The Germans rushed at us like a crowd streaming from a cup-tie at the
Crystal Palace. You could not miss them. Our bullets ploughed into
them, but still on they came. I was well entrenched, and my rifle got
so hot I could hardly hold it. I was wondering if I should have enough
bullets when a pal shouted, “Up, Guards, and at them!” The next second
he was bowled over with a nasty knock on the shoulder. He jumped and
hissed, “Let me get at them”: _Private Whittaker_.
What Ho!
When we copped the German infantry without their artillery we gave them
“What Ho!” Our boys were fine marching on, or in the firing line,
always happy. One night in the trenches, waiting for the Germans, they
were singing “It’s a long way to Tipperary” and “Sing something Irish
to me,” but it was not long when the German artillery sang “Get out and
get under.” They sent some “humming birds”--I mean shells--over to us
and spoiled our concert: _Private P. McGrath_.