Our gun position lay just behind the Ancre, and Fritz generally strafed
us for an hour or two each day, starting about the same time. When the
first shell came over we used to take cover in a disused trench.
One day, when the strafe began, I grabbed two story magazines just
before we went to the trench, and, arrived there, handed one to my
Cockney pal.
We had both been reading for some time when a shell burst uncomfortably
near, and a splinter hit my pal's book and shot it right out of his
hand. At which he exclaimed: "Fritz, yer blighter, I'll never know nah
whether he was goin' to marry the girl or cut 'er bloomin' froat."--_G.
W. Wicheloe (late 138th Heavy Battery, R.G.A.), 162 Stevens Road,
Chadwell Heath, Essex._