Various

“ Days of rain had rendered the ground a quagmire, and lack of rations, ammunition, and shelter had disheartened the relief force.
The infantry advanced without adequate artillery support, and were swept by heavy machine-gun fire from the entrenched Turks. One fellow tripped over a strand of loose barbed wire, fell down, and in rising ripped the seat nearly off his shorts. Cursing, he rejoined the slowly moving line of advancing men.
Suddenly one sensed one of those fateful moments when men in the mass are near to breaking point. ”

“ The Boche is putting down his evening "strafe"—an intense and very accurate barrage laid like a curtain on the southern slope of the valley. Our hero, his hands closed round the stock of his rifle held between his knees, is squatting unconcernedly on the wet ground in the open on the northern side of the valley, where only a shell with a miraculous trajectory could have scored a direct hit, watching the shells burst almost every second not a great distance away. ”

“ The General Goes Skating
One horribly wet day during the winter of 1915 I met the Brigadier paying his morning visit to the front line and accompanied him along my section of the trench. Entering one fire-bay, the gallant General slipped and sat down uncommonly hard in the mud.
"'Ere, chum, get up; this ain't a skatin' rink."
Discipline stifled any desire on my part for mirth, but to my horror, the sentry in that bay, without turning away from his periscope, called over his shoulder in unmistakable Cockney accents: "'Ere, chum, get up; this ain't a blinkin' skatin' rink!" ”

“ One of our many Cockney sailors was a fine swimmer and diver. He took every opportunity to have what he termed "a couple of dives."
Owing to the water being rather shallow immediately along the quay, his diving exhibitions were limited to nothing higher than the forecastle, which was some 30 ft. His one desire, however, was to dive from the boat-deck, which was about 60 ft. Whilst steaming later in the front line of our convoy, which numbered about forty-two ships, we became the direct target of a deadly torpedo. Every soul dashed for the lifeboats. ”

“ From the pleasant aroma which reached us from the cottage as we lay on our backs watching a German aeroplane we knew that cook would soon be announcing the feast was ready.
Suddenly from the blue came a roar like that of an express train. We flung ourselves into the ditch.... K-k-k-k-r-r-r-ump!
When the smoke and dust cleared away the cottage was just a rubbish heap, but there was cook, most miraculously crawling out from beneath a debris of rafters, beams, and bricks!
"Ruddy 'orseplay!" was the philosopher's comment.—I. O., 19 Burnell Road, Sutton, Surrey. ”

“ Jerry's front line trench and ours were not three hundred yards apart. Over that sinister strip of ground attack and counter-attack had surged and ebbed in a darkness often turned to day by Verey lights and star-shells. Brave men on each side had reached their objective, but "fell Sergeant Death" often took charge.
In our sector was a 1914 "Contemptible," who, despite mud and adverse conditions, made his New Army comrades smile at his barrack-room efforts to keep his uniform and equipment just so. ”

“ I had hung a mess tin on a nail to catch the water that dripped through, partly to keep it off my head, also to provide water for an easy shave in the morning.
A strafe began. The night was illuminated by hundreds of vivid flashes, and shells of all kinds burst about us. The dug-out shook with the concussions. Trench mortars, rifle grenades, and machine-gun fire contributed to the din.
Whale, who never had the wind up, was shifting his position and turning from one side to the other.
"What's the matter?" I asked my chum. "Can't you sleep?" ”

“ A wiring party in the Loos salient—twelve men just out from home. Jerry's Verey lights were numerous, machine-guns were unpleasantly busy, and there were all the dangers and alarms incidental to a sticky part of the line. The wiring party, carrying stakes and wire, made its way warily, and every man breathed apprehensively. Suddenly one London lad tripped over a piece of old barbed wire and almost fell his length. ”

“ Meanwhile the general moved on towards the other end of the fire-bay, where the sentry, fresh out from the reserve battalion recruited in Bermondsey, stood with his eyes glued to the periscope.
A natural impulse of the general as he noticed the weather-vane on the parapet was to test the sentry's intelligence on "gas attack by the enemy," so as he approached the soldier he addressed him in a genial and confiding manner: "Well, my lad, and how's the wind blowing this morning?" ”

“ A transport packed with troops and horses for the Dardanelles was suddenly hailed by a German cruiser and the captain was given a few minutes in which to abandon ship.
One young soldier was found with his arms round his horse's neck, sobbing bitterly, and when ordered to the boats he stubbornly refused to move. "Where my white-faced Willie goes I goes," he said proudly.
His loyalty to his dumb friend was rewarded, for the German cruiser fired twice at the transport, missed each time, and before a third effort British destroyers were on the scene to chase her away. ”

“ The 1st Battalion of the 25th Londons was preparing to march into Waziristan.
Old Bert, the cook, diligently loading up a kneeling camel with dixies, pots and pans, and general cooking utensils, paused for a bit, wiped the sweat from his brow, and stood back with arms akimbo gazing with satisfaction upon his work.
Then he went up to the camel, gave him a gentle prod, and grunted "Ooush, yer blighter, ooush" (i.e. rise) . The camel turned gently over on his back, unshipping the whole cargo that Bert had worked so hard upon, and kicked his legs in the air. ”

“ Sandy was one of those whom nature seemed to have intended for a girl. Sandy by colour, pale and small of features, and without the sparkling wit of his Cockney comrades, he was the butt of many a joke.
One dark and dirty night we trailed out of the line at Vermelles and were billeted in a barn. The farmhouse still sheltered its owner and the remainder of his live-stock, including a goat in a small shed.
"Happy" Day, having discovered the goat, called out, "Hi, Sandy! There's some Maconochie rations in that 'ere shed. Fetch 'em in, mate." ”

