, in fact, every gun on the British Front for
miles, was pounding the enemy with shells. A man came in to say that the
order was 'everybody down in the cellar.' So I threw some clothes on and
went down there. There was a crowd down there. The parties which had
been out working had returned, but not without casualties; there had
been a few killed and wounded. At a table in the centre of the room, a
lamp on it, sat Captain Andrews, in his shirt sleeves, and other
officers, seriously contemplating a message which had arrived, the
purport of which they were trying to understand. The man who had
brought it was under arrest as a suspected spy; but after inquiries had
been made at Brigade it was discovered that he was perfectly _bona
fide_; So Major Brighten ordered him to be set free.

"I found myself next to Verity, so I asked him whatever all this hubbub
was about. He replied that it was the expected push on our right--'the
Messines push'--taking place. The New Zealanders (and Australians, the
36th Ulster Division, the 16th South Ireland Division, the 23rd
Division, and the 47th London Division) were going over the top, and
this was our barrage. Captain Andrews said that this was a bombardment
which our guns were conducting, double in intensity to any which we
inflicted upon the enemy during the Battle of the Somme! It was a row
indeed, and it continued for some time. Then dawn broke, and it had
slackened. At 5.30 we came upstairs and had some refreshment in the
mess; the gramophone was set going ('The Bing Boys'--'Another little
drink wouldn't do us any harm'--was the precise record which was put on
as soon as we entered the mess!); things were much quieter, but we were
expecting the Germans to retaliate."

It was at these early morning breakfast parties in the Prison that the
grim significance of the word "Gate" impressed itself upon me. "Which
gate did you come in at?" was a very common question which one officer
would ask another on their return from work in the trenches. "I came in
by the Dixmude Gate," or "I came in by the Menin Gate," would be the
reply. And some would say that they had avoided "gates" altogether and
threaded their way across the open. These gates were places of evil
omen. The enemy had the exact range of them, and knew when working
parties would be likely to be passing them. And upon no spot was
conferred a greater legacy of awe than upon the Menin Gate. It was
always one of the most terrible spots