When I got hit, I couldn’t say how long I lay there, but a chum of
mine, Tommy Quaife, under a perfect hail of bullets and shells dragged
me to safety and said, “Cheer up, Smiler, here’s a fag. I’m going back
for Sandy (his other chum).” He never got there. Poor Tommy got a piece
of shell and was buried the same night. If ever a hero lived he was
one: Sergt. _J. Rolfe, 2nd Batt. King’s Royal Rifles_.