I was rather badly wounded near Bullecourt, on the Arras front, and was
lying on a stretcher outside the dressing station.
Nearby stood a burly Cockney with one arm heavily bandaged. In the
other hand he held his ration of hot coffee.
Noticing my distress, he offered me his drink, saying, "'Ere y'are,
mate, 'ave a swig at this." One of the stretcher-bearers cried: "Take
that away! He mustn't have it!"
The Cockney slunk off.
"All right, ugly," he said. "Take the food aht of a poor bloke's mouf,
would yer?"
Afterwards I learned the stretcher-bearer, by his action, had saved my
life. Still, I shan't forget my Cockney friend's generosity.--_A. P. S.
(late 5th London Regiment), Ilford._