, thy prototype. 

Is just an ordinary pipe I 

I and my fancy have a bet 
That after dinner, on the sly. 

You're not above a cigarette, 
Or, I can see you standing by 

Lighting some lucky man's cigar. 

That's the good sort 1 think you arc. 

Page IBO 


] Madge: "Why's that soldier got two horses?" 
Harold (the encyclopsedia) : "That's 'cos if one was punctured.' 

By D. U Ghilchih 

P'raps he's your father, p'raps your son, The man who fills his briar-bowl 
(Impertinence to speculate !) And seeks alone the nearest nook, 

P'raps he's the only, only one His love, his gratitude, the whole 
You've sworn to love or tolerate; Of all the virtues in his Book, 

But, if your heart's yours to bestow, Creep to him there to wait their chance. 

You'll choose a smoker— that, I know ! The whims of his extravagance. 

Ah, 'twere relief to 

wring the hands 
Supremely dear that 

knits me socks 
And wrap them round 

all kinds of brands 
Of th i n gs to eat 

packed in a box ; 
Yet to a really lonely 

The choicest gifts go 

up in smnkp I 

"The choicest gifiv ft., up in smoke" 

So when in my dug- 
out I sit 
And puflf, and puff, 
my thanks to you ; 

You've done a trifle to- 
wards your bit. 
Dear daughter of the 
Empire, who 

Of my poor musings 

Have won the kindest 
I can give. 


Page 151 


Canadian: "I don't believe Mac knows what a moose is." 

Mac: "Awa" wi' yel Ah ken fine, ye catch 'em in tr-r-r-aps wi' cheese." 

By Atf Pearsa 

Parte 152 



Light Railway construction troops ploughing up the earth which the drag "scrapers," drawn 

by mules, carry away for "dumping" 

"Scraper" gathering its load 

'Scraper" dumping its haul 

Canadian Official Photographs 



P<i(je 153 


One of the great guns with its tackle employed in pounding Hill 70 

Ihe gun's crew find their stern work congenial 

Canadian Official Photographs 

Page 154 



Wrestling on horses — both men and steeds bareback — is welcome excitement 

ftV^': ■>• 

The "Canuck" must have his baseball game even if he is under fire 

Canadian Official Photographs 

r.l.V.l/>.'l IX KllAKI 

Page 155 


Canadians and Hun prisoners fare alike when hors de combat 

A survivor of Vimy Ridge 

Carried in from battle 

Canadian Official Photographs 

Page 156 


By H. J. Mowiit 


The black night formed a murky lid 
To the flame-ringed edge of hell; 

The tortured silence screamed beneath 
The withering lash of shell. 

The sniper, at his frozen post, 

Swore hard as he crouched there low; 

Fire from the furnace of his eyes 
Blazed a red trail through the snow. 

He found the shadow that he sought; 

It deepened; and then was still. 
He jammed his rifle to his cheek — 

Death hovered near, at his will. 

Two shots were wedded in one crash . . , 
Two snipers had killed — and died. 

Thus did the cruel hand of War 
Gather two victims side by side. 




Page 157 


By J. E. SIME 

(Author of "Canada Chap*") 

TIME.— Any Year in the Great War. 
PLACE.— A Real Live Room— with a Real 

Live Birch Tree just outside the 

PEOPLE.— Ian. 

Ian's Mother. 

A Neat Tablemaid. 

Lots of Tin Soldiers. 

IT is not a dining-room, nor yet a drawing- 
room, nor is it a study. It is neither 
ticketed nor labelled. It is a room to be alive 
in ; you can call it by any name you choose. 

Close outside the window is a birch — a cut- 
leaf birch — just coming into leaf. Exquisite 
it stands there, delicate, drooping, fragile to 
look at, and yet strong. Winter is behind it, 
summer before it. The green haze of coming 
leaf seems to deepen as you look ; it is spring- 
time in Canada. And the sun comes glinting 
through the branches and gleaming through 
the window, and it falls on a small boy (who 
will be a big one before you can turn round) 
on the floor with his regiments and regiments 
of tin soldiers ranged all ready for battle in 
front of him. 

His mother sits at the window knitting. 
Sometimes she looks at the birch, and she 
smiles as she looks at it — and she might be a 
Japanese woman smiling at the cherry blos- 
som. And sometimes she looks at the boy 
at her feet, and her eyes grow large and soft. 
And then she might be the Japanese woman 
looking at her boy lying on the ground close 
beside her. 

They are silent. The boy is intent on his 
soldiers, the mother is intent on her thoughts. 
Her thoughts are of soldiers too — not made 
of tin. 

Ian. [Placing the last soldier to his satis- 
faction.] Mother, could I have a khaki suit? 

Ian's Mother. [With a start.] What for, 

S— II ' 

Ian. Oh, so's I can pretend I'm going 

Ian's Mother. Wait a bit, boy. 

Ian. [Persuasive.] Can't I, mother, then? 

Ian's Mother. Wait, Ian, till you can have 
the real thing. 

Ian. But that's such a long time to wait. 

Ian's Mother. It'll come. Wait a bit. 

Ian. [After a second.] Mother, don't you 
•want me to go fighting ?- 

Ian's Mother. [Dropping her knitting and 
looking at him.] I do — and I don't. 

Ian. [Trying as all of us boys and girls do 
to get round enigmas.] Why ? 

Ian's Mother. [Taking up her knitting 
again.] I'm afraid I can't explain. 

Ian. [Perceptive — aggrieved.] You mean 
I couldn't understand ! That's what you 
mean when you say that. 

Ian's Mother. [Smiling.] Well, perhaps a 
little ! 

Ian. [Looking up at her.] But I could. 

Ian's Mother. You wait a bit. 

Ian. [This last straw breaking his back.] 
That's what you always say. That's what 
everyone keeps saying. I'm so tired of hear- 
ing that ! 

Ian's Mother. [Realising the reasonable- 
ness of this] Ian, if I could explain 

Ian. [Eagerly.] Try, mother. 

Ian's Mother. [Doubtfully.] Well 

Ian. [Feeling that he has a reputation to 
keep up — most anxious to prove that he can 
understand.] Well? 

Ian's Mother. It's this way, then. You 
see, dad's gone. 

Ian. [Proiidly touching the Commanding 
Officer in Tin.] Yes, I know. That's him. 

Ian's Mother. It was bad enough to let 
him go. [She hesitates, dropping her knit- 
ting.] Ian, if you'd been big, I don't know 
what I should have done. 

Ian. [Disposing of that.] You'd have said 

Page 168 


Good-bye. [Touching the tallest Private tn 
the front row.] That's me. 

lan's Mother. [Involuntarily.] Oh, that's 
a dangerous place ! 

Ian. [Immovable.] It's me. 

lan's Mother. [Bending forward and re- 
moving the soldier in the front row to the last 
back corner place.] That's where I'd rather 
have you. 

Ian. [Outraged — snatching up the soldier 
and restoring him to his old place.] What — 
have me in the back of everything ! You 
wouldn't, mother. 

Jan's Mother. [Looking at him.] Ian, if 
you got killed 

Ian. [Explanatory.] I'm one of the Five 
Hundred. They got killed ! 

lan's Mother. Oh, but we don't hear any- 
thing of the Five Hundred's mothers ! 

Ian. [Indifferently.] Mothers don't fight. 

lan's Mother. No, but they give their sons 
to fight. 

Ian. [Who has never thought of the matter 
just this way.] Do you give us, mother? 

lan's Mother. Yes, we give you, Ian. 
[She hesitates again, and then decides to 
speak.] Ian, it's a lot of trouble to make a 
man you know. 

Ian. [Uninterested.] Paying for school 
and clothes and things, you mean. 

lan's Mother. Yes — and IcSts of other 
things. You see, you're fond of all those 
soldiers, aren't you? Why, you've spent the 
whole afternoon drilling and placing them. 

Ian. [Defensively — foreseeing possible 
critical suggestions as to more profitable ways 
of spending time.] Well, they're lots of fun. 

lan's Mother. Yes, and, you see, you like 
them partly just because you spend your time 
on them, play with them, and work with 
hem, and get to understand them and the 
battles they can fight. 

Ian. [Reassured as to criticism — full of in- 
terest.] Yes. this is the Battle of the Marne 
they're fighting now. 

lan's Mother. [In a low voice.] And to- 
morrow they'll be fighting Festubert. 

Ian. [Enthusiastic — shouting.] Yes, and 
the next day after that St. Julien. 

Jan's Mother. And so, you see, you're 
fond of them because you've got to know 

them. Do you see that? New soldiers 
wouldn't be the same. Now, would they ? 

Ian. [Doubtfully — not quite catching on.] 

lan's Mother. And, don't you see, you're 
just the same to me. I'm fond of you because 
I've worked with you and played with you — 
because you're mine. And, just as your 
soldiers are your very own, and you don't 
want to part with them, or see them 

Ian. [Hoisting himself along the floor, 
leaning .one elbow on her knee, quite in- 
terested.] Yes? Go on, mother. 

lan's Mother. Ian, I'm just like you. 
You're my tin soldier. I don't want to part 
with you — and see you broken. That's why I 
said that it was bad enough to have dad go, 
and that I wanted to keep you lie re beside me. 

Ian. [Pondering.] But, mother 

lan's Mother. Well? 

Ian. Mother, if I was grown up now, you 
wouldn't want to have me here. You'd want 
to have me fighting, wouldn't you ?• [He 
bends over and touches the front Private.] 
Like that. 

lan's Mother. [Looking out at the birch.] 
Ian, if you were big and grown a man, I don't 
know how I could ever let you go. [After 
a moment — in a surprised tone.] And yet 
you're right. I wouldn't want to have you 

Ian. [Common sense.] Of course you 
wouldn't. I'd be there, you bet I 

lan's Mother. [Still looking out at the 
birch — still in her surprised voice.] No ; 
you're right. I'd push you out with my own 
hands sooner than have you stay. I'd want 
to have you there. [She bends down and takes 
the Private, and rapidly changes Private and 
Officer.] I'd want to have you there. 

Ian. [Eagerly.] Yes, and I'd get there. 

Jan's Mother. [Like a flash.] But, Ian, 
perhaps you'd die getting there. 

Ian. [Falling back on his original argu- 
ment.] So did the Five Hundred. Don't you 
remember? If they did, T could. [Clinching 
the matter.] I'm Canadian. 

lan's Mother. [In a hurry.] You're Scotch 
as well. And if von ever go, you'!! have to 
go in a kilt — mind that! 


Page 189 

Ian. [Tolerantly.] That's just because 
you're Scotch, mother. [Stating the facts of 
the case.] I'm Canadian. [After a second.] 
And so's dad. 

lan's Mother. [Still in a hurry.] Don^ 
push me out. 

Ian. [Giving encouragement where en- 
couragement is due.] Never mind, mother. 
You're Canadian since you married us. Dad 
and me's made you one. 

lan's Mother. 

Bv Dudley CU/tver 
" And were you wounded so badly, poor man, all in one battle ?" 
" Gte ! There's nothing half so bad as this at the front. ) just 
got hit by a "bus in your city when I was on leave ! " 

lan's Mother. [Doubtfully.] Well, I sup- 
pose I am I 

Ian. [Finishing that.] Of course you are. 
We've made you one, I tell you. [Reverting 
to the main trunk of the conversation.] 
So I'd go with the Canadians, and I'd 
lead 'em into battle, and then I'd die. 
[Reflectively.] Or else I'd come back home 
again, perhaps. 

[Stopping her knitting to 
give him one tight 
squeeze.] You'd come 
back home a^«.n. 

Ian. [Wriggling out of 
the squeeze.] Like dad. 

lan's Mother. [Her eyes 
again on the birch tree.] 
Like dad. 

[The birch waves a little in 
the spring breeze. It 
might be a Highland 
., birch on the slope of a 
Highland hill. It is 
Scotland transplanted, 
and growing in its 
new soil sturdily.] 
lan's Mother. [Coming 
back from the birch — de- 
cidedly.] Anyway, you'd 
have to wear the kilt. 

Ian. [Responding to the 
note of decision.] All 
right, mother. 

lan's Mother. And the 

bagpipes on in front ! 

Ian. Canadian bagpipes. 

lan's Mother. [Doubt- 

fully once more.] Well, I 

suppose so. 

Ian. [Jumping up — 
taken dramatic] Me with 
the Canadians, and us 
going into battle with the 
bagpipes at the head of us. 
[tVi/h one leap he goes 
into battle on the spot, 
and plunges head first 
into the tea-tray com- 
ing in at the door in 
the arms of a neat 

Page IBO 


The Neat Tablemuid. Oh 

Ian. Oh ! 

lan's Mother. Ian 1 

Ian. [Foreseeing possible unpleasant con- 
sequences.] I didn't mean to 

lan's Mother. [Taking up her knitting 
again.] Any harm done, Minnie? 

The Neat Tablevuiid. [With the glance of 
affection in the direction of Ian.] No, 
ma'am. Not to speak of — so to say. 

' Ian. [Relieved.] Oh ! [After a slight 
pause, during which the Neat Tablemaid 
arranges her tea-table unobtrusively.] Say, 
mother ? > 

lan's Mother. One, two, three — pur] ! 
One, two, three — purl ! W^it a minute, Ian. 

Ian. [After a minute fraction of time.] 

lan's Mother. [Showing alarming signs of 
relapsing into knitting for good.] Well, 
what is it ? 

Ian. Mother, if you wouldn't mind me 
going in a kilt that time. 

lan's Mother. Get on, 

Ian. [Blurting it out — not at all sure of the 
reception of his logic] Well, couldn't I have 
a khaki suit right now ? 

lan's Mother. [Taken aback — under the 
impression that that was settled long ago.] 

Ian. [Pleadingly.] Oh, mother, couldn't I? 

lan's Mother. [Hesitating.] Well 

By IF. F. Thomas 
Sergeant (who is classifying men for Church Parade, to long-haired recruit) : " What religion ? " 
Recruit : *' Unitarian." 
Sergeant (staring aghast at his flowing locks) : " Unit-hairun I I should say so ; you hop off 

n>ii' >.ep ilic l)iirbBr ! " 

"The Unsoldierlike Sub. 



THERE has come to band, within the last {ew weeks, a 
letter from a Captain with the B.E f. which is well 
worth reprinting here, in view of its distinctive differ- 
ence from the majority of " letters from the rroni," as well 
as what has been lately published regarding the remarkable 
extent to which " Pelmanism" is being adopted by officers 
of His Majesty's Army and Navy. 

Here is the letter in question : 

*' 1 was looked upon with disfavour by the CO. of my Itattalioo at 
home as being a sleepy, forgetful, and unsold'erlike itub. When 1 
began your CourK my star be^an to rise — I bad the ability, but bad 
not been able to use it. I ictt the home battalion With my CO.'t 
recommendation as being the best officer be had bad for more than a 
year, and came to France. 

" I W.1S then appointed as a second lieutenant to command a company 
over the heads of four ftjen with two ' pips,' and have now three slai« 
and an M.C. 

" Thai 1 was able to make use of my abilitiel so succesafulhr I attribute 
entirely to the Pelman System. '* , Captain." 

As an isolated letter, the foregoing might fail lo carry much weight 
But when it is taken as typical ol some hundreds of similar letters 
from Army and Navy officers, then, ini^ced, one is forced to con- 
cede that theie must be "something in Pelmanism." 

Nearly forty Generals and Admirals and well over 300 naval anJ 
regimental commanders — to say nothing of 3.000 other officers and 
a multitude orN.C.O.sand men — have adopted Pelmanism since 
the outbreak of war, and every day brings reports from them as to 
substantial Ijenefits derived. 

Let us take a few examples. A Naval Captain reports promotion 
to the command of a line cruiser — thanks to his Pelman training. 
A Lieutenant-Colonel reports " a step in rank " within two months 
of starting the Course. A Major writes attributing his Majority 
aittl his U.S.O. to the same agency. A General and a Rear- 
Admiral also write giving testimony. There is not a rank or unit 
of either Service which has not supplied convincing evidence of the 
fact that Pelmanism is truly the short road to progress. 

Many officers find that, in addition to assisting them to greater 
military efficiency, the Pelman Course serves other desirable ends. 
For example : — 

*' The Course has prevented me bccomine slack and stagnating during 
my Army life— this is a most virulent clanger, I ma)r add. It incuf- 
cates a clean, thorough, courageous method of playing the game of 
Life — admirably suited to the Kngtish temperament, ana should prove 
wmpral salvation to many a business man. * Success,' too, would 
follow — but I cottsider this as secondary." 

Such letters render comment superfluous. 

The evidence forces one irresistibly to the conclusion that, as 
•' Truth " says, "The Pelman Institute places the means of pro- 
gress within the reach of everyone. " However sweeping this state- 
ment may appear, it is literally true I There is no case upon record 
in which the conscientious student of " Pelmanism" has failed to 
reach the coveted goal— whether that goa. \x promotion, financial 
betterment, social or professional advancement, or aught else. 

" Pelmanism " in the Services. 

The extent to which " Pelmanism" has been adopted by both 
Services is wonderlul. At the present time there are no fewer than 
7,000 officers and men following the Pelman Course, including : — 

— 3< OeneralB. 6 Admiral*, 

—81 Naval Captains and Commanders. 

—144 Colonels, and over 3,000 other OfScera. 

From these, voluntary reports are received daily, recording pro- 
motion and other benefits due to "Pelmanism." 

As to results, the difficulty is to select the most representative 
ones. Here is a random selection which could be multiplied a 
thousandfold from the Institute's records : — 

—Promotion to Colonelcy. 

—Placed my practice on a satisfactory basis (Doctor.) 

—Else of £145 per annum (Salssman). 

— Donbled my turnover. 

—Naval promotion (Captain). 

—Salary improved 30:> par cent. 

-Utarary prize of C230. 

— Hy Income has gone up 300 per cent. (ArohltACtX 

—Substantial Increase in my salary. 

—Increase of salary iiO per cant. 

—Increased tumover and salary. 

-Secured a Stafr Api>olntment (Army). 

—My tumover has beaten all records. 

— Hy business has Increased contdderably. 

—Salary exactly doubled. 

—Added £80 to my Commlasion Account. 

—I have bad a 40 per cent. rise. 

