withdrawn. One of our snipers had evidently been watching, too. A rifle
cracked and I saw a cloud of dust arise where the bullet clipped the top
of the parapet. The German waved his spade defiantly in the air and
continued digging; but he remained discreetly under cover thereafter.

This marked an epoch in my experience in a war of unseen forces. I had
actually beheld a German, although Tommy insisted that it was only the
old caretaker, "the bloke wot keeps the trenches tidy." This mythical
personage, a creature of Tommy's own fancy, assumed a very real
importance during the summer when the attractions at the Western Theater
of War were only mildly interesting. "Carl the caretaker" was supposed to
be a methodical old man whom the Emperor had left in charge of his
trenches on the western front during the absence of the German armies in
Russia. Many were the stories told about him at different parts of the
line. Sometimes he was endowed with a family. His "missus" and his "three
little nippers" were with him, and together they were blocking the way to
Berlin of the entire British Army. Sometimes he was "Hans the Grenadier,"
owing to his fondness for nightly bombing parties. Sometimes he was
"Minnie's husband," Minnie being that redoubtable lady known in polite
military circles as a "Minnenwerfer." As already explained, she was
sausage-like in shape, and frightfully demonstrative. When she went
visiting at the behest of her husband, Tommy usually contrived to be "not
at home," whereupon Minnie wrecked the house and disappeared in a cloud
of dense black smoke.

One imagines all sorts of monstrous things about an unseen enemy. The
strain of constantly watching and seeing nothing became almost unbearable
at times. We were often too far apart to have our early morning
interchange of courtesies, and then the constant _phtt-phtt_ of bullets
annoyed and exasperated us. I for one welcomed any evidence that our
opponents were fathers and husbands and brothers just as we were. I
remember my delight, one fine summer morning, at seeing three great kites
soaring above the German line. There is much to be said for men who enjoy
flying kites. Once they mounted a dummy figure of a man on their parapet.
Tommy had great sport shooting at it, the Germans jiggling its arms and
legs in a most laughable manner whenever a hit was registered. In their
eagerness to "get a good bead" on the figure, the men threw caution to
the winds, and stood on