The smoke and dust had hardly cleared, when one of the Stratfordites exclaimed, looking down at the overturned mess-tin, "Blimey, that's caused it." Almost immediately his pal (lying on his back, his face covered with blood and dirt, and his right hand clasped tightly) answered: "'S'all right. I ain't put the tea and sugar in."--_J. Russ (Cpl., late 6th Battn. Royal Berkshire Regt.), 309 Ilford Lane, Ilford, Essex._ Old Dutch Unlucky After a week in Ypres Salient in February 1915 we were back at a place called Vlamertinghe "resting," i.e. providing the usual working parties at night. Going out with one of these parties, well loaded with barbed wire, poles, etc., our rifles slung on our shoulders, things in general were fairly quiet. A stray bullet struck the piling swivel of the rifle of "Darkie," the man in front of me. "Missed my head by the skin of its teeth," said "Darkie." "Good job the old Dutch wasn't here. She reckons she's been unlucky ever since she set eyes on me--and there's another pension for life gone beggin'."--_B. Wiseman (late Oxford and Bucks L.I.), 12 Ursula Street, Battersea, S.W.11._ A Long Streak of Misery Dusk was falling on the second day of the battle of Loos. I was pottering about looking for the other end of our line at the entrance to Orchard Street trench. A voice hailed me: "'Ere, mate! Is this the way aht?" It came from a little Cockney, a so-called "walking" wounded case. Immediately behind him there hobbled painfully six feet of complete abjection. I gave them directions, and told them that in two or three hundred yards they should be out of danger. Then Jerry dropped a "crump." It tortured the sorely-tried nerves of the long fellow, and when the bricks and dust had settled, he declared, with sudden conviction: "We're going to lose this blinkin' war, we are!" His companion gave him a look of contempt. "You ain't 'arf a long streak of misery," he said. "If I fort that I'd go back nah an' 'ave another shot at 'em--even if you 'ad to carry me back."--_"Lines," (33 (S) Bty), 24 Clifton Road, Maida Vale, W.9._ "Smudger's" Tattoo "Smudger" Smith, from Hoxton, had just returned off leave, and joined us at Frankton Camp, near Ypres. Not long after his arrival "Jerry" started strafing us with his long-range guns, but "Smudger" was more concerned with the tattooing which he had had done on his arms on leave. I said they were very disfiguring, and advised him to have them removed, giving him an address to go to when he was again in London, and telling him the probable price. Not very long after our conversation "Jerry" landed a shell about forty yards away from us and made us part company for a while. When I pulled myself together and looked for "Smudger" he was half-buried with earth and looked in much pain. I went over to him and began to dig him out. Whilst I was thus engaged he said to me in a weak voice, but with a smile on his face: