It was on the night of October 27, 1917, at Passchendaele Ridge. Both sides were "letting it go hell for leather," and we were feeling none too comfortable crouching in shell-holes and taking what cover we could. The ground fairly shook--and so did we for that matter--with the heavy explosions and the din was ear-splitting. Just for something to say I called out to the chap in the next shell-hole--a Brentford lad he was: "What d'you think of it, Alf?" "Not much," he said, "I was just finkin' if Paderewski could get only this on 'is ol' jo-anner."--_M. Hooker, 325A Md. Qrs., Henlow Camp, Bedford._ A Target, but No Offers During the battle of the Somme, in September 1916, our Lewis gun post was in a little loop trench jutting out from the front line at a place called, I believe, Lone Tree, just before Combles. Jerry's front line was not many yards away, and it was a very warm spot. Several casualties had occurred during the morning through sniping, and one enterprising chap had scored a bull's-eye on the top of our periscope. Things quietened down a bit in the afternoon, and about 4 p.m. our captain, who already had the M.C., came along and said to our corporal, "I believe the Germans have gone." A Cockney member of our team, overhearing this, said, "Well, it won't take long to find out," and jumping upon the fire-step exposed himself from the waist upwards above the parapet. After a minute's breathless silence he turned to the captain and said, with a jerk of his thumb, "They've hopped it, sir." That night we and our French friends entered Combles.--_M. Chittenden (late "C" Coy., 1/16th London Regt., Q.W.R.), 26 King Edward Road, Waltham Cross, Herts._ Their own Lord Mayor's Show In April 1918 our unit was billeted near Amiens in a small village from which the inhabitants had been evacuated two days earlier, owing to the German advance. On the second day of our stay there Jerry was shelling the steeple of the village church, and we had taken cover in the cellars under the village school. All at once we heard roars of laughter coming from the street, and wondering what on earth anyone could find to laugh at, we tumbled up to have a look. The sight that met our eyes was this: Gravely walking down the middle of the street were two of the "Hackney Ghurkas," the foremost of whom was dressed in a frock coat and top hat, evidently the property of the village _maire_, and leading a decorated mule upon the head of which was tied the most gaudy "creation" which ever adorned a woman's head. The second Cockney was clad in the full garb of a twenty-stone French peasant woman, hat and all, and was dragging at the end of a chain a stuffed fox, minus its glass case, but still fastened to its baseboard. They solemnly paraded the whole length of the street and back again, and were heard to remark that the village was having at least one Lord Mayor's Show before Jerry captured it!