Blake : Hey, did you hear that story about Wilko? How he lost his ear? Schofield : I'm not in the mood. Keep your eyes on the trees, top of the ridge. Blake : Bet he told you it was shrapnel. Schofield : What was it then? Blake : Well, you know his girl's a hairdresser, right? And he was moaning about the lack of bathing facilities when he wrote to her. Remember those rancid jakes at Arras? Schofield : Yeah. Blake : Anyway, she sends him over this hair oil. Smells sweet, like Golden Syrup. Wilko loves the smell, but he doesn't want to cart it around in his pack. So, he slathers it all over his barnet, goes to sleep and in the middle of the night he wakes up, and a rat is sitting on his shoulder licking the oil off his head! [Schofield laughs] Wilko panics, and he jumps up, and when he does, the rat bites clean through his **** ear and runs off with it! Schofield : [laughing] No! Blake : He made a hell of a fuss, yellin', screamin'; the best part of it was, he put so much bloody oil on himself that he couldn't wash it off! He was like a magnet ! Rats left us alone, but they couldn't get enough of him. Poor bastard.

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