In the stone-cold silence a whisper passes from boat to boat--"_Remove puttees; tie boots round the neck; at signal, boats to row in until grounded; platoons to disembark and wade ashore_." So a shadowy line of strange-looking waders is dimly to be seen advancing through the shallow water and up the beach--in extended order, grim and frozen stiff. As dawn breaks they reach the sandy beach, and a few shots ring out from the distant Fort of Fas--but no one cares. Each and all are looking amazedly at the grotesque appearance of the line--silent, miserable figures, boots wagging round their necks, shorts rolled as high as possible, while their frozen fingers obediently cling to rifles and ammunition. It is too much for one soul, and a Cockney voice calls out: "'Ere, wot price this fer Margate?" The spell is broken. The Mesopotamian campaign begins with a great laugh!--_John Fiton, M.C., A.F.C., 9 High Grove, Welwyn Garden City, Herts._ Urgent and Personal! The ss. _Oxfordshire_, then a hospital ship, was on her way down from Dar-es-salaam to Cape Town when she received an S.O.S. from H.M.T. _Tyndareus_, which had been mined off Cape Agulhas, very near the spot where the famous _Birkenhead_ sank. The _Tyndareus_ had on board the 26th (Pioneer) Battalion, Middlesex Regiment, under the command of Colonel John Ward, then on their way to Hong Kong. As the hospital boat drew near it was seen that the _Tyndareus_ was very low in the water, and across the water we could hear the troops singing "Tipperary" as they stood lined up on the decks. The lifeboats from both ships were quickly at work, every patient capable of lending a hand doing all he could to help. Soon we had hundreds of the Middlesex aboard, some pulled roughly up the side, others climbing rope-ladders hastily thrown down. They were in various stages of undress, some arriving clad only in pants. On the deck came one who, pulled up by eager hands, landed on all fours with a bump. As he got up, hands and toes bleeding from contact with the side of the vessel, I was delighted to recognise an old London acquaintance. The following dialogue took place: MYSELF: Hallo, Bill! Fancy meeting you like this! Hurt much? BILL: Not much. Seen Nobby Clark? Has he got away all right? MYSELF (_not knowing Nobby Clark_): I don't know. I expect so; there are hundreds of your pals aboard. BILL: So long. See you later. Must find Nobby; he collared the "kitty" when that blinking boat got hit!--_J. P. Mansell (late) 25th Royal Fusiliers._ Victoria! (Very Cross) While I was an A.B. aboard H.M.S. _Aboukir_ somewhere in the North Sea we received a signal that seven German destroyers were heading for us at full speed. We were ordered at the double to action stations. My pal, a Cockney, weighing about 18 stone, found it hard to keep up with the others, and the commander angrily asked him, "Where is your station?" [Illustration: "Where's your station?" "Victoria--if I could only get there."]