A little beyond Palmanova, at a village named Romans, we were informed that all the cars could not be allowed to go to Gradisca, which was some three kilometres further on, as the road was under fire, and a procession of half-a-dozen vehicles would attract still more attention from the Austrian batteries. It was proposed, therefore, that we should all squeeze into two of the biggest cars and make a dash along the road, with an interval of twenty minutes between us. It was an uncomfortably tight fit, as may be imagined, and we were packed like sardines. The car I was in, a very high-powered one, surely did those three kilometres in record time. I never motored at such a speed before. As we neared Gradisca the shells began bursting with unpleasant frequency in the fields, quite close to the road, and I feel sure that everyone experienced a sense of relief when we reached the shelter presented by the first house. The town, which was not very much damaged, was typically Austrian, and in the bright sunshine looked a very pretty and quaint little place. There was a nice park with fine old trees, and in the centre was a bandstand, so it was evidently a pleasant place in pre-war time, but now it was absolutely deserted, and the streets presented a very forlorn and ghostly appearance, which was heightened by the fact of all the shutters of the houses being closed and grass growing in the roadways everywhere. There were Italian batteries on the hills just outside, and they were firing continuously and with a regularity which almost savoured of clockwork. The Austrians were only replying in a desultory manner. The report of the guns, and the shriek of the projectiles passing overhead, echoed through the empty streets with weird effect. It is difficult to describe the uncanny feeling all this produced on one: it was as though you were walking in a dream, but the reality of it all was soon brought home to you when a shell burst amongst the houses. An officer conducted us into the centre of the town, through an archway and up to the first floor of an old building. Here a large room, with three windows, was used as a sort of observatory-post, as it directly faced the Austrian lines about fifteen hundred yards away on M. St. Michael. The sashes of the windows had been removed, and big panels of sheet iron, painted black, were propped up in front of the openings, so that one could get a sideways glimpse outside without exposing one’s self to view. The room was bare of furniture, with the exception of some armchairs, placed where one could sit comfortably and observe at one’s ease what was going on. There would have been almost a touch of the theatrical in it all had it not been for the occasional ping of bullets striking the iron screens. One got a remarkable view of this much talked about corner of the Carso, for the possession of which the Italians were staking so much.