the whole road from either flank.

I filmed the waiting Fusiliers. Some of them looked happy and gay,
others sat with stern, set faces, realising the great task in front of
them.

I had finished taking my scenes, and asked an officer if the Colonel was
there.

"No, but you may find him in 'White City.' He was there about an hour
ago. Great heavens," he said, "who would have believed that a
'movie-man' would be here, the nearest point to Bosche lines on the
whole front. You must like your job. Hanged if I envy you. Anyway, hope
to see you after the show, if I haven't 'gone West.' Cheero," and with
that he left me.

Packing up my camera, I prepared to return. Time was getting on. It was
now 6.30 a.m. The attack was timed for 7.20. As I wanted to obtain some
scenes of our men taking up their final positions, I told my guide to
start.

"Duck as low as possible," I said, "when you cross the road."

"We can't go yet, sir; munitions are being brought through, and, as you
know, there isn't room to pass one another."

I waited until the last man had come in from the sap, then, practically
on hands and knees, made for the sap mouth.

"Cheer up, boys," I shouted to the men as I parted from them, "best of
luck; hope to see you in the village."

"Hope so, sir," came a general chorus in reply. Again I struggled
through the narrow slit, then down the shaft and finally into the
tunnel. We groped our way along as best we could. The place was full of
men. It was only possible to get my tripod and camera along by passing
it from one to another. Then as the men stooped low I stepped over them,
eventually reaching the other end--and daylight.

The "strafe" was still on, but not quite so violent. Our parapets were
in a sorry condition, battered out of all shape.

Returning through King Street, I was just in time to film some of the
men fixing bayonets before being sent to their respective stations in
the firing trench. The great moment was drawing near. I admit I was
feeling a wee bit nervous. The mental and nervous excitement under such
conditions was very great. Every one was in a state of suppressed
excitement. On the way I passed an officer I knew.

"Are you going over?" I said.

"Rather," he replied, "the whole lot of us. Some stunt, eh!"

"Don't forget," I said, "the camera will be on you; good luck!"

Bidding my man collect the tripod and camera, I made for the position on
Jacob's Ladder. But I was to receive a rud