The extraordinary proposal was taken in good part, and the truce kept for thirty-six hours. No men of either army left their trenches, but not a shot was fired from German or English trench at that point. A few miles from the scene of this incident the men of the opposing armies became quite accustomed to calling across the intervening ground to their enemies. Each side, one day, boasted of the excellence of its food supply. A British Tommy declared his lunch ration included an incomparable tin of sardines. A German soldier shouted his disbelief that Tommy possessed any such delicacy. Thereupon an empty sardine tin on the point of a bayonet was raised above the British trench parapet in proof of Tommy's statement. "That's a sardine _tin_," yelled a Hun derisively, "but there is no sardine in it, mein friend." A few minutes passed, then a tin of sardines, unopened and temptingly whole and sound was thrown from the English trench towards the trench of the enemy. It fell short. Over his parapet vaulted a big German, who dashed at the tin with outstretched hand. As his fingers were closing over it, it jumped from his grasp. Again he stooped and reached for it. Again it leaped away. Tommy had attached a thin but stout line to his sardine tin, willing to prove his assertion, but with no idea of losing his luncheon. Two or three times the big Hun grabbed wildly at the elusive prize, amid the shouts and laughter of the men of both armies, who cheered in unison as Hans was at last convinced of the futility of further effort and retired in confusion to his trench. In the early hours of the New Year a trench full of Westphalians and a party from a section of our line held by the 4th Corps, fraternised to such an extent that visits were paid by each contingent to the "no-man's land" between the trenches. When the British soldiers returned to their trench, they found a man curled up in the bottom of it. Investigation showed him to be a German soldier. "'Ere, git out o' this," said Tommy indignantly. "You're bloomin' well in the wrong 'ouse." "No," said the Hun decidedly, "me prisoner, prisoner!" "Not you," was the indignant reply. "Play the gime, you silly old 'Un, an' 'ook it." But such was not the intention of the Saxon lad. With hands in air to indicate his abject surrender, he insisted he was a prisoner and refused to budge. Nonplussed, the Tommies shouted over to the Germans: "'Ere's one o' your chaps 'ere as won't go 'ome, the silly beggar. 'E's lorst 'is way, poor chap, an' don't know where 'e are." "Send him back to us, please," was the prompt request from the Deutschers. [Illustration: Members of the Staff outside the headquarters of the 1st Cavalry Division] [Illustration: Between Philosophe and Vermelles; on the left, the château wall]