Early in the war aeroplanes were not so common as they were later on, and trench "strafing" from the air was practically unheard of. One day two privates of the Middlesex Regiment were engaged in clearing a section of front line trench near the La Bassée road when a German plane came along and sprayed the trenches with machine-gun bullets.
[Illustration: ...and they both went on digging]
One of the men (both were typical Cockneys) looked up from his digging and said: "Strike, there's a blinkin' aeroplane."
The other took no notice but went on digging.
By-and-by the machine came back, still firing, whereupon the speaker again looked up, spat, and said: "Blimey, there's annuver of 'em."
"No, 'tain't," was the reply, "it's the same blighter again."
"Blimey," said the first man, "so 'tis." And both went on digging.--_W. P. (late Middlesex Regt. and R.A.F.), Bucks._
It was a warm corner on the Givenchy front, with whizz-bangs dealing out death and destruction. But it was necessary that communication be maintained between the various H.Q.'s, and in this particular sector "Alf," from Bow, and myself were detailed to keep the "lines" intact.
Suddenly a whizz-bang burst above us as we were repairing some shattered lines. We ducked instinctively, but friend "Alf" caught a bit of the shell and was thrown to the bottom of the slushy trench.
Being a football enthusiast he at once raised his arm in appeal, and, with the spirit that wins wars, shouted, "Penalty, ref!"
He was dazed, but unhurt.--_W. G. Harris (late Sergt., R.E.), 34 Denmark Street, Watford._
During the battle of the Ancre in November 1916 the 51st Division were going over the top on our left while our battalion kept Jerry engaged with a raid. Every inch of the rain-sodden landscape seemed to be heaving beneath the combined barrages of the opposing forces.
My sergeant, a D.C.M., had been lying in the trench badly wounded for some hours waiting for things to ease up before he could be got down to the dressing-station. Presently our raiding party returned with six prisoners, among them an insignificant-looking German officer (who, waving a map about, and jabbering wildly, seemed to be blaming his capture to the faulty tactics of his High Command).