—Salary Increased, also a ten per cent, bonna 

—My salary has been Increased by sn per cent. 

-The means of making my Income double. 

— Oreateat increase In biutness. 

Thus, in every direction— ! ind educa- 

tional—the Hrlnian Sysiei. 1 men and 

women of every trade, pn " ,,i,iin success. 

And what is the cost ? ■ devoted each evening 

for a few weeks to a most ■ of study ; not study m 

the humdrum sense of the woril, but a real mental recreation. 

From the very first !r«;'.nn difficulties begin to vanish ; problems 
bt'- . 11 13 no magic 

fi'! •rlectly open one 

— t: , . „ „ aon of Uie menul 

faculties, leadmg 10 a tremendous sumulation oi energy and confi- 
dence in oneself. 

From business and profes.^ional women eulo ■ ^ are 

received by the thousand. M.iny of them actti.i The Institute for understatin/; the value of ii.^ s .u.^v. For 
instance, a Solicitor writt^ • — 

"I used to think that the claims made far 'Pelmanism' 
must tie fantastic; now I consider them to be undentate- 
ment* of the truth. " 

It is useful to bear in mind this comment t^hen 

one is tempted to think that tbe annoui . the 

Institute are in any degree exaggerated. Ai .■ lad, 

evtry slattmrnt made htre or eliewhere by tht Fttman JfrnttlmU can 
b€ kandsomgly JHitified by a reftrenct to the record] of the Jiulitute, 

A Student of the Course recently wrote : " If people only knew, 
the di»rs of the Pelman Institute would tie literally besieged by 

en::" i.-.^,. '■—■ as a purely social and intellectual factor, 

1'' ' few hours required for its study ; and 

o\> opie have enrolled for it within the last 

few weeks (Iruin duLul rank downwartls). 

Qualities Developed. 

Following the intensely interesting lessoiu and exercises, the 


.tnd b/> duties 

-ss. All mental 

niinated — such a-> 

Aimlcssness, Bash- 

etc. .etc Individual 

■ :dent receives the 

■istructors at th<- 

ind problems. 

students of Pelmanism rapidly develop a brill 
Will Power, complete power of Concentration 
judgment, an ability to Reason clearly, lo < 
Organise and Manage, and to conduct :' 
with Tact, Courage, Sell-Confidentr 
weaknesses and deircl'; are, on the oth 
Mind-wandcring, Forgetfulness, Weak Will, 
fulness. Self -consciousness, the " Worry Habit." 
instruction is given through the post. -- ' ' 
utmost assistance from the large exp' 
Institute in solving particular personal 

The Directors of the Institute have arranged a subsuntial 
reduction in the fee to enable readers to secure the complete oourst- 
with a minimum outlay. To get the iMneflt of this liberal 
offer, application should ba made at once by postcard or by 
latter to the address below. 

Write to-day. 

A full description of the Pelman Course is given in " Mind and 
Memory," a free copy of which (together with " TRUTH S ' special 
Report on " Pelmanism, " and particulars showing how to secure 
the Cotlrse for one-third less than the usual fee) will be sent post 
free to all readers of " Canada in Khak.1 " »ho send to The 
Pelman Institute, 106. Wenhara House, Bloomsbury Street. London, 

Pa^e 16S 


Ian. [Seeing a ray of light thai may pus- 
sibly lighten a Gentile.] Why couldn't I ? 

lan's Mother. [Not able to stop hesitating 
now she has begun.] It makes it seem so real. 

Ian. [More than willing to meet her half- 
way.] We'd have Scotch bagpipes, mother. 
/ shouldn't mind. Just two or three. We 
wouldn't mind. They'd come along with us 
Canadians. We'd soon teach 'em ! 

Jan's Mother. [Abstracted.] Why do you 
want a khaki suit so, Ian ? 

Ian. [Tending to self-importance.] It's 
kind of getting ready. And you said you'd 
want to have me go. 

lan's Mother. [Reluctantly.] Yes, I know 
I did. 

Ian. [Persistent.] Then why can't I 
have it? 

lan's Mother. [Weakening.] Well, if 

Ian. [Hardly believing his ears.] Oh, 
mother, can I ? [Beatifically to the surround- 
ing atmosphere.]- Then I can I 

lan's Mother. [Just for one moment relaps- 
ing into the Aged Grown-up talking down to 
the Young.] We'll see about it. 

Ian. [Recognising this time-worn medium 
of consent — entirely refusing to be daunted by 
the gulf between Old and Young.] Mother, 
you're a peach ! 

lan's Mother. [Genuinely shocked this 
time.] Ian, what a way to talk ! 
[The Neat Tablemaid makes her appearance 
again with a dish of hot muffins in her 
hands. .She puts it down on the tea-table, 
smiles surreptitiously at Master Ian, and 

Jan. [Making for tea-fable.] There's tea. 
Mother, come on ! When can we go and 
buy it? 

lan's Mother. [Rolling up her knitting 
anyhow — stuffing it into a bag — making a 
dash for the tea-tray too — suddenly just about 
the same age as Ian.] Oh, I want my tea! 
Buy what V 
Ian. [Reproachfully.] Mother I My 


lan's Mother. [Stopping en route for the 
teapot to give Ian a squeeze and a hug and 
twenty miscellaneous kisses all over him any- 
where.] Oh, I don't know. Any time. 
[Giving him one last hug.] Jan, I'm glad 
you're not grown-up — in a kilt ! I'm thankful. 
Jan. [Squirming out of the kisses.] Don't, 
mother. [Dragging himself up a chair close 
to the table, casting a hawk's eye over the 
eatables.] Can we go to-morrow ? Will you, 
mother? To-morrow morning, early? 

lan's Mother. [Taking the teapot in her 
hand — bursting out laughing.] I will, if 


Jan. [Ekigerly — going headlong into the 
trap.] If I'll what? 

lan's Mother. [Laughing just like a school- 
girl.] If you'll have all Scotch bagpipes — not 
a Canadian skirl amongst them I Will you, 
Jan. [Scenting ridicule — getting pink.] 


[He entombs the rest of his remarks in a great 
, deal more hot muffin than is healthful for 
the young. His mother goes on pouring 
out the tea. She glances over at Ian as 
she passes him his cup, and she still 
laughs a little. And then she looks out at 
the birch, and she sighs. The birch 
stands like some spring miracle of a foun- 
tain, showering green spray instead of 


Baa-baa, Bombers, have you any Bombs? 
Yes, sir, yes, sir, here they comes. 
One for the Kaiser and one for Fritz, 
And one for to frighten ole Heine into fits. 

The A.m. p. has lost his men. 

And doesn't know where to find them. 

Let 'em alone and they'll come home 
Leaving their crime sheets behind them. 

Sing a song of Pill-box, 

Pocket full of Huns, 
Four-and-twenty Boches 
Chained to their guns. 
When the Pill was opened 
The Huns began to sing : 
. " Kamerad, Kamerad, God Save the 





in the 800 RECREATION HUTS, TENTS, and Centre* of 


in the Training Camps at Home and in France. 200 under shell-fire along 
the Western Front ; also in Malta, Egypt, Sinai, Palestine, Macedonia, 
Mesopotamia, East Africa, and India. 

Facilities for readings, writing, drying wet clothing, refreshments, 
games, music, &c. ; also quiet corner for meditation, religious 

services, &c. 

Cost of Hot, £500, fully eqnipped. 


. Cheques crossed " Barclays', a/c Church Army." payable to Prebendary Carlilc, D.D., Hoi 

^k Chie! Secretary, Headquarters, Bryanston Street, Marble Arch, London, W.I, England. 





We have made more badges for the Canadian Expeditionary 
Force than any other firm in England, having cut over 60G 
different dies since August, 1914. 

The average prices for battalion orders of 1,000 upwards 
are : — 

Cap badges . . 
Collar badges . 
Shoulder titles. 

6d. each (12 cents). 
7\A. per pair (15 cents). 
7\di. per pair (15 cents). 

Special designs cost slightly more, while ordinary maple leaves and plain titles 
are considerably less. 

Officers' badges, when ordered with men's, come out at special rates. 

We also make artistic reproductions in gold and silver as souvenirs. 

Our factory is self-contained, thus enabling us 
to guarantee rapid deliveries. 

Whatever you want in these goods, WRITE US. '\^ ^ [^\^F7^ 

XIPXAFX &• SON. LXD.. ^Mi^(; /. r\ 

Norlhamplon Street, Birmingh»m, England. 


'Phone: Caatral 6661. 

Taleir*' hie Address : "Tlstaft, BirminKhain." 



Page 164 



A Visit to an Armament and Munitions WorKs in the North of England 

By Lieut. G. W. CAVERS 

THREE years ago the Allied nations 
opposed to the aims of the Central 
Powers of Europe went into Armageddon ill- 
equipped and consequently outclassed. This 
was especially the case with regard to Great 
Britain. It was early found that she had not 
provided the quantities of arms and muni- 
tions necessary to sustain even Lord French's 
"contemptible little army" in the field of 
action, not to speak of the ever-growing 
forces that were springing to the aid of the 
Motherland at home and in the Daughter 
States in all quarters of the globe. 

