Chapter 3

Q! Queue! ... Blimey! you know--the blinkin'
thing wot the pore blighters at home wite abaht for 'mawgarine'
in."--_B. W. Whayman (late F.S.C., R.E.), 24 Oxford Street, Boston,
Lincolnshire._

"Fine 'eads er Salery!"

We were in a deep railway cutting near Gouzeancourt. Jerry's aeroplanes
had found us and his artillery was trying to shift us.

On the third day we had run out of cigarettes, so the sergeant-major
asked for a volunteer to go to a canteen four miles away.

Our Cockney, a costermonger well known in the East End, volunteered.
He could neither read nor write, so we fixed him up with francs, a
sandbag, and a list.

Hours passed, the strafe became particularly heavy, and we began to
fear our old pal had been hit.

Suddenly during a lull in the shelling far away along the ravine we
heard a voice shouting, "Ere's yer fine 'eads er salery 'orl white." He
was winning through.--_"Sparks," Lowestoft, Suffolk._

The Old Soldier Falls

After my battalion had been almost wiped out in the 1918 retirement, I
was transferred to the 1st Batt. Middlesex Regt. One old soldier, known
to us as "Darky," who had been out since '14, reported at B.H.Q. that
he wanted to go up the front line with his old mates instead of resting
behind the line.

His wish was granted. He was detailed to escort a party of us to the
front line.

All went well till we arrived at the support line, where we were told
to be careful of snipers.

We had only gone 20 yards further when the old soldier fell back into
my arms, shot through the head. He was dying when he opened his eyes
and said to me, "Straight on, lad. You can find your way now."--_A. H.
Walker, 59 Wilberforce Road, Finsbury Park, N.4._

Not Meant For Him

At the end of September 1917 my regiment (5th Seaforth Highlanders)
were troubled by bombing raids by enemy aircraft at the unhealthy
regularity of one raid per hour. We were under canvas at Siege Camp,
in the Ypres sector, and being near to a battery of large guns we were
on visiting terms with some of the gunners, who were for the most part
London men.

A Lewisham man was writing a letter in our tent one day when we
again had the tip that the Germans were flying towards us. So we all
scattered.

After the raid we returned to our tent and were surprised to see our
artillery friend still writing his letter. We asked him whether he
had stayed there the whole time and in reply he read us the following
passage from his letter which he had written during the raid:

"As I write this letter Jerry is bombing the Jocks, but although I am
in their camp, being a Londoner, I suppose the raid is not meant for
me, and I feel quite safe."--_W. A. Bull, M.M., 62 Norman Road, llford,
Essex._

An Extra Fast Bowler

During the defence of Antwerp in October 1914 my chum, who was
wicket-keeper in the Corps cricket team, got hit in the head.

I was with him when he came to, and asked him what happened.

"Extra fast one on the leg side," was his reply.--_J. Russell (late
R.M.L.I.), 8 Northcote Road, Deal, Kent._

"I'll Call a Taxi, Sir"

During an engagement in East Africa an officer was badly wounded. Bill,
from Bermondsey, rode out to him on a mule. Whilst he was trying to get
the officer away on his mule the animal bolted. Bill then said, "Me
mule 'opped it, sir. 'E's a fousand miles from 'ere, so I'll giv yer a
lift on my Bill and Jack (back)."

The officer was too heavy, so Bill put him gently on the ground saying,
"Sorry, sir, I'll 'ave ter call a taxi." Bill then ran 500 yards under
heavy machine-gun fire to where the armoured cars were under cover. He
brought one out, and thereby saved the officer's life.

After the incident, Bill's attention was drawn to a bullet hole in his
pith helmet. "Blimey," he said, "what a shot! If he 'adn't a missed me,
'e'd a 'it me." Bill was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal.--_W.
B. Higgins, D.C.M. (late Corpl. Mounted Infantry), 46 Stanley Road,
Ilford._

Attack in "Birthday Clothes"

We came out of the line on the night of June 14-15, 1917, to "bivvies"
at Mory, after a hot time from both Fritz and weather at Bullecourt.
When dawn broke we were astonished and delighted to see a "bath."
Whilst we were in the line our Pioneers had a brain wave, dug a hole in
the ground, lined it with a tarpaulin sheet, and filled it with water.

As our last bath was at Achiet-le-Petit six weeks before, there was a
tremendous crowd waiting "mit nodings on," because there was "standing
room only" for about twenty in the bath.

