We were in the trenches in front of Armentières in the late summer of
1916. It was a fine, quiet day, with "nothing doing." I was convinced
that a working party was busy in a section of the German trenches right
opposite.
Just then "O. C. Stokes" came along with his crew and their little
trench gun. I told him of my "target," and suggested that he should try
a shot with his Stokes mortar. Glad of something definite to do, he
willingly complied.
The Stokes gun was set down on the floor of the trench just behind my
back, as I stood on the fire-step to observe the shoot.
I gave the range. The gun was loaded. There was a faint pop, a slight
hiss--then silence. Was the bomb going to burst in the gun and blow us
all to bits? I glanced round apprehensively. A perfectly calm Cockney
voice from one of the crew reassured me:
"It's orl right, sir! If it don't go off while yer counts five--_you'll
know it's a dud!_"--_Capt. T. W. C. Curd (late 20th Northumberland
Fusiliers), 72 Victoria Street, S.W.1._