The Germans seem to think that you can catch Irish soldiers with
fly-papers, for they just stepped up the other day and called on us to
surrender as bold as you like, and bolder. We didn’t waste any words in
telling them to go about their business, but we just grabbed hold of
our bayonets and signed to them to come on if they wanted anything, but
they didn’t seem in a hurry to meet us. After a bit they opened fire
on us with a couple of Maxims, but we just fixed bayonets and went for
the guns with a rush. They appear to be delicate boys indeed, and can’t
stand very much rough usage with the bayonet. We got their guns: _Pte.
E. Ryan, Royal Munster Fusiliers_.
“Made in Germany”
The first thing we saw was what looked like a big black screen rolling
up and blotting out the countryside. It turned out that the screen
was the German motor-cars. I must tell you that they never marched
until they got near to the firing line. They filled the cars with men,
as thick as they could stick. Then another batch would sit on the
shoulders of the others, and a third lot on theirs. Straight, it struck
me as so funny the first time I saw it. I was reminded of a troupe of
acrobats on the halls: _A Private of the Middlesex Regiment_.
“Over the Shoulder”
They don’t like steel, those Germans. I threw three of them
consecutively over my shoulder on the point of the bayonet, and the
very next moment a shrapnel shell burst right on my rifle. How I
escaped with what I’ve got I don’t know. All the shell did was to blow
my rifle to smithereens and the tips of my trigger and next two fingers
off. The doctor says it’s only the tips gone. That’s good, as I shall
have enough to pull the trigger with again, and if that fails there’s
the “over-the-shoulder touch,” which is more than enough for the
Germans: _A Scots Guardsman, at Mons_.