y the brown mud of crater rims down to the
hill's edge. And I think the line could not see it either, in most parts
at any rate. They would start from their muddy parapet, and over the wet
grass, with one idea above all others in the back of every man's
head--when shall we begin to catch sight of the enemy?

It is curious how in this country of shell craters you can look at a
trench without realising that it is a trench. A mud-heap parapet is not
so different from the mud-heap round a crater's rim, except that it is
more regular. Even to discover your own trench is often like finding a
bush road. You are told that there is a trench over there and you cannot
miss it. But, once you have left your starting-point, it looks as if
there were nothing else in the world but a wilderness of shell craters.
Then you realise that there is a certain regularity in the irregular
mud-heaps some way ahead of you--the top of a muddy steel helmet moves
between two earth-heaps on the ground's surface--then another helmet and
another; and you have found your bearings. That is clearly the trench
they spoke about.

Well, finding the German trench seems to be much the same experience,
varied by a multitude of bullets singing past like bees, and with the
additional thought ever present to the mind--when will the enemy's
barrage burst on you? When it does come, you do not hear it
coming--there is too much racket in the air for your ears to catch the
shell whistling down as you are accustomed to. There are big black
crashes and splashes near by, without warning--scarcely noticed at
first. In the charge itself men often do not notice other men hit--we,
looking on from far behind, did not notice that. A man may be slipping
in a shell-hole, or in the mud, or in some wire--often he gets up again
and runs on. It is only afterwards that you realise....

Across the mud space there were suddenly noticed a few grey helmets
watching--a long, long distance away. Then the grey helmets moved, and
other helmets moved, and bunched themselves up, and hurried about like a
disturbed hive, and settled into a line of men firing fast and coolly.
That was the German trench.

It was fairly packed already in one part. The rattle of fire grew
quickly. The chatter of one machine-gun--then another, and another, were
added to it. Our shells were bursting occasionally flat in the face of
the Germans--one big bearded fellow--they are close enough for those
details to be se