kily none of the staff were killed. Leaving the farm, we made our way
on foot to Ploegsteert Wood. A terrible amount of "strafing" was going
on here. Shells were exploding all round, and our guns were replying
with "interest." As we made our way cautiously up to the side of the
wood, with mud half way up to our knees, we scrambled, or rather
waddled, round the base of the much-contested hill, which the Germans
tried their hardest to keep, but which, thanks to the Canadians, we
wrested from them.

Under cover of canvas screens, which in many places were blown away by
shell-fire, and bending low to save our heads from the snipers' bullets,
we gained the communication trenches. Again wading knee-deep in mud and
water, we eventually reached the firing trench.

The German front line was only sixty-five yards away, and the town of
Messines could be seen in the distance.

Staying in this section of trench, I filmed several scenes of the men at
work repairing and rebuilding the sides which the night previous had
been destroyed by shell-fire and the heavy rains. Then followed scenes
of relief parties coming in, and working parties hard at it trying to
drain their dug-outs. This latter seemed to me an almost superhuman
task; but through it all, the men smiled. Bending low, I raced across an
open space, and with a jump landed in an advanced sniper's post, in a
ruined farm-house. I filmed him, carefully and coolly picking off the
Germans foolish enough to show their heads.

Then I set my camera up behind what I thought quite a safe screen, to
film a general view of our front line, but I had hardly started exposing
when, with murderous little shrieks, two bullets whizzed close by my
head--quite as near as I shall ever want them. Dropping as low as
possible, I reached up, and still turning the handle finished the scene.
Then followed several pictures of scouts and snipers making their way
across the ground, taking advantage of any slight cover they could get,
in order to take up suitable positions for their work.

By this time the light was getting rather bad, and as it was still
raining hard I made my way back. During the return journey, an officer
who accompanied me showed himself unknowingly above the parapet, and
"zipp" came a bullet, which ripped one of the stars off his coat.

"Jove!" said he, with the greatest of _sang-froid_, "that's a near
thing; but it's spoilt my shoulder-strap": and with a laugh we went on
our way.