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s, in this nerve-shattering prelude to the Great Push, I could hear the sweet warblings of a lark, as it rose higher and higher in the murky, misty sky. At one place I had to pass through a narrow lane, and on either side were hidden batteries, sending round upon round into the German trenches, always under keen observation from enemy-spotting balloons and aeroplanes. The recent shell-holes in the roadway made me pause before proceeding further. I noticed a sergeant of the Lancashire Fusiliers at the entrance to a thickly sand-bagged shelter, and asked him if there was another way to the section of the front line I sought. "No, sir," he said, "that is the only way; but it's mighty unhealthy just now. The Hun is crumpling it with his 5.9-inch H.E., and making a tidy mess of the road. But he don't hit our guns, sir. He just improves their appearance by making a nice little frill of earth around them, he does, and--look out, sir; come in here. "Here she comes!" With a murderous shriek and horrible splitting roar a German shell burst on the roadway about fifty yards away. "That is Fritz's way of making love, sir," he said, with a chuckle; which remark admirably reflects the marvellous morale of our men. "Have they been shelling the avenues much?" I asked, referring to the various communication trenches leading to the front line. "Yes, sir. Nos. 1, 2 and 3 are being severely crumped. I would suggest No. 5, sir; it's as clear as any of them. I should advise you to get along this lane as fast as possible. I have been here some time, so I know Fritz's little ways." He saluted, and like a mole disappeared into his dug-out as I moved away. I told my man to keep about ten yards behind me, so that in the event of a shell bursting near by one or the other of us would have a chance of clearing. "Now," I said, "let it go at a double. Come on," and with head well forward I raced up the road. Altogether, with my camera, I was carrying about seventy pounds in weight, so you can guess it was no easy matter. There was about another 150 yards to go, when I heard the ominous shriek of a German shell. "Down in the ditch," I yelled. "Lie flat," and suiting the action to the word, I flung myself down in the mud and water near a fallen tree. Crash came the shell, and it exploded with a deafening roar more on the side of the road than the previous one, and near enough to shower mud and water all over me as I lay there.
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