One of the party, a Londoner known as 'Erb, is struggling with a huge mail-bag, bumping and slipping and sliding, moaning and swearing, when a voice from under a sack of bread pipes: "Never mind, 'Erb; perhaps there's a postcard in it for you!"--_L. G. Austin (24th London Regiment), 8 Almeida Street, Upper Street, Islington, N.1._ [Illustration: "Never mind, 'Erb, perhaps there's a postcard in it for you!"] Rum for Sore Feet Whilst doing duty as acting Q.M.S. I was awakened one night by a loud banging on the door of the shack which was used as the stores. Without getting up I asked the reason for the noise, and was told that a pair of boots I had issued that day were odd--one was smaller than the other. The wearer was on stable piquet, and could hardly walk. I told him he would have to put up with it till the morning--I wasn't up all night changing boots, and no doubt I should have a few words to say when I did see him! "Orl right, Quarter," came the reply, "I'm sorry I woke yer--but could yer give us a tot of rum to stop the pain?"--_P. K. (late 183rd Batt. 41st Div. R.F.A.), Kilburn, N.W.6._ Two Guineas' Worth In France during November 1914 I received an abrupt reminder that soldiering with the Honourable Artillery Company entails an annual subscription. The battalion had marched out during the night to a small village named Croix Barbée to carry out some operation, and returned at daybreak to its "lodging" near La Couture, another village some four or five miles away. Being a signaller, I had the doubtful privilege of owning a bicycle, which had to be pushed or carried every inch of the way. On the march back the mud was so bad that it was impossible for me to keep up with the battalion, owing to the necessity every quarter of a mile or so of cleaning out the mudguards. I was plodding along all by myself in the early hours of daylight, very tired of the bike and everything else, and I approached an old soldier of the Middlesex Regiment sitting by the roadside recovering slowly from the strain of the fatiguing night march. He looked at me and, with a twinkle in his eye, said, "Well, mate, 'ad yer two guineas wurf yet?"--_J. H. May, Ravenswood, Ashford, Middlesex._ The Four-footed Spy Whilst we were at Arras a horse was found entangled in some barbed wire, having presumably strayed from the German lines. He was captured by a rifleman and brought back to the horse lines to be used by the transport driver. A Cockney groom was detailed to look after him. The two never seemed to agree, for the groom was always being bitten or kicked by "Jerry." One morning the picket discovered that "Jerry" was missing, and concluded that he must have broken away during the night. The matter was reported to the sergeant, who went and routed out the groom. "What about it? Ain't you goin' to look for 'im?" said the sergeant.