‘Result: he was always on parade, and training improved.
‘Secretly we admired all this, but some of us got jealous. We grew petty, and showed it in our memos. But he called us up, and said, “Look here, Tom, Dick, and Harry, I’m not here for my health. I’m here for business. If you don’t like my methods, you had better move to another battalion.”
‘And the old C.O. backed him up.
‘At last we voiced our true thoughts, and said, “The New Man is an organiser. He can do things. And he does save us a tremendous lot of trouble with the paymaster, the Command, and the War Office.” Having paid this homage, we started to go to him for advice on administration. He gave us heaps.
‘But we still wondered how he would “pan out” in the field.
‘Next, we went out. The New Man was told to entrain the battalion at the station, where a train would be in waiting. When he got there he discovered the R.T.O. had forgotten—the luggage-vans. He asked no questions, but collared two vans on the siding, had them hitched on to the train, loaded up, shoved the troops in, reported “All correct,” and we started to move.
‘“What the devil do you mean taking those vans?” roared the annoyed R.T.O.
‘“You go and learn your business, sonny. I’m a railway manager. Good-bye.”
‘We lay back and simply roared with laughter.
‘Crossing the Channel, we of the old school were just a bit worried. We had grown to like the new fellow an awful lot. He was so willing, so decent, so obliging, and so keen. Still, we did think he was not quite the type. His business abilities were admirable. But what about leadership?