Those were happy if very strenuous days at Aldershot that week or so before the embarkation. Men talked very little about the future, everyone was really too busy. Thoughts naturally flew back to the South African War when they did talk.
"Nobody was particularly keen on that," was the generally expressed opinion; "nobody wanted to kill the Boers; too one-sided. This—oh! this is the real thing. We've got our work cut out."
The very day after the mobilisation the Officers' Mess showed signs of packing up. It reminded one so much of the third act in The Second in Command. Two notices in the hall brought things home:—
"Officers may wear Service dress or blue undress jackets in Mess."
"Officers are particularly requested to pay their mess bills before leaving."
Packing-cases and parcels began to drift in and lie about: dozens of telegrams passed in and out: a smaller variety of dishes appeared at luncheon and dinner: the regimental band came and played to us every night (the cheerier spirits all took a hand at conducting, especially rag-time).
Everybody had his job, and nobody knew what anyone else was doing. Right at the beginning we experienced a curious feeling of secrecy. You would see an officer at lunch and miss him at dinner.
"Oh yes! I believe he has gone this afternoon," someone remarks.
"When are you off?" Colonel X. would say to an officer in a moment of forgetfulness, hastily adding, "No, I don't want to know—but, mind you pay your mess bill before you go."
This secrecy of movement was certainly the most striking feature of those early days: that, and the splendid organisation. We have got accustomed to it since, but at the time, and to men used to the happy-go-lucky methods of this dear, lovable, muddle-headed old country of ours, that organisation struck one as amazing.