Yes: the truth has at last dawned upon you. With that knowledge new resolutions were born within you; resolutions that bade you never to slack for an instant in your endeavour to bring success to our arms.
Trones Wood! That name had been drummed into my ears for days. It seemed to have a fascination for me. I asked several men to describe the place.
"Quite impossible, sir; there baint anything like it on earth, and if hell is at all like it then I have been there. It's dead; just dead—dead—dead! And the smell—awful."
"Is Fritz strafing there much?"
"Yes, sir, he's at it all day: there's not room for a cat to hide in, so why Fritz is dropping his souvenirs there heaven knows; I don't."
From the description the place seemed rather satisfactory from a scenic point of view, so I made up my mind to try and film it, as I wanted scenes of heavy bombardment which I could get if Fritz was concentrating upon the wood, for the Hun is a tolerably safe person to deal with if he has a target to fire at; he is so methodical.
Going up by my car as far as the top of Camoy Valley, I left it there near a dressing station.
"Strafing!" I was out for "strafing," and by all appearances I was likely to get it hot and strong before long. I had only just stopped when a shell came hurtling overhead, falling about one hundred and fifty yards behind the dressing station. I went over to a doctor who was tending some wounded men—our own and Germans.