Thus he died, as he always said he would, with his boots on, and my company could never replace him. Wherever two men of my old mob meet you can bet your boots that one or the other is sure to say, "Remember 'Monte Carlo' Ted?"--_E. J. Clark (late Sergeant, Lincoln Regt.), c/o Sir Thomas Lipton, Bart., K.C.V.O., Osidge, Southgate, N.14._ That Infernal Drip-Drip-Drip! We were trying to sleep in half a dug-out that was roofed with a waterproof sheet--Whale and I. It was a dark, wet night. I had hung a mess tin on a nail to catch the water that dripped through, partly to keep it off my head, also to provide water for an easy shave in the morning. A strafe began. The night was illuminated by hundreds of vivid flashes, and shells of all kinds burst about us. The dug-out shook with the concussions. Trench mortars, rifle grenades, and machine-gun fire contributed to the din. Whale, who never had the wind up, was shifting his position and turning from one side to the other. "What's the matter?" I asked my chum. "Can't you sleep?" "Sleep! 'Ow the 'ell can a bloke sleep with that infernal _drip-drip-drip_ goin' on?"--_P. T. Hughes (late 21st London Regiment, 47th Division), 12 Shalimar Gardens, Acton, W._ "A Blinkin' Vanity Box" After the terrific upheaval of June 7, 1917, my brigade (the 111th) held the line beyond Wytschaete Ridge for some weeks. While my company was in support one day my corporal and I managed to scrounge into a pill-box away from the awful mud. We could not escape the water because the explosion of the mines on June 7 had cracked the foundation of our retreat and water was nearly two feet deep on the floor. Just before dusk on this rainy July evening I was shaving before a metal mirror in the top bunk in the pill-box, while the corporal washed in a mess-tin in the bunk below. Just then Jerry started a severe strafe and a much-muddied runner of the 13th Royal Fusiliers appeared in the unscreened doorway. "Come in and shelter, old man," I said. So he stepped on to an ammunition box that just failed to keep his feet clear of the water. He had watched our ablutions in silence for a minute or so, when a shell burst almost in the doorway and flung him into the water below our bunks, where he sat with his right arm red and rent, sagging at his side. "Call this a shelter?" he said. "Blimey, it's a blinkin' vanity box!"--_Sgt., 10th R.F., East Sheen, S.W.14._ Playing at Statues We were making our way to a detached post just on the left of Vimy, and Jerry was sending up Verey lights as we were going along. Every time one went up we halted, and kept quite still in case we should be seen. It was funny indeed to see how some of the men halted when a light went up. Some had one foot down and one raised, and others were in a crouching position. "My missus orta see me nah playing at blinkin' statchoos," said one old Cockney.--_T. Kelly (late 17th London Regt.), 43 Ocean Street, Stepney, E.1._