Cautiously I crept up to the top of the parapet! What a sight! Shells were falling thick and fast over Trones and towards Baentin-le-Grand. I must film this, Bosche or no Bosche! So hastily fixing up my tripod, I fastened on the camera and began exposing. "Excellent," I thought; "I've got it." Another shell came along. This time it was evidently a 5.9, and was right in the centre of my view, about one hundred and fifty yards away! Another one. Rotten! Just out of my limits. Phut-bang! Phut-bang! I grabbed my camera and fell with it on the opposite side of the mound. I let it lie there, and dashing back into the other section of trench grabbed my bags and returned. Whizz-bangs followed; whizz-bangs in front and behind! I crouched as low as possible and replacing the camera in its case hung it over my back and, still bending low, hurried away dragging my tripod behind me. The trench was blocked by a batch of men returning. They were crouching down for cover. The officer in charge asked me what in the world I was doing. "Thunder," he said, "if I knew the 'movie' man had been here I would have gone the other way. You've evidently drawn fire by that contraption of yours. Where are you going?" "To Trones Wood," I said. The look of blank amazement on his face was amusing. "My dear chap," he said, "are you serious?" "Well," I replied, "I had intended going there till a moment ago, but the strafing seems to get worse." Shrapnel was now bursting overhead, a piece hitting one of the men close by. "Where's he hit?" enquired the officer. The poor fellow was lying down. "In the shoulder, sir," one of the others shouted back. "Seems rather bad." "Two of you bring him through and get ahead to the dressing station as quickly as possible. Keep your heads down." Then turning to me the officer said: "Look here, I've just come from the Wood, and, by gad, it's fair hell there! The place is a charnel-house. It's literally choked with corpses; heaps of them; and we dare not bring them in. We've tried even at night, but the shelling prevents us. The place reeks. And the flies! They're awful. It's more than flesh and blood can stand! To put your head up means certain death and--well, you see what your camera did here. You can imagine what it would be like over there, can't you?" "Yes, I see, but of course if I had known any men were about I wouldn't have put my machine up. I know there is always the possibility of drawing fire. It has happened quite a number of times to me!" "If you respect your life don't go any further. The shell-fire is impossible, and the sight over there is too ghastly for words." So I decided to relinquish my visit for the time being. A call was made to proceed. "Half a minute," I said, "the trench had been blown in about fifty yards down, wouldn't it be better to clear it away rather than take these men over the top?"