Optimistic beings lulled us into a sense of 
fancied security by averring that the war 
would last only a few months; that giant 
preparations for a long war would be costly 
and unnecessary. They were listened to by 
men in high places, with this unfortunate 
result : not until months after the torch had 
been applied did the whole people of the 
Empire realise that, with the appliances at 
hand, they could not extinguish the confla- 
gration. They discovered that unless our 
armies were placed on a par with their oppo- 
nents and provided with immense and ever- 
increasing quantities of guns and shells they 
must lose the war. The attention of the first 
Minister of Munitions was directed towards 
providing those guns and shells. 

It was through the courtesy of the present 
Minister of Munitions that a party of officers 
and other ranks representing the Shoreham 
Area had an opportunity recently of visiting 
great plants in the North of England. As 
stated in the circular letter from Head- 
quarters, the trip was arranged "in order that 
a just appreciation may be formed of the 
efforts which have been made both by men 
and women since the outbreak of the war." 

The trip was a delight and a revelation. 
To some extent the operations of our muni- 
tions and armament works have been veiled 
in secrecy; but since it has been acknow- 
ledged officially that the Canadian volunteer 
should be made acquainted with the efforts 
that are being made properly to equip him 
for the fray, the writer feels that something 
should be said, in the way of a general report 
of the trip, to help to convey to the minds of 
those not fortunate enough to see for them- 
selves, a just estimate of the wonders of one 
of the representative establishments of the 

The party inspected over 80' acres of build- 
ings in one town. All these buildings bear 
the same name. The ^employees of this firm 
in this town alone number 13,000. Here were 
seen something of the many processes of 
welding and forging and shaping huge 
blocks of steel and iron into guns, armour 
plates, gun mountings, shells, locomotive 
wheels. There were 50-foot guns for the 
newest battleships. There were hundreds of 
i8-pounders, howitzers, bomb-throwers, anti- 
aircraft guns. There were thousands of 
shells for the i8-pounders and more thousands 
of the 15-inch "pills" that weigh in the 
neighbourhood of a thousand pounds apiece 
and travel in their flight 15 miles from the 
muzzle to the target with wonderful accuracy. 

Chief interest centred in the huge naval 
guns. In the first place, we noticed some 
14-inch naval guns for Allied Governments. 
Some of these guns were 700 inches long, 
the length being determined by the number 
of calibres — in this case 50 calibres of 14 
inches. We were told that this particular 
Government was impressed with the import- 
ance of possessing a long gun, as some 






reached PRE-EMINENCE in 

the magazine world, and has at- 
tained a circulation that is the 
envy of its rivals, b^ the 
consistent excellence of its 

*♦' *♦» *♦» 
The War interest in every number is strong. 

-^ •=♦» -*• 

But the interest of the " London " is by no 
means exclusively a War interest. It specialises 
in Complete Stories from the fascinating pens of 
writers who are AT THE TOP OF THE 
TREE in contemporary fiction. 

The Nature Stories by F. ST. MARS are a source 
of delight month by month to its hundreds of 
thousands of readers. 

And these hundreds of thousands of readers in 
Great Britain, at the Front, and in Canada have 
learnt to LOOK to the LONDON for special 
articles on vital topics, because they know that 
to make these articles as interesting as they 
can possibly be, _no trouble will be spared and 
no cost will be too great. 


Page 166 


thing that must necessarily be worth the 
money ; whf^reas the more practical John Bull 
prefers a shorter gun, making up for it by 
the extra amount of "push" that is placed 
in the magazine and the increased resisting 
power of the barrel. So that we go in for 
guns of 45 calibres, the calibre being 14-inch 
or 15-inch as the case may be. 

Now a 15-inch gun, without the mountings, 
weighs roughly, I was told, about 120 tons. 
There are eight on a first-class battleship, 
so that we may easily understand that ships 
must be constructed with considerable regard 
to the weight of the guns they will have to 
carry, else they would not have the required 
buoyancy. The greatest weight of one of 
these guns is concentrated in the magazine 
or shell chamber. The gun itself has four 
tubes of forged steel throughout its whole 
length. These are strengthened in the 
vicinity of the shell chamber by winding thin 
bands of steel over them. These steel bands 
are -^ of an inch in width and .07 of an inch 
in thickness. The extent to which this wind- 
ing process reinforces the four tubes may be 
jodged from the fact that in some of the 
largest guns 180 miles of steel are used. 
There are 32 layers of this steel, one on top 
of the other. Then outside of all this is a 
jacket of steel. The steel is warmed so that it 
expands, and then it is pushed over the tubes 
and the 32 layers of reinforcing bands. When 
it cools it fits snugly. The whole has a 
wonderful resisting power, able to withstand 
the tremendous pressure of the explosive. 

The building of a naval gun of such dimen- 
sions requires about nine months. This 
gun is good for about 120 charges. Then 
it comes back to the factory to be relined. 
The exterior is still all right, but after a 
hundred or more projectiles weighing a thou- 
sand pounds each have passed through the 
barrel, and prodigious quantities of high 
explosives have been set off inside to speed 
those projectiles on their way, it can be 
understood that the weapon is ready to be 
laid up for repairs. 

We were interested in the casting of the 
great armour piercing shells for these naval 
monsters. I have said that they are about 
1,000 pounds in weight. The metal is gas- 
heated in a crucible at a temperature of about 
1,600 degrees Centigrade, and the heating 
takes from 12 to 14 hours. The pouring of 
the metal was timed for the arrival of our 
party at the spot. At the base of the crucible 
the clay bank was punctured and a livid 
stream of iron ran over the ground and into 
a ladle standing on the track below. This 
ladle holds liquid iron for 12 shells. It 
requires some minutes for this crucible to 
empty itself; then a travelling crane seized 
the ladle and carried it over to the moulds 
which were soon filled and the shells were 
ready, save for a little trimming. 

Various other processes were witnessed in 
the brief inspectiqn of this huge plant. We 
saw operatives cutting inch-and-a-half steel 
turret plates that protect the guns of the 
battleships. An oxy-acetylene flame melted 
the steel as easily as a plumber dissolves his 
solder with a small gas blow. We saw 
drop-forges of great weight shaping locomo- 
tive wheels and armour plates. There were 
hundreds of branches, all under one manage- 
ment. And each worthy of a visit of some 

This firm is merely representative of 
Britain's gigantic efforts to restore peace to 
a stricken world. Under the spur of the 
Win-the-War Government it is speeding up 
to full capacity — three shifts a day, the fires 
of the furnaces never dying. In the Mid- 
land counties, in North England and in 
South England hundreds of factories similar 
to this one are piling up prodigious quantities 
of shells to back up the boys in the firing 
line, and turning out guns in unbelievable 

The Canadian representatives who saw 
this wonderful industry will have a better 
understanding of this important side of the 
war business, and it was a happy idea to 
inaugurate a series of visits of this kind. 

G. W. Cavers. 


THE Tubercle Bacillus is still claiming its victims, and, unfortunately, 
many of our men who have escaped the Huns' bullets have only done 
so to be claimed by this insidious germ, the Tubercle Bacillus. There is, 
however, a remedy to combat it, although it has not yet been officially 
recognised, and anyone sufTering from Consumption or Tuberculosis, in 
whatever form, will be wise to write for full particulars of the Stevens' 
treatment ; or, if full details of the case are sent, a supply of the remedy 
itself will be despatched, specially suitable, on the distinct understanding 
that nothing whatever need be paid for it unless the patient be perfectly 
satisfied with the benefit received, and considers the progress made 
warrants its continuance. 

Many who were hopeless cases of Consumption a short time ago are 
now fighting for their King and Country hale and hearty, and thank. 
Stevens' Consumption Cure for their recoveries. The following are just 
a few of them ; the addresses given are of their homes. Those suffering 
from the disease should write to them direct and get first-hand evidence 
that this wretched disease can really be cured, and men, after suffering 
from it even in its last stages, fitted for actual war service : — 

Mr. A. Armstrong, Wilks Hill, Quebec, Durham 
— Tubercular Spine. He was discharged from the 
Newcastle Infirmary as a hopeless case, as they 
could do no more for him. Was cured by Stevens' 
treatment, and when last heard of on May 17th 
had been serving in the trenches in France for 
eleven months. 

Mr. G. E.James, 29 High Oak, Pensnett, Dudley, 
StafTs, was cured by Stevens' remedy after sana- 
torium treatment proved a failure. When last 
heard of on June 27th had been eleven months in 
France with the British Expeditionary Force. 

Mr. E. Jones, Tygwyn Farm,- Llangoedmore, 
Cardigan, was cured by Stevens' Consumption 
Cure, and when last heard of on July 7th was on 
active service, having been passed in Class At on 
every medical examination. 

Mr. P. J. Whetter, 115 Elder Road, Canton, 
Cardiff, had diseased lungs, a cough, expectoration, 
night sweats, and affected throat. After taking 
Stevens' Consumption Cure was able to go with 
the Expeditionary Force to France in 191 5, and 
was still serving his King and Country when last 
heard of in September. 

Mr. Sydney Skipworth, 7 Ritches Road, Har- 
ringay, N., after operation for tubercular glands in 
the Tottenham Hospital without success, appeared 
to be in a dying condition when commencing 
Stevens' treatment, was cured seven years ago, 
and when last heard of, on September iist, was in 
France serving his King and Country. 

