The place was a rest billet, which we had just reached after a
gruelling on the Somme. Time, 12.30 a.m., dark as pitch and pouring
with rain.
A despatch-rider arrived with an "urgent" message from H.Q., "Must have
the number of your water-cart."
Out of bed, or its substitute, were brought the regimental
sergeant-major, the orderly-room clerk, and the quartermaster-sergeant
(a director of a London shipping firm bearing his name). All the
light we had was the end of a candle, and as the Q.M.S. was crawling
in the mud under the water-cart trying to find the number the candle
flickered, whereupon the Cockney sergeant-major exclaimed: "For
Heaven's sake, stop that candle from flickerin', or our blinkin' staff
will think we're signalling to Jerry!"
The look on the Q.M.S.'s face as he sat in the mud made even the soaked
despatch-rider laugh.
"What's the number of your water-cart?" became a byword with the
boys.--_W. J. Smallbone (late R.M.S., 56th Field Ambulance, 18th
Division), 22 Stoneycroft Road, Woodford Bridge, Woodford Green, Essex._