The bombardment broke out suddenly from behind us. We saw the long line of men below clamber on to the surface, a bayonet gleaming here and there, and begin to walk steadily between the shell-holes towards the edge of the hill. From where we were you could not see the enemy's trench in the valley--only the brown mud of crater rims down to the hill's edge. And I think the line could not see it either, in most parts at any rate. They would start from their muddy parapet, and over the wet grass, with one idea above all others in the back of every man's head--when shall we begin to catch sight of the enemy? It is curious how in this country of shell craters you can look at a trench without realising that it is a trench. A mud-heap parapet is not so different from the mud-heap round a crater's rim, except that it is more regular. Even to discover your own trench is often like finding a bush road. You are told that there is a trench over there and you cannot miss it. But, once you have left your starting-point, it looks as if there were nothing else in the world but a wilderness of shell craters. Then you realise that there is a certain regularity in the irregular mud-heaps some way ahead of you--the top of a muddy steel helmet moves between two earth-heaps on the ground's surface--then another helmet and another; and you have found your bearings. That is clearly the trench they spoke about. Well, finding the German trench seems to be much the same experience, varied by a multitude of bullets singing past like bees, and with the additional thought ever present to the mind--when will the enemy's barrage burst on you? When it does come, you do not hear it coming--there is too much racket in the air for your ears to catch the shell whistling down as you are accustomed to. There are big black crashes and splashes near by, without warning--scarcely noticed at first. In the charge itself men often do not notice other men hit--we, looking on from far behind, did not notice that. A man may be slipping in a shell-hole, or in the mud, or in some wire--often he gets up again and runs on. It is only afterwards that you realise.... Across the mud space there were suddenly noticed a few grey helmets watching--a long, long distance away. Then the grey helmets moved, and other helmets moved, and bunched themselves up, and hurried about like a disturbed hive, and settled into a line of men firing fast and coolly. That was the German trench. It was fairly packed already in one part. The rattle of fire grew quickly. The chatter of one machine-gun--then another, and another, were added to it. Our shells were bursting occasionally flat in the face of the Germans--one big bearded fellow--they are close enough for those details to be seen now--takes a low burst of our shrapnel full in his eyes. A high-explosive shell bursts on the parapet, and down go three others. But they are firing calmly through all this.