We were out doing a spot of wiring near Ypres, and the Germans
evidently got to know about it. A few "stars" went up, and then the
_rat-tat-tat_ of machine guns told us more than we wanted to know.
We dived for shell holes. Anybody who knows the place will realise
we did not have far to dive. I found myself beside a man who, in the
middle of a somewhat unhealthy period, found time to soliloquise:
"Knocked a bit right aht me tin 'at. Thought I'd copped it that time.
Look, I can get me little finger through the 'ole. Blimey, 'ope it
don't rain, I shall git me 'ead all wet."--_H. C. Augustus, 67 Paragon
Road, E.9._
[Illustration: "'Ope it don't rain; I'd get me 'ead wet."]