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TEN Kitchener Wins The following Monday morning Berlin (or Nowhere, Ontario, as one wag suggested the city would have to be called for the time being) witnessed another of its "monster" parades. The 118th Battalion, led by the dignified "Czar," and the less dignified "Collie," now christened "Jake," who went through his usual routine of mindless barking and running around in small circles, was on its way to the G.T.R. station on Victoria Street. Conspicuously absent from the festivities was the man who should properly have presided at them, though his non-attendance was not unexpected. Indeed, the mayor had not been seen since voting day. Some said that it had been made clear to him that his presence would not be welcome on the Saturday when the official farewell took place, and that if he presented the $10 gold pieces the soldiers would refuse to accept them. Cleghorn presided at this function instead, and the coins were handed out by Ed Huber, the city treasurer. Hett later said that the reason he went into hiding until the troops had left was that, quite simply, he was frightened for his physical safety. Meanwhile, Gallagher, who had been made acting mayor, moved quickly to organize a successful send-off. The schools were given a half-holiday, and all shops and businesses were asked to allow their employees two hours off work. Unfortunately the weather was not under his jurisdiction, and it rained steadily throughout the morning, though this did not stop the citizens from turning out en masse with their umbrellas and giving visible, though damp, expression to the popular war song, Oh we don't want to lose you, but we think you ought to go, For your King and your Country both need you so. We shall want you and miss you but with all our might and main 138 Kitchener Wins 139 We shall cheer you, thank you, kiss you, tell you come back again. At the station itself, the band played patriotic or soulful airs, while "mothers clasped sons to their breasts, and sisters and sweethearts dropped tears on rain-wet tunics," and as the first train load pulled out at 9:55 the soldiers, trying for a last handshake or hug, leaned out of the windows above what looked like a field of large, black mushrooms; and the air was filled with the sound of the bells of St. Peter's Lutheran Church chiming out "God Be With You Till We Meet Again," "Rule Brittania," and "The Maple Leaf Forever." No doubt there was a broken heart or two, but the only physical casualty occurred when Mayor Milliard of Waterloo broke his wrist while trying to start his car with a crank handle. The battalion's final score was 711 officers and men. It was a worryingly low number, but on this emotional day everyone tried to put on a brave face. It was said that recruiting would continue, and it was profoundly hoped that some way would be found of preserving the North Waterloo identity. On the bright side, it was boasted that 65%, or 491, of the enlistments were Canadian-born, which was said to be higher than any other battalion in the Dominion, and 300 of these were of German descent. Where else, asked the News-Record could another unit be found in which "Fritz and Tommy marched shoulder to shoulder to uphold British traditions." But now Fritz and Tommy had gone (for the time being anyway) and it was left to the News-Record to come out with a valediction of such breathtaking inaccuracy that one searches for the irony. "The entire community regrets their departure. The downtown streets look gloomy and deserted and everyone will miss the good old khaki suits and the happy smiling faces which always adorned the wearers." One wonders whether anyone was unkind enough to remind the newspaper of this passage when those same happy smiling faces smashed up its offices eight months later. The most pressing need was, of course, to turn Nowhere into Somewhere, and the first moves began almost before the troop trains had disappeared in the direction of London. The citizens were about to discover that getting fixed up with a new name was just about as tricky as discarding an old one. First off the mark was P.V. Wilson, president of the Waterloo Board of Trade, who smartly brought the issue of amalgamation off the shelf where it had...

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