which they inhabited at Ruyalcourt. A quartermaster of the 127th Brigade had chosen the ruins of a farm at a cross-roads near Havrincourt Wood for his dump. He was warned by the Town Major that this spot had probably been mined by the enemy, and particularly warned not to make use of the cellar, which was a likely place for a “booby-trap.” However, nothing happened, and of course his men not only went into the cellar but took planks and bricks therefrom to improve their quarters in the rooms above. One evening the Q.M. returned from the line to find his staff in a state of nervous collapse. As soon as he had prevailed upon them to sit up and take a little nourishment they related this painful story: The former owner, armed with documents and accompanied by gendarmes and British Military Police, had visited the old home, descended into the cellar, and dug up jars containing jewellery, coins, and banknotes, within a few inches of the spot from which the storemen had taken the planks. The butcher had even held a candle to assist the search, and his reflections on “what might have been,” as the jars of buried treasure were brought to light, completely unnerved him, especially when the owner handed him a couple of francs with thanks for the trouble he had so kindly taken. For some time after this these storemen displayed a rabbit-like tendency to burrow in any old corner, but luck was not with them. One night when the Brigadier of the 127th Brigade was in the front line the enemy put down a fierce bombardment of gas shells and H.E. The night was dark, but calm and clear, and large working parties were out wiring and digging. These came back “hell for leather,” and General Henley found his passage through the trench cut off by the crowds. Colonel Dobbin, deeming the scene unseemly for a Brigadier, suggested a dash over the top. Unfortunately fresh wire had just been put down, and, close to the support line where the long-range shells were dropping, both fell heavily into a double apron-fence. They extricated themselves painfully, leaving portions of clothing and some blood on the wire, and eventually arrived, “improperly dressed,” at Battalion Headquarters, to be met by the adjutant with the tactless remark: “There has been a bit of a bombardment, sir, but it doesn’t concern our front.” The Brigadier, who limped for several days, suggested that his companion should write a sketch of the episode under the title, “_Young officers taking their pleasures lightly_.” Though the Colonel did not take advantage of the suggestion, another officer did.