“ Time went slowly, and one of our troopers suggested that we all put a half-franc into an empty "bully" tin, and the first one of us who shot a German was to take the lot. To this we all agreed.
It was about midnight when, suddenly, out of the shadows, rode a German Death's-head Hussar. We all raised our rifles as one man, but before we could shoot "Tiger" Smith, one of our real Cockney troopers, shouted, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" During our momentary hesitation "Tiger's" rifle rang out, and off rolled the German into the road. ”

“ Close to us was a road where there were a ration dump and every other sort of dump. Everybody in the sector went through us to get rations, ammunition, stores, etc.
There was just room in the trench for two men to pass. Snow had been on the ground for weeks, and the bottom of the trench was like glass. One night at stand-to the Drake Battalion crowded past us to get rations. On their return journey the leading man, with two sandbags of rations round his neck and a petrol can of water in each hand, fell over at every other step. ”

“ A bitterly cold morning in winter, 1916, in the Ypres Salient. I was on duty at a gas alarm post in the front line when along came the colonel.
He was the finest soldier and gentleman I ever had the pleasure to serve under (being an old soldier in two regiments before, I had experienced a few C.O.s) . It was said he knew every man's name in the regiment. No officer dare start his own meal until every man of his company had been served. No fatigue or working party ever went up the line, no matter at what hour, without the colonel first inspected it. ”

“ The air was alive with shrapnel and nearly two-thirds of the raiders were casualties in no time.
Those that could tried to crawl back to our lines, but soon lost all direction in the fog. About half a dozen of them crawled into a shell-hole and lay there wounded or exhausted from their efforts, and afraid to move while the bombardment continued.
Meanwhile "Wag" Bennett, a Cockney, though badly wounded, had dragged himself out of a shell-hole, and was crawling towards what proved later to be the enemy lines when he saw the forms of the other fellows in the darkness. ”

“ Noiselessly surmounting the barbed wire, we crept up to him and in a second Ginger was on him. Pointing his bayonet in Fritz's back, he said, "Nah, then, you blighter, show us the way 'ome."
Very coolly and without the slightest trace of fear, the German replied in perfect English, "I suppose you mean me to lead you to the British trenches."
"Oh!" said Ginger, "so yer speak English, do yer?"
"Yes," said the German, "I was a waiter at a restaurant in Piccadilly before the War."
"Piccadilly, eh? You're just the feller we want. ”

“ To dig out the character of a General even from the plans of his General Staff is difficult; how much more difficult to dig out the adventures of Number 1000 Private Thomas Atkins from those of the other 999 who went "like one man" with him over the top? In the side-shows there was more scope for the individual and in the Victorian wars much more scope. To show the sort of thing I mean I am going to put down here for the first time an old story, almost forgotten now, in the hopes that it may interest by its contrast to barrages and barbed wire. ”

“ One evening, as we were going into the line, we were halted by a staff officer and warned of gas. Orders were given at once to wear gas helmets. (A nose-bag gas-mask had just been issued for horses.)
After a while I made my way to the rear of the column to see how things were. I was puffing and gasping for breath, when a cheery voice called out, "Stick it, sargint."
Wondering how any man could be so cheery in such circumstances, I lifted my gas helmet, and lo! there sat my Cockney driver, with his horses' masks slung over his arm and his own on top of his head like a cap-comforter. ”

“ It was a bitterly cold day in December, somewhere in the North Sea. A section of mine-sweepers were engaged clearing an area well sown by Jerry's submarines. Suddenly the expected happened, and in a few minutes one of the sweepers was settling down fast by the stern.
Those who did not "go west" in the explosion were with difficulty picked up; among them was a Cockney stoker rating. He arrived on board, wet, cold, and pretty well "pumped," and the bo'sun's peg of rum had almost disappeared between his chattering teeth when there was another explosion, and once again he was in a sinking ship. ”

“ Stealthy looks to right and left were given, and fear was in the men's hearts. The relentless tat-tat-tat of machine guns, the "singing" of the driven bullets, and the dropping of men seemed as if it never would end. ”

“ Here is a story of the Cockney war spirit at home. We called him "London" as he was the only Londoner in the troop. Very pale and slight, he gave the impression of being consumptive, yet he was quite an athlete, as his sprinting at the brigade sports showed.
We had been on a gunnery course up Hornsey way, and with skeleton kit were returning past a large field in which were three gas chambers used for gas drill. No one was allowed even to go in the field unless equipped with a gas-mask. Suddenly a voice called out, "Look, there's a man trying to get in yon chamber." ”

“ No one was hurt ... but the precious rum jar was shattered.
"Nobbler," sitting up in the mud and moving his tin hat from his left eye the better to gaze upon the ruin, murmured bitterly: "Louvain—Rheims—the Lusitania—and now our perishin' rum issue. Jerry, you 'eathen, you gets worse and worse. But, my 'at, won't you cop it when 'Aig knows abaht this!"—E. H. Oliver, Lanark House, Woodstock, Oxford.
Dust in 'Indenburg's Sauerkraut!
To all those thousands who remember Shrapnel Corner and the sign: "DRIVE SLOWLY! SPEED CAUSES DUST WHICH DRAWS THE ENEMY'S SHELL FIRE" this incident will appeal. ”

“ The Tall Man's War
In our platoon was a very tall chap who was always causing us great amusement because of his height. Naturally he showed his head above the parapet more often than the rest of us, and whenever he did so ping would come a bullet from a sniper and down our tall chum would drop in an indescribably funny acrobatic fashion.
The climax came at Delville Wood in August 1916, when, taking over the line, we found the trench knocked about in a way that made it most uncomfortable for all of us. ”