The final words of the intelligence officer, as related to me, were: "I could have fallen on the 'begrimed ruffian hero's' neck and kissed him."--_J. W. Rourke, M.C. (ex-Lieut. Essex Regt.), 20 Mill Green Road, Welwyn Garden City._ The Markis o' Granby Wounded at Sheria, Palestine, in November 1917. I was sent to the nearest railhead in a motor-ambulance. A fellow-passenger--also from a London battalion--was wounded very badly in both thighs. The orderly who tucked him up on his stretcher before the start asked him if he would like a drink. "No, thanks, chum--not nah," he replied; "but you might arsk the driver to pull up at the ole Markis o' Granby, and we'll all 'ave one!" I heard later that he died in hospital.--_C. Dickens (late 2/20th London Regiment), 18 Wheathill Road, Anerley, S.E.20._ A One-Legged Turn Wounded about half an hour after the final attack on Gaza, I awoke to consciousness in the M.O.'s dug-out. "Poor old concert party," he said; "you're the fifth 'Ragamuffin' to come down." Eventually I found myself sharing a mule-cart with another wounded man, but he lay so motionless and quiet that I feared I was about to journey from the line in a hearse. The jolting of the cart apparently jerked a little life into him, for he asked me, "Got a fag, mate?" With a struggle I lighted my one remaining cigarette. After a while I asked him, "Where did you catch it, old fellow?" "Lumme," he replied, "if it ain't old George's voice." Then I recognised Sam, the comedian of our troupe. "Got it pretty rotten in the leg," he added. "Will it put paid to your comedy act, Sammy?" I asked. "Dunno," he replied with a sigh in his voice--"I'm tryin' to fink 'art a one-legged step dance."--_G. W. Turner (late 11th London Regt.), 10 Sunny View, Kingsbury, N.W.9._ 4. HIGH SEAS The Skipper's Cigar Bradley (a Deptford flower-seller before joining up) was the "comic" of the stokers' mess deck. He was always late in returning from shore leave. One Monday morning he returned half an hour "adrift," and was promptly taken before the skipper. The skipper, a jovial old sort, asked him his reason for being adrift again, and Bradley replied: "Well, sir, Townsend and me were waiting for the liberty boat, and I was telling him that if ever I sees the skipper round Deptford I'll let him 'ave a 'bob' bunch of flowers for a 'tanner,' and we looked round and the blinkin' boat was gorne." The skipper smiled and dismissed him. On Christmas Day Bradley received a packet containing a cigar in it, with the following written on the box: "For the best excuse of the year.--F. H. C., Capt." I saw Bradley three years ago and he told me he still had that cigar in a glass case with his medals.--_F. H. (late Stoker, R.N.), 18 Little Ilford Lane, Manor Park, E.12._ Breaking the Spell