I got made prisoner along with Sergeant-Major H---- of ours. We did
not think we should ever see England again, as they made us strip
every mortal stitch off our bodies so that we could not escape. At the
time they were being hardly pressed by our troops. But in the middle
of the night we made a cut for it. We got away, and after wandering
about absolutely naked, not even a fig-leaf (a lifetime it seemed, but
really about a couple of hours), we fell in amongst a French division
of infantry, and they clothed and fed us in no time and put us on the
right way: _A Trooper of the Dragoon Guards_.
The Enviable “Terriers”
I read in one of the papers that some of the “Terriers” in England
have to put up with the inconvenience of sleeping three in one bed. I
feel sorry for them. Some of us would be glad to get a bundle of straw
sometimes. There is one thing, up to the present, we have been having
plenty of grub and a tot of rum nearly every night, which no doubt you
will guess we refuse. We get tobacco issued to us, but are very short
of fag-papers. A couple of packets would come in very handy: _Gunner
Richards, Royal Artillery_.