EPILOGUE
In 1919 I was home on short leave, and it happened that the Indian Contingent was in London for the Peace celebrations. I was a spectator when they marched to Buckingham Palace to be reviewed by their beloved King-Emperor, and as they passed on their return from the Palace, although I was in plain clothes, some of the Indian officers and men recognised me amongst the crowd. One of them shouted the Sikh war-cry of “Fateh,” and a number ran out of the marching ranks, saying, “Here is our General.” It was a very short greeting, but it was none the less both moving and splendid.
A few days later I visited their Camp at Hampton Court. I will not attempt to describe what took place, but when I left in my motor-car, this at least I clearly knew, that those faithful comrades would never forget their old Commander. It is my final and highest reward.