Mr. C. Ryden, 3 Regent Street, Teignmouth, 
Devon, was sent home from Canada suffering from 
Consumption, was cured by Stevens' Consumption 
Cure.andwhen last heard of, in September, was still 
keeping well, and serving with the Forces in Egypt. 

Mr. E. Pratt, 29 Mansfield Street, Foss Islands 
Road, York, was cured by Stevens' Consumption 
Cure after Tuberculin, among other so-calU-d reme- 
dies, had failed. When last heard from, on July 
25th, had been serving nineteen months with the 
British Expeditionary Force in France. 

Mr. H. BuNCE, 2 Short Street, High Wycombe, 
Bucks, recovered by the use of Stevens' Consump- 
tion Cure after the usual remedies had failed to even 
give relief, and when last heard of, on Sept. 2ist, 
was still keeping quite well, serving with the Colours. 

Mr. C. Larcombe, who lived at 35 Bath Street, 
Chard, Somerset, after sufTcring from Consumption, 
with a cough, expectoration, and aflected throat, 
took the Stevens' treatment, was cured, and when 
last heard of in September was still in the best of 
health, serving with the Army in Egypt. 

Mr. G. Sab!n, who lived at 2 Bestwood Road, 
Hucknall Torkard, Notts, was .sufTering from 
Consumption, bringing up a pint of sputum in 
twenty-four hours, throat also affected. This was, 
apparently, quite a hopeless cast, but, after being 
treated by Stevens' Consumption Cure, he got well 
enough to pass for active service with the British 
Expeditionary Force in France, where he was sent 
in Feb., 1915, and has been wounded three times. 


pu AC If QTrVFWQ 204 & 206 Worple Road, Wimbledon, 
^nAO. n. Oi£iV£illO, LONDON, S.W.19. 

Page 168 




(not burns' twa) 

By W. D. DODD (Canadian Field Artillery) 

Illustrated by Byam ShaW 

(An actual incident at a "Barn" Church Parade of the Canadians in France) 

Ye blastit curs, hae ye nae grace, 
Tae caper sae i' the sacred place? 
Dae ye nae ken the man o' God, 
Tae Heaven pointin' us the road? 
Puir beasties, na, your canine souls> 
Pent in skins as black as coals, 
Canna thole that this auld shed, 
Whaur likely ye were born an' bred. 
An' chassit, whiles, the nimmle rats, 
Or supped (I dinna think) on Spratts 
Is noo the temple o' the sodgers. 
An 'ither purgatory dodgers. 

An' wad ye desecrate the legs 

O' him wha Heaven's blessing begs? 

Wha feels ye scrub agen his shanks, 

An' slyly kicks your flittin' flanks. 

Ye'll slip, I'll wager mony dollars, 

Yon hauns ootstretched tae grup yer collars; 

The deil's within ye baith, I trow ; 

Ye gaur the Padre mop his brow. 

Ay, noo you're catchit, graceless pair, 
This nicht ye'll trouble us nae mair : 
The Temple money-changers' fate 
Is yours; outside ye noo maun wait.' 


(Bdr. W. C. C. 11th Battery, C.F.A.. Killed in Action) 

Poor old " Irish " — one of the best, 
Like many another has "Gone West." 
Rarely in Peace or War you'll find 
A cheerier chap, or one so kind. 
He knew no feai", and, what is more, 
Scorning the deadlier side of war, 
Endured its misery, hunger, cold. 
With a smile that lit like a ray of gold 

His mirthful, ever-welcome face — 

With " Irish " there gloom fled the place. 

And now, alas 1 he is no more — 

On earth at least, though a brighter shore 

Has welcomed to its endless day 

The boy who cheered our weary way. 

And this is no mean epitaph : 

"Through dreary days he made us laugh. 

Eyes RIGHT! 





TOZANA is the perfect Tonic FIXING CREAM 
which controls the most stubborn hair 
without makins: it harsh or pulling it out. 
Removes scurf and dandruff. No oil or 
grease to soil the hat. 

Of All ChomUU, Stores. Hairdreuars and CaQteena — 

1/-, 2/-, 3/6, 5/- (iniaHdZ 

TOZANA. 257 Gray's Inn Road. London, W.C.I. 



For Heartburn, 
Flatulence, Acidity, &c. 

Some years ago Messrs. S.avory & Moore obtained posses- 
sion of a formula by the celebrated Dr. Jenner for a lozenee 
possessing remarkable power to absorb acidity in the stomach. 

They confidently recommend these lozenges, of which they 
are the sole manufacturers, as a safe and reliable remedy for 
Heartburn, Flatulence, Acidity, and all digestive disorders. 
One or two lozenges give immediate relief, even in the worst 
cases, and taken t«fore a meal prevent those distressing 
symptoms due to indigestion which so frequently follow. 
Thousands of .Suffer«rs testify that they have derived more 
benefit from these lozenges than from any other remedy. 
They are pleasant to take and quite harmless. 

" I Am very glad T ' ^a1 of Dr. Jenner '» .Mnorbent l.oMngcs, 

for 1 found Ibem s- :<.it I iminvd>A(e]y secured A liirge hoxt 

and now after a ^ "**^'l use of them 1 can tnittitully say 

they have done ai. i;ood than anything; else 1 hare 

tried for Hcartburr. :>'. They have saved me from R 

good many sleepier - .:tateful that you are at liberty to 

tise this testimontut if yuu cJiuo;,c" — K.F. 

Boxes 1/3, 3/- and 5/-. of ail Chemists. 

of the lozenges will be sent on application. Mention this 
publication, and address: — Savory St M(X)RK, Ltd., 
Chemists to the King, 143a, New Bond St., London, W. i. 










If yoa arv 
10 the 
■indr of 
sny one of 
the*., ^ut.- 


Writs for the one you are Interested In. 

SMe Age and send id. stamp to nver foslagi. 
No statnp required with ovemeas applii-jitt'jns. 


Page 170 




Illustrated by TOM COTTRELL 

[Carriage of District Railway at leisurely hour 

of the day. Train Westward bound. At 

Mark Lane three Canadian soldiers enter. 

Passengers, having regarded each other 

for some time past with semi-detached air, 

concentrate eager attention on new 


First Canadian. [With relief.] Well, 

that's done that! We shan't have to see 

over the Tower of London again. 

Old Gentleman. [Politely.] You found 
your visit, gentlemen, I hope, replete with 
interest. The Tower may be described as 
the most notable fortress in the country. By 
whom it was built, and when, we are not 
completely informed, but there is reason to 

believe that Julius Caesar 

Lady. [With fish basket.] 'Ave you 
young fellers climbed up the Moniment yet? 

'The Tower may be described as the most notable fortress 
in the country ' " 

Oh, you mustn't miss the Moniment. It'll 
be some'ing for you to talk about all the rest 
of your life. Why, there's three 'undered and 
forty-five steps to it, and it only runs you in 
to thruppence each. [Earnestly.] I assure 
you it's well worth the money, and it'll make 
you realise for the first time what the -word 
tired means. 'Ere we are 1 'Ere's the station. 
I'm getting out, and I'll willingly direct 

[Train stops at Monument. Fish basket 
Lady goes, evidently disappointed. 
Canadian soldiers exchange smiles with 
Girl Conductor.] 
City Man. [Speaking with authority.] You 
lads would do well to alight at Cannon Street, 
and make a thorough exploration of the 
neighbourhood around there. When I tell 
you that within a couple of minutes you can 
be looking at the Mansion 
House, gazing at the Bank 
of England, inspecting the 
frescoes in the Royal Ex- 
change, and seeing the 
office where I started as a 
junior clerk, I rather im- 
agine I have said enough 
to prove to you that this is 
a great chance. Now, I'm 
a busy man, but I'll sacri- 
fice half an hour to showing 
you around, and I'll ex- 
plain everything in a way 
that even the meanest com- 

[He has to make a rush for 
the doorway. Train, 
after waiting for a frac- 
tion of a second, goes 
Old Gentleman. [Still 
lecturing.] The^ visitor 
should on no account omit 


Page 171 

the Beauchamp Tower, and the Bowyer 
Tower, and St. Thomas's Tower, and, above 

and beyond all, the Bloody [His attention 

is called to the fact that ladies are present.] 

Small Boy. [Shrilly, and with sudden cour- 
age, to Canadians.] Gotany cigarette pic- 
tures? [They shake heads negatively.] Got- 
any badges? Gotany souveneers? Gotany 
walnuts? Gotany anything to give away? 
[Small Boy's Mother shakes him, and says 
he will never go to heaven.] 

Small Boy's Mother. [Apologetically.] I 
don't know where he gets his manners from, 
but I'll swear he don't get 'em from my side 
of the family. You must know [confidentially] 
that I was unlucky enough to marry beneath 
me. My 'usband wasn't my equal ngt in 
education, or persition, or bringin' up, he 
wasn't. I was still-room maid at a club not 
far from here, and if you three gentlemen 
jump out at the station after the next, you'll 
be able to 'ave a glance at the very spot where 
he proposed to me. You go up Villiers 
Street, you cross the Strand, you ask a copper 

to direct you the way to 

[Small Boy found grovelling on the floor, 
making collection of discarded tram and 
'bus tickets. His Mother promises to 
break his blooming neck for him. Other 
passengers join in the sport of giving 

Girl Conductor. [At Charing Cross.] Next 
station for you three gentlemen. Going to the 
Pay Office at Millbank, I s'pose? 

