Further inspection showed that one was in use. On being asked who he was, the occupant stood up and replied in a Cockney voice: "Sikey at the Barf!"--_H. Thomas, "Ivydene," Herne Grove, East Dulwich, S.E.22._ A Juggler's Struggles We were disembarking at Ostend in 1914. Each man was expected to carry as much stores as he could. Our Cockney Marine was struggling down the gangway--full marching order, rifle slung round his neck, kitbag under his arm, and a box in each hand. As he balanced the boxes we heard him mutter, "S'pose, if I juggle this lot orlright they'll poke annuver in my mouf."--_Thomas Bilson (late Colour-Sergeant, Royal Marines), 56 The Strand, Walmer, Kent._ Almost a Wireless Story Sir Sidney Lawford was to inspect our wagon lines in Italy, and we had received notice of his coming. Consequently we had been up since about 5 a.m. making things ship-shape. One of the fatigues had been picking up all the spare wire lying about--wire from hay and straw bales, telephone wire, barbed wire, wire from broken hop poles, miscellaneous wire of all sorts. Sir Sidney Lawford arrived about 11 a.m. with a number of his staff, dismounted ... and promptly tripped over a piece of wire. Imagine our chagrin. However, the feeling passed away when a Cockney driver (evidently one of the wire-collecting fatigue) said in a voice audible to everyone as he peeped from under the horse he was supposed to be grooming: "Blimey, if he ain't fallen over the only piece of blinking wire in Italy!"--_F. Praid (late Lieut., R.F.A., 41st Div.), 88a High Street, Staines._ When the S.M. Got Loose We were behind the lines at Merville in 1914. It was raining hard and it was night. "Smudger" Smith, from Lambeth, was on night guard. The horses were pulling their pegs out of the mud and getting loose, and "Smudger" was having a busy time running around and catching them and knocking the pegs in again with a mallet. [Illustration: "Wot, yer loose again, yer blighter?"] The sergeant-major, with a waterproof sheet over his head, visited the lines. "Smudger," seeing something moving about in the dark, crept up, and muttered, "Wot, yer loose again, yer blighter?"--and down went the sergeant-major.--_W.S. (late Queen's Bays), 2 Winsover Road, Spalding._ Mons, 1914--Not Moscow, 1812! In 1914 we of the 2nd Cavalry Brigade were going up to support the infantry somewhere near Mons, and when nearing our destination we saw several wounded being carried from the line. Following them, seemingly quite unconcerned, was an infantry transport driver, who cut a queer figure. He was wearing a stocking hat, and was mounted on an old mule. Thrown over the mule, with the tail-end round the mule's neck, was a German's blood-bespattered overcoat. [Illustration: "Napoleon's retreat from Moscow ain't in it wiv this!"] One of our troop addressed the rider thus: "Many up there, mate?" He answered: "Millions! You 'ave a go. We can't shift 'em. They've took root, I fink."