We were now running into a bank of white fleecy clouds, which enveloped us in its folds, blotting the whole earth from view. I held my handkerchief over the lens of the camera to keep the moisture from settling upon it. After a time several breaks appeared in the clouds beneath, and the earth looked wonderful. It seemed miles--many miles--away. Rivers looked like silver streaks, and houses mere specks upon the landscape. Here and there a puff of white smoke told of a bursting shell. But for that occasional, somewhat unpleasant reminder, I might have been thousands of miles away from the greatest war in history. Who could imagine anything more wonderful, more fantastic? I had dreamed of such things, I had read of them; I even remembered having read, years ago, some of the wonderful stories in _Grimm's Fairy Tales_. To my childish mind, they seemed very wonderful indeed. There were fairies, goblins, mysterious figures, castles which floated in the air, wonderful lands which shifted in a night, at the touch of a magic wand or the sound of a magic word. Things which fired my youthful imagination and set me longing to share in their adventures. But never in my wildest dreams did I think I should live to do the same thing, to go where I listed; to fly like a bird, high above the clouds. It was like an adventure in fairyland to take this weird and wonderful creation of men, called an aeroplane, through the home of the skylark. Boom! Boom! I was suddenly brought back to--no, not to earth, but to--things more material. Looking down, I could discern several balls of smoke, which I immediately recognised as shrapnel shells, or "Archibalds," that had been fired at us by the Germans. They were well below. I looked round at the Captain. He was smiling through his goggles, and humorously jerked his thumb in the direction of the bursting "Archies." "Too high, eh?" I shouted. But I had forgotten that in the fearful hum of the rushing air and whirling motors my voice would not carry. It was literally cut off as it left my lips. I picked up the 'phone and shouted through it. "Yes, they are pretty safe where they are," he said drily. Then a few more burst underneath us. By this time we were well out of the cloud bank. The atmosphere was much clearer. I knelt up again on my seat and began to expose, and continued turning the handle while we passed over St. Eloi and Hill 60. On certain sections I could see that a considerable "strafe" was going on. Fritz seemed to be having a very trying time. Near Messines my film suddenly ran out. I had to reload. This was anything but an easy operation. I unscrewed my camera from the gun socket, and in doing so had a near escape from doing a head-dive to earth. Like an idiot, I had unfastened my waist-strap, and in reaching over the fuselage my camera nearly over-balanced, the aeroplane contributing to this result by making a sudden dive in order to avoid an "Archibald."