I wonder about it now.

Can the sahib tell me why an old man's helmet should be a memory, when so much that was matter of life and death has gone from mind?
I see that old man and his helmet now, yet I forget the feel of Flanders mud.
We reached Suez, and anchored there.

At Suez lay many ships in front of us, and a great gray battle-ship saluted us with guns, we all standing to attention while our ensigns dipped.

I thought it strange that the battle-ship should salute us first, until I recalled how when I was a little fellow I once saw a viceroy salute my grandfather.

My grandfather was one of those Sikhs who marched to help the British on the Ridge at Delhi when the British cause seemed lost.