[illegible] was the next man I tackled and he said "Well, if you think it funny to have to walk from Liverpool Street Station to Tottenham after a hard game with Southampton with a crowd of men not in the best of tempers at having missed the last train you can put it in, but I must admit I was too tired to enjoy the humour of the situation".

I was feeling rather tired myself by this time. The worst Christmas time I spent was playing for Halifax in the Midland League against Scunthorpe. We had to drive there in a motor char-a-banc, starting at 6 a.m (it makes me shudder to think of it!) and we arrived at 1.30 p.m. frozen, and miserable. We kicked off at 2.30 and played in a snowstorm, left at five, got back to Halifax at one o'clock next morning, and had another match that afternoon. It was certainly rather - er - fatiguing, but scarcely more so than trying to write articles for dreamy editors upon impossible subjects like "Footballers' Humourous Experiences at Christmas Time". But, if the experiences are not exactly funny, they may be interesting, and may awaken the editors to the fact that Christmas is not all fireside and chestnuts for everybody.

F.B.P.

Cupid on Skates.

Swiftly sliding, Smooth gliding, Skating through the joyous throng. Dress so tasteful, She's so graceful That she seems to float along.

Cheeks more rosy Than a posy Eyes that sparkle in the sun; Lips just twitching So bewitching Fain would laugh, life is such fun.

All admiring, Love inspiring See! She's making straight for me. All the others Think we're lovers Move off discontentedly.

So we would be If I could be but alas! I cannot skate; My legs slipping Catch her tripping, My love's crushed beneath that weight.

T.G.

Anitra's Dance. Peer Gynt Suite.

She cowers against the cold face of the rock, With trembling heart And frightened eyes. Driven by fear she tries To hide herself apart From the unseen who in the darkness mock.

J.A.W.

BC Archives, MS-2570 Box 1 File 6 / MIST, Henry Masterman / Ruhleben magazine, Prisoners’ Pie, 1916.