Before long he heard footsteps coming toward him:
"Halt! Who goes there?" demanded the sentry.
"The Irish Fusiliers," was the answer.
"Pass, Irish Fusiliers; all's well."
Before long some more steps sounded....
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"The London Regiment."
"Pass, Londons; all's well."
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"Hic ... mind your own damn business...."
"Pass, Canadians; all's well."
At a parade, one bright November morning, when we were at Salisbury, a
certain brigadier-general from Ontario, since killed in action, while
reviewing the soldiers of a particular battalion, made a unique speech to
the boys when he said:
"Lads, the king and Lord Kitchener and all the big-bugs are coming down to
review us to-day, and for once in your lives, men, I want to see you act
like real soldiers. When they get here, for the love o' Mike, don't call me
Bill ... and, for God's sake, don't chew tobacco in the ranks."
There is no doubt about it, the authorities probably looked on us as a
bunch of good fellows, but that's about all.
While still in England, all the men of the First Canadian Contingent were
issued a cloth lapelette or small shoulder strap; the infantry, blue; the
cavalry, yellow with two narrow blue stripes; the artillery, scarlet, and
the medical corps, maroon.
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