Just as he reappeared, with weeds and things clinging to his head and shoulders, an officer came to see if we were all safe. On seeing our weed-covered chum he stopped and said, "What's the matter, Johnson? Got the wind up?" Johnson, quick as lightning, replied, "No, sir; camouflage. I'm a water-lily."--_F. Falcuss (late 19th Batt. N.F.), 51, Croydon Grove, West Croydon._ Not Knowin' the Language A team of mules in November 1916 was taking a double limber up to the line in pitch darkness on the Béthune-La Bassée road. A heavy strafe was on, and the road was heavily shelled at intervals from Beavry onwards. On the limber was a newly-joined padre huddled up, on his way to join advanced battalion headquarters. A shell burst 60 yards ahead, and the mules reared; some lay down, kicked over the traces, and the wheel pair managed to get their legs over the centre pole of the limber. [Illustration: "Would you mind trekkin' off up the road?"] There was chaos for a few minutes. Then the padre asked the wheel driver in a very small voice, "My man, can I do anything to assist you?" "Assist us," was the reply. "Yes, you can. Would you mind, sir, trekkin' off up the road, so as we can use language these blighters understand?"--_L. C. Hoffenden (late 483rd Field Co. R.E.), "Waltonhurst," 16 Elmgate Gardens, Edgware._ Churning in the Skies After returning from a night's "egg-laying" on Jerry's transport lines and dumps, my brother "intrepid airman" and I decided on tea and toast. To melt a tin of ration butter which was of the consistency of glue we placed it close to the still hot engine of the plane. Unknown to us, owing to the slant of the machine, the tin slipped backwards and spilled a goodly proportion of its melted contents over the propeller at the back. (Our planes were of the "pusher" type.) Next day as we strolled into the hangar to look the bus over we found our Cockney mechanic, hands on hips, staring at the butter-splattered propeller. "Sufferin' smoke, sir," he said to me, with a twinkle, "wherever was you flyin' lars' night--_through the milky way_?"--_Ralph Plummer (late 102 Squadron R.A.F. Night-Bombers), Granville House, Arundel Street, Strand._ Larnin' the Mule [Illustration: "Now p'raps you'll know!"] On the Somme I saw a Cockney driver having trouble with an obstinate mule. At last he got down from his limber and, with a rather vicious tug at the near-side rein said, "That's your left," and, tugging the off rein, "that's your right--now p'raps you'll know!"--_E. B. (late Gunner, R.G.A.), Holloway Road, N.7._ "Dr. Livingstone, I Presoom" Early in 1915 one of our Q.M. Sergeants was sent to Cairo to collect a gang of native labourers for work in the brigade lines. Whilst at breakfast one morning we saw him return from the train at Ismailia, leading a long column of fellaheen (with their wives and children) all loaded with huge bundles, boxes, cooking pots, etc., on their heads.