In the big general hospital at Colchester the next bed to mine was
occupied by a typical Cockney who was very seriously wounded. It was
little short of marvellous that he was alive at all.
Early one morning he became so ill that the hospital chaplain was sent
to administer the Last Sacrament and the little Londoner's parents were
telegraphed for.
About nine o'clock he rallied a little, and apparently realised that
the authorities had given him up as hopeless, for with a great effort
he half-sat up and, with his eyes ablaze, cried: "Wot? You fink I'm
goin' ter die? Well, you're all wrong! I've bin in this war since it
started, an' I intends to be in it at the finish. So I just _won't_
die, to spite yer, see?"
His unconquerable spirit pulled him through, and he is alive--and
well--to-day!--_A. C. P. (late 58th (London) Division), Fulham, S.W.6._