Making a Hole
I was standing with a chum, watching the artillery fire. “Look at the smoke,” I said to him. A moment later a shell came screaming down, and I was knocked kicking by the suction. My chum simply said, “Lordy, look at the hole,” and then I saw I was lying on the edge of a hole made by the shell large enough to bury a horse in: Pte. J. Charley, East Surrey Regiment.