It is a funny thing that Harry should dream about my arm being in a
sling. You can tell him it is quite true. It was my right arm, and it
is in a sling, but it will soon be out again for action. I enclose
you a photo of dear old “Taff,” the goat which was the mascot of the
regiment. He was shot the same day as I was, but I am very sorry to say
that he is dead: _Pte. Boswell, Welsh Regiment_.
“Tough Nuts”
Have come across some very strange soldiers, with stranger weapons
and equipment. Talk about the load of a Tommy, the pack of a Turco or
Senegalese is double the size, and they are tough nuts, you take it
from me. The cultured army of Kaiser Bill is material for mincemeat
before very long, and all I can say is, “God help the troops with which
the native regiments, both African and Indian, get to grips”: _A Staff
Sergeant-Major_.
No Football!
It is all very well to read in the papers what a chap wrote to someone
in Redhill about being fifty-six hours in the trenches and arranging
football matches. We were thirteen days in the trenches at one place,
where we only had to stand up a minute to bring a battery of German
artillery on the top of us, and for hours we had to lie still or be
blown to atoms. But never mind; the sun will shine again: _Pte. Gibson,
Royal Scots_.
Hungry!
“Daddy’s Old Corps,” as we call the Lincolns, caught a lot of
prisoners who seemed glad to get caught. One man was asked if he spoke
English. He replied, “English none,” and on being asked if he wanted
some biscuits, he said, “Ah, yes, I’m hungry,” so he was evidently a
typical German--good at telling lies. He also knew how to demolish, for
he got through six biscuits and a 12 oz. tin of bully in the twinkling
of a gnat’s eyebrow, and then said, “More”: _Corpl. Hawkins, of the
Lincolns_.