'Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played, The red crashing game of a fight? Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid? And who thinks he’d rather sit tight? Who’ll toe the line for the signal to ‘Go!’? Who’ll give his country a hand? Who wants a turn to himself in the show? And who wants a seat in the stand? Who knows it won’t be a picnic – not much- Yet eagerly shoulders a gun? Who would much rather come back with a crutch Than lie low and be out of the fun? Come along, lads – But you’ll come on all right – For there’s only one course to pursue, Your country is up to her neck in a fight, And she’s looking and calling for you,' said Mr. Yirrel from the podium in the centre of the village. This was it. My chance. My chance to prove my braveness! I knew I could do it! I just had to lie about my age. Ever since I was a boy, I lived and worked on my family's farm in Devon, and had grown up here with my Mother, Father, and little sister, Joanna. I can do this! I thought. I approached the white tent and stood in the que, for what seemed like forever. Finally, I got to the desk, and an old man in an army uniform. He lent forward. 'Name?' He asked. 'James, sir,' I replied. 'Date of birth?' '21st April, sir,' I said with confidence. 'What year?' I looked blank. 'Year?' 'Umm...1895, sir,' I replied. He nodded and wrote it down. This was it. I was to fight against the Germans in the war.