[1] ‘Why,’ said the cobbler, ‘what should I do? Will you have me to
go in the King’s wars and to be killed for my labour?’ ‘What, knave,’
said Skelton, ‘art thou a coward, having so great bones?’ ‘No,’
said the cobbler, ‘I am not afeared: it is good to sleep in a whole
skin.’—Merry Tales of Skelton (Early sixteenth century).
[2] I do not know what happened to Miller. This was written in the
summer of 1916.
[5] The gas-cylinders had by this time been put into position on the
front line. A special order came round imposing severe penalties on
anyone who used any word but ‘accessory’ in speaking of the gas. This
was to keep it secret, but the French civilians knew all about it long
before this.
[6] Major Swainson recovered quickly and was back at the Middlesex
Depot after a few weeks. On the other hand, Lawrie, a Royal Welch
company quartermaster-sergeant back at Cambrin, was hit in the neck
that day by a spent machine-gun bullet which just pierced the skin, and
died of shock a few hours later.
[7] He was recommended for a Victoria Cross but got nothing because no
officer evidence, which is a condition of award, was available.
[8] I cannot explain the discrepancy between his dating of my death and
that of the published casualty list.