Western Mail, Thursday 19 January 1933, page 2

Gas

Our arrival at Plug-street, in '16 coincided with the use of gas as an instrument, of warfare and as none of the mob were quite sure as to how it would smell, we were all warned to take no risks. After "lights out" on the first night someone yelled, "Gas!" Immediately there was a hurried rush to don masks. Then followed an hour and a half's agonised suffering and sweating whilst gongs and sirens sounded for miles along the line. At last our O.G. came along and gave permission to remove our nosebags, announcing that it was a false alarm and had been traced to our dugout. Nobody would accept the blame, and we were just preparing to go to bed again when "Marty" produced a huge half-eaten raw onion.

Then his offsider let it out, "Blimey, that's the - thing I smelt."

"Mick" (Fremantle).