We were prisoners in the infamous Fort Macdonald, near Lille, early in
May 1917, rammed into the dungeons there for a sort of "levelling down
process," i.e. starvation, brutal treatment, and general misery. After
eleven days of it we were on our way, emaciated, silent, and miserable,
to the working camps close behind the German lines, when a Cockney
voice piped up:
"Nah then, boys, don't be down 'earted. They kin knock yer abaht and
cut dahn yer rations, but, blimey, they won't _eat_ us--not nah!"--_G.
F. Green, 14 Alma Square, St. John's Wood, N.W.8._
So Why Worry?
The following, written by a London Colonel, was hung up in one of our
dug-outs:
"When one is a soldier, it is one of two things. One is either in a
dangerous place, or a cushy one. If in the latter, there is no need to
worry. If one is in a dangerous place, it is one of two things. One is
wounded, or one is not. If one is not, there is no need to worry. If
the former, it is either dangerous or slight. If slight, there is no
need to worry, but if dangerous, it is one of two alternatives. One
dies or recovers. If the latter, why worry? If you die you cannot. In
these circumstances the real Tommy never worries."--_"Alwas," Windmill
Road, Brentford, Middlesex._