dirt and even bits of metal into our own
trenches.

I have often tried to call to memory the intellectual, mental and
nervous activity through which I passed during that hour of hellish
bombardment and counter-bombardment, that last hour before we leapt
out of our trenches into No Man's Land. I give the vague recollection
of that ordeal for what it is worth. I had an excessive desire for the
time to come when I could go "over the top," when I should be free at
last from the noise of the bombardment, free from the prison of my
trench, free to walk across that patch of No Man's Land and opposing
trenches till I got to my objective, or, if I did not go that far, to
have my fate decided for better or for worse. I experienced, too,
moments of intense fear during close bombardment. I felt that if I was
blown up it would be the end of all things so far as I was concerned.
The idea of after-life seemed ridiculous in the presence of such
frightful destructive force. Again the prayer of that old cavalier
kept coming to my mind. At any rate, one could but do one's best, and
I hoped that a higher power than all that which was around would not
overlook me or any other fellows on that day. At one time, not very
long before the moment of attack, I felt to its intensest depth the
truth of the proverb, "Carpe diem." What was time? I had another
twenty minutes in which to live in comparative safety. What was the
difference between twenty minutes and twenty years? Really and truly
what was the difference? I was living at present, and that was enough.
I am afraid that this working of mind will appear unintelligible. I
cannot explain it further. I think that others who have waited to "go
over" will realise its meaning. Above all, perhaps, and except when
shells falling near by brought one back to reality, the intense
cascade-like noise of our own shells rushing overhead numbed for the
most part of the time one's nervous and mental system. Listening to
this pandemonium, one felt like one of an audience at a theatre and
not in the least as if one was in any way associated with it oneself.

Still, the activity of a man's nerves, though dulled to a great
extent inwardly, were bound to show externally. I turned to the
corporal. He was a brave fellow, and had gone through the Gallipoli
campaign, but he was shaking all over, and white as parchment. I
expect that I was just the same.

"We must be giving them hell," I said. "I don't think they'r