In the platoon of cyclists I was posted to on the outbreak of war was
a Cockney--a "Charlie Chaplin" without the funny feet. If there was a
funny side to a thing, he saw it.
One day, on the advance, just before the battle of the Marne, our
platoon was acting as part of the left flank guard when a number of
enemy cavalry were seen advancing over a ridge, some distance away. We
were ordered to dismount and extend. We numbered about sixteen, so our
line was not a long one.
A prominent object was pointed out to us, judged at about 150 yards
away, and orders were given not to fire until the enemy reached that
spot.
We could see that we were greatly outnumbered, and having to wait for
them to reach that spot seemed to double the suspense. Our leader was
giving commands one second and talking like a father the next. He said,
"Keep cool; each take a target; show them you are British. You have as
good a chance as they, and although they are superior in numbers they
have no other superior quality. I want you just to imagine that you
are on the range again, firing for your pay." Then our Cockney Charlie
chimed in with: "Yes, but we ain't got no bloomin' markers."--_S. Leggs
(late Rifle Brigade and Cyclists), 33 New Road, Grays, Essex._
"Currants" for Bunn
After we had taken part in the advance on the Somme in August 1916 my
battalion was ordered to rest at Bazentin.
We had only been there a day or so when we were ordered to relieve
the Tyneside Scottish who were badly knocked about. Hardly had we
reached the front lines, when a little Cockney named Bunn (we never
knew how he carried his pack, he was so small) got hit. We called for
stretcher-bearers.
When they put him on the stretcher and were carrying him down the line,
a doctor asked him his name. The Cockney looked up with a smile and
answered: "Bunn, sir, and the blighters have put some currants into me
this time." This gallant Cockney died afterwards.--_J. E. Cully (late
13th King's Royal Rifles), 76 Milkwood Road, S.E.24._