Scene: Turk trench, Somme, on a cold, soaking night in November, 1916. A working party, complete with rifles, picks, and spades, which continually became entangled in the cats' cradle of miscellaneous R.E. wire, is making terribly slow progress over irregular trench-boards hidden under mud and water. Brisk strafing ahead promising trouble. Impatient officer (up on the parapet): "For heaven's sake, you lads, get a move on! You're not going to a funeral!" Cockney voice (from bottom of trench): "'Ow the dooce does _'e_ know!"--_W. Ridsdale, 41 Manor Road, Beckenham, Kent._ The Window Gazer In the early part of 1915, when the box periscope was in great use in the trenches, we received a draft of young recruits. One lad, of a rather inquisitive nature, was always looking in the glass trying to find Jerry's whereabouts. An old Cockney, passing up and down, had seen this lad peeping in the glass. At last he stopped and addressed the lad as follows: "You've been a-looking in that bloomin' winder all the die, an' nah yer ain't bought nuffink."--_E. R. Gibson (late Middlesex Regt.), 42 Maldon Road, Edmonton, N.9._ "I Don't Fink" After we landed in France our officer gave us a lecture and told us that our best pal in this world was our rifle. He warned us that on no account must we part with it. A couple of nights later Gunner Brown, a Cockney, was on guard. When the visiting officer approached him and said, "Your rifle is dirty, gunner," he replied, "I don't fink so sir, 'cos I cleaned it." "Give it to me," said the officer sternly, which Brown did. Then the officer said, "You fool, if I were an enemy in English uniform I could shoot you." To which Brown replied, "I don't fink you could, sir, 'cos I've got the blinkin' bolt in my pocket."--_E. W. Houser (late 41st Division, R.F.A.) 22 Hamlet Road, Southend._ Why the Attack _Must_ Fail November 1918. The next day we were to move up in readiness for the great advance of the 3rd Army. Some of us were trying to sleep in a cellar when the silence was broken by a small voice: "I'm sure this attack will go wrong, you chaps! I feel it in my bones!" It can be imagined how this cheerful remark was received, but when the abuse had died down, the same voice was heard again: "Yes, I knows it. Some blighter will step orf wi' the wrong foot and we'll all 'ave to come back and start again!"--_"D" Coy., M.G.C. (24th Batt.), Westcliff._ The "Shovers" During the retreat of 1918 I was standing with my company on the side of the road by Outersteene Farm, outside Bailleul, when three very small and youthful German Tommies with helmets four sizes too large passed on their way down the line as prisoners for interrogation. As they reached us I heard one of my men say to another: "Luv us, 'Arry, look what's shovin' our Army abaht!"--_L. H. B., Beckenham._ [Illustration: "Luv us, 'Arry; look what's shovin' our Army abaht!"] Rehearsal--Without the Villain