Cockney Tommy--obviously an old Sunday school boy--fed up with Arabs, Turks, boils, scorpions, flies, thirst, and dust: "Well, if this is the Garden of Eden, no wonder the Twelve Apostles 'opped it!"--_G. T. C., Hendon, N.W.4._ Got His Goat! We, a Field Company of the R.E.'s in France, were on the move to a new sector, and amongst our "properties" was a mobile "dairy"--a goat. "Nanny" travelled on top of a trestle-wagon containing bridging gear, with a short rope attached to her collar to confine her activities. But a "pot-hole" in the narrow road supplied a lurch that dislodged her, with the result that she slid overboard, and the shortness of the rope prevented her from reaching the ground. [Illustration: "Nanny, you'll hang next time!"] The driver of the wagon behind saw her predicament, and, dismounting, ran to her assistance, shouting for the column to halt. Then he took Nanny in his arms to relieve the weight on her neck, whilst others clambered aboard and released the rope. Nanny was then put on her legs while her rescuer stood immediately in front, watching her recover. This she speedily did, and, raising her head for a moment, apparently discerned the cause of her discomfiture peering at her. At any rate, lowering her head, she sprang and caught Bermondsey Bill amidships, sending him backwards into a slimy ditch at the side of the road. As he lay there amidst the undergrowth he yelled, "Strike me pink, Nanny! You'll hang next time."--_E. Martin, 78 Chelverton Road, Putney, S.W.15._ A Difficult Top Note Somewhere in Palestine the band of a famous London division had been called together for very much overdue practice. The overture "Poet and Peasant" called for a French horn solo ending on a difficult top note. After the soloist had made many attempts to get this note the bandmaster lost his temper and gave the player a piece of his mind. Looking at the battered instrument, which had been in France, the Balkans, and was now in the Wilderness, and was patched with sticking-plaster and soap, the soloist, who hailed from Mile End, replied: "Here, if you can do it better you have a go. I don't mind trying it on an _instrument_, but I'm darned if I can play it on a cullender."--_D. Beland, 17 Ridgdale Street, London, E.3._ [Illustration: "... but I'm darned if I can play it on a cullender."] Home by Underground A cold, wet night in France. My company was making its way up a communication trench on the right of the Arras-Cambrin road. It was in some places waist deep in mud. I was in front next to my officer when the word was passed down that one of the men had fallen into the mud and could not be found. The officer sent me back to find out what had happened. On reaching the spot I found that the man had fallen into the mouth of a very deep dug-out which had not been used for some time. Peering into the blackness, I called out, "Where are you?"