We had only been there a day or so when we were ordered to relieve the Tyneside Scottish who were badly knocked about. Hardly had we reached the front lines, when a little Cockney named Bunn (we never knew how he carried his pack, he was so small) got hit. We called for stretcher-bearers. When they put him on the stretcher and were carrying him down the line, a doctor asked him his name. The Cockney looked up with a smile and answered: "Bunn, sir, and the blighters have put some currants into me this time." This gallant Cockney died afterwards.--_J. E. Cully (late 13th King's Royal Rifles), 76 Milkwood Road, S.E.24._ The Driver to his Horse The artillery driver's affection for his own particular pair of horses is well known. Our battery, in a particularly unhealthy spot in front of Zillebeke, in the Salient, had run out of ammunition, and the terrible state of the ground thereabout in the autumn of 1917 necessitated the use of pack-horses to "deliver the goods," and even then it was accomplished with difficulty. A little Cockney driver with a pair named Polly and Bill had loaded up and was struggling through the mire. Three times Bill had dragged him on to his knees and up to his waist in the slush when a big Fritz shell dropped uncomfortably near. Polly, with a mighty rear, threw the Cockney on to his back and, descending, struck him with a hoof. Fed up to the teeth and desperate, he struggled to his feet, covered from head to feet in slime, and, clenching his fist, struck at the trembling and frightened horse, unloading a brief but very vivid description of its pedigree and probable future. Then, cooling off, he began to pacify the mare, apologised, and pardoned her vice by saying, "Never mind, ole gal--I didn't mean ter bash yer! I fought the uvver one was hot stuff, but, strike me pink, you don't seem _'ooman_!"--_G. Newell (ex-Sergt., R.F.A.), 22 Queen Road, St. Albans._ Two Kinds of "Shorts" August 1916, Delville Wood. We had been brought specially from rest camp to take the remainder of the wood, which was being stoutly contested by the Germans and was holding up our advance. The usual barrage, and over we went, and were met by the Germans standing on top of their trenches. A fierce bombing fight began. The scrap lasted a long time, but at last we charged and captured the trench. [Illustration: "Yus, yer needn't stare--I'm real."] One of our men, quite a small Cockney, captured a German about twice his own size. The German was so surprised at being captured by a person so insignificant looking that he stood and stared. Our Cockney, seeing his amazement, said: "Yus, yer needn't stare, I'm real, and wot's more, I got a good mind ter punch yer under the blinkin' ear fer spoiling me rest!"--_F. M. Fellows, M.M. (late Corporal, 6th Batt. D.C.L.I), 33 Dunlace Road, Clapton, E.5._ Mespot--On 99 Years' Lease