Machine-gun parties were there ready for anything that might turn up; in the far corner a group of Frenchmen were chattering volubly to a knot of our men.
This certainly was a most interesting scene—the point of "liaison" between the two great armies, France and Britain. I noticed by fresh shell-holes that Bosche had a rather bad habit of annoying the place with his pip-squeaks, but generally they only resulted in scoring a Blighty for more or one of the occupants—and, for others, they were a source of amusement in the shape of gambling on the spot the next one would fall.
I filmed various sections here, then, having partaken of a little tea, I wended my way to the trenches. I kept low, as the tower of the Cathedral was in full view. I had previously covered the aluminium head of my tripod with a sandbag to prevent it glistening in the sun. As I drew nearer to the trench, which I could now see quite distinctly, more and more of St. Quentin came into view. Such a picture gives one rather a queerish feeling. If a keen-eyed Hun observer spotted me, with my load, he would take me for a machine-gunner or something equally dangerous. But, fortunately, nothing happened.
I dropped into the trench of the —— Worcesters who were amazed and amused to see me there, as one of them said:
"Well, sir, I always thought all the War pictures were fakes, but now I know they're not.
"Will you take us, sir? We expect to go over to-night. Please do, sir; our people at home will then in all probability see us. Don't suppose I shall. I have an idea I shan't—but," he said, pulling himself together, "I hope so, yer know, sir."
I liked the man's spirit. It caused all the others to smile. I carefully fixed up my machine and filmed them, holding our front line.
"How close is this to the town?" I asked.
"About nine hundred yards, sir."
