I had finished taking my scenes, and asked an officer if the Colonel was there.
"No, but you may find him in 'White City.' He was there about an hour ago. Great heavens," he said, "who would have believed that a 'movie-man' would be here, the nearest point to Bosche lines on the whole front. You must like your job. Hanged if I envy you. Anyway, hope to see you after the show, if I haven't 'gone West.' Cheero," and with that he left me.
Packing up my camera, I prepared to return. Time was getting on. It was now 6.30 a.m. The attack was timed for 7.20. As I wanted to obtain some scenes of our men taking up their final positions, I told my guide to start.
"Duck as low as possible," I said, "when you cross the road."
"We can't go yet, sir; munitions are being brought through, and, as you know, there isn't room to pass one another."
I waited until the last man had come in from the sap, then, practically on hands and knees, made for the sap mouth.
"Cheer up, boys," I shouted to the men as I parted from them, "best of luck; hope to see you in the village."
"Hope so, sir," came a general chorus in reply. Again I struggled through the narrow slit, then down the shaft and finally into the tunnel. We groped our way along as best we could. The place was full of men. It was only possible to get my tripod and camera along by passing it from one to another. Then as the men stooped low I stepped over them, eventually reaching the other end—and daylight.
The "strafe" was still on, but not quite so violent. Our parapets were in a sorry condition, battered out of all shape.
Returning through King Street, I was just in time to film some of the men fixing bayonets before being sent to their respective stations in the firing trench. The great moment was drawing near. I admit I was feeling a wee bit nervous. The mental and nervous excitement under such conditions was very great. Every one was in a state of suppressed excitement. On the way I passed an officer I knew.