In camp one night one of the German prisoners was chock-full of
peace-at-any-price cant, and talked a lot about all men being brothers.
This didn’t please Terry Monahan, an Irish private of the Liverpool
Regiment, and, in a towering rage, he turned on the German: “You dirty,
church-going, altar-defiling, priest-murdering German devil,” he cried,
“ye’re no brother of mine, and by the holy saints if ye’ll only step
outside for wan minit it’s me will knock all the nonsense out of yer
ugly head”: _A Sergeant of the York and Lancaster Regiment_.
Didn’t Wait!
There were two lads of our regiment who were both hit, and there was
only one stretcher for them. Each had his views about which had the
most need of it first. The big one got ragged with the other’s refusal,
so raising himself with his unwounded arm, he cried, “You go the noo,
Jock, an’ if you’re no slippy about it, you’ll gaur me gae ye something
ye’ll remember when I’m a’ richt again.” Jock didn’t wait any longer
after that: _A Private of the Highland Light Infantry_.