ith a shriek and a
flash, a shell fell and exploded before I had time to take shelter. It
was only a few feet away. What happened after I hardly know. There was
the grinding crash of a bursting shell; something struck my tripod, the
whole thing, camera and all, was flung against me. I clutched it and
staggered back, holding it in my arms. I dragged it into a
shrapnel-proof shelter, sat down and looked for the damage. A piece of
the shell had struck the tripod and cut the legs clean in half, on one
side, carrying about six inches of it away. The camera, thank heaven,
was untouched.

Calling my man, we hastily found some pieces of wood, old telephone wire
and string, and within an hour had improvised legs, rigid enough to
continue taking scenes.

I again set up my camera. Our gun-fire was still terrible, but the
Germans had shortened their range and were evidently putting a barrage
on our men, who had presumably reached the enemy's front trenches.
Nobody knew anything definitely. Wounded men began to arrive. There was
a rush for news.

"How are things going?" we asked.

"We have taken their first and second line," said one.

An officer passed on a stretcher.

"How are things going?"

"God knows," he said. "I believe we have got through their first line
and part of the village, but don't know whether we shall be able to hold
out; we have been thinned shockingly."

"Have you been successful?" he asked me.

"Yes, I've got the whole of the attack."

"Good man," he said.

First one rumour then another came through. There was nothing definite.
The fighting over there was furious. I filmed various scenes of our
wounded coming in over the parapet; then through the trenches. Lines of
them were awaiting attention.

Scenes crowded upon me. Wounded and more wounded; men who a few hours
before had leaped over the parapet full of life and vigour were now
dribbling back. Some of them shattered and broken for life. But it was
one of the most glorious charges ever made in the history of the world.
These men had done their bit.

"Hullo," I said to one passing through on a stretcher, "got a
'blighty'?"

"Yes, sir," he said; "rather sure Blighty for me."

"And for me too," said another lad lying with him waiting attention, "I
shan't be able to play footer any more. Look!" I followed the direction
of his finger, and could see through the rough bandages that his foot
had been taken completely off. Yet he was still cheerful