Pozières then it should be. Leaving my base early in the morning I made my way through Becourt Wood and beyond, up "Sausage Valley"—why that name I don't know. The whole area was crowded with men of the Australian division.
As there was no road I took my car over the grass, or rather all that was left of it. The place was covered with shell-holes. Driving between, and more often than not into them, was rather a tiresome job, but it saved several miles of tramping with heavy stuff. "Sausage Valley" during this period was anything but healthy. I was warned about it as I left an Australian battery where I had stayed to make a few enquiries. A major told me the place was "strafed" every day, and I soon found that this was so when I arrived. Several "crumps" fell in the wood behind me, and two on the hill-side among some horses, killing several. If I saw one dead horse I must have seen dozens; they were all over the place. But everyone was much too busy to bury them at the moment. The stench was decidedly unpleasant, and the flies buzzed around in swarms. I soon had a couple of cigarettes alight. What a boon they were at times.
After much dodging and twisting I halted the car close to a forward dressing station. While I was there several shells dropped unpleasantly near, and I could not restrain my admiration for the medical staff who tended the wounded, quite oblivious of the dangers by which they were surrounded in so exposed a position. I obtained several very interesting scenes of the wounded arriving.
I waited awhile to watch the Bosche shelling before going over the ridge to Pozières. I could then tell the sections he "strafed" most. I would be able to avoid them as much as possible. I watched for fully an hour; the variation in his target was barely perceptible. On one or two occasions he "swept" the ridge. I decided to make a start after the next dose.
Strapping the camera on my back, my man taking the tripod, we started off. There was a light railway running towards Contalmaison. I followed this until I got near the spot brother Fritz was aiming at, hugging a trench at the side of a by-road. The bank was lined with funk-holes, which came in very useful during the journey, and I had to seek their shelter several times, but the nearest shell fell at a junction between that road and a communication trench. Just this side lay a very much dead horse. The shell came over. Down I went flat on my stomach. My man dived into a hole. The shell exploded, and the next thing I remember was a feeling as if a ton of bricks had fallen on top of me. I managed to struggle up and make quickly for the trench, my man following; and you may be quite sure I took care that I was well out of line of the next before I eased up. Beyond a few scratches on the camera-case and a torn coat, I was quite sound.
I was told of a Hun battery of 77 mm. guns on the left-hand side of the valley leading to Pozières, so I decided to make for that spot. I enquired of a man as to the whereabouts of them.
"Well, sir," he said, "you may come to them if you keep straight on, but I shouldn't advise you to do so as you have to cross the open. Bosche has a pretty sharp eye on anyone there; he knows the lay of the battery and he just plasters it. You might get round at 'Dead Man's Corner,' on the Contalmaison Road. It's pretty bad there, but I think it's the best place to try, and once you are round the corner you may be all right."
"Well, which way do I take?"
"Down this way, then turn to your left at the corner; the battery is about two hundred yards along on the hill-side."
"But, man alive," I said, "they're strafing it like blazes. Look!"