In a communication trench on the Somme, near Guillemont, in August
1916, we were halted for a "blow" on our way up when Jerry opened with
shrapnel.
Private Reynolds, from Marylebone, had his right hand cut off at the
wrist. We bound his arm as best we could, and whilst doing so one man
said to him, "A sure Blighty one, mate--and don't forget when you get
home, drop us a line to let's know how you are getting on in hospital."
"Yus! I'll write all right," said Reynolds, and then, suddenly, "'Ere,
wot d'yer fink I am, a blinkin' acrobat? 'Ow can I write wivout a right
arm ter write wiv?"--_A. Sharman (late 12th Royal Fusiliers), 177
Grenville Road, N.W.2._