Several men have been hit to-day, and about a dozen horses and half a dozen mules killed. All are taking cover as best they can. If one hits this bivouac where I am now writing, this Diary comes to an untimely end.
I wish our aeroplanes could find this gun; it appears so close up to us, and if it takes it into its head to fling these beastly things about all day long, this beach will be untenable. A damned fool near me has just said, “If they go on much longer they will hurt somebody.” I chuck a book at his head.
In France they do get a chance of rest behind the scenes now and again, but here it is one constant “Look out!” and down we bob. After a bout of shelling one imagines shells coming. For instance, when an aeroplane sails over, people duck their heads, as it sounds just like a shell; and then also there are so many ships in harbour that one is constantly hearing the noise of escaping steam, sounding just like a shell.
One of our men has just had the side of his boot torn away; fortunately, however, only the skin of his foot was grazed and bruised.
Fifty horses have now been killed, and three men killed and a few wounded.
Had to go on duty at depot at head of beach. Shelling stopped. Finished duty 6.45. Shell immediately came, and I fell flat behind some hay. After that a few more came over and then stopped.
May 14th.
Big gun started searching the beach with large high explosive shells at four, for two hours. Every one had to take cover. Aeroplane reconnaissance cannot locate gun, which is a damned nuisance. They come with a terrific scream and burst with a deafening explosion, most upsetting to one’s nerves. We all take cover behind the cliff. Not a soul can be seen on the beaches. All animals are removed to down under the cliff.
Casualties, twenty-three mules and three men wounded.
One piece of shell fell at my feet, and I picked it up, only to drop it quickly, as it was so hot.