Couldn’t Miss
The Germans rushed at us like a crowd streaming from a cup-tie at the Crystal Palace. You could not miss them. Our bullets ploughed into them, but still on they came. I was well entrenched, and my rifle got so hot I could hardly hold it. I was wondering if I should have enough bullets when a pal shouted, “Up, Guards, and at them!” The next second he was bowled over with a nasty knock on the shoulder. He jumped and hissed, “Let me get at them”: Private Whittaker.
What Ho!
When we copped the German infantry without their artillery we gave them “What Ho!” Our boys were fine marching on, or in the firing line, always happy. One night in the trenches, waiting for the Germans, they were singing “It’s a long way to Tipperary” and “Sing something Irish to me,” but it was not long when the German artillery sang “Get out and get under.” They sent some “humming birds”—I mean shells—over to us and spoiled our concert: Private P. McGrath.
Grand Fighting
We saw some grand fighting between our aeroplanes and theirs. You could see them circle round each other like a couple of fighting cocks—and then one would come down. One aeroplane was brought down with our guns. We had had several pot-shots at it, but they did not take effect. The first shot from one of our aerial guns brought it down, a mass of blazing wreckage. We were told afterwards that the airman got away and was unhurt: Pte. J. Doolan, Northumberland Fusiliers.
Swept Away
Near to Cambrai one of our cavalry regiments ran full tilt into a battalion of German infantry. They flung down their rifles and ran for all they were worth, with the exception of one company, whose officers commanded them to stand. They faced round without attempting to fire a shot, and stood there like statues to receive the onslaught of our men. Our lads were bound to admire their iron discipline, but you can’t make way for sentiment in war, and our men rode straight at them with the lance. They were swept away, and our fellows took most of the unwounded ones prisoners: Trooper E. Tugwell.
Giving a Hand
I have to go right up to the firing line, and when I arrive there I have to give a hand at serving the guns. It is dangerous work, but we don’t look at it from that standpoint: we only look to make the enemy run. At the first battle in which the British were engaged I got a flesh wound, but was very thankful it was nothing worse, as scores of my comrades were falling all round me. One of our gunners was so anxious to see the enemy that he jumped up to look, and got part of his leg shot away as a result: A Salvationist serving as a Royal Field Artillery Motorman.