. What was known as the Flers line was
everywhere penetrated, and all gains were held. The Tanks did splendid
work. They advanced well ahead of the infantry, and battered down
barbed wire, overran trenches, smashed machine-gun emplacements,
killing the gun crews, and even waddled as far as the village of
Gueudecourt. There they effected much execution and caused great panic
among the enemy reserves, which were concentrating for the inevitable
counter attack.

Thus the battle continued, sometimes breaking out into fierce fights
and at other times reduced to isolated scraps, but all the time (p. 033)
the enemy was being gradually and relentlessly pushed down into
the valley, and the villages of Morval, Les Boeufs, and Gueudecourt
fell into our hands.

It was almost uncanny the way in which villages would completely
disappear. For instance, at the time when these hamlets first came
within our vision, on our reaching the crest of the hill, they appeared
almost intact, but a few days rendered them unrecognisable--they had
become merely so many heaps of rubble. There are many places on the
Somme which have literally not one brick standing on top of another,
and one would never imagine for a moment that a prosperous little
village had ever existed there.

Many changes of battery positions were made, and, whenever possible,
we burrowed down into the ground, as the enemy's heavy pieces were out
after our blood. The great concentration of guns and the few suitable
localities for placing them in action added to our difficulties, and
we were thus rendered an easy target for the hostile counter
batteries. Innumerable brigades were huddled close together, in what
was known as the Death Valley, for the simple reason that there was no
other suitable spot wherein to place them, and heavy casualties
resulted. We had the good fortune, however, to be somewhat isolated
from the others, and occupied a forward position, where the guns were
hidden in an old German communication trench. The enemy never found
it, but subjected us, now and again, to a general burst of harassing
fire: his main volume of hate passed us by far overhead.

And, meanwhile, what of our friend the F.O.O.? In those days his lot
was by no means an enviable one, and it was a task of no mean
magnitude to keep communications going between the trenches and the
guns. However, it had to be done, or at least attempted, and the
following is a brief account of a typical day