One night in June 1916, on the Somme, we were ordered to leave our line
and go over and dig an advance trench. We returned to our trench before
dawn, and shortly afterwards my chum, "Pussy" Harris, said to me, "I
have left my rifle in No Man's Land."
"Never mind," I said, "there are plenty more. Don't go over there: the
snipers are sure to get you."
But my advice was all in vain; he insisted on going. When I asked him
why he wanted that particular rifle he said, "Well, the barrel is bent,
_and it can shoot round corners_."
He went over....
That night I saw the regimental carpenter going along the trench with
a roughly-made wooden cross inscribed "R.I.P. Pte. Harris."--_W. Ford,
613 Becontree Avenue, Chadwell Heath, Essex._