The Uhlan prisoners created some amusement as they were being marched along, for, as they are not used to marching, and were wearing great jack-boots, it nearly kills them, but they were pushed along by the infantry. While the Uhlans were thus being urged along the Frenchwomen tried to get at them and shouted to the soldiers to cut their throats. Fortunately for the prisoners, they were strongly guarded: _A Gunner of the Royal Field Artillery_. Grave-digging We were told off to bury German dead, but we couldn’t get through, there were so many, and we sent into their lines under a flag of truce to ask if they would come out and help. They sent a lot of men out, and they were quite friendly. They were well supplied with cigars, which they most likely looted from some French houses, and they offered us some, which we were glad of: _Pte. Brady, Irish Rifles_. A Barber in Lambeth I went to a village by motor with an officer to dress some German wounded, about forty all told. I was doing two German brothers, and they spoke very good English. One said, “Where are your good people going to send us?” I replied that I thought they would be sent to England, and he said, “That’s good. I hope it will be somewhere near Lambeth Walk, for I have a barber’s shop there, and then my wife can come and see me”: _Pte. Flaxman, Army Medical Corps_. Berlin “Nuts” I am writing this on a lady’s glove-box. I picked it up here, but how it got here God only knows. These German officers are awful “nuts,” and carry as many beautifiers as an actress on tour. They use their gloves for another purpose. They put a bullet or stone in the finger of a loose glove and flick the ears of their men. We found a wounded German who had been a clerk in London. His ears were extra large and were both swollen and skinned by the flicks he had got from his officers: _Pte. F. Burton, of the Bedfords_. “Collies?” It’s my opinion that you couldn’t find greater collies between the seven seas of the world than these Germans, not if you were to walk about for a month of Sundays, with all their bragging and bantering and bullying of the plucky little Belgians, and any Christian might be ashamed to use our wounded the way these sausage-faced German pigs used them. The “parley-voos” treated us right decently from the first day that ever we set foot in their country: _A Private of the Connaught Rangers_. The Track of the Huns One of the worst features of the war has been to witness the plight of the refugees in the stricken countries. I have seen many a strong man in our ranks with tears in his eyes when we have passed poor women and children flying from their homes, their only food being that which our soldiers gave them. Every village through which the Germans had passed in their retirement was practically blown to pieces. It is also tragic to see thousands of acres of corn and vines rotting, with no one to gather them in: _Sergt. Walker, King’s Liverpool Regiment_. Got the Guns