I started exposing; the shells came in rapid succession, dropping right in the middle of the Petite Douve. As they fell clouds of bricks and other débris were thrown in the air; the din was terrific. Nothing in the world could possibly have lived there. After about thirty shells had been dropped there was a slight pause for about half a minute, during which I continued turning the handle. The Germans were too occupied in getting under cover to notice the fine target my head offered, for not a single shot was fired at me. Once more our guns rang out, and in as many seconds--at least so it seemed to me--another thirty shells dropped into the buildings and tore them wall from wall. Word was then passed to me that this was the finishing salvo. With the same suddenness as it had begun, the firing ceased. Dropping quickly, and dragging the camera after me, I stood safely once more in the bottom of the trench and, to tell the truth, I was glad it was over. To put one's head above the parapet of a trench, with the Germans only seventy-five yards away, and to take a kinematograph picture of a bombardment, is not one of the wisest--or safest--things to do! CHAPTER II CHRISTMAS DAY AT THE FRONT Leave-taking at Charing Cross--A Fruitless Search for Food on Christmas Eve--How Tommy Welcomed the Coming of the Festive Season--"Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men" to the Boom of the Big Guns--Filming the Guards' Division--And the Prince of Wales--Coming from a Christmas Service--This Year and Next. On December 23rd I met an officer, a captain, at Charing Cross Station. We were leaving by the 8.50 train, and we were not the only ones to leave Christmas behind, for hundreds of men were returning to the Front. Heartbreaking scenes were taking place, and many of the brave women-folk were stifling their sobs, in order to give their men a pleasant send-off, possibly for the last time. Amidst hurried good-byes and fond kisses from mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, and with shouts of good luck from hundreds of throats, the train started off. Handkerchiefs were waved from many windows, cheerful heads were thrust out, and not until the train had cleared the platform, and the "hurrahs" had faded away in the distance, did we take our seats. Then with set faces, grim with determination, we resigned ourselves to the fate that awaited us on the battlefields of France. Reaching Boulogne, after a rather choppy voyage, our car conveyed us to G.H.Q., which we reached late in the evening.