First Canadian. Muriel, you are gifted 
with second sight. You are a best ever, 
Gladys. Dorothy, you beat ^he band. 

Girl Conductor. Guess what my name 
really is. [They guess.] 

Other Passengers. [Excitedly.] 

They ought to give a whole afternoon to 
Westminister Abbey. There's enough at 
Westminister Abbey to take up a good three 
bowers. Why. Poets' Corner alone 

If they fail to go for a trip on the river 
they'll regret it. There's a boat leaves, or at 
^ny rate used to 

What they'd better do is to walk back 
throug:b Whitehall, go into the National 
Gallery, and 

" They kissed, on leaving, with emphasis " 

Never do for them to miss the statues in 
Parliament Square. It ought to be some- 
body's business to take them in hand, and 
save them from wasting their time. 
[Train prepares to stop at Westminster. The 
three soldiers stand up.] 

Girl Conductor. "Beatrice" is right, but it 
took you a while to find out. When you 
going to see these places they've been recom- 
mending you to go to? 

First Canadian. Trixie, we've already done 
the whole caboodle. All the London sights, 
from A to Z. And the prettiest and most 
attractive we've encountered up to the present 

Girl Conductor. [Innocently.] Which? 

The Three. [In chorus.] You I 
[They kiss her, on leaving, with emphasis.] 

Girl Conductor. [Composedly, to waiting 
travellers.] Passengers oflf the car first, 
please I 

FatfC 172 




When we come back from Flanders — 

And who can tell us when ? - 
The wind wjll rouse the maple boughs 

To greet the marching men ; 
And green or red, up overhead 

The maple leaves will know 
The song we sang in Flanders, 

Our song of long ago ! 

When we come back from Flanders, 

We'll hardly know our home, 
The hills and trees from seas to seas. 

The falls that laugh in foam ; 
The snow that shines between the pines. 

The air that stirs your blood — / 

Not like the world in Flanders, 

A maze of mist and mud ! 

When we come back from Flanders, 
With, all the fighting done, . 

How good to stand in God's own land. 
Untainted by the Hun ! 

To drink the air that's clear and rare. 
And smells of leaves and grass — 

And Ibse the fog of Flanders, 
The reek of death and gas ! 

When we come back from Flanders— 

Not all will come again — 
There's many a mound in Flemish grouiu; 

That lies above our slain ; 
And here and there, our hearts know wheir. 

A little cross to tell ; 
They went through hell in Flanders, 

To save the world from hell. 

When we come back from Flanders, 

We want no pomp and praise; 
Enough to find among our kind 

The dear old days and ways; 
Enough if thus men say of us, 

Who know us, and have seen — 
That through the mire of Flanders 

We kept our honour clean ! 



The calm of summer's evening 
Falls soft on the slender mound, 

While drooping flowers swaying 
Waft sweet incense from the ground. 

Peaceful at rest he slumbers. 
Who fought for the Cause he loved, 

One of the countless numbers 
For Freedom to shed his blood. 

He heard the voice of Empire 
Sound clear on Alaska's height. 

Calling her sons from afar 
To join in the righteous fight. 

Where sweeps the mighty Yukon 
Through the land of eternal snow. 

He sprang to the help of Britain 
In battle against the foe. 

He followed Duty's guidance 
O'er wide continent and sea, 

To the blood-stained fields of France 
Where men battled to be free. 

Amid the ruin and carnage, 
The thunder of gun and shell. 

Facing grim death with courage. 
Fearless he fought and fell. 

There where night's benediction 
Breathes quiet o'er the silent sod. 

Waiting the bless'd resurrection 
He rests in peace with his God. 

The Armao Press Limited, 66-68 W. CaadaB St., Toionto 


From the drawing bif Arthur Hemrng. 

Illustrating "The Couinincher." by Sobert J. C Stead. 

Published by The Musson Book Co., Limiled, Toronto. 





4166 Central 
Dock OfEce. 

^v^^^^ li'^*^. 


Telegraphic and Cable 




Scott'*. lOth Edition. 

B.S. Manchester City. 



Winter Season: HALIFAX. N.S.. & ST. JOHN. N.B. 



For particulars of Freights, etc., apply to 

Owners: 108 Deansgate, Manchester, 


LONDON AGENCY : 95 Leadenhall St., E.G. BRADFORD : 36 Brook Street. 
SHEFFIELD : 43 The Wicker. BIRMINGHAM : 6 Victoria Square. 



MONTREAL I Me«ar« Furness Withv & Co I td 

PHILADELPHIA I "«""• '""™e»»' withy & eo., Ltd. 

• TORONTO: R. Dawson Harlin?, 28 Wellingrton Street East. 
QUEBEC : Wm. M, Macpherson, 53 Dalhousie Street. 
ST. JOHN, N.B. : Messrs. Wm. Thomson & Co., Ltd. 



& SON, Ltd., 

53 Conduit Street, Bond Street, 

Badge, Button, Medal, Sword, 
and Accoutrement Manufacturers 


of the Highest Quality, Correctly Designed & Modelled. 


Sizei u illuitrated from 42/- each. 

We hold diet for badges for nearly every Regiment in the 

Britiih Army, including Indian, Canadian, New Zealand, 

and South African Regiments. 

Manufacturers of all British and Colonial 



And of the Allied Forces. 

CLUBS, and for all PURPOSES. 

Manufacturers to His Majesty's Government. 

Establl he-H 2 ;0 Years. 
Uluslralions and Prices on Application. 

The Best Gift 


to your friends abroad, 
or to those on active 
service on land or seas is 


Overseas Weekly Edition 


'hie Dailv Mirmr 


ziiri\.p.ia INTACT IV rPAvci. 

It contains the six issues 
of "The Daily Mirror" 
bound together in a 
pictorial cover. 

It is the best history 
of the War in News 
and Pictures. 

If you are unable to obtain a copy regularly from your 

Newsagent, send a subscription order with cheque or 

postal order direct to the manager. 

New Subscriotion Rates. 

To Canada for 6 months, post free 
To all other parts of the World ... 




23-29 Eouverie Street, London, E.C.4. 

Explaining '' Feminine Charm " 


Illustrated by PENRHYN STAN LAWS 

I NOTICED a curious thing re- 
cently in a railway train. A 
nicely-dressed woman entered, 
and took a seat beside 
me. I saw that every- 
one was looking at her 
— staring in fact. 

what?'* I exclaimed, horrified. Again 
she laughed, and replied, "Sounds 
shocking, doesn't it? But I will ex- 
plain. Instead of using 
J jWj^ face creams, I use only 

^f^S^^^J^f^f^ P"*^^ mercolized wax, 

But not 
fensively y 
caught my- 
self doing 
the same 
thing. It 
was impos- 
sible to help 
it. Certainly 
it was not 
her beauty 
of feature 
that held 
the eyes of 
all, nor was 
it her cos- 
tume. But there 
was something 
about her face 
and expression 
— I risked it, 
and spoke. 
"Would you mind tell- 
ing me," I said, ^' how 
you keep your com- 
plexion so dazzlingly 
pure ? You won't think 
me impertinent, but you seem to be 
over thirty, aren't you ? And yet you 
haven't a line in your face, and your 
cheeks are quite peach-like. Do tell me 
how you do it." She laughed, quite 
good-naturedly. "Oh, that's very easy," 
she said ; " I remove my skin." " You 

rocurable at 
ny chemist's. 
The wax has a 
gentle absor- 
bent action 
which takes 
up and re- 
moves the 
soiled and 
outer film- 

rskin, with- 
out pain, 
irritation, or 
thus reveal- 
ing the real 
fresh and clear 
Every woman 
has a beautiful 
underneath, you know. 
Then, to keep my face 
firm and free from 
wrinkles, I merely in- 
dulge in a sparkling 
face bath two or three times a 
week, which I prepare by dissolv- 
ing a little st3'mol (obtained at the 
chemist's) in a bowl of warm water. 
This also keeps away those unpleas- 
ant little blackheads, and prevents 

Your Future Depends on Yourself ! 

Be a 

Private Secretary 

'J here is Ko Fim r Oftningjor u 
Young Man "r Woman than our 
Secretariat Coursi-, whicU carries 
ivith it a Guarantee of a Good 
The demand for trained men as Private 
Secretaries in Literary, Commercial, 
P liiical and C)ther circles was never 
greater than at the present tini", and 
IS constantly jirowing. Tlie position of 
the Private Secretary is uni<,)ue — short 
hour-, congenial occupation, liberal 
>a:ary, excellent prospects, permanent 
employment, and undoubted social 
status. A Univer-ily Education is 
NOT necessary to secure these advan- 
tages. Anyone of average ability can easily qualify in a few weeks 
for a splendid pi'siiion AM) GKT IT. 

Salaries up to £1,000 per annum 

Appoiiuinents already secured in the service of the Duke of 
Grafton, Earl Strafford, ' uchess of Sutherland, Lord Swaythling, 
Sir F. burdett, the ex Lord Mayor of London, etc. etc. 

