us--it evidently amuses him," he said, with a smile. "There is one
section where you will have to run the gauntlet--for you are in full
view of the lines. Keep down as low as possible."

I thanked the C.O. and went ahead. The weather was now perfect--a
cloudless blue sky flecked here and there by the furry white balls of
our bursting shrapnel around Hun aeroplanes, keeping them well above
observation range.

I noticed a flight of our men winging their way over enemy lines. I
could hear the rapid fire of the Bosche anti-aircraft guns, and see
their black balls of shrapnel burst. But our birdmen went on their way
without a moment's hesitation. I recalled the time when I was up among
the clouds, filming the Bosche lines thirteen thousand feet above mother
earth.

Suddenly a sharp crack, crack and whir of a machine-gun rang out. A
fight was going on up there; our anti-aircraft guns ceased, being afraid
of hitting our own men, but the Bosche still kept on.

It was impossible to see the progress of the fight; the whole flock was
now directly overhead. Watching the "strafe" with such keen interest,
this point quite escaped me until pieces of shrapnel began to fall
around in alarming proportions, causing me to beat a hasty retreat out
of range, though I still hung about in the hope of a Bosche machine
being brought down, thereby providing me with a thrilling scene. But it
did not happen. The airmen disappeared in a southerly direction, still
fighting until the sharp cracks of the guns droned away in the distance.

In a few minutes I came in full view of one of our strong points in the
shape of a disused quarry. Around the inner lip our Tommies had made a
series of funk-holes, which looked quite picturesque in the bright
sunlight.

Machine-gun parties were there ready for anything that might turn up; in
the far corner a group of Frenchmen were chattering volubly to a knot of
our men.

This certainly was a most interesting scene--the point of "liaison"
between the two great armies, France and Britain. I noticed by fresh
shell-holes that Bosche had a rather bad habit of annoying the place
with his pip-squeaks, but generally they only resulted in scoring a
Blighty for more or one of the occupants--and, for others, they were a
source of amusement in the shape of gambling on the spot the next one
would fall.

I filmed various sections here, then, having partaken of a little tea, I
wended my way to the trenches. I kept low