An officer of the Cheshires, who is a bit of a cricketer, got uncomfortable after being cramped so long in the trenches. He raised his leg in shifting his position, and a bit of a shell hit him in the thigh. As he fell back all he said was, “Out, by George! l.b.w., as the umpire would say. Better luck next innings”: _A Trooper of the Royal Horse Guards_. Irish and Merry We are settling down to the hard grind of active service, and if you saw us now you would think we well deserved our regimental nickname, “The Dirty Shirts.” When you have wielded the pick and shovel for a day or two in a blazing sun you don’t look as though you were going to a tea party or to chapel: _Private T. Mulligan_. Cock-a-Doodle-Doo! It is great fun watching the efforts of the troops to make the French people understand what they want. One of our fellows thought he would try for some eggs at a farmhouse. Naturally, they couldn’t understand him, so he opened his mouth, rubbed his stomach, flapped his arms, and cried, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” The eggs came promptly: _Bombdr. H. Cressy, Royal Field Artillery_. Surrounded Them Pat Ryan, of the Connaught Rangers, thought he ought to do something to celebrate his birthday, which fell on Friday week. Without telling a soul he went out of the trenches in the afternoon, and came back after dusk with two big Germans in tow. How or where he got them nobody knows. The captain asked how he managed to catch the two. “Sure and I surrounded them, sorr,” was the answer: _A Gunner of the Royal Artillery_. Joking not Apart We had six bridges to blow up. The centre bridge was to go up first, and we were to get over quickly after we had laid the charge. While we were waiting--there were ten of us--we saw a chap from the West Kents coming over, and we told him to jump for his life. The fuse was actually burning at the time, and I guess he broke all the records for jumping. A party of the King’s Own went into one battle shouting out, “Early doors this way. Early doors, ninepence!”: _Sapper Mugridge_. Left the Duck I was wounded in rather a curious manner. Being caterer to the officers’ mess, I was preparing the dinner, plucking a duck in the backyard, when a shell burst, and I was hit on the shoulder and head. I had laid the tables for dinner before, and to my surprise when I was expecting the return of officers, I was confronted by a party of Germans, who sat down and ate a hearty meal, while I managed to escape. Whether they finished the plucking and cooking of the duck, I thought it advisable not to return and see: _Sergt. Hanks, 4th Middlesex Regiment_. Swimming for Them