Tlie f^ame success may he your own. 

A Private Sf-.rving with the Royal Engineers writes : — " I find 
the --tudy oV your 'New Rapid' Shor hand Lessons a profitable 
means of beguiling the rest hours, as I have learned this subject in 
dug-outs during the Great Push on the Sonime." 

Mr. Cyril F. W. Andrews, on completing our Correspondence 
Course, was immediately appointed to a responsible position with 
the Hritish Embassy at Bordciuix. 

Miss Ethel New, after eight weeks' study, became secretary to a 
well-known Harle>| Street physician. 

Mr. C. H. Canning, on the completion of our Secretarial Course, 
secured a brilliant position, and now earns ^700 per annum. 

Miss Dorothy Clark, after seven weeks' sludv, was appointed 
private secretary to a consulting engineer and Member of Parlia- 
ment at a salary of j(i 156 per annum. 

Mr. H. V. Rickard, after a few weeks' study, was appointed 
Secretary to a Member of Parliament in London, and now, at the 
age of 24, earns .£400 per annum. 

Write fo.i.ty for our Free Handbook and epn Testitnonials. fvith 
full inji^! mutton, sJionini' how to become a Private Secretary. 

Principal, Holborn Hall College, 640 Holbom Hall, London, W.C* 

li>-TAi;i-iSHKl) 35 VKARS. 


should read the introductory article to 
the October 1917 Quarterly Supplement of 

The 100 Best Investments 

which deals fully and frankly with the present 
position and outlook of affairs from the point 
of view of the investor, large or small. The 
Quarterly Supplements contain up-to-date 
details of 100 specially-selected securities, 
covering the whole available field of invest- 
ment — from War Loans to Ordinary Shares 
in Industrial Companies — particulars of 
further investments considered worthy of 
attention, a number of useful tables and 
hints of value to everyone concerned with 
the remunerative employment of capital. 

The Annual Volume - - Price Is. 

(Published in July.) 

Quarterly Supplements - Price 4d. 

(Published Jk&cuy, April >T>d October.) 

Post jree on riceipt of remittance to the Publishers : 


Investment Bankers. 

^iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiim uiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii[| 



Fa^hion^ Bulletin of latesi London and Paris Model 
Furs, Coal.s, Costumes, Skirts. Corsets, etc. Pattern 
book of Latest Materials Post Free. 

containing great values 
in Layettes, Shortening 
bGis, Cots.and all Nursery 
Requisites, srnt tree on 


guarantee your 

money back in case 

of dissatisfaction. 

j From i ^ 

j 15/11 y 


These Skirts and Gowns 
can be instantly increased 
J to 16 inches without 
losing shape. Can be 
worn as ordinary garment 
after maternity. 

Combined Maternity. 
Nurs ng and Al dominal 
Bel ed Corset. .Most 

graceful, hygienic, 
and serviceable. 

Retommended by th^ 

cUf^a.i-n Medical Profession as 

. t-noben. absolutely indi^pens- 

lailor-made to measure able. tate sise re- 

by experts. quired ivhen ordering. 

According to material 


\ Retail Warehouse : Ift.^ Houlds- = 

worth St. (top Oldham St.), = 

Manchester. H 

LONDON 47 DUKE ST.. W.l = 

(facing Se'fridtfe s). ^ 


I Address Lady' 
I M anageress- 



Doctors, Surgeons, Nurses and Hospital Staffs are already overworked 
in caring for our wounded fighting men and those civilians who are 
really ill. Don*t ask them to operate on you for rupture. Operations 
ate exp nsive both in money and time (both of 
which we should save to the utmost), and beside 
they are not always successful. 

The Kice Method has cured thousands in the r 
own hom^^s while fo'lowing their own occnp;i 
ti&ns, without pam or loss of time anrl at slight 
expense. It has cured after two operations have 
failed. Try il. Among those it has lured are 
Mr. H. Denning, Heathfield Nursery, Hamp- 
ton, Middlesex (ruptured from ch'ldhood); Rev. 
T. Brown, i6 Kimberley Drive. Gt. Crosby. 
Liverpool (had double rupture twtlve years); 
Mrs. A. Gray, c/o Mrs. Vibert, 32 Syvedon 
Road, Tooting Junction, S.VV. (aged 73 ye^rs^ 
ruptured twe- ty-two years); and Mrs Austin_ 
I DoUilas Street, Osniaston Road, Derby (rup. 
MR. H. PENNING. j^j.^.^ twenty five )ears, t^\o operations failed). 

The Rice Appliances have recently obtained the highest awards at 
the Iniernational Kxposition of -Arts and Indus ri'S at Barcelona, 
leceivmg the Diploma, Golden Palm Leaves, and Gold Medal. 


A free trial of tliis famous home cure will be sent free to anyone who is ruptured 
or who knows of any person ruptured, if the following Coupon is sent at once. 

COUPON <B. 1751). 

Cut out and post to WM. S. RICE, ^,td. (G.P.O. Box No. 5), 8 and 9 
Stonecutter Stre t. London, E.C.4. 

yime ruptured? Age 

Rif;h!, left or both sides or navel ? 



Canada in Kbaki, London (li 1750- 


Is Your Soldier Boy 

Lonely ? 

Books are Friends — Send Him a Book 

THE French Government, in listing articles which men should supply themselves with, put 
down books as one of the first necessities. We at home cannot imagine the conditions 
under which our boys live in the trenches. Sometimes, for days and weeks, they are abso- 
lutely idle. Some men go insane, simply through the endless boredom of sitting in the 
trenches, waiting to attack or to be attacked. As a result, they call for books, books — good 
books to read. Our Allies have supplied their soldiers and sailors with millions of books. 
We must do as much. We cannot, we must not, allow the morale of our men to be lowered. 
Then, too, wounded men, convalescent men, must be supplied with good books. Tliese 
boys, many of them maimed for life, are entitled to every comfort we at home can supply. 
Will you not help? 

Below is a list of books most suitable for sending overseas — see that one or more are 
included in your boy's next box. The publishers will gladly send books direct to your boy, 
specially packed and postpaid, on receipt of published price. Yes! with your own card 
inclosed, if you wish it. 




Stead Cloth $ 


Cloth, Jiet 

Hughes Cloth, net 

FOES. By Mary Johnston Cloth, net 

THE MAN FROM BAR— 20. By Clarence 
E. Mulford Cloth 

MAM'SELLE JO. By Harriet T. Comstock 



By Christopher 
By Zane Grey Cloth 



THE HIGH HEART. By Basil King Cloth 


Edited by Edward J. O'Brien — Cloth, net 











Merrick Cloth 1.50 

LORD TONY'S WIFE. By Baroness Orczy 

Cloth 1.35 

THE HUNTRESS. By Hulbert Footner. 

Cloth 1.25 


Cloth 1.35 

HIS LAST BOW. By Sir Arthur Conan 

Doyle Cloth 1.35 


Hocking Cloth 1.25 


Cloth 1.50 
GREENMANTLE. By John Buchan Cloth .75 

"Woodbine Willie" Cloth 1.00 

THE HUMAN TOUCH. By "Sapper". Cloth 1.40 

Three New Fiction Leaders 



Here is a new book that is 
acclaimed by the press to be 
another ' ' Huckleberry Finn, ' ' 
a book that is setting every- 
one talking — that will be one 
of the biggest sellers. Homer 
Croy is an author with a sense 
of humour and has told the 
story of Cleve Seed with a 
naive humour that is fresh 
and new. John Nicholas Bef- 
fel of the Chicago Herald 
Examiner says: 

"Somehow I didn't think 
Homer Croy could do it, but 
he's gone and rung the bell 
with a novel, 'Boone Stop.' 
And after sounding the gong, 
Homer didn't wait to see 
whether people would buy the 
book, but started for Prance. 
Soon a dozen Missouri com- 
munities will lie claiming the 
honour of having given him to 
the world." 

Frontispiece, Cloth, $1.50 net. 



Compton Mackenzie is back 
again — strong. You remem- 
ber the sales you had with 
' ' Carnival ' ' ? Well, this book 
is another "Carnival." In it 
the author has given a mar- 
vellous story, full of colour 
and life. He portrays the ad- 
venturous career of a young 
girl born in France of half 
English and half French par- 
entage. With her you go 
through all the excitement of 
London life, sometimes among 
the rich — but always sur- 
rounded with the strong 
glamour of adventure that 
follows this new heroine wher- 
ever she goes, making her in- 
teresting to everyone and 
loved by many. 

$1.60 net. 



Here are stories of the Por- 
tuguese fisherman of Cape 
Cod, written by one of the 
best short story writers Amer- 
ica has to-day. He has given 
pictures of those men and 
women who come in constant 
contact with the sea. Some- 
times with a haunted ship for 
a background, sometimes with 
the village itself or a small 
cottage, the stories of their 
lives are acted out. There was 
a strange woman who came to 
die where she could be within 
the sound of the buoy -bell on 
the rocks, but she found her 
lover and so — lived. On every 
page is a brilliant picture of 
this fantastic people who fol- 
low a trade that is as old as 
the world. 

Frontispiece, $1.35 net. 

