Shell after shell crashed in the middle of them, leaving ghastly gaps, but other men quickly filled them up, passing through the smoke, and over the bodies of their comrades, as if there were no such thing as a shell in all the world. Another spool ran out, making the fourth since the attack started. I gave it in charge of my man, with the same instructions as before. I loaded again, and had just started exposing. Something attracted my attention on the extreme left. What it was I don't know. I ceased turning, but still holding the handle, I veered round the front of my camera. The next moment, with a shriek and a flash, a shell fell and exploded before I had time to take shelter. It was only a few feet away. What happened after I hardly know. There was the grinding crash of a bursting shell; something struck my tripod, the whole thing, camera and all, was flung against me. I clutched it and staggered back, holding it in my arms. I dragged it into a shrapnel-proof shelter, sat down and looked for the damage. A piece of the shell had struck the tripod and cut the legs clean in half, on one side, carrying about six inches of it away. The camera, thank heaven, was untouched. Calling my man, we hastily found some pieces of wood, old telephone wire and string, and within an hour had improvised legs, rigid enough to continue taking scenes. I again set up my camera. Our gun-fire was still terrible, but the Germans had shortened their range and were evidently putting a barrage on our men, who had presumably reached the enemy's front trenches. Nobody knew anything definitely. Wounded men began to arrive. There was a rush for news. "How are things going?" we asked. "We have taken their first and second line," said one. An officer passed on a stretcher. "How are things going?" "God knows," he said. "I believe we have got through their first line and part of the village, but don't know whether we shall be able to hold out; we have been thinned shockingly." "Have you been successful?" he asked me. "Yes, I've got the whole of the attack." "Good man," he said. First one rumour then another came through. There was nothing definite. The fighting over there was furious. I filmed various scenes of our wounded coming in over the parapet; then through the trenches. Lines of them were awaiting attention. Scenes crowded upon me. Wounded and more wounded; men who a few hours before had leaped over the parapet full of life and vigour were now dribbling back. Some of them shattered and broken for life. But it was one of the most glorious charges ever made in the history of the world. These men had done their bit. "Hullo," I said to one passing through on a stretcher, "got a 'blighty'?" "Yes, sir," he said; "rather sure Blighty for me."