ty frequently. I set up the camera
and waited. Away on the opposite hill shells were falling thickly. I
started filming them and got some interesting bursts, both high
explosive and H.E. shrapnel.

Now for Pozieres. The enemy must have been putting 9-inch and 12-inch
stuff in there, for they were sending up huge clouds of smoke and
debris. I secured some excellent scenes. First Pozieres, then
Contalmaison. My camera was first on one then on the other. For a change
Bosche whizz-banged the battery. I could see now why he was so anxious
to crump it, for lying all around me in their carriers, were hundreds of
gas shells. I was in fact standing on them. They were all unused, and if
Fritz got a good one home, well good-bye to everything.

One time I thought I would seek the shelter of a dug-out, but the fire
swept away in the opposite direction. By careful manoeuvring I managed
to film the German guns there. Every one of the four was quite smashed
up. An excellent example of artillery fire, and by the date upon them
they were of the latest pattern.

In all there were three batteries in that small area, making twelve
guns. But out of the twelve sufficient parts were found intact to make
one good one, so that Fritz would get "some of his own" back in a way
that he least expected; for there were thousands of rounds of ammunition
found in the dug-outs beneath the gun pits.

How to get into Pozieres was the next problem. I had, while filming,
been making mental notes as to the section which Fritz did not
"strafe," and that place, by all that's wonderful, was the actual thing
he was undoubtedly trying for--the road.

By hugging the bank-side, along which here and there I could spot a few
funk-holes, I managed to get into the chalk-pit. Here I filmed various
scenes, but Bosche, as usual, kept me on the jump with his shrapnel,
forcing me to take hurried shelter from time to time.

There is one thing I shall always thank Fritz for, and that is his
dug-outs. If he only knew how useful they had been to me on many
occasions I am sure he would feel flattered.

From the chalk-pit to Pozieres was no great distance. The ground was
littered with every description of equipment, just as it had been left
by the flying Huns, and dead bodies were everywhere. The place looked a
veritable shambles. Believe me, I went along that road very gingerly,
picking my way between the shell bursts. Just before I reached the place
the firing suddenly ce