vidently tried to take it away with their other loot, but finding it
too heavy for quick transport had abandoned, then wilfully destroyed it
to prevent its being used by others.

The place was as silent as the grave. I filmed a few scenes which
appealed to me, and was on the move towards the further end of the road
when two of our cyclists suddenly came into view. I hurried up to them.

"Any news?" I asked. "Where's Bosche?"

The men were half dead with fatigue. Their legs were caked inches thick
in mud, and it was only by a tremendous effort that they were able to
lift their feet as they walked. They were pushing their cycles; the mud
was caked thick between the wheels and the mudguards forming in itself a
brake on the tyres. Fagged out as they obviously were they tried to
smile at the reply one made.

"Yes, the Bosche is about here outside the village," said one. "We had a
small strong point last night over there," pointing in the distance,
"myself and two pals. We were sitting in the hole smoking when nine
Bosches jumped in on us. Well, sir, they managed to send my pal West,
but that's all. Then we started and six Fritzes are lying out there now.
The other three escaped. It made my blood boil, sir, when they did in my
pal. I'm going to make a wooden cross, and then bury him. We had been
together for a long time, sir, and--well--I miss my pal, but we got six
for him and more to come, sir, more to come before we've finished."

I thanked the man and sympathised with him over his loss and
complimented him on his fight.

"But it's not enough yet, sir, not enough."

The two then struggled away, bent on their errand of making a cross for
a pal. And as they disappeared among the ruins I wondered how many men
in the world could boast of such a true friend. Very few, worse luck!

* * * * *

The sharp crack of a rifle quickly brought me back to earth. A bullet
struck the wall close by. I dived under cover of some bricks dragging my
camera after me. Another came over seeming to strike the spot I had just
vacated. I decided to keep the ruins between myself and the gentle
Bosche. Scenes were very scarce, no matter where one looked it was just
ruins, ruins, ruins.

I wandered on until I came to a long black building, evidently put up by
the Huns. It was quite intact, which to me seemed suspicious. It might
hide a German sniper. I put my camera behind a wall then quietly edged
near the build