Whilst ablutions were in progress an aeroplane was heard, but no
notice was taken because it was flying so low--"one of ours" everybody
thought. When it came nearer there was a shout, "Strewth, it's a Jerry
plane."

Baths were "off" for the moment and there was a stampede to the
"bivvies" for rifles. It was the funniest thing in the world to see
fellows running about in their "birthday suits" plus only tin hats,
taking pot shots at the aeroplane.

Even Fritz seemed surprised, because it was some moments before he
replied with his machine gun.

We watched him fly away back to his own lines and a voice broke the
silence with, "Blinkin' fools to put on our tin 'ats. Uvverwise 'ole
Fritz wouldn't a known but what we might be Germans."

I often wonder if any other battalion had the "honour" of "attacking
the enemy" clad only in tin hats.--_G. M. Rampton (late 12th London
Regt., "Rangers"), 43 Cromwell Road, Winchester._

His Good-bye to the Q.M.

Scene, Ypres, May 1915. The battalion to which I belonged had been
heavily shelled for many hours, and among the casualties was "Topper"
Brown, a Cockney, who was always in trouble for losing items of his
kit. Taken to the dressing station to have a badly shattered foot
amputated, he recovered consciousness to find the C.Q.M.S. standing by
the stretcher on which he lay.

The C.Q.M.S., not knowing the extent of Brown's injury, inquired,
"What's the trouble, Brown?"

In a weak voice the Cockney replied, "Lost one boot and one sock again,
Quarter."--_E. E. Daniels (late K.R.R.), 178 Caledonian Road, N.1._

From Bow and Harrow

We were in the line at Neuville St. Vaast in 1916. A raid had just been
carried out. In the party were two inseparable chums, one from Bow and
one from Harrow. (Of course they were known as Bow and Arrow.)

The bulk of the raiders had returned, but some were yet to come in.
Some time later three forms were seen crawling towards our line. They
were promptly helped in.

As their faces were blackened they were hard to recognise, and a
corporal asked them who they were.

"Don't yer know us?" said the chap from Bow. "We're Bow and Arrow."
"Blimey!" said another Cockney standing by. "And I suppose the other
bloke's Robin 'ood, aint 'e."--_G. Holloway (late London Regt. and 180
M.G.C.), 179 Lewis Buildings, West Kensington, W.14._

Piccadilly in the Front Line

Towards the end of September 1918 I was one of a party of nine men and
an officer taking part in a silent raid in the Ypres sector, a little
in front of the well-known spot called Swan and Edgar's Corner. The
raid was the outcome of an order from Headquarters demanding prisoners
for information.

Everything had been nicely arranged. We were to approach the German
line by stealth, surprise an outpost, and get back quickly to our own
trenches with the prisoners.

Owing perhaps to the wretchedness of the night--it was pouring with
rain, and intensely black--things did not work according to plan.
Instead of reaching our objective, our party became divided, and the
group that I was with got hopelessly lost. There were five of us,
including "Ginger," a Cockney.

We trod warily for about an hour, when we suddenly came up against a
barbed-wire entanglement, in the centre of which we could just make
out the figure of a solitary German. After whispered consultation, we
decided to take him prisoner, knowing that the German, having been
stationary, had not lost sense of direction and could guide us back
to our line. Noiselessly surmounting the barbed wire, we crept up to
him and in a second Ginger was on him. Pointing his bayonet in Fritz's
back, he said, "Nah, then, you blighter, show us the way 'ome."

Very coolly and without the slightest trace of fear, the German replied
in perfect English, "I suppose you mean me to lead you to the British
trenches."

"Oh!" said Ginger, "so yer speak English, do yer?"

"Yes," said the German, "I was a waiter at a restaurant in Piccadilly
before the War."

"Piccadilly, eh? You're just the feller we want. Take us as far as Swan
and Edgar's Corner."--_R. Allen (late Middlesex Regt., 41st Division),
7 Moreland Street, Finsbury Park, N.4._

"Wag's" Exhortation

On a bitterly cold night, with a thick fog settling, the Middlesex
Regt. set out on a raid on a large scale on the enemy's trenches.
Fritz must have got wind of it, for when they were about half-way
across the enemy guns opened fire and simply raked No Man's Land. The
air was alive with shrapnel and nearly two-thirds of the raiders were
casualties in no time.

