ever seen from a picture point
of view. There, in front of us, at a distance of six hundred yards, was
the river Somme--the name which will go down to history as the most
momentous in this the bloodiest war the world has ever known.

There it glistened, winding its way north and south like a silver snake.

"Come along," I said, "I shall get the first picture of the Somme," and
we raced away down the road.

In calmer moments at home I have admitted that we were mad. Nobody in
their right senses would have done such a thing as to rush headlong into
country which might have been thick with enemy snipers and machine-guns.
But the quietness of the grave reigned--not a rifle-shot disturbed the
silence.

Evidence of the German retreat met our gaze as we ran down the road. On
either side were discarded material and, in a quarry on the left, a
German Red Cross sign was stuck up on a post, and several dug-outs were
burning--smoke was pouring up from below, showing that the Hun was
destroying everything.

I was brought to a standstill at the sight of a mass of wreckage near
the river. Smoke was issuing from it. I looked on my map and saw that it
was the village of Brie; a small section was this side of the river, but
the main part was on the other side. The whole place had been completely
destroyed, partly, I ultimately found out, by our gun-fire, and the
remainder burnt or blown up by the Germans.

The river had developed into a swampy marsh; in fact it was very
difficult to say precisely where the river and canal finished and the
marshes began.

I again got my camera into action and filmed, for the first time, the
Somme river which was directly in our line of advance.

The bridges were blown up; huge masses of stone and iron, twisted and
torn and flung into the morass of weeds and mud and water, forming small
dams, thus diverting the river in all directions. Several scenes on this
historic spot I filmed, then, wishing to push forward, I attempted to
cross the broken bridges. By careful manoeuvring I managed to cross
the first, then the second, but a large gap blown in the roadway about
forty feet across, through which the water rushed in a torrent, brought
me to a standstill, so reluctantly I had to retrace my steps.

Except for the sound of rushing water the quietness was almost
uncanny--the excitement of the chase was over. Then I began to realise
our position.

We were in a section of ground which the enemy had oc