"Done one o' me eyes in altergevver," he confided lugubriously. "Any blinkin' 'ow," he added in cheerier tones, "if that don't entitle a bloke to 'arf price at the pickshers fer the rest of 'is blinkin' natural I don't know wot will do!"--_James Vance Marshall, 15, Manette Street, W.1._ Twenty-four Stitches in Time During the 1918 reverses suffered by the Turks on various fronts large numbers of mules were captured and sent to the veterinary bases to be reconditioned, sorted, and shod, for issue to various units in need of them. It was no mean feat to handle and shoe the worst-tempered brutes in the world. They had been made perfect demons through privation. "Ninty," a shoeing-smith (late of Grange Road, Bermondsey), was laid out and savaged by a mule, and carried off to hospital. At night his bosom pal goes over to see how his "old china" is going on. "'Ow are ye, Ninty?" "Blimey, Ted, nineteen stitches in me figh an' five in me ribs. Ted--wot d'ye reckon they done it wiv? A sewin' machine?"--_A. C. Weekley (late Farrier Staff Sergeant, 20th Veterinary Hospital, Abbassair), 70 Denbigh Road, East Ham, E.6._ His Second Thoughts A Bluejacket who was brought into the Naval Hospital at Rosyth had had one of his legs blown off while he was asleep in his hammock. The late Mr. Thomas Horrocks Oppenshaw, the senior surgeon-in-charge, asked him what his first thought was when the explosion woke him up. "My first thought was 'Torpedoed, by gum!'" "And what did you think next?" "I think what I thought next was 'Ruddy good shot!'"--_H.R.A., M.D., llford Manor, near Lewes, Sussex._ Hats Off to Private Tanner The following story, which emphasises the Cockney war spirit in the most adverse circumstances, and how it even impressed our late enemy, was related to me by a German acquaintance whose integrity is unimpeachable. It was at a German prisoner-of-war clearing station in Douai during the summer of 1917, where wounded British prisoners were being cleared for prison-camp hospital. A number of wounded of a London regiment has been brought in, and a German orderly was detailed to take their names and particulars of wounds, etc. Later, looking over the orderly's list, the German sergeant-major in charge came across a name written by the orderly which was quite unintelligible to the sergeant-major. He therefore requested an intelligence officer, who spoke perfect English, to ask this particular man his name. The intelligence officer sought out the man, a Cockney, who had been severely wounded, and the following conversation took place. I.O.: You are Number ----? Cockney: Yussir. I.O.: What is your name? Cockney: Fourpence'a'penny. I.O.: I understand this is a term of English money, not a name. Cockney: Well, sir, I used to be called Tanner, but my right leg was took orf yesterday.