During a short lull in the subsequent proceedings I saw one of my company--an elderly private whose melancholy countenance and lank black moustache will ever remain engraved on my memory--seated tranquilly on the battered fire-step, engrossed in a certain humorous journal. Meeting my astonished eye, he observed in a tone of mild resentment: "This 'ere's a dud, sir. 'S not a joke in it--not what _I_ calls a joke, anyway." So saying, he rose, pocketed the paper, and proceeded placidly to get on with the war.--_K. R. G. Browne, 6B Winchester Road, N.W.3._ "Teddie" Gets the Last Word Sergeant "Teddie" was rather deaf, but I am inclined to think that this slight affliction enabled him to pull our legs on occasions. [Illustration: "A quarter to seven, sir."] Our company of the London Regiment had just taken over a part of the line known as the Paris Redoubt, and on the first evening in the sector the company commander, the second in command, Sergeant "Teddie," and myself had a stroll along the observation line, which was just forward of the front line, in order to visit the various posts. Suddenly a salvo of shells came over and one burst perilously near us. Three of the party adopted the prone position in record time, but on our looking round "Teddie" was seen to be still standing and apparently quite unconcerned. "Why the dickens didn't you get down?" said one of the party, turning to him. "It nearly had us that time." "Time?" said "Teddie," looking at his watch. "A quarter to seven, sir."--_J. S. O. (late C.S.M., 15th London Regt.)._ "Nobbler's" Grouse Just before the battle of Messines we of the 23rd Londons were holding the Bluff sector to the right of Hill 60. "Stand down" was the order, and the sergeant was coming round with the rum. "Nobbler," late of the Mile End Road, was watching him in joyful anticipation when ... a whizz-bang burst on the parapet, hurling men in all directions. No one was hurt ... but the precious rum jar was shattered. "Nobbler," sitting up in the mud and moving his tin hat from his left eye the better to gaze upon the ruin, murmured bitterly: "Louvain--Rheims--the _Lusitania_--and now our perishin' rum issue. Jerry, you 'eathen, you gets worse and worse. But, my 'at, won't you cop it when 'Aig knows abaht this!"--_E. H. Oliver, Lanark House, Woodstock, Oxford._ Dust in 'Indenburg's Sauerkraut! To all those thousands who remember Shrapnel Corner and the sign: "DRIVE SLOWLY! SPEED CAUSES DUST WHICH DRAWS THE ENEMY'S SHELL FIRE" this incident will appeal. I had rounded the corner into Zillebeke Road with a load of ammunition, and had gone about 200 yards along the road, when Fritz let go with a few shells. "Rum Ration" (my mate's nick-name) looked out of the lorry to observe where the shells were falling. "Nah we're for it," he exclaimed, "our dust must 'ave gorn into ole 'Indenberg's blinkin' sauerkraut."--_J. H. Clarke, ex-Pte., M.T.A.S.C._ A Valiant Son of London