The journey of thirteen hundred yards to the front line was quite an ordinary walk. It was interesting to note the different tones of the heavy and light shells as they flew overhead, from the dull rush of a 9.2 to the shriek of the 18-pounder. I reached a Company dug-out. It was certainly one of the best I have ever seen. Going down three steps, then turning sharply at right angles, I disappeared through a four-foot opening; down more steps to a depth of ten feet, then straight for three paces. At the end was the main gallery, about twenty-five feet long, five feet in width, and five feet six inches high. Half of it was used for the telephone operator, and sleeping accommodation for the orderlies, the other half was used as officers' quarters. Several officers were busy discussing plans when I arrived. The conversation might sound strange and callous to an ordinary listener. "Well, what's the news? How's Brother Bosche?" "Bosche reported quite near," was the reply. "Our shaft is practically finished, and ready for charging. This morning you could distinctly hear Bosche speaking. His gallery was getting nearer to ours. I told the Sergeant to work only when Bosche was doing so." "When are you going to 'blow' ----?" "I am not sure of the date, but 'Dinkie' is going to 'poop' in a few days. He's got two tons under Bosche. It will be a ---- fine show; right under his trenches. Ought to snip a hundred or so." "Well," said another, "I was down in C shaft, and could hear Bosche working very hard, as if he had got all the world to himself." At that moment a tunnelling-sergeant came in, and reported that the Bosche was much nearer. The listener could distinctly hear talking through the 'phone. An officer immediately got up and went out with the sergeant, one of the speakers meanwhile suggesting that Brother Bosche was certainly going to visit realms of higher kultur than he had hitherto known. Then came a close scrutinising of maps, showing shafts in the making and mines ready for "blowing"; of sharp orders to the tunnelling-sergeants and fatigue parties to bring charges from the magazine. The whole thing was fascinating in the extreme. A new branch of His Majesty's Service, and one of the most dangerous. To be on duty in a listening-post thirty feet underground--in a narrow tunnel, scarcely daring to breathe, listening to German miners making a counter-mine, and gradually picking their way nearer and nearer, until at last you can hear their conversation--would try the nerves of the strongest of men. I went out, and made my way towards the well-known Quarries. Noting several interesting scenes of our Scottish battalions at work, I filmed them. A most pathetic touch was added to the scene, for a neat little graveyard occupied the right-hand corner, and about one hundred small crosses were there.