"Right, sir," he said.
So, getting hold of an extra orderly to help carry my kit, we started off, up through a wood and then for the first time I viewed St. Quentin.
"We had better spread out here," said my guide. "Bosche can observe all movements from the Cathedral tower, and he doesn't forget to 'strafe' us although no harm is ever done."
"He is crumping now by all appearances," I replied, noticing some crumps bursting about three hundred yards away.
"Yes, they are 'strafing' the place we are going to! That's cheerful, anyway. We will make a wide detour; he's putting shrapnel over now. Look out! Keep well to the side of the wood."
We kept under cover until it was necessary to cross a field to a distant copse.
"That's our O.P. We have some guns there, worse luck."
"Hullo, keep down," I said; "that's a burst of four." Crash—crash—crash—crash! in quick succession, the fearful bursts making the ground tremble.
"Very pretty," I remarked. "I will get my camera ready for the next lot."
They came—and I started turning one after the other; it was an excellent scene; but, as the enemy seemed to swing his range round slightly, the pieces were coming much too near to be healthy. So, hastily packing up, we made straight for the copse on the quarry top.