That night I saw the regimental carpenter going along the trench with a roughly-made wooden cross inscribed "R.I.P. Pte. Harris."--_W. Ford, 613 Becontree Avenue, Chadwell Heath, Essex._ Better than the Crystal Palace One night, while going round the line at Loos, I was accompanied by Sergeant Winslow, who was a London coster before the war. We were examining the field of fire of a Lewis gun, when the Germans opened up properly on our sector. Clouds of smoke rose from the surrounding trenches, crash after crash echoed around the old Loos crassier, and night was turned into day by Verey lights sent up by both sides. Suddenly a lad of 18, just out, turned to Sergeant Winslow, and in a quivering voice said: "My God, sergeant, this is awful!" Sergeant Winslow replied: "Now, look 'ere, me lad, you'd have paid 'alf a dollar to take your best gal to see this at the Crystal Palace before the war. What are yer grousing abaht?"--_A. E. Grant (late 17th Welch Regt.), 174 Broom Road, Teddington._ A Short Week-end One Saturday evening I was standing by my dug-out in Sausage Valley, near Fricourt, when a draft of the Middlesex Regt. halted for the guide to take them up to the front line where the battalion was. I had a chat with one of the lads, who told me he had left England on the Friday. They moved off, and soon things got lively; a raid and counter-raid started. Later the casualties began to come down, and the poor chaps were lying around outside the 1st C.C.S. (which was next to my dug-out). On a stretcher was my friend of the draft. He was pretty badly hit. I gave him a cigarette and tried to cheer him by telling him he would soon be back in England. With a feeble smile he said, "Blimey, sir, this 'as been a short week-end, ain't it?"--_Pope Stamper (15th Durham L.I.), 188A Upper Richmond Road, East Sheen, S.W.14._ Simultaneous Chess At Aubers Ridge, near Fromelles, in October 1918, my chum and I were engrossed in a game of chess, our chessboard being a waterproof sheet with the squares painted on it, laid across a slab of concrete from a destroyed pill-box. The Germans began to drop 5·9's with alarming regularity about 150 yards to our rear, temporarily distracting our attention from the game. Returning to the game, I said to my chum, "Whose move, Joe?" Before he could reply a shell landed with a deafening roar within a few yards of us, but luckily did not explode (hence this story). His reply was: "Ours"--and we promptly did.--_B. Greenfield, M.M. (late Cpl. R.F.A., 47th (London) Division), L.C.C. Parks Dept., Tooting Bec Common, S.W._ Fire-step Philosophy On July 1, 1916, I happened to be among those concerned in the attack on the German line in front of Serre, near Beaumont Hamel. Our onslaught at that point was not conspicuously successful, but we managed to establish ourselves temporarily in what had been the Boche front line, to the unconcealed indignation of the previous tenants.