Then hell broke loose, a crashing, banging, flashing hell that concentrated on the German front line directly opposite. It seemed like stirring up an ant’s nest, and then spraying them with boiling water as they ran about in confusion!
“Bang—bang—bang—bang—bang,” barked Davidson’s gun.
“Thud,” muttered the football-thrower.
“Wheep! Wee-oo, wee-oo, wee-oo,” went the rifle grenades. And all this splendid rain burst with a glorious splash just over the new crater. It was magnificent shooting, and half of us were up on the fire-step watching the fireworks.
Then the Boche retaliated, with canisters and whizz-bangs, and “heavies” for Maple Redoubt; and then our guns joined the concert. It was “hot shop” for half an hour, but at last it died down and there was a great calm. Some of the men were in the trenches for the first time, and had not relished the proceedings overmuch! They were relieved to get the order “Stand down!”
There were several things to be done, working-parties to be arranged, final instructions given to a patrol, Lewis gunners to be detailed to rake the German parapet opposite the Matterhorn all night. A platoon sergeant was worried about his sentries; he had not enough men, having had one or two casualties; and I had to lend him men from a more fortunate platoon. It was quite dark, and nearly half-past seven by the time I got back to Trafalgar Square. Edwards had started dinner, as he was on trench duty at eight o’clock. The sergeant-major was on duty until then.
Davidson looked in on his way down to Maple Redoubt.
“I say, your Stokes were bursting top-hole. We had a splendid view.”
“They weren’t going short, were they?” he asked.
“No. Just right. The fellows were awfully bucked with it.”