Most of the Highlanders are hit in the legs. It is because of tartan trews and hose, which are more visible at a distance than any other part of their dress. Bare calves also show up in sunlight: Private P. Barry.
Proper Officers
Our officers don’t grab the best for themselves like the German brutes. The other night, in the wet and cold—and it was really cold—three of our officers turned out of a snug big bedroom in a farm to make way for four of our privates who were done up with cold and fatigue: Pte. Watts, Cheshire Regiment.
Scented!
Soap is unknown out here, but luck had it that I found a German haversack the other day. It contained, amongst numerous useless things, two sticks of shaving soap (scented). Now all the troops are chipping me for using scented soap on active service. I don’t mind—it’s soap: Pte. Revis, 4th Middlesex Regiment.
Bottles All the Way
Some of the towns we passed through suggested that there had been a battle of bottles rather than a battle of bullets. The streets were thickly strewn with bottles, champagne bottles and bottles that had contained the modest vin ordinaire. In those respects the Germans do themselves well: Bombdr. Jamieson, Royal Artillery.
Brain and Muscle
The French are fighting hard all round us with a grit and a go that will carry them through. Have you ever seen a little man fighting a great, big, hulking giant, who keeps on forcing the little man about the place until the giant tires himself, and then the little one, who has kept his wind, knocks him over? That’s how the fighting round here strikes me. We are dancing about round the big German army here, but our turn will come: Corpl. T. Trainor.