This can be considered prologue to my Marie stories.

It began before Britain declared war. My mother is French, and she followed the news that August with great interest. I was busy with my job, and not being in the Militia I had no more than a general interest.

But within a week all that had changed. We had three men in the office leave to join their regiments at Valcartier. Mr. Thomson took me aside.

"John, I can't stop you if you're planning to enlist, but we're so short handed now I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

He'd been very good to me, and I hastily re-assured him that enlisting wasn't in my immediate plans.

My father was relieved when I told him, but Maman was in a quandary. Her country had been invaded, and she wanted to help, but I was her only son.

Peggy was happy as well. We were getting to know each other better, and I could sense that before too long she'd be expecting me to propose. Meanwhile there were warm summer nights, and dances and dinners.

But that winter, while "our gallant boys" were dwelling in the mud of Salisbury Plain, news on the home front was not good. Uncle Beau and Uncle Pierre had been killed in the great battles in Meuse. Grand-pere had had to flee his home as the Germans advanced.

We lost two more men from the office to the newly-raised battalions of the Canadian Expeditionary Force.

In June 1915 my best friend's parents received a telegram. Bill had been killed.

I was doing the work of four men at the office.

Then, one day, as I walked out for lunch I passed the Christie Street hospital, which was now filled with wounded and sick soldiers. Outside, one man was lying in the sun. His right coat sleeve was pinned up. He'd lost his arm. He was fumbling with a pack of cigarettes with his good hand. Embarrassed, I hurried over to help him.

"Thanks, mate." was all he said. But he gave me a look. It wasn't "why aren't you in uniform?" It might have been "why do you still have two arms?" I muttered some excuse and bolted. His eyes haunted me.

The next day I went to the first recruiting party I could find. I didn't tell my parents, nor Peggy, before I did.

Maman kissed me and cried. Father put his hand on my shoulder and said that I'd done the right thing.

Peggy took it hard. I didn't get many chances to see her, and somehow, when I tried to see her she was always busy.

She did come to see us off at the train station as we left for Camp Borden.

"Goodbye, John. Good luck." she said in a tight voice. Her parting kiss had little warmth in it.

I boarded the train, wondering what lay ahead of me, and even more, what had I left behind.