of its hardly won position by its own artillery before now--on both
sides!) Sometimes a little visual signalling is possible: sometimes a
despatch-runner may get back through the enemy's curtain of fire; but
in the main your one hope of salvation hangs upon a slender thread of
insulated wire. And round that wire are strung some of the purest gems
of heroism that the War has produced.

At the Battle of Loos, half a battalion of "K(1)" pushed forward into
a very advanced hostile position. There they hung, by their teeth.
Their achievement was great; but unless Headquarters could be informed
of their exact position and needs, they were all dead men. So Corporal
Greig set out to find them, unreeling wire as he went. He was blown to
pieces by an eight-inch shell, but another signaller was never
lacking to take his place. They pressed forward, these lackadaisical
non-combatants, until the position was reached and communication
established. Again and again the wire was cut by shrapnel, and again
and again a Buzzer crawled out to find the broken ends and piece them
together. And ultimately, the tiny, exposed limb in front having been
enabled to explain its exact requirements to the brain behind, the
necessary help was forthcoming and the Fort was held.

Next time you pass a Signaller's Dug-out peep inside. You will find
it occupied by a coke brazier, emitting large quantities of carbon
monoxide, and an untidy gentleman in khaki, with a blue-and-white
device upon his shoulder-straps, who is humped over a small black
instrument, luxuriating in a "frowst" most indescribable. He is
reading a back number of a rural Scottish newspaper which you never
heard of. Occasionally, in response to a faint buzz, he takes up his
transmitter and indulges in an unintelligible altercation with a
person unseen. You need feel no surprise if he is wearing the ribbon