Up we went and bending low raced for the spot. On the way I passed several dead bodies, all Bosche, and numbers of pieces blown to bits by our shell fire. A whizz-bang came over whilst we were crossing. Down we went into a shell-hole. Another, and another came over. Murderous little brutes they were too. Seven of them. Then they ceased. We immediately jumped up again and reached our objective. Then getting under cover of some twisted ironwork, which once formed the roofing of the emplacement, I took breath. "Anyway," I thought, "here I am."
In a few minutes I had a look round. What an excellent view of Pozières, about eight hundred yards away on my left. On the right was Contalmaison, which had only been taken a short time previously. The Bosches were shelling the place pretty frequently. I set up the camera and waited. Away on the opposite hill shells were falling thickly. I started filming them and got some interesting bursts, both high explosive and H.E. shrapnel.
Now for Pozières. The enemy must have been putting 9-inch and 12-inch stuff in there, for they were sending up huge clouds of smoke and débris. I secured some excellent scenes. First Pozières, then Contalmaison. My camera was first on one then on the other. For a change Bosche whizz-banged the battery. I could see now why he was so anxious to crump it, for lying all around me in their carriers, were hundreds of gas shells. I was in fact standing on them. They were all unused, and if Fritz got a good one home, well good-bye to everything.
One time I thought I would seek the shelter of a dug-out, but the fire swept away in the opposite direction. By careful manœuvring I managed to film the German guns there. Every one of the four was quite smashed up. An excellent example of artillery fire, and by the date upon them they were of the latest pattern.
In all there were three batteries in that small area, making twelve guns. But out of the twelve sufficient parts were found intact to make one good one, so that Fritz would get "some of his own" back in a way that he least expected; for there were thousands of rounds of ammunition found in the dug-outs beneath the gun pits.
How to get into Pozières was the next problem. I had, while filming, been making mental notes as to the section which Fritz did not "strafe," and that place, by all that's wonderful, was the actual thing he was undoubtedly trying for—the road.
By hugging the bank-side, along which here and there I could spot a few funk-holes, I managed to get into the chalk-pit. Here I filmed various scenes, but Bosche, as usual, kept me on the jump with his shrapnel, forcing me to take hurried shelter from time to time.
There is one thing I shall always thank Fritz for, and that is his dug-outs. If he only knew how useful they had been to me on many occasions I am sure he would feel flattered.
From the chalk-pit to Pozières was no great distance. The ground was littered with every description of equipment, just as it had been left by the flying Huns, and dead bodies were everywhere. The place looked a veritable shambles. Believe me, I went along that road very gingerly, picking my way between the shell bursts. Just before I reached the place the firing suddenly ceased. The deadly silence was uncanny in the extreme; in fact I seemed to fear it more than the bombardment. It seemed to me too quiet to be healthy. What was Bosche up to? There must be some reason for it. I took cover in a shallow trench at the roadside. Along the bottom were lying several dead Bosches, and a short distance away fragments of human remains were strewn around.
The place was desolate in the extreme. The village was absolutely non-existent. There was not a vestige of buildings remaining, with one exception, and that was a place called by the Germans "Gibraltar," a reinforced concrete emplacement he had used for machine-guns. The few trees that had survived the terrible blasting were just stumps, no more.