From the chalk-pit to Pozières was no great distance. The ground was littered with every description of equipment, just as it had been left by the flying Huns, and dead bodies were everywhere. The place looked a veritable shambles. Believe me, I went along that road very gingerly, picking my way between the shell bursts. Just before I reached the place the firing suddenly ceased. The deadly silence was uncanny in the extreme; in fact I seemed to fear it more than the bombardment. It seemed to me too quiet to be healthy. What was Bosche up to? There must be some reason for it. I took cover in a shallow trench at the roadside. Along the bottom were lying several dead Bosches, and a short distance away fragments of human remains were strewn around. The place was desolate in the extreme. The village was absolutely non-existent. There was not a vestige of buildings remaining, with one exception, and that was a place called by the Germans "Gibraltar," a reinforced concrete emplacement he had used for machine-guns. The few trees that had survived the terrible blasting were just stumps, no more. Fritz's sudden silence seemed uncanny, but taking advantage of his spell of inactivity I hastily rigged up the camera and began exposing. In a few minutes I had taken sufficient, and packing up I hurried down the road as fast as I could. I reached the chalk-pit safely and then, cutting across direct to the gun pits, I took up my original position and awaited Fritz's good pleasure to send a few more crump to provide me with scenes. But not a shell came over. Before leaving this section I thought I would film Contalmaison, a name immortalised by such fighting as has rarely been equalled even in this great war. To get there it was necessary to go to "Dead Man's Corner." The road was pitted with shell-holes, and dead horses lay about on both sides. Bosche was still uncannily quiet. I was beginning to think I should just manage to get my scenes before he interfered with me. But no! Either he had finished his lunch or had some more ammunition, for he started again. One came over and burst in the village in front of me, with a noise like the crashing of ten thousand bottles. I took shelter behind a smashed-up limber, and waited to see where the next would fall. It burst a little further away. Good enough, I thought. Here goes before he alters his range. Jumping up I ran and scrambled on to the ruins of a house, and took some fine panoramic views of the village, first from one position then from another. Some of the scenes included a few of our men in possession. Altogether a most interesting series, including as it did both Pozières and Contalmaison. It was the first time they had been filmed since their capture. At that moment I heard another crump coming over. It seemed to be unpleasantly near, so I made a running dive for a dug-out entrance, from which poked the grinning face of an officer. "Look out," I yelled. Crash came the crump.