Real work began in earnest here this morning, for the officers in command of the various companies of the Headquarters Divisions, or Depot Battalions, or whatever it is these particular departments are called, are determined to rush our drill instructions as fast as possible, because there is no telling when any one or any number of us will be needed somewhere else in the U. S. A. or in France, all of which sounds promising for a quick change. I’m willing, and I sure hope it’s France.

Our day is just filled full of hay-footing and straw-footing and squads righting and all that sort of thing. I am learning things gradually by dint of much cussing on the part of our Sergeant, who is also late of the Regular, and who certainly has as choice a vocabulary as our former drillmaster.

We must have a very capable Mess Sergeant in this barracks, for the meals here are mighty good; better than those we received in the other barracks. We actually had ice cream and tea this noon, a thing unheard of in most of the barracks.

And our cook is a wonder. He’s an old cockney sea-dog, who looks like a regular buccaneer, and he has a parrot, too, whom he calls Jock. Jock spends most of his time sitting on the edge of the coal bin shrieking “Lazy Pig.” But neither Jock nor his master has a sense of humour; the cook gets mad when he finds a man trying to ring in a third helping and when he gets mad, Jock screams: “Lazy pig, lazy pig,” and dances up and down in a frenzy.

I went back to the old barracks last night, to find the place almost filled with new men, all worried looking and pale, and much disturbed over that first night horror, the “needle.” I didn’t relieve their mental anguish a particle, which was most unchristian-like.

Several of the men remaining from the former company told me that most of the original company had been split up between the “Suicide Club” which is the machine gun companies, the transportation division and the infantry. As for “Local Board No. 163” no one had seen him about. Possibly he has become disgusted with high-toned individuals who object to fleas, and has gone off and joined the infantry. Well I wish him luck.

I really believe I’m taking a very deep interest in this soldiering after all. I didn’t think I would at first, but now I find I’m watching the colour of my hat cord with interest. I want to see it lose its newness and get faded-out looking, like a regular soldier’s hat cord.