With such delights awaiting them only a few miles to the rear, it's no wonder that men prayed for a “blighty” – a small wound that would not incapacitate them for life, but would get them out of the line for a month or even a week. . . . a stray bullet pierced Moore's left foot. Moore cried out, not with pain, but with delight. ¶ “Oh,” he shouted, “it's a beauty, Vic! What a present from the Red Devil! It's a Blighty, I'll bet a dollar.”