Songs from the Trenches 


By Them.selves — the American soldiers in Prance. In 
tliese |)oeins. from the thousand submitted to the New York 
Herald's recent competition, we get many vivid flashes of the 
.soul of the American Expeditionary Force. Tlie Iwok is more 
than a collection of poems, a few of which are brilliant and all 
of which are interesting. It is a message from the American 
soldiers abroad to the home folks, written on the deck of 
transports, in ?''rcnch villages, in muddy camps, in the 
trenclies. Iwside cannon, or in hospitals. Every mother and 
fatlier in the States should own a copy of this book. 

Cloth, $1.25 net. 



A new edition of a book 
which has always brought 
business. In previous edi- 
tions you have sold hundreds 
of copies, you will do so again, 
for not only has it been print- 
ed from new type but it has 
been entirely revisejl and eon- 
tains all the information that 
students of navigation are 
anxious to know. 
Illustrated, Cloth, $1.25 net. 





Vivid pen-pietures of the Great Enemy of Demoeracy in action, painted by a man who was 
for fifteen years the German Kaiser's personal dentist. The royal patient has come to Doctor 
Davis's office in the royal automobile, sat like any civilian in Doctor Davis's office chair, and 
had his average human teeth scraped and drilled, filled and pounded, like any other man. The 
author also has made professional visits not only to the palace, but during the war and up to 
a date considerably after the entrance of the United States into the world-struggle has been at 
the German Great Headquarters, four times on the western front and twice on the eastern. 
During this long period the professional relation has grown into a personal acquaintance — not 
quite to call it an intimacy. No other American of any class or position has approached such a 
degree of personal contact with the Emperor of Germany. 

With amazing candour, sometimes for hours at a stretch, the Kaiser has discussed with 
Doctor Davis the events and developments of world politics, tendencies of human progress, per- 
sonalities high and low, not only in Germany and other nations of Europe and Asia, but 
especially in America. Roosevelt, Taft, Hughes, Wilson — all have been the subjects of the 
most unrestrained frankness of comment upon the lips of the master of Germany. The relations 
of the German Empire with England, Prance, Russia, Austria, Belgium, and particularly with 
the United States, in peace and war, have been talked about by the Kaiser in his conversations 
with Doctor Davis without reserve. 

The book throws blinding light upon the question of the Kaiser's responsibility for the 
war, upon his fore-knowledge of the destruction of the "Lusitania," upon the part attempted 
by the German government in the Presidential election of 1916, upon the Kaiser's own idea 
that "America shall pay the bills for this war" — upon the thousand and one vital ques- 
tions to which Canadians want the answer. 


$2.00 Net 




Author of •'^andsy's Pal" 

Do you remember Sandsy and 
Larry, the boy "with the straw- 
berry eyesf" Here they are in 
new adventures in the country 
that are even more stirring than 
in the former book. Young read- 
ers will not fail to enjoy reading 
of their favourites in new sur- 

/((.<. Clolh, $\.2ri net. 



Author of the "Toung Alaskam" 
Here is a splendid adventure 
book for boys, the fourth in this 
extremely popular series. The 
three lads start on an exploring 
trip with a big explorer. Start- 
ing from Athabasca up the Mac- 
kenzie River they take in the 
Yukon and Klondike country, 
meeting with many adventures on 
the way. 

nil. Cloth, $1.25 net. 





Make a hit with the kiddies. 
Lead them into the happy realms 
created by this "Books That 
Sing" series. Columbia records 
are enclosed between the pages of 
each story and can be taken out 
and played on the phonograph, so 
that the children can hear sung 
plainlv and distinctly the songs 
of "Simple Simon, """Little Bo- 
Peep, "and " Old King Cole. ' ' 
IUt4.ilralrit by Khoda Chase. 
$1.00 net. 


The Novels of Leonard Merrick 

q HODDER & STOUGHTON are publishing a Uniform Edition of the NOVELS AND STORIES 
OF LEONARD MERRICK at $L50 net eaeh volume, which will appeal to all booklovers. 
CONRAD IN QUEST OF HIS YOUTH (with an Introduction by J. M. Barrie), W HILE PARIS 
LAUGHED (a New Book) and WHEN LOVE FLIES OUT O' THE WINDOW (with an Intro- 
duction by W. Robertson Nicoll) are already published. THE QUAINT COMPANIONS (with 
an Introduction by H. G. Wells) and CYNTHIA (with an Introduction by Maurice Hewlett) 
will be ready immediately. Other volumes will be announced later. 

HODDER & STOUGHTON also draxo attention to the following very important Works : — 

HISTORY ^FjrHE_WAR, of which the first three 
volumes^ have been published, viz., THE BRITISH 
1914 (Third Edition); Vol. 11.. 1915 (Second Edi- 
tion) ; Vol. 111., 1916 (Just Published). Each volume 
contains Maps, Diagrams. $2.00 net. 

€]1 Also SIR AR THUR CONAN DOYLE'S fascinating 
book on "life on the 'other side," " entitled, THE NEW 
REVE LATION, of which a third large edition is now 
printing. $1.00 net. 


SNEAK has written the best propagandist book about 
thTs War, and no wonder it is in great demand. "1 say 
to every man and every woman, read this book." — 
Major Haldane Macfall. "This book should be in 
every hand." — Daily Mail. Third Edition, $1.00 net. 

H THE CRIME , by the famous Author of J' ACCUS E 
(two volumes, $2.50 net each), a work which Punch 
says: "Will stand for centuries." 

q PROFESSOR JOHN ADAMS of the University of 
London has secured the services of a group of special- 
ist contributors to a volume entitled THE NEW 

TEACHING. "It is essential," he states, "that we 
should make ourselves accustomed with what is being 
done and planned in the teaching of the various ele- 
ments of the school curriculum." This is one of the 
niost important educational works of our time and 
every teacher should see it. $2.50 net. 

HOD GE, MP., and T. H. GA R SIDE. One of the most 
useful books published during the War. It deals with 
the ^vhole question of war pensions and allowances in 
an authoritative and instructive manner, and there is 
an index which enables anyone to find the reference 
to any particular point at once. $2.00. 

€1 Almost everyone has heard of LAURENCE 


which was reviewed so enthusiastically on France s 
Day. This beautiful book is the official story of the 
work done by Britain for the French wounded. It is 
a wonderful story, wonderfully told. Illustrated. $1.50. 

H THE HARDES T PART is a most outspoken book 
by J. A. ST UDDE RT KE NNEDY. M.C, C.F., author of 
that remarkable little book. "Rough Rhymes of a 
Padre." which is selling by thousands. " 'What 1 
want to know. Padre,' he said, 'is, what is God like? 
That is your real business. Padre; you ought to know." 

<| The New Book by the author of "In the Northern 
Mists" is entitled NAVAL INTELLI G ENCE . It is al- 
ready in its second large edition. "He is as pithy and 
picturesque an expounder of life in the Royal Navy in 
War time as one could wish to sit under. His ward- 
room dialogues are absolutely top-hole." — Morning 
Post. $1.35. 

Cjl Her Majesty the Queen has been graciously pleased 
to accept a copy of S. H. LEEDER'S magnificently 
illustrated new work TH E MODER N SONS OF TTIE 
PHARAO HS. One of the most important books on 
Egyptian life of to-day. Illustrated. $5.00. 

CP If you want to know what goes on in Germany's 
so-called Parliament. BEHIND THE SCENES AT THE 
REICHSTAG; Sixteen Years of Parliamentary Life in 
Germany, by the ABB E E. WET TERLE. is one of the 
most informing books published. Illustrated. $1.50. 

€][ A. E. STILWELL expounds a most remarkable 
scheme in THE GREAT PLAN: How to Pay for the 
War. The author provides for' the Nations to pay all 
War debts within fifteen months and to pay all debts 
between nations in one hour, and shows how the na- 
tions can return to a speedy pre-war taxation. $1.00. 



"My line in normal times is buying and 
selling real estate in the Nor'- West Province. 
For the last year or so I've been 'pros- 
pecting' some likely plots in Flanders. . . . 
Some trail! 

"One cannot exactly claim perfect drainage or 
restful home life, but at present, well . . . there 
are a few good pals to meet, and when one 
lights up an Army Club Cigarette there are 
worse places than a dug-out perhaps . . . ' Gee 
Whiz!* But an 'Army Club' is a real 
' chummy ' Cigarette, and welcome every time ! ! " 



Sold by nU the leading Tobacconists and 
in alt the Canteens at home and abroad. 

20 for lid. 50 for 2/3. 100 for 4/6. 

West End Cinema Theatre 


Weekdays, 2 tiU 11. Sundays, 6 till 11. 


Don't hesitate to come in here and spend a 
pleasant hour. It costs nothing 1 

I am doing you no favour — on the contrary, you 
are honouring me with your company. 

Walk, hop, crawl, or be carried in as though 
the theatre belonged to you — it does, so 
long as I am its Proprietor I 

I have already entertained more than 15,000 
Wounded Boys, and have arranged matinees 
which have benefited charities to the extent 
of over £7,000, for which I thank my 
Patrons for allowing me Jo help towards 
the cheering up of our Boys in Blue. 


C. F. SEXTON. SoU Ptapriatoi. 

Some Forthcoming Attractions : 




" DADDY."