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Updated: May 2, 2025


Crumps were still falling, and so was the rain. "We'll go through 'Lanwick Street, then bear to the left, and don't forget to keep your head down." There are two things I detest more than anything else in the trenches: they are "whizz-bangs" and rats.

The "whizz-bangs" which Fritz puts over are rather little beggars; you have no time to dodge them. They come with a "phut" and a bang that for sheer speed knocks spots off a flash of lightning. One only thinks to duck when the beastly thing has gone off. "Lanwick Street" was the usual sort of trench. At one end was an artillery observation officer, correcting the range of his guns.

"By my map, a spot called 'Lanwick Street' seems likely," I said. "It's bang opposite the village, and they are putting the 15-inch on the eastern corner. If you will be good enough to guide me, I will have a look now; it will take me some time to fix up my camera in reasonable safety." "You won't find much safety there," he replied.

"We have practically to rebuild the parapet every night, but only for a few more days, thank Heaven! Anyway, come along." We proceeded by way of "King Street" to "Lanwick Street," and several times we had to fall flat in the trench bottom to escape being hit by shells. They seemed at times to burst almost overhead.

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