I am mentioning these things just to show how unexpectedly disappointments came at times; but we soon got into the way of taking these set-backs as part of the day’s work. When the winter advanced, the strain became uncommonly severe, but we were able to bear it owing to the first-rate system of relief we had--a relief which gave us as much change as possible on the confinement and hardship of the actual trenches. Some very strange things happened in the trenches, and none were stranger than those cases of men being in them for long periods under heavy fire and escaping scot free, to be succeeded by others who lost their lives almost as soon as they got into their places. There was one youngster--he could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen--who had been in France only about a fortnight. He was having his second day in the trenches, and, like a good many more who are new to the business, he was curious to see what was going on. This was particularly dangerous, as the Germans were only sixty yards away, and any seen movement on the part of our men brought instant fire. The officer kept telling the youngster to keep down, and more than once he pulled him down; but the lad seemed fascinated by the port-hole of the trench--the loop-hole, it is generally called--and he looked through it again; once too often, for a German marksman must have spotted him. Anyway, a bullet came through the port-hole and struck the lad just under the eye, went through his brain, and killed him on the spot. I will give you another curious instance, that of Sergeant Sharpe. It was his turn to be in reserve, but he had volunteered to go up to the trenches, to look round. He had scarcely had time to put his feet in them before a shot came and struck him between the eyes, killing him instantly. I specially remember the sad case of the inquisitive youngster, because it happened on the very day I was wounded, and that was December 16. I was in a trench, sitting over a coke fire in a biscuit tin, when a bullet struck me on the chin--here’s the scar--then went to the back of the trench, where it struck a fellow on the head, without seriously hurting him, and came back to me, hitting me just over the right eye, but not doing any serious mischief. After that I was sent into hospital, and later on came home. On the way back I came across two very singular cases. One was that of a man who had had his arm amputated only a fortnight previously, and he was not used to it. He used to turn round and say, “I keep putting up my hand to scratch the back of it--and the hand isn’t there!” I saw another poor fellow--quite a youngster--who was being carried on a stretcher to the train. Both his legs had been blown off by a shell. I was right alongside when he said, “For Heaven’s sake cover up my feet--they’re cold!” He lived for about half an hour after that, but never reached the train.