March 1918. Just before the big German offensive. One night I was out
with a reconnoitring patrol in "No Man's Land." We had good reason to
believe that Jerry also had a patrol in the near vicinity.
Suddenly a burst of machine-gun fire in our direction seemed to
indicate that we had been spotted. We dived for shell-holes and any
available cover, breathlessly watching the bullets knock sparks off
the barbed wire. When the firing ceased and we attempted to re-form
our little party, a Cockney known as "Posh" Wilks was missing.
Fearing the worst, we peered into the darkness. Just then a Verey
light illuminated the scene, and we saw the form of "Posh" Wilks
some little distance away. I went over to see what was wrong, and
to my astonishment he was kneeling down carefully rewinding one of
his puttees. "Can't get these ruddy things right anyhow to-day," he
said.--_H. W. White (late Royal Sussex Regt.), 18 Airthrie Road,
Goodmayes, Essex._