For the benefit of those who have been so fortunate as to never have heard a shell burst in anger, a slight description of it may prove interesting. The first thing one hears is a noise like the rending of linen, or perhaps the rush of steam describes it better. This gets louder and louder, and then, as the projectile nears the end of its journey, one hears a whine, half whistle, half scream, and then the explosion. If it is very near there is an acrid smell in the air. One’s feelings are difficult to describe. You duck your head instinctively—you feel absolutely helpless, wondering where the thing will burst, and as you hear the explosion a quick wave of feeling sweeps over you as you murmur, “Thank Heaven, not this time!” Unfortunately, they have got the range of our beach accurately now, and are beginning to do real damage. The little shells that we had earlier did not frighten us much, but these beastly things make us all jumpy. 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. After being under fire of such awful shells one laughs at mild shrapnel. Getting very hot, but perfect weather.