After a retreat in May 1915 we saw, lying between our fresh position
and the German lines, an English soldier whom we took to be dead.
Later, however, we advanced again, and discovered that the man was not
dead, but badly wounded.
On being asked who he was, he replied in a very weak voice, "I fink
I must be the blinkin' umpire."--_W. King (late Royal Fusiliers), 94
Manor Grove, Richmond, Surrey._
"Don't Tell 'Aig"
Little "Ginger" was the life and soul of our platoon until he was
wounded on the Somme in 1918.
As he was carried off to the dressing-station he waved his hand feebly
over the side of the stretcher and whispered, "Don't tell 'Aig! He'd
worry somethin' shockin'."--_G. E. Morris (late Royal Fusiliers), 368
Ivydale Road, Peckham Rye, S.E.15._
"... In Love and War"
During a most unpleasant night bombing raid on the transport lines at
Haillecourt the occupants of a Nissen hut were waiting for the next
crash when out of the darkness and silence came the Cockney voice of
a lorry driver saying to his mate, "'Well,' I sez to 'er, I sez, 'You
do as you like, and I can't say no fairer than that, can I?'"--_F. R.
Jelley, Upland Road, Sutton, Surrey._
"Afraid of Yer Own Shells"
I was on the Italian front in June 1918, and our battery was being
strafed by the Austrians with huge armour-piercing shells, which made
a noise like an express train coming at you, and exploded with a
deafening roar.
An O.K. had just registered on one of our guns, blowing the wheels and
masses of rock sky-high. A party of about twenty Austrian prisoners,
in charge of a single Cockney, were passing our position at the time,
and the effect of the explosion on the prisoners was startling. They
scattered in all directions, vainly pursued by the Cockney, who
reminded me of a sheep-dog trying to get his flock together.
At last he paused. "You windy lot o' blighters," he shouted as he
spat on the ground in evident disgust, "afraid of yer own bloomin'
shells!"--_S. Curtis, 20 Palace Road, Upper Norwood, S.E.19._