Scene: Turk trench, Somme, on a cold, soaking night in November,
1916. A working party, complete with rifles, picks, and spades, which
continually became entangled in the cats' cradle of miscellaneous R.E.
wire, is making terribly slow progress over irregular trench-boards
hidden under mud and water. Brisk strafing ahead promising trouble.
Impatient officer (up on the parapet): "For heaven's sake, you lads,
get a move on! You're not going to a funeral!"
Cockney voice (from bottom of trench): "'Ow the dooce does _'e_
know!"--_W. Ridsdale, 41 Manor Road, Beckenham, Kent._