Lit His “Fag”
“Is there anything I can do for you, old chap?” I asked a wounded man of the Hampshires, one day. “Yes,” he answered, “you might light my fag for me. You will find matches and all in my inside pocket.” I did as he asked, and the last glimpse I caught of him he was lying out there with German shells and bullets flying all around, calmly smoking a “Gold Flake.” That spirit is characteristic of our lads: A Private of the Grenadier Guards.