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Updated: May 1, 2025
There was no disorder in the hut. Many a time have I seen sleeping men in more grotesque attitudes. But the open jacket and the blood-stained shirt told probably of a miserable being who had crept inside to die. A red triangular flag hanging limply from a lance stuck in the chalk-bank near a roughly-contrived tarpaulin and pit-prop shelter revealed the infantry brigadier's headquarters.
While there several shells crashed in and around the road we had just left. I was glad I was safely through. With the exception of the usual heavy shelling, getting down to the front trench was quite uneventful. My objective was a place called "The White City," so called because it is cut out of the chalk-bank of our position facing Beaumont Hamel.
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