My pal (a Battersea boy) and I were two of a draft in 1916 transferred
from the K.R.R.s to the R.I.R.s. On the first night in the trenches we
were detailed for listening post. My pal said: "That's good. I'll be
able to tell father what No Man's Land is like, as he asked me."
After we had spent what was to me a nerve-wracking experience in
the mud of a shell-hole, I asked him what he was going to tell his
father. He said: "It's like Southend at low tide on the fifth of
November."--_F. Tuohey (late 14th Batt. R.I.R.), 31 Winchester Road,
Edmonton._
"Make Me a Good 'Orse"
Having come out of action, we lay behind the line waiting for
reinforcements of men and horses. The horses arrived, and I went out to
see what they were like.
I was surprised to see a Cockney, who was a good groom, having trouble
in grooming one of the new horses. Every time he put the brush between
its forelegs the animal went down on its knees.
[Illustration: "Gawd bless farver an' make me a good 'orse."]
At last in desperation the Cockney stepped back, and gazing at the
horse still on its knees, said: "Go on, yer long-faced blighter. 'Gawd
bless muvver. Gawd bless farver, an' make me a good 'orse.'"--_Charles
Gibbons (late 3rd Cavalry Brigade), 131 Grove Street, Deptford, S.E.8._