By this time my guide came up, so sharing my apparatus, we started off. The distance to Ginchy Telegraph was about one kilometre. Shrapnel was playing upon both roads leading from Guillemont, H.E. was bursting on my right in Lueze Wood, or "Lousy Wood," as it is called here, also in Delville Wood on my left. After a very tiring tramp over shell-holes and rubble I eventually reached my post. From this point I could see practically the whole of our section between Lesboeufs and Morval, but I immediately found out to my annoyance that the slight breeze would bring all the smoke back towards our lines. The resulting effect would not be serious enough to in any way hinder our operations, but photographically it was disastrous, and even if photographed the effect would not be impressive in the slightest degree, merely a wall of smoke which to the public would appear unintelligible. But in that seemingly useless cloud were falling thousands of shells of all calibres, tearing the earth into dust, the German line into fragments, forming a living and death-dealing curtain of blazing steel behind which our men were advancing.
But adverse wind conditions were not all, for when I had taken the camera out of its case I found that by some means or other the lens mounts had received such a knock as to throw it out of alignment. How it happened I cannot think, for the case was intact, the only possible explanation being that I must have dropped it the night before when I took shelter in the trench and in my dazed condition did not remember doing so.
It was quite impossible to repair it even temporarily in time to obtain the opening attack, so I hurried away and took shelter behind some ruins on the south-west side of the village. It was now close on twelve; our intense bombardment would shortly begin, and I worked feverishly at the repair to the camera, perspiring at every pore.
Suddenly, like the terrific crack of a thousand thunders, our fire on the German position began. Bursting from the mouths of hundreds of British guns it came, the most astonishing, astounding, brain-splitting roar that I had ever heard. In a few moments it reached a crescendo; everyone near by was transfixed with awe. Hundreds of shells went shrieking overhead. The air was literally alive with blazing metal.
Imagine, if you can, being in the midst of five hundred drums. At a given moment every drummer beats his drum with ever-increasing force without a fraction of a moment's respite. Add to this the most soul-splitting crash you have ever heard and the sound as of a gale of wind shrieking through the telegraph wires. It will give you a little idea of what it was like under this bombardment. It seemed to numb one's very brain. What it must have been like in the German position is beyond me to conceive. We were certainly giving Fritz a jump.
At last my camera was finished. Looking in the direction of Bouleaux Wood I could see our men still pouring forward over the open. I raced towards them as hard as possible and filmed them going across first one section then the other; Bosche shells were falling near them, knocking a few out but missing most, first one line then the other.
Bosche was dropping large "coal boxes" all along our supports. Two Tanks coming up provided me with several interesting scenes as Fritz was pestering them with his attentions but without injury. I obtained a scene of two heavy "crumps" bursting just behind one of them, but the old Tank still snorted on its way, the infantry advancing close behind in extended formation.
Throughout the remainder of the day I was kept well on the move, filming the many-varying scenes of battle, either whilst they were in progress or immediately afterwards. Prisoners came pouring in from all directions, first a batch of two hundred and then odd stragglers, then further batches. The Guards seemed to have had a rather good bag, as I noticed that most of the Bosches were brought in under care of guardsmen. One Tommy came in the proud possessor of six.
From the immediate fighting ground I made my way towards Trones Wood, upon the outskirts of which the Guards had their dressing station. Many of our men were there, lying about in all directions on stretchers, waiting to be taken away to the Casualty Clearing Station. I filmed many scenes here of our wonderful men suffering their physical torments like the heroes they were. One, in particular, sitting on a box making a cigarette, had a broad smile on his face, though the whole of his elbow was shot completely away. Another came in, helped along by two other men; he was a raving lunatic, his eyes ghastly and horrible to look upon, and he was foaming at the mouth, and gibbering wildly.
"Shell-shock," said the doctor, close beside me; "bad case too, poor chap! Here, put him into this ambulance; three men had better go with him to look after him."