wrong about 'im now is that 'e's always the first bloke what stands and
gives 'is place to a lady when a tram's full--still a bit painful like."

Joe Bates expectorated with much precision and care over the parapet in
the direction of the Germans. "It ain't bombs wot I mind," he said,
"it's them there mines. When I first kime aht ter fight the 'Uns, I was
up at St. Eloi, an' they blew the 'ole lot of us up one night. Gawd, it
ain't like nothin' on earth, an' the worst of it was I'd jest 'ad a box
of fags sent out by some ole gal in 'Blighty,' an' when I got back to
earth agen there weren't a bloomin' fag to be found. If thet ain't
enough to mike a bloke swear, I dunno wot is. 'As any sport 'ere got a
fag to gi' me? I ain't 'ad a smoke fer two days," he finished, "cept a
li'l bit of a fag as the Keptin threw away."

Private Parkes hesitated for a minute, and then, seeing Joe Bates's eyes
fixed expectantly on him, he produced a broken "Woodbine" from
somewhere inside his cap.

"Yes," resumed "Pongo," while Joe Bates was lighting his cigarette,
"this ain't what you'd call war. I wouldn't mind goin' for ole Fritz
with an 'ammer, but, what with 'owitzers and 'crumps,' and 'Black
Marias,' and 'pip-squeaks' and 'whizz-bangs,' the infantry bloke ain't
got a chanst. 'Ere 'ave I been in a bloomin' trench for six months, and
what 'ave I used my bay'nit for? To chop wood, and to wake ole Sandy
when 'e snores. Down the line our blokes run over and give it to the
Alleymans like 'ell, and up 'ere we sits jest like a lot of dolls while
they send over those darned bombs. I'll give 'em what for. I'll put it
acrost 'em." And he disappeared round the traverse with the canteen of
tea for his officer.

Ten minutes later he turned up again with a jam tin bomb in his hand. "I
bet I can reach their bloomin' listening post with this," he said, and
he deliberately lit a piece of paper at the brazier fire and put it to
the odd inch of fuse that protruded from the bomb. The average jam tin
bomb is fused to burn for three or four seconds before it explodes, so
that, once the fuse is lit, you do not keep the bomb near you for long,
but send it across with your best wishes to Fritz over the way. "Pongo"
drew his arm back to throw his bomb, and had begun the forward swing,
when his fingers seemed to slip, and the weapon dropped down into the
trench.

There was a terrific rush, and everyone disappeared helter-skelter round
the traverse.

Just as