Those that could tried to crawl back to our lines, but soon lost
all direction in the fog. About half a dozen of them crawled into a
shell-hole and lay there wounded or exhausted from their efforts, and
afraid to move while the bombardment continued.

Meanwhile "Wag" Bennett, a Cockney, though badly wounded, had dragged
himself out of a shell-hole, and was crawling towards what proved later
to be the enemy lines when he saw the forms of the other fellows in the
darkness. As he peered down upon them he called out, "Strike me pink!
Lyin' abaht dahn there as if you was at the 'Otel Cissle, while there's
a ruddy war agoin' on. Come on up aht of it, else you'll git us all a
bad name."

In a moment they were heartened, and they crawled out, following "Wag"
on their hands and knees and eventually regained our lines. Poor "Wag"
died soon afterwards from his wounds.--_H. Newing, 1 Park Cottages,
Straightsmouth, Greenwich, S.E.10._

Making a King of Him

Our company of the Middlesex Regiment had captured a hill from Johnny
Turk one evening, and at once prepared for the counter-attack on the
morrow. My platoon was busy making a trench. On the parapet we placed
large stones instead of sandbags.

During these operations we were greeted with machine-gun fire from
Johnny and, our numbers being small, we had to keep firing from
different positions so as to give the impression that we were stronger
than we really were.

It was while we were scrambling from one position to another that
"Smudger" Smith, from Hammersmith, said: "Love us, Sarge, 'ow's this
for a blinkin' game of draughts?" The words were hardly out of his
mouth when Johnny dropped a 5·9 about thirty yards away. The force of
the explosion shook one of the stones from the parapet right on to
"Smudger's" head, and he was knocked out.

When he came round his first words were: "Blimey, they must 'ave 'eard
me to crown me like that."--_W. R. Mills (late Sergt., 2/10th Middlesex
Regt.), 15 Canterbury Road, Colchester, Essex._

"Peace? Not wiv you 'ere!"

Two Cockney pals who were always trying to get the better of one
another in a battle of words by greeting each other with such remarks
as "Ain't you blinkin' well dead yet?" earned for themselves the
nick-names of Bill and Coo.

One evening they were sent to fetch water, and on the return journey
the Germans started to shell rather heavily.

Coo ran more quickly than Bill and fell into a shell-hole. He scrambled
out in time to see his pal blown sky high by what appeared to be a
direct hit.

Coo was heard to remark: "I always told 'im 'e ought to be reported
missing, and blimey if 'e ain't."

He then went to see if he could find the body: instead he found Bill
alive, though badly wounded.

When finally Coo got his pal back to the trench, Bill opened his eyes.
Seeing Coo bending over him, he said: "Lumme, I thought peace 'ad come
at last, but it ain't--not wiv you 'ere."--_William Walker, 30 Park
Road, Stopsley Road, Luton, Beds._

An Expert on Shells

We were billeted in the vaults of Ypres Post Office. Towards dusk of
a summer's day in 1916 four of us were lounging at the top of the
vault stairs, discussing the noise made by different shells. Jerry,
a Cockney, was saying, "Yes, yer can always tell big 'uns--they
shuffles," and went on to demonstrate with _Shsh-shsh-shsh_, when
someone said "Listen!"

There was the real sound, and coming straight for us. We dived or fell
to the bottom of the stairs. Followed a terrific "crump" right in the
entrance, which was completely blocked up.

Every candle and lamp was blown out; we were choking with dust and
showered with bricks and masonry.

There was a short silence, and Jerry's voice from the darkness said,
"There y'are; wot did I tell yer?"--_H. W. Lake, London._

A Camel "on the Waggon"

During the battle of Gaza in April 1917 camels were used for the
conveyance of wounded. Each camel carried a stretcher on either side
of its hump. Travelling in this manner was something akin to a rough
Channel crossing.

I was wounded in the leg. My companion was severely wounded in both
legs. Some very uncomplimentary remarks were passed between us
concerning camels, particularly the one which was carrying us.

When we arrived at a field dressing-station a sergeant of the R.A.M.C.
came along with liquid refreshments.

"Sergeant," said my chum, "if you give this bloke (indicating the
camel) anything to drink I'm going to walk, 'cos I believe the blighter
was drunk before we ever set eyes on him."--_Albert J. Fairall, 43
Melbourne Road, Leyton, E.10._

Parting Presents

It was on Passchendaele Ridge in 1917. Jerry had been giving us a hot
time with his heavies. Just before daybreak our telephone line went
west and we could not get through to our O.P.

