A JESTING FIGHTER

Dominion, Volume 10, Issue 2910, 24 October 1916, Page 6

A JESTING FIGHTER

DAGGER-WORK IN "DEVIL'S WOOD." Among tho wounded men who recently arrived at Southampton, is Private —V-,; of .the , a Cockney of the Cockneys. He had been lighting for a month, much of it in the shambles of Delville Wood; he was pretty badly cut about, but he never opened his mouth without a jest. "Fed up? Wot, ahr boys fed up, sir? Not likely! Wy, we're just beginnin' to like it. But I bet Mister Boche ,is gettin' a' bit fed up." In Delville Wood this man went on fighting for a.loug'timo with considerable wounds in the left shoulder and arm, and only gave out when rendered perfectly helpless by a smashed ankle and two slight head wounds. ",To 'oar the wy they talks ahaht that Devil's Wood, you'd think there wuz something wrong with the bloomin' plice. For me, I fiko the in-an'-aht close work, I do; better'n this bloomin' extended-order work in the opon, wiv the bloomin' typewriters clack-clackin' till you carn't 'ear yerself speak. An' they carn't 'ardly 'elp hittin' of yer, neither. Same's it was at Monterbang an' comin' up to Longyval. | No, give mo the in-an'-aht work, I/sy, every time.' You do git a bit er.fun fer yer money in a plice like Dovil's Wood. When myorficer give me a little trench dagger, wot fitted on me left 'and liko a knuckle-duster—'e 'ad two or threo of 'em, 'e 'ad—wy, I tell you, it was a little bit 'uv orlright fer me.

"There's suthin'- to' keep a man amused abaht that sorter fighting. Much I cared abaht their toastin'-forks, onco I could git close in. You let me get close in, sir—same'swe did in Devid's Wood, time an' time again—an' I'll back myself to serve ye up Boches as fast as you can open oysters.

"No, I'vo got no fault to find with Devil's Wood. If only an 8.. E. fatiguo party could er got in there first, an' dono a bit uv a clean up, as ye might say—got 'some uv the wood an' wire, an' rubbish an', that outer the wy, an' jest levelled it up er bit—wy, you couldn't 've asked fer a nicer plice fer a scrap.

"Wot do I tbink uv Mister Boche? Oh, e's orlright, once yer get ter know 'is little tricks, the blighter; but 'e's a sticker, ye know, sir; 'specially with a machine-gun. The sight o' steel makes 'im proper sick. You gotter be quick as a flash once you get up to Mm, or Vll up with 'is 'ands, an'i then you mustn't touch the beggar; although, you know bloomin' well that if you 'appen to stumble, or give 'im arf a chance, 'e'U stick yer when, you're not looking—almost tho only time 'e will, that is. But 'e's a pretty good soldier at shootin' ranges. ." "The Push? Oh, tho Push is orlright. sir. Did I get any sleen last month? Lor'bless ye, yes, sir. I can't get on wiyout me sleep. We used to doss it in shell-holes: any ole plice. Soon get used to that. 'Ad me tea, too, most arternoons, I did. Bit uv a relish with it, too, when we'd got in a Boche trench. Gen'rally always find a bit er suthin' tasty in a Boche dug-out; an' if you strike a orficer's dug-out, it's a lord mayor's banquit, fer certain."