was taking place, both on the right and left
of our position.

"Well," thought I, "this is a good start; they might have waited for
daylight, I could then film their proceedings." At any rate, if the
attack came, I hoped it would last through the next day.

Switching off the light, we lay down and awaited events. But not for
long. The order came to man the trench. Out we tumbled, and took up our
positions. Suddenly out of the blackness, in the direction of the German
positions, came the rattle of rifle-fire, and the bullets began to
whistle overhead. Keeping as low as possible, we replied, firing in
quick succession at the flashes of the enemy rifles. This continued
throughout the night.

Towards morning a fog settled down, which blocked out our view of each
other, and there was a lull in the fighting. At midday the attack
started again. Taking my apparatus, I filmed a section of Belgians in
action. Several times bullets whistled unpleasantly near my head.
Passing along the trench, I filmed a mitrailleuse battery in action,
which was literally mowing down the Germans as fast as they appeared.
Then I filmed another section of men, while the bullets were flying all
around them. Several could not resist looking round and laughing at the
camera.

Whilst thus engaged, several shells fell within thirty feet of me. Two
failed to explode; another exploded and sent a lump of mud full in my
face. With great spluttering, and I must admit a little swearing, I
quickly cleaned it off. Then I filmed a large shell-hole filled with
water, caused by the explosion of a German "Jack Johnson."

The diameter was 28 feet across, and, roughly, 6 feet deep in the
centre. At the other end of the line I filmed a company damming the
Canal, to turn it into the German trenches.

Then I cautiously made my way back, and filmed a section being served
with hot coffee while under fire. Coming upon some men warming
themselves round a bucket-stove, I joined the circle for a little
warmth. How comforting it was in that veritable morass. Even as we
chatted we were subjected to a heavy shrapnel attack, and the way we all
scuttled to the trench huts was a sight for the gods. It was one mad
scramble of laughing soldiers. Plunk--plunk--plunk--came the shells, not
20-25 feet from where we were sitting by the fire. Six shells fell in
our position, one failed to explode. I had a bet with a Belgian officer
that it was 30 feet from us. He bet me it was 40 feet