I was detailed to go out and repair the line with a young Cockney from
Hackney. He had only been with us a few days and it was his first time
up the line.

We had mended one break when shells dropped all round us. When I got
to my feet, I saw my pal lying several feet away. I escaped with a few
splinters and shock. I dragged my chum to a shell-hole which was full
of water and found he was badly hit about the shoulder, chest, and leg.
I dressed him as best I possibly could, when, _bang_, a shell seemed
to drop right on us and something came hurtling into our hole with a
splash.

It turned out to be a duckboard. I propped my chum against it to stop
him slipping back into the water. After a few minutes he opened his
eyes, and though in terrible pain, smiled and said, "Lummy, Jeff, old
Jerry ain't so bad, after all. He has given me a nice souvenir to take
to Blighty and now he has sent me a raft to cross the Pond on." Then he
became unconscious.

It was now daybreak and quiet. I pulled him out of the hole and went
and repaired the line. We got him away all right, but I never heard
from him. I only hope he pulled through: he showed pluck.--_Signaller
H. Jeffrey (late Royal Artillery), 13 Bright Road, Luton, Chatham,
Kent._

Bluebottles and Wopses

We had just gone into the front line. Two of us had not been there
before.

During a conversation with a Cockney comrade, an old hand, we told him
of our dislike of bombs. He tried to re-assure us something like this:
"Nah, don't let them worry you. You treat 'em just like blue-bottles,
only different. With a blue-bottle you watch where it settles an' 'it
it, but with bombs, you watch where they're goin' to settle and 'op it.
It's quite simple."

A short time after a small German bomb came over and knocked out our
adviser. My friend and I picked him up and tried to help him. He was
seriously hurt. As we lifted him up my friend said to him, "You didn't
get your blue-bottle that time, did you?" He smiled back as he replied:
"'Twasn't a blue-bottle, mate; must 'ave been a blinkin' wopse."--_C.
Booth, 5 Creighton Road, N.W.6._

The Cheerful "Card"

On that June morning in 1917 when Messines Ridge went up, a young chap
was brought in to our A.D.S. in Woodcote Farm. A piece of shell had
torn a great gap in each thigh. Whilst the sergeant was applying the
iodine by means of a spray the M.O. asked, "How are things going this
morning?" The lad was wearing a red heart as his battalion sign, and
despite his great pain he answered: "O.K. sir. Hearts were trumps this
morning."--_R. J. Graff, 3/5th L.F.A., 47th Division, 20 Lawrie Park
Road, Sydenham._

Great Stuff This Shrapnel

During the retreat from Mons it was the cavalry's work to hold up the
Germans as long as possible, to allow our infantry to get in position.

One day we had a good way to run to our horses, being closely pursued
by the Germans. When we reached them we were all more or less out of
breath. A little Cockney was so winded that he could hardly reach his
stirrup, which kept slipping from under his foot.

Just then a shrapnel shell burst directly overhead, and the Cockney,
without using his stirrup, vaulted clean into the saddle.

As we galloped off he gasped, "Blimey, don't they put new life in yer?
They're as good as Kruschens."--_E. H. (late R.H.G.), 87 Alpha Road,
Surbiton, Surrey._

Wot a War!

Three of us were sitting on the high ground on the Gallipoli Beach
watching shells dropping from the Turk positions.

A "G.S." wagon was proceeding slowly along below us, the driver huddled
in his coat, for the air was chill.

Suddenly he jumped from the wagon and ran in our direction--he had
heard the shell before we had.

The next moment the wagon was proceeding skywards in many directions,
and the horses were departing at top speed in different directions.

The driver surveyed the scene for a moment and then in a very
matter-of-fact voice said: "Blimey! See that? Now I suppose I've
got to _walk_ back, and me up all night--wot a war!" And away he
trudged!--_C. J. A., N.W.11._

The Umpire

After a retreat in May 1915 we saw, lying between our fresh position
and the German lines, an English soldier whom we took to be dead.

Later, however, we advanced again, and discovered that the man was not
dead, but badly wounded.

On being asked who he was, he replied in a very weak voice, "I fink
I must be the blinkin' umpire."--_W. King (late Royal Fusiliers), 94
Manor Grove, Richmond, Surrey._

"Don't Tell 'Aig"

Little "Ginger" was the life and soul of our platoon until he was
wounded on the Somme in 1918.

