ght almost say thousands, of incidents that to the eye were of
enthralling interest, but to have filmed them with the idea of
conveying that interest on the screen would have been so much wasted
effort. Even the kinematograph has its limitations.

Over my head all the time, like a huge sword, hung the thought of
British public opinion, and the opinion of neutral countries. They would
accept nothing unless there was great excitement in it; unless the
pictures contained such "thrills" as they had never seen before, and had
never dreamed possible. Once I had secured that thrill I could then--and
only then--take the preparatory scenes, depicting the ordinary life and
action of the men and the organisation which are necessary to run the
war. Such scenes--interesting as they undoubtedly are--without that
"thrill" would have fallen flat, would have been of no use, from the
exhibition point of view, and I had always to bear that fact in mind.

I have spent many sleepless nights wondering how and where I was to
obtain that magnetic thrill, that minute incident, probably only ten per
cent of which would carry the remaining ninety per cent to success. One
that would positively satisfy the public.

I had been filming a lot of stuff lately, but when I looked through my
list, excellent as the scenes were--many of which I would probably never
be able to get again--they struck me as lacking "thrill." That was what
I required. So I set out to get it.

The Australians had just captured Pozieres, and hearing that the Bosche
were continually "strafing" it I decided to make for that quarter with
the object of getting a good bombardment. If possible, I would also get
into the village itself where there ought to be some very good pictures,
for the capture had only taken place two days previously.

Pozieres then it should be. Leaving my base early in the morning I made
my way through Becourt Wood and beyond, up "Sausage Valley"--why that
name I don't know. The whole area was crowded with men of the Australian
division.

As there was no road I took my car over the grass, or rather all that
was left of it. The place was covered with shell-holes. Driving between,
and more often than not into them, was rather a tiresome job, but it
saved several miles of tramping with heavy stuff. "Sausage Valley"
during this period was anything but healthy. I was warned about it as I
left an Australian battery where I had stayed to make a few enquiries. A
m