I'm a 100 year old WWI vet, I joined the war at the age of 15, lying about my age so I could follow my brother Peter. I had to fool my mother and lie about my age and sneak along with my brother, but I got to join the war. We spent a month training here in Canada, we were then shipped off to Great Britain. We then spent a couple of weeks training, in the rain. Our Ross rifles, completely made useless by the rain, and our boredom teaming as an army , we finally saw our first battle. I luckily got to join the ranks with my brother, and had stuck close to him this whole time, and our first battle was at Ypres. We heard people screaming "GAS! GAS!". The cowardly French retreated, leaving us, the Canadian corp to hold the line. We came up with the idea to urinate on our handkerchiefs and cover our mouths and nose so that we could survive the gas. We held the line from the invading German army, but I was sadly wounded during this fight. I was shot in the leg, and have had to walk with a cane ever since. I was sent home, but my brother, unwounded stayed, where he died, in the battle of the Somme.

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