"You see matches are rationed now," I said, "and the few we are allowed run out at once." With a weary sigh, as if a great truth had dawned upon him, he said pathetically: "Lumme, that do bring the war 'ome to a bloke, don't it, miss?"--_Miss H. Campbell, Pennerly Lodge, Beaulieu, Hants._ After the Feast The company dinner on Christmas Day 1917 was eaten in a large barn at Ribemont, on the Somme, and before this extra special feast began an affable "old sweat," one Billy Williams, of London Town, volunteered for the clearing-up party. It was a long sitting and some considerable time before the men began to wander back to their billets, and it fell to the most capable of the orderlies to clear up the debris. This had just been accomplished to the satisfaction of the orderly officer when out of the barn strode old Billy carrying a dixie full of beer. "Where are you going with that, Williams?" asked the officer. Springing smartly to attention, and with a pained look upon his face, old Billy replied: "This 'ere, sir? Sick man in the 'ut, sir!"--_R. E. Shirley (late The London Regiment), 5 Staunton Road, Kingston, Surrey._ Wait for the "Two Pennies, Please" Near the River Struma, on the Salonika front, in March 1917 our brigade H.Q. was on the extreme right of the divisional artillery and near a French artillery brigade. For the purpose of maintaining communication a French telephonist was quartered in our dug-out. Whenever he wished to get into communication with his headquarters he unmercifully thumped the field telephone and in an excitable voice called out: "_'Ullo, mon capitaine_," five or six times in half as many seconds. Greatly impressed by one of these sudden outbursts, the adjutant's batman--a typical Cockney--exclaimed in a hurt voice: "Nah then, matey, jest cool yerself a bit till the young lidy tells yer to put in yer two coppers!"--_F. G. Pickwick (301 Brigade R.F.A.), 100 Hubert Grove, Stockwell, S.W.9._ The General Goes Skating One horribly wet day during the winter of 1915 I met the Brigadier paying his morning visit to the front line and accompanied him along my section of the trench. Entering one fire-bay, the gallant General slipped and sat down uncommonly hard in the mud. [Illustration: "'Ere, chum, get up; this ain't a skatin' rink."] Discipline stifled any desire on my part for mirth, but to my horror, the sentry in that bay, without turning away from his periscope, called over his shoulder in unmistakable Cockney accents: "'Ere, chum, get up; this ain't a blinkin' skatin' rink!" Fortunately the General's sense of humour was equal to the occasion, and he replied to the now horror-stricken sentry with an affable "Quite."--_"Company Commander," Orpington, Kent._ "To Top Things Up"