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Updated: June 22, 2025
I tumbled out, followed by the others. Lumps of earth fell on our heads; I certainly thought the roof was coming in on us. Getting into the trench, the bombardment was still going strong, and looking on my left I saw a dense cloud of smoke in our own firing trench. "What in the world's up?" I enquired of a man close by. "Dunno, sir," he said. "I believe it's a Bosche mine.
Holon-Selency, Francilly-Selency, Fayet and Villerete had fallen to our victorious troops, but the main attack was not yet. To obtain scenes of our men actually in the front line trenches facing the town, I made my way through Savy and Savy Wood, in which not a single tree was left standing by the Bosche.
"Yes," he said. "Brother Bosche will enjoy it." "Let me see your map," I said, "and I'll point out the spot where I'm working. It's about eighty yards away from Bosche. If we work out the exact degree by the map of the 'blow, I can obtain the right direction by prismatic compass, and a few minutes before 'time' lift the camera up and cover the spot direct.
Having obtained all the pictures I required I thanked the C.O. and went on my way. My clothes were absolutely saturated with perspiration as I shambled away towards the top end of Bernafay Wood. I looked back at the battery. Bosche was still "strafing."
The Bosche sent over several aerial torpedoes, which exploded with terrific force and split up the ground as if a 12-inch H.E. shell had been at work. Naturally every one rushed to obtain as much cover as possible. I crossed to the other side of the Quarry, and entered a small tunnel, which led into a winding maze of narrow communication trenches. "Be careful, sir," called a sentry.
Frequent patrols were sent out, and the Bosche paid us a certain amount of attention both with high explosives and gas, and at night turned on his machine guns along the routes by which rations came up, but at no time could it have been called anything but a quiet sector.
I put it to my ear and rested the other end upon a ledge of mud. The effect was like some one speaking through a telephone. I could distinctly hear the impact of the pickaxe wielded by the Bosche upon the clay and chalk, and the falling of the débris. I turned to him with a smile. "Brother Bosche will shortly have a rise in life?" "Yes," said he, "I think we shall 'blow' first.
I shouldn't go if I were you unless you get further information; I am expecting another patrol in from there. If you care to wait a few minutes you may learn something." I agreed to wait, the "still" man came in just then, and he agreed to come with me. "We may as well risk it," I said. "I will take my old bus into the place. If Bosche sees it he may mistake it again for an armoured car."
I had to take every precaution in getting my machine in position, keeping it close to the bank, as a false step would have exposed the position to the Bosche, who would have immediately turned on H.E. shrapnel, and might have enfiladed the whole road from either flank. I filmed the waiting Fusiliers.
"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.
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