Germans, when we get hold of them for making us teetotal.'"

What a Frenchman describes as the "new British battle-cry" is another
source of amusement. Whenever artillery or rifle fire sweeps over their
trenches some facetious Tommy is sure to shout, "Are we downhearted?"
and is met with a resounding "No!" and laughter all along the line.

To those at home all this fun may seem a little thoughtless, but to
those in the fighting line it is perfectly natural and unforced. "Our
men lie in the trenches and play marbles with the bullets from shrapnel
shells," writes one of the Royal Engineers; "we have been in two
countries and hope to tour a third," says a letter from a cheery
artilleryman; and Mr. W.L. Pook (Godalming), who is with one of the
field post-offices, declares that things are going so badly with "our
dear old chum Wilhelm" that "I've bet X---- a new hat that I'll be home
by Christmas."

Bets are common in the trenches. Gunners wager about the number of their
hits, riflemen on the number of misses by the enemy. Daring spirits,
before making an attack, have even been known to bet on the number of
guns they would capture. "We have already picked up a good deal in the
way of German souvenirs," says one wag; "enough, indeed, to set a
decent-sized army up in business." The British Army, indeed, is an army
of sportsmen. Every man must have his game, his friendly wager, his
joke, and his song. As one officer told his men: "You are a lively lot
of beggars. You don't seem to realize that we're at war."

But they do. That is just Tommy's way. It is how he wins through. He
always feels fit, and he enjoys himself. Corporal Graham Hodson, Royal
Engineers, provides a typical Atkins letter with which to conclude this