As he was carried off to the dressing-station he waved his hand feebly
over the side of the stretcher and whispered, "Don't tell 'Aig! He'd
worry somethin' shockin'."--_G. E. Morris (late Royal Fusiliers), 368
Ivydale Road, Peckham Rye, S.E.15._

"... In Love and War"

During a most unpleasant night bombing raid on the transport lines at
Haillecourt the occupants of a Nissen hut were waiting for the next
crash when out of the darkness and silence came the Cockney voice of
a lorry driver saying to his mate, "'Well,' I sez to 'er, I sez, 'You
do as you like, and I can't say no fairer than that, can I?'"--_F. R.
Jelley, Upland Road, Sutton, Surrey._

"Afraid of Yer Own Shells"

I was on the Italian front in June 1918, and our battery was being
strafed by the Austrians with huge armour-piercing shells, which made
a noise like an express train coming at you, and exploded with a
deafening roar.

An O.K. had just registered on one of our guns, blowing the wheels and
masses of rock sky-high. A party of about twenty Austrian prisoners,
in charge of a single Cockney, were passing our position at the time,
and the effect of the explosion on the prisoners was startling. They
scattered in all directions, vainly pursued by the Cockney, who
reminded me of a sheep-dog trying to get his flock together.

At last he paused. "You windy lot o' blighters," he shouted as he
spat on the ground in evident disgust, "afraid of yer own bloomin'
shells!"--_S. Curtis, 20 Palace Road, Upper Norwood, S.E.19._

The Leader of the Blind

In July 1918, at a casualty clearing station occupying temporary
quarters in the old College of St. Vincent at ruined Senlis we dealt
with 7,000 wounded in eight days. One night when we were more busy than
usual an ambulance car brought up a load of gas-blinded men.

A little man whose voice proclaimed the city of his birth--arm broken
and face blistered with mustard gas, though he alone of the party could
see--jumped out, looked around, and then whispered in my ear, "All
serene, guv'nor, leave 'em to me."

He turned towards the car and shouted inside, "Dalston Junction, change
here for Hackney, Bow, and Poplar."

Then gently helping each man to alight, he placed them in a line with
right hand on the shoulder of the man in front, took his position
forward and led them all in, calling softly as he advanced, "Slow
march, left, left, I had a good job and I _left_ it."--_Henry T. Lowde
(late 63rd C.C.S., R.A.M.C.), 101 Stanhope Gardens, Harringay, N.4._

Pity the Poor Ducks

We were in the Passchendaele sector in 1917, and all who were there
know there were no trenches--just shell-holes half-filled with water.

Jerry had been strafing us for two days without a stop and of our
platoon of twenty-three men only seven came out alive. As we were
coming down the duckboard track after being relieved Jerry started to
put over a barrage. We had to dive for the best cover we could get.

Three of us jumped into a large shell-hole, up to our necks in water.
As the shells dropped around us we kept ducking our heads under the
water.

Bert Norton, one of us--a Cockney--said: "Strike, we're like the little
ducks in 'Yde Park--keep going under."

After another shell had burst and we had just come up to breathe Bert
chimed in again with: "Blimey, mustn't it be awful to have to get your
living by ducking?"--_J. A. Wood, 185 Dalston Lane, E.8._

Waiting Room Only

It was in No Man's Land, and a party of New Zealand troops were making
for shelter in a disabled British tank to avoid the downpour of
shrapnel. They were about to swarm into the tank when the head of a
London Tommy popped out of an aperture, and he exclaimed, "Blimey. Hop
it! This is a waiting room, not a blinkin' bee-hive."--_A. E. Wragg, 1
Downs Road, Beckenham, Kent._

Not Yet Blasé

We arrived at the Cambrai front in 1917--just a small bunch of
Cockneys--and were attached to the Welsh Brigade of Artillery, being
told to report to B.H.Q. up the sunken road in front of Bapaume.

En route our escort of Welshmen were telling us of the "terrible"
shelling up the line. It was no leg pulling, for we quickly found out
for ourselves that it was hot and furious.

Down we all went for cover as best we could, except one Cockney who
stood as one spellbound watching the bursting of the shells. One of the
Welshmen yelled out, "Drop down, Cockie!" The Cockney turned round, to
the wonderment and amusement of the rest, with the retort, "Blimey! Get
away with yer, you're windy. I've only just come out!"--_Driver W. H.
Allen (attached 1st Glamorgan R.H.A.), 8 Maiden Crescent, Kentish Town,
N.W.1._

Paid with a Mills

During severe fighting in Delville Wood in August 1916 our regiment
(the East Surreys) was cut off for about three days and was reduced to
a mere handful of men, but still we kept up our joking and spirits.

