One of the coolest things I have seen--and I have seen a few--was an
Engineer sergeant and two assistants measuring a piece of the river
bank with the tape, and having to lie down every few minutes to dodge
shells or extra-strong volleys. The sergeant could not hear some of
the figures, so yelled out, “Don’t let your voice be drowned by a ----
German gaspipe.” I assure you that we think no more of bullets and
shells than of a cricket ball sent down by a fast bowler. In fact, I
have felt more funk when ---- is in form at the wicket than I have at a
shell. This may sound awful swank, but when you have lived among shells
and bullets for a month it is a case of familiarity breeding contempt.
I believe I am the funkiest, or at any rate the most careful, chap in
the regiment, but I have long since given up worrying: _A Private of
the Bedfordshire Regiment_.