The bridges were blown up; huge masses of stone and iron, twisted and torn and flung into the morass of weeds and mud and water, forming small dams, thus diverting the river in all directions. Several scenes on this historic spot I filmed, then, wishing to push forward, I attempted to cross the broken bridges. By careful manoeuvring I managed to cross the first, then the second, but a large gap blown in the roadway about forty feet across, through which the water rushed in a torrent, brought me to a standstill, so reluctantly I had to retrace my steps. Except for the sound of rushing water the quietness was almost uncanny--the excitement of the chase was over. Then I began to realise our position. We were in a section of ground which the enemy had occupied only a few hours before and had apparently abandoned--vanished into thin air! We were at least two kilometres in _front_ of our infantry, in fact we had, of our own accord--keen on obtaining live scenes for the people at home--constituted ourselves an advance patrol, armed, not with machine-guns, swords, or lances, but with cameras. There was every possibility of our being taken for Germans ourselves by our men from a distance; the real advance guard coming up would undoubtedly open fire and enquire into credentials afterwards. The ruins across the bridge might hide enemy rifles; they might open fire any moment. I explained the situation to my companion, who had also presumably reached a decision very similar to my own, which was to return to the village of Villers-Carbonel as quickly and as carefully as possible. Keeping to the side of the road we trudged back, and half-way up the hill we ran into one of the things I expected--an advance party. An officer came forward and said in astonished tones: "Where the devil have you fellows come from?" "We've been getting photographs of the German retreat," I replied. "We're the official photographers and have been half-way across the Somme, but owing to the bridge being blown up we have come back. The Germans seem to have vanished entirely, not a sign of one about anywhere." "Well, I'm ----," he said, "this is the funniest thing I've ever known. Will our advance patrols constitute the official photographers for the future? If so, it will save us any amount of trouble." "Well?" I said, "you can go on--devil a Bosche is over there anyway." "Well," he said, "these troops I am taking down will be the first across the Somme." "Right," I said, seeing immediately the scoop it would be for my film. "I will come back and film your men going over; it will make a unique picture." With that we retraced our steps, and laughing and chatting about our adventure, we once again reached the Somme river. I fixed up my camera, and, when all was ready, a rough bridge was hastily made of several planks lashed together to bridge gaps in the fallen stonework, and I filmed the first troops to cross the Somme during the great German retreat.