But the days frequently grow long and tiresome. We sleep, we tell stories,
we read when there is anything to read, and we write letters if we have the
materials. Or, above all, we work out some new device to spring upon the
Boche.

In the early days of the war we knew nothing about hand grenades. The
Germans started to use them on us, but it was not a great while before we
fell into line and produced bombs to match theirs. At first we had the
Tickler variety as previously described; since then we have used the
"hair-brush" and others, but to-day we are using the standardized Mill hand
grenade.

I can never forget the first bomb that was thrown from our trench.
Volunteers were asked for this new and risky job. I will not mention the
name of the boy who volunteered in our section, but he was a big, hefty,
red-haired chap. He has since been killed. It is noticeable that red-haired
fellows are impetuous and frequently ahead of others in bravery, for a
moment or two, anyway.

That day there was an additional supply of mud and water in our trench. We
were dragging around in it until the bombing commenced, then we crowded
like boys round the big fellow, who was close to the parapet, his chest
stuck out, his voice vibrant with pride as he said, "Just you wait and see
me blow those fellows to smithereens--just you wait and see!"

In those days of makeshift bombs there was a nine-second fuse in each. We
were about thirty yards from the Germans' trench. Of course it would not
take nine seconds for the bomb to travel thirty yards; rather would it
arrive in three seconds, and give Hans and Fritz opportunity to pick it up
comfortably and return it in time for its explosion to kill us and not