The Germans are great on night attacks, but they soon found out that they had to be out very early if they wanted to catch us napping. One night we got a hint that something might be looked for, so we made preparations to give them a very nice reception when they paid their early morning call. Strong parties of picked shots were thrown out all along the line towards the German trenches and their orders were to lie in wait until the Germans came up to drive back the pickets. Just when we were getting impatient and wanting to shout, “Hurry up! Hurry up!” like they do in the music halls when the turns are slow at coming on, rifles began to crack in front, and the pickets fell back more quickly than usual. That was our chance. The Germans came on like the great big brave chaps they are when they’re twenty to one, and we let them come until the head of their force was level with a tree that had been marked for range. “Now!” the officer in command whispered, and we gave it them right where they carry their rations after dinner. We poured another volley into them, and then went after them with the bayonets. They beat us easily in the sprinting; besides, we had orders not to venture too far from camp, so we came back and lay down to wait for the next turn. They came back again, and when they got to the tree they stopped to look around. They got the same old sauce as before, and they were off again. The entertainment wasn’t altogether over, for half an hour later a big body of Germans falling back from another little surprise on our left walked right into us. We blazed right into them, and they didn’t wait to ask what sort of culture it was that made it possible to grow rifles in the wood at night-time: _A Lance-Corporal of the East Yorkshire Regiment_. Cooking no Joke