Not knowing this, the sentry rushed over to him, yelling that he must stand. Seeing that no notice was being taken, he pointed his rifle directly at the Cockney. With an effort, since he was very weak and in great pain, the Cockney raised himself, caught hold of the rifle and, looking straight at it, said: "Dirty barrel--seven days!" The M.O., who had just arrived, heard the remark, and, understanding it, explained it to the sentry, who joined in our renewed laughter.--_A. V. White, 35 Mayville Road, Leytonstone, E.11._ Not Yet Introduced We were prisoners of war, all taken before Christmas 1914, and had been drafted to Libau, on the Baltic coast. Towards the end of 1916 a party of us were working on the docks when a German naval officer approached and began talking to us. During the conversation he said he had met several English admirals and named some of them. After a little while a Cockney voice from the rear of our party said, "'Ave you ever met Jellicoe, mate?" The officer replied in the negative, whereupon the Cockney said, "Well, take yer bloomin' ships into the North Sea: he's looking for yer."--_F. A. F. (late K.O.Y.L.I.), 4 Shaftesbury Road, W.6._ On the Art of Conversation In 1916 the British R.N.A.S. armoured cars, under Commander Oliver Locker-Lampson, went from Russia to Rumania to help to stem the enemy's advance. One day, at the frontier town of Reni, I saw a Cockney petty officer engaged in earnest conversation with a Russian soldier. Finally, the two shook hands solemnly, saluted, and parted. "Did he speak English?" I asked when the Russian had gone away. "Not 'im," said the P.O. "Perhaps you speak Russian?" I asked, my curiosity aroused. "No bloomin' fear!" he said, for all the world as if I had insulted him. "Then how do you speak to each other?" "That's easy, sir," he said. "'E comes up to me an' says 'Ooski, kooski, wooski, fooski.' 'Same to you,' says I, 'an' many of 'em, ol' cock.' 'Bzz-z-z, mzz-z-z, tzz-z-z,' says 'e. 'Thanks,' I says. 'Another time, ol' boy. I've just 'ad a couple.' 'Tooralski, looralski, pooralski,' 'e says. 'Ye don't say!' says I. 'An' very nice, too,' I says, 'funny face!' "'Armony," he explained. "No quarrellin', no argifyin', only peace an' 'armony.... Of course, sir, every now an' again I says 'Go to 'ell, y' silly blighter!'" "What for?" He looked at me coldly. "'Ow do I know but what the blighter's usin' insultin' words to me?" he asked.--_R. S. Liddell, Rosebery Avenue, E.C.1._ Down Hornsey Way Here is a story of the Cockney war spirit at home. We called him "London" as he was the only Londoner in the troop. Very pale and slight, he gave the impression of being consumptive, yet he was quite an athlete, as his sprinting at the brigade sports showed.