After making my way through countless trenches, some of which were empty and absolutely reeked of gas, I found myself in a narrow ditch—it could not be called a trench—which was literally filled with dead bodies. Snipers’ bullets were whizzing all around me, and often I had to take cover by lying alongside a dead comrade. Each side of the ditch was strewn with bodies, the wounds on which were too ghastly to be described. Thoroughly sickened at the sight, I had to press on, treading on poor fellows’ bodies all the time. It was truly horrible, but the ammunition had to be got there, and this was the only way to get along.
At last I reached the regiment I wanted, and found that it was keeping up rapid rifle fire. Leaving the ammunition with an officer, I started on my homeward journey, which I thankfully accomplished, but with great difficulty. I was very much impressed by the flares as I went along, and I do not exaggerate at all when I say that they were distinctly reminiscent of a firework display.
Reaching my own lines, I found that I was not wanted for any more fatigues, so I thankfully crept into a dug-out at the rear and fell fast asleep.
Early next morning we attacked the enemy, and I got my proper baptism of fire. Two of our companies had gone into action and had lost rather heavily, and my company was ordered to reinforce.
I was amongst the men who were chosen to reinforce, and leaving the reserve trench we passed into the fire trench and so over the top, amid a shower of bullets.
The Germans were hidden in a coal-mine near the famous “Tower Bridge,” and it seemed hopeless to try and dislodge them; but the British had determined to have a try, and so we advanced, dropping now and again for cover. Here again the ground was strewn with bodies, and often it was necessary to use one of them as a covering screen.
It became necessary for some of us, myself amongst them, to withdraw to the original fire trench, and there we remained for two days. On the second day a lull in the fighting occurred, though there was a sharp watch on both sides and rounds were exchanged. A strange thing happened at this stage of the fighting. One of our N.C.O.s, going through a deserted fire-bay, found a man in khaki who was behaving in a very mysterious way. The N.C.O. grew suspicious, and with the help of two privates he marched the man before the colonel. The man said he was a Welsh Fusilier, but one of our men who had previously served in the Welsh Fusiliers soon showed that the statement was utterly false.
The man was searched, and then the amazing discovery was made that he had no fewer than a dozen identification-discs of different regiments.
Further questionings showed beyond all doubt that he was a very bold and cunning spy, and he was shot with very little ceremony.