A young Cockney, who was an adept at rhyming slang, rolled over, dead
as I thought, for blood was streaming from his neck and head. But he
sat up again and, wiping his hand across his forehead, exclaimed:
"Strike me pink! One on the top of my loaf of bread (head), and one
in the bushel and peck (neck)." Then, slinging over a Mills bomb, he
shouted: "'Ere, Fritz, my thanks for a Blighty ticket."--_A. Dennis, 9
Somers Road, Brixton Hill, S.W.2._

The Guns' Obligato

The day after the Canadians attacked Vimy Ridge my battalion of
the Royal Fusiliers advanced from Bully Grenay to a château on the
outskirts of Lieven under heavy shell fire.

At the back of the château a street led to the main road to the town.
There, despite the bombardment, we found a Cockney Tommy of the Buffs
playing "Tipperary" on a piano which had been blown out of a house into
the road.

We joined in--until a shell took the top off the château, when we
scattered!--_L. A. Utton, 184 Coteford Street, Tooting, S.W._

In the Garden of Eden

We had reached the district in "Mespot" reputed to be the Garden of
Eden. One evening I was making my way with six men to relieve the guard
on some ammunition barges lying by the bank of the Tigris.

We had approached to within about one hundred yards of these, when the
Turks started sending over some "long-rangers." The sixth shell scored
a direct hit on the centre barge, and within a few seconds the whole
lot went up in what seemed like the greatest explosion of all time.
Apart from being knocked over with the shock, we escaped injury, with
the exception of a Cockney in our company.

Most of his clothing, except his boots, had been stripped from his
body, and his back was bleeding. Slowly he struggled to his hands and
knees, and surveying his nakedness, said: "Now where's that blinkin'
fig tree?"--_F. Dennis, 19 Crewdson Road, Brixton, S.W._

Santa Claus in a Hurry

A forward observation officer of the Artillery was on duty keeping
watch on Watling Crater, Vimy Ridge, towards the end of 1916.

The observation post was the remains of a house, very much battered.
The officer had to crawl up what had once been a large fireplace, where
he had the protection of the only piece of wall that remained standing.

He was engrossed on his task when the arrival of a "Minnie" shook the
foundations of the place, and down he came in a shower of bricks and
mortar with his shrapnel helmet not at the regimental angle.

A couple of Cockney Tommies had also made a dive for the shelter of
this pile of bricks and were crouching down, when the officer crawled
from the fireplace. "Quick, Joe," said one of the Cockneys, "'ang
up yer socks--'ere comes ole Santa Claus!"--_A. J. Robinson (late
Sergeant, R.F.A.), 21 Clowders Road, Catford, S.E.6._

What Paderewski was Missing

It was on the night of October 27, 1917, at Passchendaele Ridge. Both
sides were "letting it go hell for leather," and we were feeling none
too comfortable crouching in shell-holes and taking what cover we could.

The ground fairly shook--and so did we for that matter--with the heavy
explosions and the din was ear-splitting.

Just for something to say I called out to the chap in the next
shell-hole--a Brentford lad he was: "What d'you think of it, Alf?"

"Not much," he said, "I was just finkin' if Paderewski could get only
this on 'is ol' jo-anner."--_M. Hooker, 325A Md. Qrs., Henlow Camp,
Bedford._

A Target, but No Offers

During the battle of the Somme, in September 1916, our Lewis gun post
was in a little loop trench jutting out from the front line at a place
called, I believe, Lone Tree, just before Combles. Jerry's front line
was not many yards away, and it was a very warm spot.

Several casualties had occurred during the morning through sniping,
and one enterprising chap had scored a bull's-eye on the top of our
periscope.

Things quietened down a bit in the afternoon, and about 4 p.m. our
captain, who already had the M.C., came along and said to our corporal,
"I believe the Germans have gone."

A Cockney member of our team, overhearing this, said, "Well, it won't
take long to find out," and jumping upon the fire-step exposed himself
from the waist upwards above the parapet.

After a minute's breathless silence he turned to the captain and said,
with a jerk of his thumb, "They've hopped it, sir."

That night we and our French friends entered Combles.--_M.