along."

We proceeded by way of "King Street" to "Lanwick Street," and several
times we had to fall flat in the trench bottom to escape being hit by
shells. They seemed at times to burst almost overhead. The "whizz-bangs"
which Fritz puts over are rather little beggars; you have no time to
dodge them. They come with a "phut" and a bang that for sheer speed
knocks spots off a flash of lightning. One only thinks to duck when the
beastly thing has gone off.

"Lanwick Street" was the usual sort of trench. At one end was an
artillery observation officer, correcting the range of his guns.

"Go easy, won't you?" he said to me. "Bosche has an idea we use this
corner for something rather important. If he sees your camera we shall
certainly receive his attention. For Heaven's sake, keep your head
down."

"Right-o!" I said. "Lend me your periscope; I will have a look at the
ground first through that."

I looked on the village, or rather the late site of it. It was
absolutely flattened out, with the exception of a few remaining stumps
of trees, which used to be a beautiful wood, near which the village
nestled.

"That's been done by our guns in five days; some mess, eh?"

"My word, yes. Now about this afternoon's bombardment; they are working
on the left-hand corner."

I chose a spot for working and fixing up my tripod, and waited until
4.30 p.m.

In the meantime, with the aid of a stick, I gradually pushed away
several sandbags which interfered with my view on the parapet. To do
this it was necessary to raise myself head and shoulders above the top
and, with one arm pushed forward, I worked the bags clear. I felt much
better when that job was done.

"You're lucky," said the A.O. "I had one of my periscopes hit clean by a
bullet this morning. Fritz must be having a nap, or he would have had
you for a cert."

"Anyway," I replied, "it gives me a comparatively clear view now."

Time was drawing near. I prepared my camera by clothing it in an old
piece of sacking, and gently raising it on to the tripod I screwed it
tight. Then gradually raising my head to the view-finder, I covered the
section which was going to be "strafed," and wrapping my hand in a khaki
handkerchief, waited.

Our guns were simply pouring shells on the Bosche. The first of the
15-inch came over and exploded with a deafening roar. The sight was
stupefying.

I began to expose my film, swinging the camera first on one side then
the other. Shell after