I was attached as a signaller to a platoon on duty in an advanced post
on the Ypres-Menin Road. We had two pigeons as an emergency means of
communication should our wire connection fail.
One afternoon Fritz put on a strafe which blew in the end of the
culvert in which we were stationed. We rescued the pigeon basket from
the debris and discovered that an egg had appeared.
That evening, when the time came to send in the usual evening
"situation report," I was given the following message to transmit:
"Pigeon laid one egg; otherwise situation normal."--_D. Webster, 85
Highfield Avenue, N.W.11._
"No Earfkwikes"
On a bitterly cold, wet afternoon in February 1918 four privates and
a corporal were trying to take what shelter they could. One little
Cockney who had served in the Far East with the 10th Middlesex was
complaining about everything in general, but especially about the
idiocy of waging war in winter.
"Wot yer grumblin' at?" broke in the corporal, "you with yer fawncy
tyles of Inja? At any rate, there ain't no blinking moskeeters 'ere nor
'orrible malyria."
There was a break in the pleasantries as a big one came over. In the
subsequent explosion the little Cockney was fatally wounded.
"Corpril," the lad gasped, as he lay under that wintry sky, "you fergot
to menshun there ain't no bloomin' sun-stroke, _nor no earfkwikes,
neither_."
And he smiled--a delightful, whimsical smile--though the corporal's
"Sorry, son" was too late.--_V. Meik, 107 King Henry's Road, N.W.3._