My batman Beedles had instructions to go back to billets with all my kit, and wait there for my return. I was in charge of the right half of the first wave of the raid, and after a bit of a scrap we got into the German front line. Having completed our job of blowing up concrete emplacements and dug-outs, we were waiting for the signal to return to our lines when, to my surprise, Beedles came strolling through the German wire. When he saw me he called out above the row going on: "I 'opes yer don't mind me 'aving come to the garden party wivout an invertition, sir?" The intrepid fellow had taken all my kit back to billets some four miles, made the return journey, and come across No Man's Land to find me, and see me safely back; an act which might easily have cost him his life.--_L. W. Lees (Lieut.), late 11th Batt. Essex Regt., "Meadow Croft," Stoke Poges, Bucks._ Those Big Wasps Salonika, 1918, a perfect summer's day. The 2/17th London Regiment are marching along a dusty road up to the Doiran Lake. Suddenly, out of the blue, three bombing planes appear. The order is given to scatter. Meanwhile, up comes an anti-aircraft gun, complete with crew on lorry. Soon shells are speeding up, and little small puffs of white smoke appear as they burst; but the planes are too high for them. A Cockney of the regiment puts his hands to his mouth and shouts to the crew: "Hi, don't hunch 'em; let 'em settle."--_A. G. Sullings (late 2/17th London Regiment), 130 Cann Hall Road, Leytonstone, E.11._ Why he Looked for Help On July 1, 1916, the 56th (London) Division attacked at Hebuterne, and during the morning I was engaged (as a lineman) in repairing our telephone lines between Battalion and Brigade H.Q. I had just been temporarily knocked out by a flat piece of shell and had been attended by a stretcher-bearer, who then left me and proceeded on his way back to a dressing station I had previously passed, whilst I went farther on down the trench to get on with my job. I had not gone many yards when I met a very young private of the 12th Londons (the Rangers). One of his arms was hanging limp and was, I should think, broken in two or three places. He was cut and bleeding about the face, and was altogether in a sorry plight. He stopped and asked me, "Is there a dressing station down there, mate?" pointing along the way I had come, and I replied, "Yes, keep straight on down the trench. It's a good way down. But," I added, "there's a stretcher-bearer only just gone along. Shall I see if I can get him for you?" His reply I shall never forget: "Oh, I don't want him for _me_. I want someone to come back with me to get my mate. _He's hurt!_"--_Wm. R. Smith, 231 Halley Road, Manor Park, E.12._ The Winkle Shell Above the entrance to a certain dug-out somewhere in Flanders some wit had fixed a board upon which was roughly painted, "The Winkle Shell."