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Updated: June 21, 2025
The stories we had heard of the Bosches being in the third and fourth lines of our systems in the March advance, before it was known that an attack was taking place, came vividly into our minds, and our great anxiety was that we should not be caught like rats in a trap.
The Guards seemed to have had a rather good bag, as I noticed that most of the Bosches were brought in under care of guardsmen. One Tommy came in the proud possessor of six. From the immediate fighting ground I made my way towards Trones Wood, upon the outskirts of which the Guards had their dressing station.
Here were no shell-torn fields, no woods beaten out of all semblance to anything, no earth upon which thousands of men had poured out their blood; but, here in front of us, a veritable heaven. "Come along," I said, "let's explore. If there are any Bosches about they'll soon let us know of their presence. Let's get on to that other ridge; the Somme river should be there somewhere."
An old Rittmeister held it, his breast covered with decorations, and he just wouldn't give in. Of course, so long as he stuck it the other Bosches did too, and there was nothing doing in the Kamerad line. They fought like fury. So did our men, but we were slightly outnumbered, and it soon began to be evident that we should have to retire if we didn't get reinforcements.
I suppose there's some low-down political rig at the back of it all, but the whole business must be perfect jam for the Bosches in Berlin." "What's the trouble?" inquired Major Kemp. "Conscription, mostly. The Conscription crowd, with whom one would naturally side if they would play the game, seem to be out to unseat the Government as a preliminary.
Why people should apparently discount death as some of these civilians seemed to do, passed our powers of comprehension; it never ceased to be an astonishing thing to me. There was great air activity during that period on the part of the Bosches and with a reason.
The Huns, it appeared, had been too hustled by the Allies to do much frightfulness beyond the usual looting, but they had inflicted enormous losses on the pigs of La Ferté. It reminded me of the satirical headline in a Paris newspaper, over a paragraph announcing a great slaughter of pigs in Germany owing to the shortage of maize "Les Bosches s'entregorgent!"
The deadly silence was uncanny in the extreme; in fact I seemed to fear it more than the bombardment. It seemed to me too quiet to be healthy. What was Bosche up to? There must be some reason for it. I took cover in a shallow trench at the roadside. Along the bottom were lying several dead Bosches, and a short distance away fragments of human remains were strewn around.
This would mean at least a rest before the next fight, he told himself. These "drâgons" seemed exceedingly intelligent and superior men. They were quite preoccupied, like men who are going to do something. There was none of that inane shouting "A bas les Bosches." Later on, some transport columns were passed, and the men descended from their wagons and distributed bread to the English.
"I'd seen so much of his plans that they remained printed on my brain, and I could if I would set that biplane on its wings again almost as easily as if I had invented it. "Odd that the Bosches and I both trusted Herter, seeing he must be false to one side or other! But he's that sort of man. And I always take a tip from my own instinct before listening to my reason.
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