et, is now known throughout the
British Army as 'Plug Street'; well known for possessing some of the
finest trenches along the line.

One afternoon I had ridden back into Ypres to purchase a note-book, and
had procured what I wanted, when two privates who stood by my side in
the little stationer's shop determined on the purchase of some small
article; the difficulty at the moment was to find out its cost. One of
them, who acted as spokesman, held up his selection, and astonished the
woman at the other side of the counter by saying, 'How mooch monnee?'
Naturally enough the woman gazed at him with a bewildered air, when
'Tommy' turned to the pal by his side and said, 'Silly swine, they don't
know their own language.'

A remarkable feature which I frequently encountered in connexion with
what I may call the soldier's social life, is the great facility with
which he introduces himself to the native inhabitants. In a very few
minutes he seems to be thoroughly at home with them, girls and all, and
is in some mysterious way holding conversation, or at all events
conveying his meaning, to the satisfaction of both parties. In the
gloaming you will see him strolling about with the girls of the village,
as much at home as in the lanes of his own countryside. What they talk
about I can't tell, but talk they do; and as far as one can determine,
to their mutual pleasure.

Even in the deadliest moments, the wit of the man is to the front. At
the battle of Neuve Chapelle, at the beginning of March, a bomb-thrower,
rushing through the village, came upon a cellar full of Germans in
hiding. Putting his head in at the door, at the risk of his life he
cried: 'How many of yer are there in there?' The answer came, 'Ve vos
twelve.' Then said Tommy, throwing in a bomb, 'Divide that amongst yer,'
with the result too ghastly for words.

Such humour, coarse though it may be, is not by any means confined to
terra firma. On the first of April, a British aeroplane sailed over the
German lines, and when over the first line of trenches, dropped a
football. The Huns were simply terrified, as they saw this new kind of
bomb slowly descending, and fled right and left. With amazement they saw
it strike the ground, and then bounce high up, until it gradually
settled down; then very cautiously the bolder elements amongst them
crept up and found a football, on which was written, 'The first of
April, you blighters.'

It is strange to see this remarkable s