"'Spect we'll have to dig the lead out of the dead men's bodies next," groused Bill, as he went down the trenches to collect the fly-covered jam tins. These were sent down to the beach in bags, causing many a grouse on the way. Rumour had it that some Jew had made a contract for the empty tins, another yarn was that they were for growing flowers round the General's dug-out. But mysterious and resourceful are the ways of the General Staff! These jam tins were redelivered to The Kangaroo Marines next day in the shape of bombs.
"Well I'm jiggered!" said Bill. "First they puts jam in tins, next they puts bombs in them."
"And then they'll shove you in them," interjected Claud.
"Prime Australian beef, fresh tinned, straight from the Dardanelles. That would look well on a label."
"Yis couldn't do that with Bill," said Paddy.
Bang! came a Turkish bomb at that moment, scattering the group into their shelters below the parapets.
"Ye dirty, mouldy-faced sons of dog-eatin', blue-nosed spalpeens--Oi'll bomb yis," roared Paddy, gripping a jam tin and lighting the fuse.
Bang! it went. Bang! Bang! Bang! went more.
"_Some_ jam," said Bill, as he watched through the periscope. And then they heard moaning, shrieks, and shouts of "Allah, Allah."
"More jam," ordered Bill. And more jam they received. It wasn't sweet, and certainly unpalatable. And it didn't stick. Tins labelled "Apricot," "Marmalade," "Black Currant," and "Raspberry," went hurtling through the air, then burst in a very nasty way above the poor old Turks' trenches. This battle of jam bombs made the Turks much more respectful for a time. Indeed, one of the officers, who must have been a sportsman, flung over a note, on which was written:
"DEAR AUSTRALIANS,--We like jam--in fact, we could do with a tin of it, but not that dam--jam--jammy stuff you were putting over last night.--Yours fraternally,
"By Jove! He's a sport--let's chuck him a tin," said Claud. And over it went. The Turks scattered and waited, but there was no explosion. With a smile the Turkish officer picked up the tin. Unfastening a note tied round it, he read:
"DEAR YUSSEF,--This is the _real_ stuff. By the way, you were at Rugby with me. Shall be sorry to kill you.--Yours, etc.,