"Presently the welcome voice of our Sergeant came from the entrance of the dugout:
"'Come on, me lads, lend a 'and with the post.'
"There was a mad rush for the entrance. In a couple of minutes or so the boys returned, staggering under a load of parcels. As each name was read off, a parcel was thrown over to the expectant Tommy. My heart was beating with eagerness as the Sergeant picked up each parcel: then a pang of disappointment as the name was read off.
"Each of the others received from one to four parcels. There were none left. I could feel their eyes sympathizing with me.
"Sailor Bill whispered something to the Sergeant that I could not get. The Sergeant turned to me and said:
"'Why, blime me, Yank, I must be goin' balmy. I left your parcel up in the trench. I'll be right back.'
"He returned in a few minutes with a large parcel addressed to me. I eagerly took the parcel and looked for the postmark. It was from London. Another pang of disappointment passed through me. I knew no one in London. My mail had to come from America.
"Then it all flashed over me in an instant. About two weeks before I had noticed a collection being taken up in the section and at the time thought it very strange that I was not asked to donate. The boys had all chipped in to make sure that I would not be forgotten on Christmas. They eagerly crowded around me as I opened the parcel. It contained nearly everything under the sun, including some American cigarettes.