"I am the Commander of the British Army in France," said a thick-set ruddy-faced, grey-haired officer in staff cap and uniform.
"Yes, Sir John," I answered, saluting.
"I have had the pleasure of seeing you and your battalion before in Toronto. Have you all the Toronto Highlanders with you?"
"Yes, Sir John," I replied, "most of them."
Our Brigade was being reviewed by the Commander-in-Chief in a hop yard not far from Caestre.
It was raining as usual. We had not yet been reviewed, from the time we first went to Valcartier, that it had not rained.
"Is your establishment complete?"
"Yes, Sir John. In fact we are twenty over strength, and I am afraid you will 'wig' me for it, but we marched out at night and some of the men in the base company, hearing we were leaving, stole away from their quarters, marched five miles and smuggled themselves into the ranks as we marched out into the darkness."
"You will never be wigged by me for bringing such a battalion as this, a few men over strength. We will need them all. Good luck to you, Colonel." We shook hands, and he started over to review the 16th Battalion.
"I am the Officer Commanding the Second Army," and I was saluting and shaking hands with General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien. With Sir John French were the principal officers of the British Expeditionary Force.